Chapter 12

The second her break starts, Tazia rushes to the end of the Yards where the killing gangs work. It’s been three years since she saw Elvan, but she recognizes his tall, broad frame from afar. She knows he’s spotted her too when his pig ripper stops mid-swing. He steps through ankle-deep blood to reach her. Wordlessly, they walk beneath the gauzy moonlight to the empty stockcars.

Elvan reaches out. Tazia holds back, though her body reawakens to the tug of his desire. He lowers his arms but moves closer and cocks his head.

Tazia hugs herself. “I’m leaving, Elvan.”

“You already left me. No need to tell me again.”

“I mean, I’m leaving Chicago. Mucha wants Gemma to work on the line, picking gristle out of the grinder. If I don’t let her, he’ll put out the word that I’m a union agitator.”

“All you gotta do is leave the plant, not the city.”

“No one else will hire me. I have to work.”

“Not if we get married.” Elvan shrugs; it’s hopeless. “So why did you come to find me?”

Tazia says she is going to Topeka. A radio announcer described it as a town in the middle of nowhere, a safe place to raise Gemma. She doesn’t add that Ayal is unlikely to look for her there. “It’s abolitionist history makes it safe for Negroes too. Doesn’t your brother live there?”

“Yes, but Denton’s already married,” Elvan jokes, “and he doesn’t sing as well as me.” He begins softly, “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free.” A break in the clouds reveals a pulsing star. Elvan’s voice expands. “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

For the first time in weeks, Tazia’s neck muscles relax. She looks up at Elvan and smiles. “I don’t want your little brother to sing to me, I just want him to help me find a job.”

“Topeka ain’t nothing like Chicago. Everyone there’s a farmer.”

“I worked on the land in Italy. It would feel good to do that again.”

“Growing wheat on flat land is different than growing olives on hills.”

“The landscape is different,” Tazia agrees, “but the backbreaking work is the same.”

Elvan gently squeezes Tazia’s upper arms. “If any woman is strong enough to do it, it’s you. I’ll write my brother tonight and tell him to expect you ... when?”

“How long does the train take to get there?” Tazia plans to leave the next day.

Elvan shakes his head. “Might as well just give you the letter to carry in person. I’ll write it when I get home and bring it to your house first thing tomorrow.”

“Wait until after seven, when Veronika goes to work.” Tazia’s neck stiffens again. How will she tell Veronika she’s going, or prepare Gemma to never see her “Auntie” again? She’ll wait until the last minute, so Veronika won’t have time to try talking her out of it. As for Gemma, let her think they’re taking the train for a day in the city. With so many new things to see and do, Gemma will soon forget Veronika. As long as she has Tazia, she’ll be fine.

“You’ll like Denton’s wife, Lula Mae. She’ll fatten up Gemma and smother you with love, but I’ll warn Denton to respect your independence. I know you won’t be beholden to anyone.”

Tazia is beholden, to Veronika. But if Elvan needs to think it’s why she turned him down, she lets it be. She takes his hand. “Elvan, you’re missing another finger!”

He chuckles. “Another mother beholden to me for saving her child. Don’t worry, I can still write that letter.”

“Can you still carve?”

Elvan looks up at the sky where the opening in the clouds is growing bigger, revealing more stars. “As long as I can sing, I can carve.”

***

“Why are you home in the middle of the night? Are you sick?” Veronika closes the bedroom door behind her and whispers, so she doesn’t wake Gemma. Tazia should tell Veronika right now that she is leaving, explain it’s to protect the child. But she can neither say the words, nor make up a lie. So, she tells a bit of truth and lets Veronika fill in the rest herself. “Mucha wanted to clean out a gristle build-up in the machine. The line should be fine when you get to work in the morning.” She pulls out a chair to sit at the table. The scraping noise is followed by Gemma, whimpering in the back room. Although Tazia hadn’t planned on waking her, the distraction is perfectly timed.

Gemma comes into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and frowning. They brace themselves for a cranky outburst. Instead, Gemma laughs to see her mother sitting in the kitchen at this strange hour. “Mama, Auntie, play!” she commands, and opens her eyes and arms wide.

Veronika should go back to sleep; her shift starts in a few hours. Meanwhile, Tazia should secretly pack and wrap food for the train, so she and Gemma can hurry off as soon as Veronika is gone. The women smile at each other, unable to resist Gemma’s giddy demand. Like mischievous children, they get out pots and pans and compete to see who can build the tallest tower. When they come crashing down, they pretend to shush them so they don’t wake up the neighbours.

At 6:00, someone knocks on the door. Tazia answers, ready to apologize for the racket. Instead, it’s Elvan, holding out the letter with his three-fingered hand. She tries to block Veronika’s view, but he fills the doorway. Gemma peeks out from behind Veronika’s skirt. “I told you to wait until seven,” Tazia snaps.

“I got called to work the day shift. Two men walked off to march with the union.” Elvan peers over Tazia’s head. “Besides, I got no reason to be afraid of your friend anymore.”

Tazia slips her fingers into the empty sockets of Elvan’s hand and gently squeezes a thank you. He kisses the top of her head. “Your daughter is beautiful.” He sighs. “Take good care of the little sparrow.” A gentle kiss, this time on Tazia’s lips, and then Elvan is gone.

Veronika follows Tazia into the bedroom and wordlessly watches her pack a battered leather satchel. The embroidered baby clothes go on the bottom. Not that Tazia will need them again, but she can’t bear to throw them out. Next, she packs the things Gemma wears now, setting aside one of her two dresses for the train. Last come her own few clothes. She feels for Ayal’s note and Elvan’s rattle hidden inside her old shawl, glad that Veronika cannot see them.

“Where?” Veronika asks.

“West.” Before closing the latch, Tazia spreads over the clothes the white receiving blanket that Veronika gave her minutes after Gemma was born. A peace offering.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get pregnant again and have a nigger baby this time.”

The words burn. Does Veronika think Tazia’s been seeing Elvan behind her back? Or is it hurt at the breakup of their family that makes her talk mean? Either way, Veronika’s anger serves its purpose. It makes it easier for them to part ways.

Veronika grabs her own clothes from the middle drawer, dresses in the kitchen, and storms out the door. Gemma, her outstretched arms anticipating Veronika’s goodbye hug, bursts into tears. Tazia kneels to console her, but her own sobs are louder than the child’s. She leads Gemma back to bed, hoping she’ll nap while she finishes packing. Instead, Gemma follows her into the kitchen, clinging and fretful. It’s just as well. She’ll sleep soundly on the train.

At last, daylight penetrates the murky windows. Tazia takes the satchel in one hand and Gemma by the other. The cat, impassive, watches them leave. From now on, Tazia will be more careful not to get close to anyone else. She can flee the Muchas in this world, but she’ll also have to protect her daughter from losing another Veronika. Or her own friends, once she starts school.

It will be hard, but Tazia knows what she must do. She will remain the most important person in Gemma’s life. As long as it is just the two of them, they can travel light. Mother and daughter walk rapidly toward the El. Thankfully, the satchel does not weigh much.