“Yes, we are safe,” Tareq shouted into the phone. He still had his Turkish SIM card in, and it barely got any reception. He had to walk up the hill from the camp to find even the one bar. There were others around him sending messages and making calls to family. “When do you think you can join us?”
“I don’t know, rohi,” his father’s voice crackled through. “I need to save up enough money, and then I will join you. I swear.”
Tareq could hear another voice in the background. “Who is that?”
“Ah, that’s my new friend Anas.” Fayed laughed. “He is telling me to tell you to say hi to all the Syrians in Europe.”
“Well, there are a lot, but I will do my best.” Tareq let out a chuckle. “Where are you right now?”
“What? I’m sorry, ibni, your voice is breaking up.”
“I said,” Tareq said louder, while moving the direction of his phone, “where are you?”
“I’m near the square. Working with Anas. We sell cigarettes. He has been doing this for a while now and he is letting me assist him.”
“Cigarettes?”
“Yes, there are so many Syrians in Basmane. They can live without food but not without their cigarettes.”
Fair point, Tareq thought. Their homes have been taken, their lives flipped upside down, the least they should have is their cigarettes. “Baba, have you heard from Musa?” There was silence at the end of the line, so he angled his phone around again. “Baba?”
“Yes, omri, I’m here.”
“I said, how is Musa?” Tareq repeated. He could hear the car horns in the background as his father breathed heavily. “Is he okay—did something happen?” His heart began to race.
“Musa is okay.” Fayed sighed. “It’s your uncle and aunt.”
Tareq’s stomach turned. “What happened?” There was silence again. “Baba!”
“Daesh found out that Musa left. So men came. Grabbed them. Painted on their house, claiming they were spies for America.”
“Where are they?” Tareq’s body tensed up.
“They’re no more.” The words punched him in the gut, stopping the air from going in and out of his lungs. “I’m sorry.” Tareq could hear his father sniffle even through the bad connection. “Musa won’t answer his phone.”
“I . . . I have to go.” Tareq knew if he continued to talk, he would fall apart, and he didn’t have the luxury to mourn—not at the moment. Right now, he needed all the strength he could gather. “I miss you—please join us soon.”
“Yes, of course.” Fayed’s voice feigned strength again. “Kiss my Susan for me.”
“I will. Bye.” Tareq put his phone back into his pocket and searched across the water in front of him. For what? He wasn’t sure.
The hills and mountains of Turkey and its speckled city lights ahead looked no different from when he was on the other side of the sea, looking toward Greece. After taking in a long deep breath of the crisp air, he released another cloud.
He pulled his phone out and texted Musa.
TAREQ: I’m sorry.
He didn’t expect a response. But he saw that Musa started typing right away.
MUSA: We’ve never been so different, you and I. Now we both have lost our families.
TAREQ: I didn’t want you to know this pain . . . ever.
He waited, but Musa didn’t message him again. Tareq clicked to go back to the home screen when he noticed another missed ping. He opened the app but only saw symbols—his updated app didn’t have the right fonts to cover whatever language it was written in.
TAREQ: Who is this? My number will change soon, message now please.
Tareq sat on the dirt and lingered longer. He watched the sky fade from a rusty orange to a bruised blue. For a moment he thought the sea looked so picturesque, so beautiful. But then his mind flashed to the woman’s lifeless eyes as they stared at him through the crystal blue waters. His body shivered, and not from the cold. He wondered if her corpse had washed up yet, or if it ever would. Would it bloat? Does skin on a dead body shrivel when it has been in the water for too long? He shook his head. Fall from my ears. I don’t need this right now. He didn’t want to stay another minute; the sea kept tormenting him. No matter how much he rattled his head, the memories were far stronger. They were all he could see.
And the truth is, they will never fully fade. He will continue to have flashbacks and nightmares throughout his life. The memories will fill him, making him anxious. Some humans can shrug off stress better than others. But when your soul feels too much, that trauma makes a home in your heart. But it’s not a weakness or even an illness. To feel so much means you can find empathy—when you can sense the pain of others, that is a power to hold on to. That is a power that can change the world you live in. But it’s also a power that comes with burden and pain.
Tareq made his way back to the camp.
As he walked through, he saw the young man from the boat again. “Hey,” the man yelled out to Tareq. “We’re here for the night. Could be worse. They say the other camp, Moria, is full, so we have to wait.”
“That’s what I was told might happen,” Tareq responded.
The man stuck his hands into his pockets. “Guess what,” he said. “You all made fun of this jacket, but now I have a new friend.” He pulled out the note. “There are good people who still care.” He winked at Tareq before moving on.
Tareq found his sister and Jamila at the children’s tent, where he’d left them. Susan was drawing with some crayons as Jamila sat next to her. Even distressed, she’s beautiful. Tareq fixed onto the Afghan girl’s jade eyes again. “They tell you more?” he asked.
Jamila shook her head and continued to rub her hands together. “They say boat with Afghans got to Moria camp this morning. But no more information.”
“This is good news,” he tried to comfort her.
“Just one boat.” She looked up at him, tormented. “Too many boats come today. How only one Afghan?”
“God will help.” Tareq tried desperately to believe his own words. He turned to his sister. “How are you, rohi?”
“I’m drawing.” She lifted her red crayon up. “This is home.” Tareq strained to figure out what the picture was of. He saw faces, but one corner was blue and the other red.
“What is this supposed to be?”
She pointed to the blue. “Us in the water.” Then she pointed to the red. “Mama, Teyta, Salim, Farrah, Ameer, Sameer in blood.” Susan looked up at her brother, concerned. “I don’t know where to draw Baba.”
Tareq could feel his tears on the edge of bursting like a broken drainpipe, but he tried hard to hold them in. “Put Baba with us,” he finally said. “He is with us.”