I don’t know what time it is or what woke me. It’s dark, and I can hear Mom and Lemlem breathing steadily beside me.
I hear feet moving on the gravel outside, then a knock at the door. Silence. Then loud hammering at the door.
Lemlem cries out, and Mom picks her up and moves to the back of the room.
“Who is it?” she calls calmly, while motioning to me to keep quiet.
“Where’s your son?” replies the voice.
“He’s in the hospital,” Mom answers.
“Which hospital?” the voice asks.
She pauses.
There’s the sound of something heavy hitting the door, which moves in its frame. Lemlem screams. Another bang, and the door swings open, smashing against the wall. An oblong of moonlight fills the floor.
Two soldiers in pale-green uniforms enter, standing still for a heartbeat while their eyes adjust to the gloom. Their eyes fix on me and they cross the room in what seems like no more than two steps.
“Put on your shoes. Your military service starts tomorrow.”
“But I’m only fourteen,” I hear myself saying.
“Put on your shoes,” repeats the soldier closer to me.
His eyes move to the bag at the bottom of my bed. He looks inside it: clothes, food, water.
“For school tomorrow,” my mother says.
“He takes spare clothes to school? And a chess set? Were you planning on going somewhere?” the soldier asks me.
“No,” I reply, realizing immediately that I should say nothing.
The soldier nearer the door takes out his phone and goes outside to make a call.
I put on my shoes.
Mom rocks Lemlem, who is whimpering.
Maybe one minute later, maybe ten minutes later, the second soldier comes back inside.
“Your friend next door has packed a bag, too,” he says, then goes outside and talks on the phone some more.
“Say good-bye to your family,” says the remaining soldier.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, hugging Mom. I kneel down to hug my sister. “Remember to learn about horses for me, Lemlem.” This time I cannot stop the tears from falling.
Outside is an old truck. In the back of the truck is Bini.
His mother is in the doorway to the house. I can see that she is crying, too. My mother stays in the house with Lemlem.
Without my bag, without anything, I climb up the footboard and into the back of the truck. Apart from some metal bars the sides of the truck are open. The cold night air filters in, and as the truck revs and pulls away, I watch as my home slides past beneath the bars and disappears into the darkness behind.
I sit next to Bini, but right away the soldier yanks me up by the arm and pushes me over to the opposite side of the truck.
“Do you have anything—” Bini starts to speak.
“Shut up,” the soldier says. “No talking.”
I do not want to cry. I want to fold into myself, and keep folding until I disappear into a tiny dot that can drift in the wind back toward Mom and Lemlem. I can’t see Bini’s face properly in the shadow cast by the roof canopy. I cannot speak to him, either. But I am so grateful he is here.
There are two of us. We will look after each other.