Gulnar and I shake our heads. We all lean over the board.
“Hey, what are you doing? Don’t touch that game.” The two men who have been watching the players at the other game board hurry toward us.
“We’re just looking,” Mikray says to them, but we jump to our feet. Mikray shrugs her shoulders, meets them head-on. “We think the one of you with the black pieces is in trouble.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s none of your business. How about you get out of here? You don’t belong in this neighborhood.” The men move in closer. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“We work at the factory across the highway, Hubei Work Wear. We’re with that one. The one over there buying rice,” Mikray calls out in her loudest voice, pointing. “You must know her, right? She’s shopping for our lunch.”
Everyone looks. For a moment the dyed-haired one stands frozen. Then starts to back away, bumping into the vegetable stands, the bags of rice. She turns away. Gestures to the shop owner, who brings a scoop and starts filling a bag.
The men quiz each other. “I don’t know that one. Do you?” They shrug. Go back to their gaming table. Squat beside it.
If we had a plan, it’s now changed. I turn to say something to Mikray—and she’s not there. She was right behind Gulnar and me—and now . . .
I grasp Gulnar’s hand. “Mikray’s gone!” My words come out in a choked whisper. The men don’t care, but I’m sure our spy does. “She just disappeared. I don’t see her in any of the alleys,” I whisper. Our hands are trembling. I don’t know what to do. But I know what not to do. Don’t run after her, I tell myself. You’ll get caught. Mikray is clever enough to get away.
Our spy is now paying for her purchase. “Let’s pretend we’re watching the game. The pale‑purple one will only see our backs. She might not notice right away that Mikray is missing.”
I keep stealing quick glances at the market, glad our spy doesn’t blend in. “She’s paid. Moving away from the store.” When I look again she’s at the corner. “She’s a pretty bad spy,” I say. “She’s peeking around a building as if she’s somehow hidden from our sight. No. Wait. She’s on her way over.”
Gulnar and I unclutch our hands, stare blankly at the game.
“Hi, girls,” the pale‑purple one says, coming up to us. “Having fun on your day off?”
I take a deep breath so I won’t pull every dyed strand of hair from her skull and strangle her. I smile sweetly and don’t say that standing, hungry, in a baked-clay park with my friend gone, disappeared maybe forever, is not really fun. “Let’s move away so we don’t disturb the men,” I say instead.
“So . . . wasn’t there another girl with you before?” she asks. Apparently she’s not really interested in whether or not we’re having fun.
“You mean Mikray?” I ask, still smiling.
The pale‑purple one puts her finger to her lips, chews on her nail as if trying to recall if that might be the name of the missing person. “I guess so,” she says. “I’m not really sure of her name.”
“Umm,” I say, nodding my head a little, very politely.
“Well . . . ah . . . do you know where she went?” The pale‑purple one smiles, but she’s not as good at it as I am. I think she’d like to strangle me.
“She went off to see if she could find some cheap food. She has a few yuan. We’re really hungry.” I pause. Her eyes scan the streets and paths leading into the park. I have to keep her here. Give Mikray more time.
“We saw you following us. Thought you might want to join us. Then, when you bought the rice, we hoped you lived near here—and might invite us to lunch. When Mikray comes back, we’ll have a little something to offer you in return.” I look right at her now. At her empty hands. “But I see you no longer have the rice.” I try to look disappointed. “I guess we were wrong, that it wasn’t for us.”
“Yeah, guess not,” she says with a hideous mocking laugh as she glares at us. Her eyes turn cold and mean. “You can’t protect her. We’ll find her. You can be sure of that.” She jerks her head around. Pulls out her smartphone. Takes a second to check the passageways, then takes off at a run.
Please, Allah, help Mikray escape—find her way across the border so she can be with her family.
The pangs in my heart tell me that whether she escapes or not, I’ll never see my friend again.
Twenty-Four
GULNAR AND I stand against the wall where the dyed-haired one—the informer, now so clearly identified—was minutes before. My eyes scan the pathways. To see Mikray will mean she’s been caught. To see pale-purple hair will mean our spy abandoned her search for Mikray and decided to return to Ushi with a prize: two other Uyghurs who can be accused of some crime, like trying to steal a game board from Chinese men in the park.
“Roshen?” Gulnar touches my arm.
I look at her. She expects me to make the next move.
And so does Mikray. Her voice—loud and clear—rings in my head. Wake up, poor Roshen, it is enough to sleep! she cries out to me. Mikray won’t let me forget our poet’s call. Now you have nothing, the only thing to lose is your life.
They’ve taken away my freedom, but I will not let them take from me what I hold most dear. My family. My future with Ahmat. The life we’ve chosen to live together. My hand goes to my necklace, hidden under the soft cotton of my blouse—the blouse I was wearing when he gave me the gift. I desperately want to go back to that day. I close my eyes and try to feel again the awkward touch of his fingers.
Instead, what I feel now is the tremor of Gulnar’s hand on my arm, and too quickly I’m forced back to reality. My hand covers hers. “Somehow,” I say, “you and I will find the black café. We can’t spend the rest of our day cowering in fear. Come,” I urge her, “we’ll walk in the shadows.”
We easily remember how to get to the teahouse. “If we stand at the entrance, maybe we’ll have some memory of the direction to the café.” We agree we came from the right, only that leaves us with a choice of alleys and one main street we know we didn’t use. “We’ll try each alley, see where it leads or if anything seems familiar. If not, we’ll come back and start over.”
Finally we find a square we remember, and again must choose among several alleys. “Are we lost?” Gulnar asks. “The café seemed so close to the teashop when we were with Mikray.”
“I hope not,” I say. Again we go pathway by pathway, until at last we see the green curtain. A child’s toy cart is still parked near the entrance. Next to it is a motorcycle.
With a nod to each other, we part the green curtain and enter. The same man as before stands behind a table cluttered with an old computer and computer parts. For a moment his face freezes.
“Your computer isn’t ready yet,” he says too loudly. “Come back in two hours.” Noises from the back room grow louder and nearer as his hands slice the air, gesturing toward the door.
We turn. Run. Go down the nearest alley. Then into a small alley leading off from that. Laundry dangles from clotheslines strung over our heads. Bicycles, kids’ toys, construction debris litter the path. We stop when we find a large sheet hung out to dry from a second-story window.
“Let’s stay here,” I say. The sheet offers some protection as we paste our bodies against the wall. Two children, squatting nearby, stop digging in the dirt with sticks and look at us, then go on with their play. “I think we’re all right. No one seems to be following us.” I look at Gulnar, whose face is ashen white. “What do you think happened back there?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. I don’t tell her that I think Mikray and the young man from the factory might be involved in the commotion. I pray that it isn’t so. The call made by Quin Fong could have released a network of spies who might know exactly where we are now.
Suddenly I don’t even care. I sink to the ground, so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. “Check the sun, Gulnar. Let me know when two hours are up. I hope by then I’m brave enough to go back to the
café.” I hear my own words. I’ve spoken to her in Mandarin! Tears water my cheeks. They’ve caged my body. Now my mind, too?
Gulnar shakes my arm. When I open my eyes, I know from the length of the shadows that more than two hours has passed. There are more children playing in the street. A few glance over when I start to move.
“It’s all right,” Gulnar says. “They’re our friends. We’ve been singing songs together, very quietly so we wouldn’t wake you. I told them we were resting after a long journey and found it peaceful here in their neighborhood. A couple of their parents came by to check and seemed to judge us harmless. They brought us water.” Gulnar unscrews a cap and hands a bottle to me. I gulp it down greedily, not realizing how thirsty I am. The children watch, giggle when I wipe the dribble from my chin.
The children follow us to the end of the short alley. Gulnar’s finger goes to her lips to keep them from calling loud goodbyes as we walk away through the maze of alleys that lead to the green curtain.
The motorcycle is no longer beside the toy cart. We stand outside for a moment. Listen. It’s quiet. We part the curtain.
The computer man greets us as if he’s seeing us for the first time. We give him our few yuan and he leads us through the doors to the back room. I wonder why I trust him. This could be a trap set up by Ushi. There’s no escape. No window. No back door.
The sweat that trickles down my body and stains my blouse is from fear as well as the heat of the airless room. Still, I go to the computer and quickly key in the password. If I can just read a few of Ahmat’s messages, send him a few of the words that flood my mind before I’m caught.
His messages no longer fill the screen. They’re short. Desperate. Attempts to be clever—to disguise our messages in familiar lines from poems, in metaphors of wind and water—are gone. Wind? becomes Are you all right? You must tell me! He knew the meaning of the fragmented line of poetry I sent him. He knows my despair.
I can’t let that be. Has he already gone to the cadre to find out where I am? I’ve not told him. He must never know. Has he gone to Father? Will they try to come and find me?
I gasp. I need more air to clear my head. I didn’t mean to get Father and Ahmat in trouble. If Father complains and tries to bring me home, the cadre will take our land. Or worse. He and Ahmat could disappear as Mikray’s father did, and Gulnar’s fiancé.
I pull in short, quick breaths. Force my fingers to the keys.
All is well, I write. Please don’t worry. It’s nothing but work, work, work. We’ve been so busy, but what we’re doing is very important. We have been making fire-retardant work clothes for men who are in harm’s way on their jobs. Most of my time off I must sleep and take care of myself. Today is a full day of rest and I am able to send word. Please let my family know I’m all right.
My heart still pounds as my shaky hands hover over the keyboard, waiting for me to think up the next lie.
I add a truth. The girls I am with offer great comfort to me. Then I quickly search Ahmat’s messages again. He says that the crops on the farm are good this summer. I write how wonderful this is and that I can almost taste a delicious fresh carrot from our garden.
Then, because I fear my time is almost up, I write again. Please don’t worry. Please, please don’t worry. Then I add, I miss everyone, very much. I especially miss you. I wear my reddish-orange blouse today, and remember.
Truth and falsehood intertwine. I add another. All is well. I’ll send word whenever I can. And I know it might be impossible to get here again. Hidden cameras. Spies. Too many troubling things are happening. Why did I trust the computer man? He has no reason to be kind to us. Again my breath comes in short, uneven gasps. Air. I need air. I sign off. I must get out of here while I can still move and think about what to do. Gulnar is bent over the keyboard. I tap her shoulder and point to the door.
Gulnar holds up her hand. “Not yet,” she whispers. “I need another minute.”
She won’t leave, but I go. The computer man isn’t in his workroom. I peek around the curtain. He’s two meters away, talking to someone on a motorcycle. The factory boy, Chen. Was he a false friend to Mikray? A spy for Ushi who helped to get Mikray in trouble so she’d be arrested? Has Mikray already been captured and Chen sent to track us down because we’re in this illegal place? Because we’re Mikray’s friends?
I inch back into the dim light of the computer room and stand against the wall. No one notices. They’re alone with their machines. I have time to think, but tight bands around my head make me dizzy. There’s no escape. I know that. I can’t run as Mikray did. If I could, where would I go? Home?
I grasp my jade necklace. I won’t let go of it no matter what they do with me.
It seems forever before the computer man comes into the room and beckons me. He taps Gulnar on the shoulder. We follow him out of the room.
“Thank you for coming,” he says in a calm, pleasant voice. He parts the curtain for us. There is no motorcycle, no factory boy outside.
Something is being put into my hand. I clasp my fingers around it.
I can’t keep from looking at the man who gave me the paper.
He gives a tiny nod. Shoos us away.
I grab Gulnar’s arm and lead her around a corner to a narrow alley. I open my palm. A tiny piece of paper is wrapped inside a yuan note. I open the paper.
Remember this before you swallow it. Hotan dates and nuts. Local bus #56 north down the main road to Taikang Lu, walk 2 blocks west past Hankou Clothing, then . . .
Mikray has told us how to reach the Uyghur man who can help if we need to escape.
Twenty-Five
“YOU LEFT HERE with Mikray. Where is she now?” Ushi grabs Gulnar and me the minute we walk through the door and marches us up the stairs to her office, shouting loud enough for everyone in the factory to hear. “Did she run off?”
I tell myself to be calm. Mikray would be proud if I stay composed and sweet. I must remember my secret weapon.
I bow my head slightly so I don’t have to look directly at her. “We were hoping you might know.” I pause.
Ushi tightens her grip on my arm.
“You see . . . a girl from the factory . . . the one with the purple hair . . . she was at the same park where we were. She was buying rice and we thought, I guess we really hoped, that she lived in the neighborhood and might invite us to lunch. She’d been so good to Hawa and her friends, we thought maybe she’d do something nice for us.” I’m talking faster and faster as Ushi’s face gets red and seems about to burst.
“Mikray had a few yuan. She went off to see if she could find something to offer in return . . . in case we were asked. Then the girl followed Mikray. We thought she was going after her.” I shake my head slowly. “We waited and waited, but neither of them came back. We hoped they might be here at the factory.” I lift my head now to look into Ushi’s eyes. I try to have a tear roll down my face, but I can’t make it happen. “Has the Chinese girl returned? Or are they both lost?” I furrow my brow in an effort to match my pathetic voice.
“You’re useless,” Ushi says, dropping my arm, pushing me away. “Sit. Until you remember where she’s gone.”
She turns to Gulnar. Drags her under the light. “How about you? What did you do all day?”
Gulnar, who spends countless hours with no expression on her face as she embroiders her endless tapestry, leaves her face blank. “I do not speak good Mandarin,” she replies, her voice as emotionless as her face. She has answered in perfect Mandarin, far superior to Ushi’s.
Ushi raises her hand above her head and slaps Gulnar across the face, almost knocking her off her feet.
I rush to her.
“Leave her alone,” Ushi orders.
I fall back. Muscles taut. Eyes flaring before I remember to be sweet. “Please,” I plead, “let me interpret for her. I’m certain she’ll tell you all she knows.”
“Aaaah,” Ushi snarls. “You’re both useless.” She stomps to an inside door. Opens i
t. “Come on in,” she says.
Quin Fong and Chen walk into the room.
I clutch the back of the chair. I was certain it was Chen who brought Mikray’s note to me at the café. Gave it to the computer man to pass on—but he really is Ushi’s spy!
You trusted him, Mikray. So I did too! The words seethe in my brain as I look at the traitor. He must know exactly where Mikray is. Ushi must know. And they’ve trapped us. They’ll make me tell what was in the note. Maybe they already know and think we’re trying to escape. Now three Uyghur girls will be sent for reeducation or to jail or wherever they send you so you’re never heard from again.
“We’ll just stand here until one of you comes up with a good idea of where she’s hiding,” Ushi announces.
I draw in a quick breath. Ushi turns toward me, but by then my mouth is closed. I try to absorb this new information without looking too confused. I can’t keep myself from stealing a glance at the motorcycle boy. He slouches, arms folded across his chest. Looks bored.
“We know she didn’t leave town.” Ushi spits out the words as if the very thought of Mikray disgusts her. “Every policeman around here is looking for her. Her brother and mother are missing. The authorities are not going to let her get away.”
“If the police haven’t found her yet, how were we supposed to?” motorcycle boy asks.
“It was up to you to trail her,” the pale‑purple‑haired one says. “I called you the minute she disappeared.”
She’s lying. She walked into the park to talk to Gulnar and me before she made a phone call. She’s a bad spy and is blaming Chen.
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