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Sopron, Hungarian-Austrian Border

 

Amira sat frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from the hand that gripped the seat in front of her. A tear rolled down her cheek then shame washed through her as she felt her bladder let loose, a steady stream of urine flowing down her legs, soaking her abaya and pooling on the floor.

“Mommy! You—”

Rima’s cry snapped her back to reality as she quickly slapped a hand over her young daughter’s mouth, silencing her. She pushed her daughters to the side of the bench seat and thanked Allah that the entire train reeked of much worse than what she had just done.

A woman sitting across from her elbowed her husband and pointed, both glaring at her. She turned her head, the shame of being caught overwhelming.

But it hadn’t been a bladder held too long that had caused this.

It had been fear.

Pure, unadulterated, fear.

For the horribly scarred hand that gripped the seat in front of her, she was certain was the same hand that had directed the tires to be fit over her husband, who had soaked her beloved in gasoline, and who had tossed the match that had set him ablaze.

A man whose face she had never seen.

Yet who had seen hers.

“Mommy, why?”

“Please, Mommy had an accident,” she hissed, trying to silence Maya now. “Just keep quiet and look out the window.”

“Take this.”

Her head spun, terror in her eyes, a young man handing her a bundled up scarf. He motioned toward the puddle on the floor and she took it, smiling shyly. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she tried to keep her face out of view of the man who was standing with his back to them.

“Throw it out the window when you are done,” said the man who then turned his back to her, blocking the view of those across from her.

They may be young, but they’re good boys.

This one reminded her of one of her students. In fact, they all did, especially after the restoration of the Caliphate, women not allowed to go to school. She had been allowed to continue teaching, it felt English would help the Islamic warriors in their battle with the infidel.

It had kept them fed.

She bent over and first used the scarf to clean herself under her robes as best she could, though it was a mostly futile effort. Dropping it on the floor, she used her foot to move it around, sopping up most of the thick yellow fluid, it clear she was dehydrated.

“Open the window for Mommy.”

Maya complied, stepping back as Amira reached down and lifted the dripping cloth, shoving it out the window. Somebody yelped farther down the train, apparently sprayed with some of the waste.

Her daughters giggled.

She hugged them both, glancing back at the young man and nodding her thanks with a smile. He said nothing, returning the acknowledgement, then continued speaking to some other men standing with him.

She returned her focus to the hand, still only inches away from her, daring a glance up the arm, to the neck, then the side of the man’s face, though from a poor angle, not even able to see his nose.

He turned.

She dropped her head fast, lifting up her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, turning in her seat and facing the window, gathering her daughters close as she felt her bladder release again, though this time, thankfully, there was nothing left.

The train jerked slightly and she sensed it begin to slow. Maya reached up and wiped the tears from her mother’s cheeks, tears she hadn’t noticed.

She smiled and kissed Maya’s forehead. “What would Mommy do without you?” Maya beamed and Rima jealously wiggled her way between the two of them. Amira hugged them both, hard, as the train came to a stop. She let those standing leave first, the hand gripping the chair in front of her gone when she dared to look.

Someone touched her shoulder.

She flinched.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry I startled you.”

She looked up at Jodee who immediately appeared concerned.

“What’s wrong? You look terrified!”

Amira quickly shook her head, saying nothing, instead getting up and urging her girls into the aisle. Sami led the way and they were soon off the train and across another border, a red and white flag flapping overhead, a flag she didn’t recognize, though they were supposed to be heading to Austria, and she knew her globe well enough to know Germany was next.

Things seemed more organized here, less frantic, perhaps because everyone knew they were close to their destination of Germany where they would finally find sanctuary. It also seemed better organized, there hundreds of people in bright yellow vests guiding the new arrivals, the families being singled out and brought into what appeared to be a tidy tent-city, the young men that had been her concern all along, redirected down a roadway.

The two families stood in the same line and eventually one of those in the bright vest reached them with two others in tow. The woman held up a piece of paper with various languages displaying what she assumed was the same message since the Arabic and English matched.

Please point at your language.

Sami pointed at the Arabic. Amira decided to try something different, perhaps her skills giving her an advantage over most of the others gathered here. She pointed at English.

The woman’s eyebrows popped. “English? Really?”

Amira nodded. “Arabic is my first language, of course, but I taught English.”

The woman’s head bounced in appreciation of her skills, turning back to the others, one handing her a clipboard with some forms attached to it, and a pencil. She passed it to Sami who took it, quickly beginning to fill out the papers. She reached back for another clipboard and handed it to Amira.

“Fill this out then take it to that line over there,” she said, pointing at a very short line.

“What about my friends?” she asked, placing a hand on Jodee’s shoulder.

“They’ll be okay, but they should stay in this line. Once you’re processed, you’ll see them again inside.”

“We’d like to stay together.” She motioned toward the tents. “In the same tent, if possible.”

The woman eyed her then pursed her lips, as if deciding whether the extra effort was worth her time. She nodded slightly. “You’ll be through first and be handed a tent assignment. Wait near the head of this line, and when your friends arrive, tell the processor the tent number you’re in, and we’ll see what we can do.”

She smiled at the woman who quickly moved on, then translated for the others.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Jodee smiled, her husband grunting as he continued with the paperwork. Amira took the girls and headed for the shorter line, then began filling out the paperwork, it not the first time she had done so, though each country seemed to have their own set of questions.

It was finally her turn and she handed over her paper to the man sitting behind a table. He quickly read through it, typing the information into a computer. “So you were a school teacher?”

“Yes. English.”

“That’s good, that’s going to help you. Not so much in Germany, but Canada, the UK and the United States are taking some refugees, and might show a preference for people who can speak the language.”

“Anywhere my children are safe.” She thought about his words. Some. Might. It all sounded so uncertain. “But what about Germany? Shouldn’t I try to get my family there, in case Canada or America say no? I thought they were taking at least a million people.”

The man nodded, hitting a button, apparently done entering the information into the computer. “Something like that, but they’re starting to wake up to the fact that that promise was idiocy.”

She stared at him, puzzled. “But why wouldn’t everyone want to help? Look at these people. Look at us! We’re innocent victims here, just trying to find someplace safe to live.”

The man looked up at her from his chair, apparently unimpressed. “Would you want a million Christians moving into your neighborhood?”

Her cheeks flushed and she cast her eyes down, ashamed at the realization he was right. She wouldn’t like it, not one bit. Not necessarily because she didn’t like Christians, but more because their ways were so different from hers. They prayed differently, on different days, at different times. Their laws and beliefs and symbols were different, their holidays simply incompatible, and it seemed, wherever they went, there was always conflict.

He was right.

And she could see the Germans perhaps feeling the same way.

“Wh-what should I do?”

He leaned forward. “Look, you’re here, you’re safe. Wait for us to find you a host country. We’ll do a security clearance on you and your children.” She stared at him, her eyes slightly wide. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about, it’s the young men we’re more interested in, they’re the ones more likely to be terrorists, not women and children like yourself.”

The mention of the word sent her pulse racing, her head swiveling to see if anyone was looking her way who shouldn’t be . These people were concerned with security, concerned with keeping terrorists out.

And these people controlled her future.

She lowered her voice, leaning over the table.

“What if I told you I know of at least two members of ISIL that were travelling with me?”