Herra then joins, as well as a handful of other women, all smiling and laughing. These women are so different from any I’ve ever known. They no longer have husbands, but it’s more than that. They aren’t looking over their shoulders anymore. They can talk and laugh and dance in this room without constantly glancing at the doorway, wondering when a man might enter to stop it all. For that freedom, they’re willing to live underground and never leave.
Looking at me, Herra holds out her hands. I look at Nana, who gestures for me to get up, to join in the dancing. But I shake my head. I’ve never danced before, and I wouldn’t want all of these women watching me, especially Rayna. I look for her, and, like me, she’s still sitting down. On her stoic face I see the faint trace of a smile as she watches the dancers. She glances at me, and the smile quickly disappears. I feel bad that I ruined her brief moment of pleasure, but what can I do? My face gets on her nerves.
Someone has lit incense, making the air thick with smoke and the smell of burning pine. Can Juda hear us? Surely the sound of the drum and the chanting is reaching him, wherever he is. I hope his dinner was as tasty as mine, even if he had to eat it alone. Maybe I can sneak away soon and find him. It’s only been a few hours since I saw him, and I already have so much to tell him. I wonder what he would think of this dancing. Considering that he was embarrassed to look at these women without their veils, I can’t imagine he would survive this gyrating. I smile, thinking about how red his face would be.
I just can’t believe that Nana won’t give him a chance. A day ago, my fantasy would have been the two of them meeting and talking. And now they’re both in the same building and Juda’s being treated like a criminal.
The huge amount of food I ate has made me tired, so I snuggle into the mound of pillows. I try to keep watching the dancing, but my eyelids are so heavy that each blink is an effort.
Before long, I drift into sleep, the beat of the drum dictating the progression and texture of my dream. Damon is pursuing me, and I can no longer run, because my feet have grown roots that reach ten feet underground. Juda is there with an ax. He wants to cut the roots and set me free, but I beg him to wait. He doesn’t understand that the roots are part of me, and that when he cuts them, I will bleed. I’m yelling at him, trying to explain, but he won’t listen. He’s too intent on saving me. He lifts the ax above his head and, with all of his might, slices me in half.
I jolt awake, crying out.
The women continue to chant and dance, taking no note of my distress. I look at Nana. She’s singing and clapping her hands, immersed in the moment. She looks younger and less tired—beautiful, in fact. She’s happy here. They’re all happy here. So why do I feel miserable?
The answer is eating his supper alone in another room.
TWENTY-FIVE
I’M SURROUNDED BY A HEAVENLY SMELL, nestled in a field of lavender, and at first I think I can’t possibly be awake. I sit up and find that I’m lying on a makeshift bed made of pillows and sheets on the floor of a small, plain white room, my clothes folded on a chair by the door. I wear a loose cotton nightgown that I don’t recall putting on. My body is stiff and heavy, as if I didn’t move once all night. I don’t really remember leaving the room where we ate dinner.
Like the room where Juda and I first met Rayna, this one is full of cardboard boxes. These have all been pried open, so I crawl over to the nearest one and peer inside. I see lots of small objects, wrapped in dust-coated bubbles. I pick up one of the tiny packages, blow off the dust, and unwrap it slowly. The lavender scent gets stronger as I discover a purple bar of soap like the one I used on Nana. I put it up to my nose and inhale deeply. Heaven.
I move to the next container and find hundreds of cute boxes, cream-colored rectangles etched with the words “Chanel No. 5.” I open one and find a delicate glass bottle filled with golden liquid. Perfume, I’m guessing. Father gave some to Mother once. She pretended to be scandalized. Perfume is forbidden, its sole purpose being to lure men. But I could tell she was secretly thrilled. I would smell it on her sometimes right before my father came home. But she would rush to wash it off if anyone else visited the house.
This bottle is much larger than the one Mother had. I twist off the pretty top, spray the perfume in the air, and stick my nose right into the mist. I’m trying to decide whether I like it, when I sneeze violently. I look around, thinking that since No. 5 made me sneeze, maybe I’ll like a No. 3 or No. 4 better, but I don’t see any other numbers in the big cardboard box.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
I jump at the sound of the voice, almost dropping the bottle. I turn to see Ayan standing in the doorway.
“Be careful,” she says. “That’s worth eight thousand BTUs.”
My hands feel huge as I replace the bottle in its box. “I’m so sorry. I was just curious.”
“Don’t apologize. We found the boxes here when we discovered the cellar. We have no more right to them than you do.” She enters the room. “But sometimes when we need money, we sell the perfume and soap on the black market or trade them for food. We’ve been blessed.”
I run my hands through my hair. I know I look half-asleep, and her easy elegance makes me self-conscious. “Where is everyone?”
“At breakfast. We thought it would be best to let you sleep awhile.”
“Where’s Nana?”
“She’s fine. She’s eating, too.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “I thought you could eat with Juda.”
“Yes!” I stand up.
“Get dressed,” she says. “I’ll wait outside.”
I throw on my clothes, thrilled to see a new bra that Nana must have found for me. I start to pull my hair back into a ponytail and then decide against it. Why not leave it down if no one cares?
When I’m ready, Ayan walks me down a long hall with doors on both sides. “How many rooms are there?” I ask.
“We didn’t use to have many. It was one huge, open space. But that got inconvenient, so we started to partition it off.”
“You did it yourself?” I ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of my voice.
“Yes,” Ayan says, with a smile that’s supposed to tell me that there’s nothing the Laurel Society can’t do. “I believe we now have at least forty rooms.”
A moment later she starts speaking in a less casual voice, reminding me of the one my mother uses when she’s about to give me an unpleasant chore. “You need to have a talk with Juda.”
“About what?”
“About when he’s going to leave.”
I stop walking. “What are you talking about? You said he could stay.”
“I said he could stay for the night.”
My rib cage seems to narrow around my heart. “But I need more time with Nana.”
“No one is asking you to leave, Mina. You’ll be a welcome addition to our community.”
“Can’t Juda and I have more time? We need to decide what we’re going to do.”
“I’m sorry, but Juda’s already making a lot of the women uncomfortable with his presence. I’ve bent the rules as it is.” She starts to walk down the hall again.
“Please, Ayan.” Grabbing her hand, I look into her eyes, gray-green like winter grass. “Just give me until tonight. Please.” My voice catches on “please,” and I’m embarrassed. The women of the Laurel Society find their strength in themselves, and I don’t want her to think that I’m reliant on a boy. But I know if I ask Juda to leave, I might never see him again, and the idea fills me with dread, like a thickening of my blood that makes my body heavy and unwilling to move until she’s changed her mind.
Ayan sighs, as if she’s been pleaded with many times before. “All right. I’ll give you until six o’clock tonight. But then you have to either send the boy away or leave with him.”
Almost hugging her, I say, “Thank you.” I didn’t expect her to budge.
We arrive at a door at the very end of the hall, and she knocks.
After we hear a muffled
“yes,” Ayan takes a key from her pocket and unlocks the door.
“You locked him in?” I ask, trying to control my outrage, since she’s just granted me a favor.
“The others wouldn’t agree to his being here overnight unless they knew he was under lock and key. You can see why it’s in everyone’s best interest to send the boy home.”
Home? If she could see the small concrete bunker full of rotten food, would she still be calling it that?
She opens the door. The room is piled to the ceiling with crates, boxes, bags, and mountains of folded clothing. At first, I don’t see Juda. Then I spot him in the corner, nestled between two towers of shirts and pants, sitting on the floor on a mound of sheets and pillows similar to the one I slept on.
He waves. “Hi,” he says. “I’d get up, but, uh . . .”
If he stood, his head would hit the low ceiling.
“This is ridiculous,” I say to Ayan. “Why don’t you give him my room?”
“We actually thought he would like it in here. He can take whatever he wants.” She gestures around the room. “We don’t need any of it, and he probably doesn’t have access to these kinds of products.”
She’s talking about him as if he can’t understand English or as if he’s a vagrant they found on the street.
“What is it all?”
I ask him, not Ayan.
“Shoes. Pants. Shirts,” he says. “Men’s and boys’. I’ve never seen anything like it, actually. There are coats and scarves, hats, gloves. There are, like, thirty different kinds of underwear—”
“Take whatever you need,” Ayan says, cutting him off.
He smiles his goofy smile. “Thank you. You’re very generous.”
Generous? How can he say that when they’ve locked him in here all night?
Ayan excuses herself and, as she closes the door, says, “Mina, come back to the main room when you’ve finished breakfast.” Then she’s gone.
“Huh. She left us alone,” I say.
“They don’t like men, but they seem to like rules even less,” Juda says.
“Your mother left us alone, too. Does she hate rules?” I ask.
He considers this. “She thinks that rules have a time and a place. If your life is in danger, etiquette is not a priority.”
I smile. My mother wouldn’t agree. If my home were on fire, she would expect me to make a scrumptious meal for my husband before I ran out.
“I hope your mother isn’t too worried about us,” I say. I really wanted to leave her a note when we left the bunker, but, of course, she can’t read.
He smiles halfheartedly. “I left the lantern at the top of the stairs so she’d know that no one took us by force. She won’t be worried yet.”
Yet.
I cross over to him and take his hand, squeezing it tightly. I sit on the floor next to him, seeing a tray with two plates of fried ham slices and more of the bread we ate last night, plus boiled eggs. Juda hands me a plate and silverware, and I dig in happily.
“I like your hair,” he says.
“Thank you.” My hand touches it self-consciously. I never know what to say after someone gives me a compliment. “This place is amazing. It goes on forever—rooms like this one, just on and on.” When he doesn’t respond, I say, “How’d you sleep?”
“Very well, actually, probably because I ate so much. You?”
“Fine,” I say, slicing the ham.
“And how’s your nana?”
“She’s . . . I think she’s in more pain than she’s letting on. But she’s relieved to see me.”
“Of course she is,” he says.
“She seems really happy to be here. Most of the women do,” I say. I gesture to the piles around us. “So, you’ve found some clothes that you like?”
He shrugs. “I was being polite. Most of them have holes chewed through them. Moths, I guess.” He takes a bite of toast.
Our conversation seems stiff and forced. Am I acting strange because of the discussion with Ayan, or does Juda feel awkward, too?
“What’s that smell?” he says, leaning toward me.
I stiffen. I haven’t bathed since we were in the bunker. “Uh . . .”
“Jasmine? No, more musky.”
Oh! The perfume. I must have gotten some on me. “Do you like it?” I ask. “It’s very expensive.”
“I know. I once broke a bottle of Mrs. Asher’s, and it cost me over a month’s salary.”
“So you don’t like it,” I say, feeling disappointed for some reason.
“I prefer how you smell on your own,” he says, and then blushes.
I smile. What am I supposed to say now? I like how you smell, too? The truth is, I do. I love his combination of clean, earthy scents.
“And I don’t like makeup,” he blurts.
I raise my eyebrows, surprised at the declaration.
“You asked me before,” he says, “if I wanted women to wear makeup, and I don’t. I think you look great how you are, and you don’t need anything on your face.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. “I’m sorry I was yelling at you in the Theater District. I just got upset, thinking of all those women—”
“I was raised by a single mother, remember? If it hadn’t been for my uncles . . . who knows what would have happened to us, to her.”
My mother screams at us a lot about how we could all end up on the streets, but I guess I never took her seriously. I knew she was afraid of having less money, of not being able to afford hot water or as many meat and sugar rations every year. I never thought she was afraid of being literally on the streets, but after she burned me, ensuring my engagement to Damon, she said, “You won’t be forced to sell your body.” She was trying to prevent me from ending up in the Theater District.
“Do you think your mother knows about the Laurel Society?” I say.
Tapping his egg on the side of his plate, he begins to peel away the shell. “I’ve been wondering about that. When I was little, there was a time when things were really grim, and my uncles were struggling, too. And just when we’d reached our last crumb, a neighborhood woman showed up with a basket of food. No explanation. Now I’m wondering whether she was part of the Laurel Society. If my mom knew about it, she never told me.”
I wonder if Mr. Asher had anything to do with the emergency food basket. “I think if your mother knew about the women here, she would’ve told me about them yesterday, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “She wants you to be safe. But she also wants me to be happy.” Half his mouth turns up in a cynical smile. “I wouldn’t have reacted well if she’d sent you away from me.”
I can’t imagine he’s going to react any better if he is sent away from me. I inhale deeply. “Ayan says you have to leave.”
He doesn’t respond but keeps peeling his egg.
“Say something,” I say.
“They’ve wanted me to leave since the second we arrived. I’m shocked I lasted this long.”
Cracking my own egg, I peel it, leaving tiny bits of shell sticking to the surface. “She also asked if I wanted to stay.”
He nods. “I figured that would happen, too.”
“And what did you figure I would say?”
“I wasn’t sure. I know that I want you to come with me. But if you’re not sure, and you leave, then you’ll be miserable.”
I want to be here with Nana. I know that. But why does it have to be at the price of losing him? The choice is impossible.
I pick at pieces of shell, creating small dents in my egg. He offers me his peeled one, perfectly smooth, and I take it.
“I know what I want,” he says. “I’ve had feelings for you since the first time we met, when you tried to stand up for that woman in Union Square and then made fun of me for cursing.” Smiling, he looks into my eyes. “But then when I saw you ready to charge down here, down a pitch-black staircase into who knows where, because someone you loved asked you to, I couldn’t believe how brave you were. That was when”—he
pauses, taking a breath—“I knew I loved you.”
I’m taken aback. My mother, my aunties—everyone—has told me not to expect love, that it’s dangerous, that it will ruin my life.
He says, “Do you love me?”
I stare at him. I should want to answer right away, shouldn’t I? But if I say yes, it will feel like a promise, like I’m choosing him over Nana. How can I leave her again right when I’ve found her? Or what if Nana’s right, and as soon as I pledge my love, Juda becomes a tyrant?
My tongue feels thick in my mouth. One second goes by without my answer, and then another. And another. And then I know it’s too late.
He picks up my egg, picking off the remaining shell. “You have to stay here, Mina. You won’t be happy with me.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. “I just need more time.”
He nods.
“Ayan gave me until tonight. Can’t you do the same?”
He nods again, but he still doesn’t look up.
I eat some of his egg, but my mouth has gone dry and the yolk tastes like chalk.
“You met me,” he says, smile gone, a bitter look in his eyes, “on the day of your Offering, about to be signed away to the highest bidder. Maybe I was just a way out, the only other option you could see.”
“That’s not true! Or fair!”
“Your feelings probably seemed legitimate at the time,” he says, sounding pompous, like Damon. “Don’t worry. I don’t think you used me.”
What in the name of the Prophet is he talking about? “What about you?” I ask. “What did you know about me?” A haze of anger and defensiveness clouds my vision. “Was it that Damon wanted me, too? Or just that you saw a girl in a tight dress with her breasts sticking out and had to have her?”
His confused face instantly makes me regret my words.
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