by Ellen Wiles
How could he break the news of this letter to Gebre? Or to Melat? Or Nina? How could he put a positive spin on things this time? He felt strangely compelled to jump down to that beach, swim out into the brown water, and let it wash him down to the open sea.
‘Most people got no time for reflecting in this city, have they?’ the tramp mused. ‘Too busy, too caught up in their own business, their phones and whatnot.’
Behind them came the sound of a folk soundtrack and a scraping violin. Yonas turned to see where it was coming from, thinking of Emil and his late-night fiddle practice. But it was a fresh-faced boy in a tie-dye shirt with a stereo. He had his instrument case open in front of him and was sawing away, grinning eagerly at passersby.
The tramp winked at Yonas, reached down to one of his plastic bags, pulled out a tin whistle, and started playing a squeaky song of his own. It clashed with the folk tune. The violinist frowned, but carried on playing.
‘Come on, sing along with me.’ The tramp clapped and gestured to Yonas, wheezing with laughter. ‘Oh when the saints. You must know it.’
Yonas laughed a little and shook his head. ‘Sorry. But maybe you and that violin player should start a band together,’ he said as he got up and walked away.
That tramp probably had the right idea though, Yonas thought. If you don’t have power, then mess about, playfully disrupt, find reasons to laugh. But when things really got tough, cracking a joke was easier said than done. It was all right for the tramp – whatever he had been through, he would never have to fear being deported out of this country with all its human rights lawyers and hostels for the homeless and buses with soft, furry seats. Yonas stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and felt his wooden rooster lying on its seam. He slowed his pace so he could fish it out for a second, looked at it, then replaced it. No: he wouldn’t give up just yet. He must be able to come up with a new plan that would get him and Gebre through this. He’d always managed before.
Three skateboarders in a concrete cavern under the Southbank Centre made him stop in his tracks for a moment and watch – teenage boys with skinny legs in baggy jeans and scraggy hair, shooting up ramps, spinning off their peaks, turning in circles in the air and flying as free as birds, before clattering to the concrete floor.
Chapter 25: Clara
STRUGGLING SCHOOLS ‘SWAMPED WITH ASYLUM SEEKERS’
Babyccino! Can I have chocolate sprinkles? Can you make it so you can’t see the foam because there’s so much chocolate everywhere?
I wish Yonas would come back. The last time I saw him he came to babysit me so Mummy and Ganna could go out to a film but he was late so they were cross. I was even more cross because I wanted to play with him and not them, especially because they were cross. But then he came!
We played all the best games, the puppet game, the monster game, the copying game, hide and seek and the tickling game. Then he gave me dinner, and when I said I didn’t want any more he fed me like an aeroplane, and we made up stories about the two sausages on my plate. They were best friends, and one was getting eaten up by a scary monster – that was me.
He’s good at stories. He does all the voices. Daddy is good too but he reads faster, and the stories sound a bit the same. Once we met Yonas, we didn’t live with Daddy any more.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I crept downstairs. Yonas was writing something on a piece of paper in the kitchen. I said in my saddest, scaredest, smallest voice, ‘Yonas, I had a nightmare, there were monsters.’ (I didn’t have a nightmare really!)
He did a sigh, but he said okay, he would read me one more story with no monsters in it.
We went upstairs, and I was trying to think what book I wanted Yonas to read, when he said he would tell me a story without a book.
He took the wooden lion off my ark and held it on his knee. Then he took something out of his pocket and held it on his other knee.
‘What’s that?’ I asked him, sitting up.
‘It’s my rooster. Want to hold it? My grandfather made it for me when I was about your age.’
I took it. I liked it. It was made of wood as well, but it looked old – my lion was better. ‘Cockadoodledooooo!’ I said, and he said that was even better than a real rooster could do, and he should know, his family used to have one in their garden. Then he started telling me the story, holding my lion in one hand, and making it walk up and down my bed.
‘There was once a beautiful lion who lived in a cave in the mountains. She was the most golden, smooth and shiny lion you could ever imagine. She had lovely green eyes like fresh grass. Even her paws were elegant. But hidden inside her paws she had sharp claws. One day the lion gave birth to a cub and became a lion mummy. She loved her cub more than anything. Inside the cave she built her cub a bed out of doves’ feathers, and it was the softest bed in the world.
‘The lion mummy had to move to a different cave because she wasn’t happy living in the same cave as the cub’s daddy. She used her sharp claws to fight off anyone who came past the cave who might put her cub in danger. She fought off giraffes, and hyenas, and even a giant rhino, as big as a bus. But she could not stay in the cave to look after the little cub all the time because she had to go out to get them both food.
‘So one day, after she had hunted, she came back to her cave and was shocked to find a stranger inside. It was a rooster!’
‘Like your rooster?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but this rooster had a bright red crown on his head and a flappy beard hanging from his beak. He had a golden chest and blue feathers in his tail the colour of the sea. He was saying… now, I need your help, what does a rooster say?’
‘Cockadoodledoo!’ I said.
‘Exactly. And the lion mummy thought that the rooster was attacking her cub. She was filled with a terrible anger. She gave a snarl so loud that the walls of her cave shook. She crouched down low, and she was about to pounce. But just then, the cub jumped out of her bed. Mummy, stop! she said. He was just playing.
‘The lion mummy put her head on one side. She was not sure if this could be true. What do you think the rooster said?’
‘Cockadoodledoo!’ I said again.
‘Exactly. And the lion cub said, Mummy, now rooster can look after me while you go to hunt for food! The lion mummy didn’t think the rooster would be much good at that. He couldn’t even roar. But she agreed.
‘And for a while they were all very happy. The lion mummy liked having somebody else to play with her cub, and she was even having fun playing with the rooster herself. Sometimes the rooster would pretend to be a lion and would crouch and squawk as much like a roar as he could. Sometimes the lion mummy would pretend to be a rhino and would walk around slowly on three paws with one paw sticking up above her head.
‘But then, after a while, the other lions who lived in the same colony found out that the rooster was living there and that he’d been looking after the lion cub. Roosters aren’t allowed to live here! they told the lion mummy. And one day they found the rooster when he was on his own, stood in a circle around him, and told him he would have to leave, today, or they would put him in a cage. The rooster didn’t want to be in a cage or leave the lion mummy and the cub behind, but he thought maybe they would be better off without him anyway. And then – to his surprise – the rooster got a message from an old friend of his: another rooster! I’ve come to the lion colony too, he said, but they put me in a cage and I’m scared. Can you come and rescue me, so we can go on an adventure?
‘The rooster knew he had to help his friend escape from the cage before he was put in one too. But he loved the cub and wanted to play with her one more time. He would make it the best play they had ever had, so that the cub would remember how much fun they’d had together, and then he would run away with his rooster friend, and the lion mummy and the cub could carry on just like they had been doing before.
‘They had a brilliant playtime, and then the cub went to sleep. She was a bit sad when she woke up and realized that the rooster had gone. Sh
e missed their games. But soon she made lots of other lion cub friends. Sometimes she would remember the rooster with that crown on his head and that flappy beard hanging off his face and those big blue feathers in his tail and she would smile and laugh. It was her own secret story which she stored inside her heart all her life, even until she was an old lion with her own cubs. And when her own cubs started asking her for stories, can you guess the first story she told them?’
‘The rooster story?’
‘That’s right.’ Then Yonas picked up his wooden rooster and put it back in his pocket.
I grabbed his arm. ‘What about the rooster? Where did he go?’
‘Ah, that’s another story.’
‘Tell me that one!’ I didn’t want him to stop, but it was hard to keep my eyes open.
‘It’s time to sleep now.’ Yonas kissed my head and walked out of the room.
The next day, Mummy and Ganna got really upset in the kitchen because they didn’t know where he’d gone, and they were even crying, and that made me scared because I hate it when Mummy cries, and I’ve never seen Ganna cry – I thought she was too old. So I crept upstairs, and played with my ark quietly for a little bit, and thought about my new secret story.
Chapter 26: Yonas
ASYLUM SEEKER SEWS UP FACE
Yonas walked to the detention centre fast, purposefully, trying to generate positive energy through the movement of legs and arms, while his mind ground with the effort of finding the right words to break his news to Gebre, words that wouldn’t send his friend over the edge. By the way, I have an appeal date now, and it’s coming up pretty soon actually… Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you I got a refusal letter a few months ago? Sorry, I thought I’d mentioned it! It is no big deal though – most people get refused initially. Veata thinks I have a good chance! But he suspected Gebre wouldn’t buy a word of it. That said, he had been surprised by Melat’s reaction when he belatedly told her on the phone about his appeal a few days earlier, having led her on to think he was on track for ILR any day. She said she wasn’t worried for herself and the family so much as cross at him for keeping the truth from her. But then, she was always more resilient than Gebre.
Each time he’d been to visit the detention centre so far, Gebre had seemed more depressed, less communicative, harder to reach. Yonas knew he was the only person in the world who could keep his friend afloat now, but that wouldn’t happen if he allowed himself to descend into panic at his own situation. And yet panic churned at the thought of an immigration judge telling him firmly that his time in the UK was up – that his life was up. He kept telling Nina he was feeling okay about his appeal, that Veata had done her best and what would be would be – but the truth was he hadn’t been sleeping properly since he got the hearing notice. Nina could tell he was more worried than he was letting on, he knew. And by now he could quickly recognize the expression on her face when she was battling not to express her own worries to him.
When Yonas was led through to the visiting room, he saw the crown of Gebre’s head, which was hanging down, as if the muscles in his neck had given up the ghost. ‘How are you doing, my friend?’ Yonas said. ‘It’s good to see you…’ But he faltered as Gebre’s face lifted, and he saw the deep black tunnel eyes, the freshly bandaged arms. Yonas persisted with small talk, but got no meaningful response. Just as he was about to toss in a light mention of his appeal hearing, Gebre said, ‘I got refused.’
‘Refused? You mean, a Home Office letter?’ Yonas asked, feeling a wash of guilt that he hadn’t mentioned his own earlier. Gebre would realize this as soon as he heard about the appeal date. He would be hurt, and doubly depressed. ‘Oh, sorry to hear that,’ Yonas said. ‘I got one too, actually. But Veata is already working on the appeal…’ Gebre didn’t seem to be listening though. He’d let his head slide right down onto his bandaged arms on the table. ‘Hey, don’t get too down,’ Yonas pleaded. ‘We expected a refusal the first time round, right? It’s normal.’
Gebre half looked up. ‘You don’t know what they wrote in my letter,’ he said. ‘They are never letting me out of here unless I agree to leave the country. Never.’
Yonas reached over and put his hand on Gebre’s shoulder. ‘It is just the initial letter, remember – and they are making themselves sound tough. We can’t let them intimidate us; we’ve got to focus on our appeals. We will get there in the end –you’ll be out of here, and we’ll explore London together like we planned. There is so much I can show you…’ He tried to lift Gebre’s head so he could meet his eyes, but Gebre suddenly pushed his chair back.
‘Get off me,’ he said. ‘Stop lying!’ A few people looked round. ‘You are trying to make me feel better, but I am not stupid – it is not fine, I know it is not fine, and nothing you say can make it fine, and nothing is going to get me out of this fucking prison except death.’ Gebre’s veins bulged out of his thin neck.
Yonas was scrabbling for the right words when the guard came over, told him the meeting was over, and led Gebre away.
That night, Yonas stayed up in the living room, waiting for Emil to get home. He wanted more than anything to talk, to finally confide in Emil about exactly how bad a state Gebre was in, to ask if he would please visit Gebre, to try to give him some hope, at least about living life in London as a gay immigrant man. Yonas also needed to talk to Emil about the consequences if his own appeal were rejected. Could he could stay on in the squat? Where else could he go – what would he do? But time ticked on. Emil was clearly out late, and would probably stay out all night, but Yonas made himself a cup of tea, just in case.
Back on the sofa, he was just finishing the dregs when he got a text from Nina, hoping the visit had gone well. He knew he should be talking more to her about all this. They were still acting like a secret couple, whenever they snatched moments alone, and he relished that time – he wanted it to be as pleasurable as possible, not bogged down by his plight, so he had largely kept his fears from her. He had felt himself getting drawn into her orbit, and he could see how comfortable she had become with him now too, trusting enough to let him look after Clara, whom he was growing fond of, and whose energy was infectious. Nina asked so often about his case, anyone listening to their conversations could be forgiven for thinking she cared about it more than him. She had become so exercised about the wider system he was caught up in that she’d started volunteering at the Refugee Council, like Molly, and was even planning to organize an art auction to raise money for them. But the more their mutual attachment deepened, the warier he became of it – it only made the prospect of getting deported after all more terrifying. His appeal date was now only a week away, and the deafening tick of the clock in his head made his time with Nina seem all the more implausible, impermanent, fleeting. What was the point in connecting with her any more deeply? What could she possibly understand about him, really?
He thought of Gebre sitting in his cell, colouring white paper in black, fuming over his refusal letter, probably scheming ways to procure breakable objects he could cut himself with, and started to feel more than ever like he related to his friend’s despair, and how tempting it would be to succumb, to give up.
He went to bed, eventually, but couldn’t sleep a wink. Even his breath felt shallow, constricted, like he was taking in air through a thin straw. He tried to get up and read a book, but couldn’t concentrate, then found he was gnawing on his knuckles, and felt his remaining confidence slipping away, through the thin curtains and out into the night air. His life in the UK had peaked, and now was slipping down, irrevocably. At his appeal hearing he would be forced to humiliate himself yet again, to face yet more aggressive questioning about his story, now not just in a suffocating boxroom, but in a public tribunal with Nina and everybody watching, only to be spat out of the asylum machine for ever at the end of it, alone. Why should he let this system process him like this, as if he were a bit of food waste, like one of those hundreds of reject sandwiches from the supermarket, thrown out into a big skip at the end of
the day because there were too many, even though they were still just as good as all the rest?
The next morning, feeling slightly crazed from lack of sleep, Yonas drank three strong cups of coffee, then set out to visit Gebre again, this time with a new mission. He was going to find a loophole for them to escape again, together this time. He had no idea what the loophole would look like, but he was sure he would spot it if he kept his eyes open. Just like he did in the prison that was actually called a prison. It would be harder to find here, but the risks were lower, and the stakes just as high.
As he submitted to the security checks, he made a mental list of every door, every key object he could see, numbers of staff, cameras. Nothing came to mind yet. But it would.
When he finally got through and sat down in the waiting room, he was surprised to be called up to reception, and led by a guard down a corridor into a private room. ‘I’m afraid Gebre is unwell today,’ the guard told him, her face impassive. ‘You will have to come back another day.’
‘What is wrong with him?’
‘I am unable to give out that information. But he should be able to receive visitors again in a few days’ time.’ She was making it sound as if Gebre had a mild cold, only to be expected.
‘He’s been cutting himself again, hasn’t he?’ Yonas said, hardly able to control his voice. ‘Why are you keeping him in here? He shouldn’t be here! You have to let me see him.’
‘Please calm down, sir. I can’t let you see him, I’m afraid. But he is being well looked after, rest assured.’
‘Then what is wrong with him?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be better soon, sir.’
Loophole, come on, Yonas muttered furiously to himself on his way out. There had to be a way.