Luck, Ahmed felt, was with them. With minutes to spare, they’d caught the last train of the night from Vienna to Budapest and had even found seats together in the second car. In just two and a half hours, they would arrive in the Hungarian capital. But now, as he sat next to Max, he knew that this luck had a name—Albert Jonnart—and that it wasn’t just luck, but kindness. He thought about the boy, Ralph, who had lost both his parents, who’d had to start life over after the war. Ahmed knew he must have been wracked by guilt and despair, just as Ahmed himself had been. Ahmed hoped Ralph had found peace.
There was nothing to look at anymore—the world outside the illuminated train car was dark and seamless. Borders and boundaries were invisible now, and across them Ahmed imagined the flow of millions of feelings: of hope and longing and love. He thought of his mother, of Jasmine and Nouri. Perhaps death was just another border, a line his body couldn’t cross but that his heart kept slipping over.
The train slowed down, distracting him from his thoughts. Max noticed as well and looked up from his book.
“The border?”
Ahmed looked at his watch. It had been forty-five minutes since the train had pulled out of the station in Vienna. He remembered that the Hungarian border was not very far.
“I think.”
The train pulled up to a deserted platform and idled there.
“What are we waiting for?” Max whispered.
“I do not know.”
Ahmed shifted in his seat, his hands clammy. Last August, as he’d held Bana on his lap, stuffed onto a train full of refugees heading in the opposite direction, he’d sworn he would never step foot into Hungary ever again. He remembered how the police had pushed men carrying children, detained families for hours without water and later thrown bags of food at their faces. The message had been clear: that they were pests, animals, not people. But then he thought about how his father had leapt into the sea to save him.
“Look,” Max whispered, pointing out the window at a group of uniformed conductors walking down the platform. “I think they’re switching the crew.”
A few minutes later, there was an announcement in Hungarian and German. Ahmed understood neither language, only the German word willkommen, which meant welcome. He knew he wasn’t welcome in Hungary no matter what the conductor said, but at least he and Baba were finally in the same country. The train jerked forward.
“I guess that was just a normal stop,” Max whispered.
“Yes,” Ahmed agreed. But nothing seemed normal now that they were in Hungary. Every noise, every shadow, every station seemed to pose a threat.
Max checked Ahmed’s watch.
“I don’t know how late the local trains run. We may have to stay in Budapest tonight, then take the first train to Kiskunhalas in the morning. The detention center is less than three kilometers from the train station, so we can just walk there.”
Ahmed shuddered at the memory of being marooned in Keleti, the Budapest train station. There hadn’t been enough trains for all the refugees, so they’d camped out on the platforms with hundreds of others. He remembered hearing that mothers were bathing their children in the bathroom sinks and that smugglers offered taxi rides to the border in exchange for people’s life savings. He remembered seeing the desperate crowd—even old people and pregnant women—rushing the trains when they arrived. But at least Ahmed had explored the station in his search for water and food and knew it well. “I spend two days in this train station the last summer. I know places to hide up to morning.”
Max smiled. “I’m not worried. If there’s anyone who’s good at hiding, it’s you.”
Ahmed found himself on the verge of laughter, the silly kind that strikes during a nervous time. “This is my great talent.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Max said. “You’re also good at running.”
“Ha,” Ahmed said.
But before he could think up a better comeback, the door to their car opened. A conductor in a blue uniform and cap with a black purse slung over his shoulder strode in and started checking tickets.
“They already did this,” Max whispered.
“In Austria,” Ahmed whispered back. “They must do again in Hungary.”
As the conductor neared them, Ahmed shrank down in his seat and stared out the window. He didn’t even look when Max handed the man their tickets, hoping the conductor would just peer at the tickets and ignore him, as the Austrian conductor had done. But he could hear the conductor address Max in Hungarian.
“English?” he heard Max ask.
“Where are you coming from?” the conductor said.
“Vienna.”
“Alone? Without parents?”
Ahmed didn’t like the question, but it was nighttime now, and traveling alone seemed more suspicious.
“We’re going on a Scout exchange,” Max said.
“You and—”
“My friend.”
Ahmed turned and smiled as pleasantly as he could. The conductor stared at him.
“You have ID?”
Without a word, Ahmed handed the conductor his Belgian ID. He barely glanced at it.
“Passport?”
“He doesn’t need a passport,” Max said. “He’s traveling within the European Union.”
“Are you his lawyer?” the conductor snapped.
“No, but—”
“I have passport,” Ahmed cut in, holding up the forgery.
The conductor glanced at the eagle and shield emblazoned on the front, then waved it away. “Is someone meeting you in Budapest?”
“Yes,” Max said. “Our scout leader.”
The conductor nodded and handed back their tickets, then continued down the aisle.
“He not like us,” Ahmed whispered as soon as he was out of earshot.
“But he didn’t stop us either,” Max said. “He just wanted to give us a hard time.”
Ahmed elbowed him to be quiet. The conductor was walking back past them to the front of the car. Ahmed noticed him glancing in their direction before the door shut behind him.
“I hope you are right.”
The train slowed down, stopped at a station. The doors sprang open, and Ahmed had a sudden urge to grab Max’s hand and run out. But this was the last train of the night, and he had no idea where they were.
The doors closed and the train pulled away. Seconds ticked into minutes. The lights in the train flickered, then the ring of a mobile phone pierced the silence, startling Ahmed. An announcement crackled over the intercom; some passengers started packing up their computers and fetching jackets and bags from the overhead rack. They were approaching the next station.
The train slowed and people moved into the aisles, anticipating the stop. Ahmed watched them open the door and move into the vestibule.
All of a sudden, the line jammed and people backed up. The conductor pushed past them through the door and pointed in Max and Ahmed’s direction. Behind him, Ahmed saw the crimson beret of a Hungarian police officer.
Ahmed jumped to his feet and pushed Max into the aisle.
“Back, go back!”
Max gave a quick glance behind him, then turned around and ran. Ahmed grabbed their bags and raced after him.
“Stop!” voices shouted.
But Ahmed kept running. At the end of the car, he reached around Max and slammed his palm against the electric panel that opened the door. The door flew open and they scrambled into a packed vestibule. Ahmed’s first thought was that they would be trapped here, but Max was small enough to slip through the gaps between people, and Ahmed elbowed his way after him. They sprinted into the next car, weaving around the passengers blocking the aisles. Ahmed glanced behind him and saw that it wasn’t so easy for the officer and conductor, who were larger and needed more room to pass.
“How do we get off?” Max asked as they shoved their way across the next vestibule.
“Station soon. Just keep going!”
The train was continuing to slow down. But what if they reached the last car before the train reached the station?
Ahmed glanced out the window. There was the beginning of a platform, yellow station lights, a long, rectangular building that he guessed was a station. The train was creeping now. They could stay ahead of the police; they just needed a few more cars. But an overweight man completely blocked the next aisle.
“Seats!” Ahmed said.
They vaulted over the empty seats on either side of the man, then continued to run. Ahmed could hear the police officer shouting, presumably for the man to move. The train inched forward. Any moment it would stop and the doors would open. Outside, it was dark; they could find someplace to hide.
But just as he was thinking this, Max stopped short and Ahmed nearly crashed into him.
Ahmed didn’t have to ask what the matter was. He just looked up. The door at the end of the car was marked with a large red circle with a white line cutting through the middle. It was an international symbol, one Ahmed knew well, one that seemed to symbolize his entire life: No Entry.