Truth

It feels as if time has frozen. We stare at each other but my mother’s face is blank, impossible to read, the only movement caused by the flickering candlelight.

“There are many things I haven’t told you, Shif. But I can see that I have no choice but to tell you now.”

I sit. Not next to her, but close enough that her words won’t wake Lemlem.

She pauses. “Your father was a lecturer at the university.” She momentarily closes her eyes. “He was brilliantly clever. At school he was always top of his class, but there was only ever one thing he wanted to do. He wanted to be a teacher. After military school he started teaching at the university. The kids loved him, and he was very popular with the other staff. Your father always made people feel they could be themselves around him, because that’s the way he was around other people.” She pauses again. “One day there was a meeting between the teachers and some government officials. They told the teachers that they wanted to know what the government could do to improve teaching standards. Your father suggested that they could be paid more. A man sitting at the back of the meeting asked your father to come outside into the corridor for a moment. No one saw your father again.”

“Who was the man?” I ask.

“The man worked for the government. They tricked your father. They tricked everyone in that room. They didn’t want to know about how to improve lives for teachers. They wanted to know if there were any teachers at the school who would criticize the government.”

“But he only asked if they could get paid more.”

“The government pays teachers’ wages.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Then you could accidentally criticize them about anything. Without even knowing you’d done it.”

“Now you’re beginning to understand.”

“Why take him away? Why not just tell him to be happy with what he’s paid?”

“The government had to be sure your father wouldn’t make anyone else feel the same. They wanted to make an example of him.”

“Make an example of him? But everyone thinks he’s dead.”

“His friends don’t know what happened to him. And that frightens them more.”

“So if Dad isn’t dead, then where is he?” I can feel hot tears pooling in my eyes.

“There are camps where they send people like Dad. No one knows where they are and no one can visit. Your father cannot leave. He may never leave. I don’t know for sure that he is still okay after six years in prison. That’s why I told you he’s dead.”

I feel as if Dad is dying all over again.

“Shif, I didn’t tell you these things because not knowing them is safer for you. But I’m learning that you are just like your father. You’re not happy with answering questions—you must ask them, too. But for your safety—for our safety—you must understand that you can’t.”

Lemlem begins to stir.

I wait for a minute, then do exactly what she asked me not to do. “How can this be connected to Bini not going to school?” I ask.

Lemlem opens her eyes.

“Shhh, shhh,” Mom soothes her. “It’s time you went to bed,” she whispers to me. “We’ve talked enough tonight. We’ll talk again tomorrow evening. We’ll talk every evening until I’ve told you everything. I think you realize, Shif, that you must tell no one what I’ve said tonight.”

I lie awake on my hard bed, listening to Lemlem and Mom softly snoring. Everything is as it was last night. But I feel as if a new life has begun tonight. A life with no secrets. As I stare up at the shadowy ceiling, I wonder what Dad is doing now, what kind of room he is sleeping in.

I remember Dad coming home from work one day with a present wrapped in a cloth. My chess set. I step softly toward the cupboard and slide it out. I lay it on my bed and take out the pieces. I look at them, as if I expect them to reveal more. Instead, I feel as if each piece is a connection to my father. They have an energy. My father is alive.

I will not stop asking questions until I know everything. If Mom is right about the dangers that brings, then she will have to keep her promise and tell me herself. Then there will be no need for me to ask other people what is going on.

For the first time ever, I will already know.