Chapter 28 #2
When they arrived, Asira was already there.
She had brought a blanket and spread it on the ground in the corner of the playground where the mango trees provided shade. Her art supplies were arranged on top of it, and she was sitting cross-legged with her clipboard in her lap, watching the children on the climbing frame and sketching.
The girl must have realized that Sullha wanted more than a portrait and had chosen the most private spot she could think of.
Mornings at the playground were busier than late afternoons.
Four other mothers were there with their children, who were playing in the sandbox.
A circle of older children, maybe seven or eight years of age, were lining up at the far end of the dirt path that ran along the wall, readying for a race.
Sullha sat down on the blanket beside Asira, and Tomek went straight to the climbing frame without a backward look.
"Couldn't wait another moment," Asira said.
Sullha chuckled. "Kids have boundless energy."
"They are a lot of work." Asira picked up a pencil and turned to face Sullha.
She narrowed her eyes at her, assessing the face she meant to draw.
"Loosen up. You're posing."
"I'm not posing."
"You are. Think about something that will keep your mind occupied, and look over my shoulder, not straight at me. That way you'll forget that I'm here and your face will relax."
"Fine." Sullha thought about Yaaf, and worry washed over her.
After a moment, Asira sighed. "Whatever you were thinking about wasn't good. Just look at the children."
Sullha did as the artist suggested.
The older kids had finished organizing themselves into two ragged lines.
A taller girl with a long, dark braid was the starter.
She held up her hand, said something Sullha could not hear, dropped it, and the eight or nine of them took off down the dirt path, sandals slapping, arms pumping, their faces scrunched in concentration.
A boy in a shirt that was two sizes too big for his small frame was leading.
A taller boy ran beside him, matching him stride for stride, and at the very end of the path, just before the marked finish line, the taller boy slowed down by a fraction, and the smaller one crossed first and threw up his arms in triumph.
They were brothers. She'd seen them in the yard before but didn't remember their names. They both started with B. That's all she could recall, and she wasn't sure about that either.
The older boy bent over and put his hands on his knees, making a show of being out of breath for his younger brother.
Sullha's eyes prickled.
"Don't move," Asira said softly, the pencil scratches on the paper intensifying. "Hold that look."
"What look?"
"Dreamy. Wistful. Like you're seeing something that isn't there."
"I'm seeing something that is there. I'm just remembering something else because of it."
"Don't tell me. Just hold it."
She could do that.
The taller boy at the end of the dirt path had straightened up and was clapping the smaller boy on the back. The smaller boy was practically vibrating with the joy of having won.
Sullha felt the years melt away.
She was nine, racing Yaaf along the path beside the kitchen.
He was a head taller and twice as fast, and he was slowing down at the last moment and pretending to be winded so she could cross first. Afterward, he'd done the same thing the older boy had done for his younger brother.
He had bent over with his hands on his knees and breathed hard.
Yaaf had let her think she'd won, and it had taken her some time to realize that he'd been letting her win because he'd won every race she hadn't participated in.
"There," Asira said. "Hold it for a few more minutes. That's all I need."
Sullha didn't have to work hard to hold her expression.
Asira hadn't asked her what she'd been thinking about, which was a shame because it could have been the perfect segue to what she wanted to talk to the girl about.
The children were reorganizing and setting up a new race, and Sullha thought of a way to start the conversation.
"I'm dreaming about visiting London," she said. "That's what the dreamy expression is about."
The pencil kept moving over the page. "London? Like in that book you were reading?"
"That's the one. It had descriptions of fancy streets and fancy shops. One of the women in the book bought a hat there. It had a feather in it. I have been thinking about that hat for weeks."
Asira's pencil slowed a fraction. "You want a hat with a feather?"
"No. It's just a symbol of what I crave.
I want to walk down a street where there are shops, and I want to walk into one of them and look at things, and maybe even buy something, and then leave.
I want that kind of freedom." She sighed.
"Ever since I read that book, I have vivid dreams about living freely, and when I wake up, I'm so disappointed to find myself here. "
Asira's pencil strokes slowed down.
"We can only dream," she said. "None of us is ever leaving this place."
"What if there was a way?"
The pencil stopped, and Asira went very still. "What do you mean?" She looked up at Sullha with sharp eyes that were devoid of humor. "There is no way. We are surrounded by a three-meter-tall wall on an island in the middle of the ocean. We have nowhere to go."
"What if we did?"
Sounds of argument rose at the climbing frame, Tomek and another boy negotiating over whose turn it was on the monkey bars, and they both glanced at the boys and then back at each other when the argument resolved itself.
"You're serious," Asira said quietly.
"I am."
She set the pencil down on the clipboard. "How?"
"I don't have all the details yet. I can only tell you that there is a plan, that it has a good chance of success, and that it is happening soon. Days. Possibly a week."
Asira's eyes widened. "That's very soon."
"It is."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you can join us if you're up to it. It's not risk-free."
Asira drew a breath. "Count me in."
Sullha smiled. "You don't even know what you're agreeing to."
"If there is a way out of here, I'll take it. That's the only thing that matters. What do I need to do?"
"First of all, you don't tell anyone. Not even the slightest hint. Don't even mention the word freedom, especially not next to any of the Sacred Mothers."
Asira nodded. "Of course. That would be stupid."
"They hum or sing or whistle. That's how you can tell who is a member of the order, even if she doesn't talk about it. It's how they express their joy and contentment at doing the Sacred Work."
"I've noticed that. I just didn't know why they were doing it."
"If you have anything you want to take with you, gather it and have it ready.
It needs to be inconspicuous, something you can explain away even if it's discovered.
We never know when the guards will decide to inspect our rooms. If they ask, tell them you are trying to keep things neat and organized. Keep it tucked away."
Asira nodded. "How many of us are leaving?"
"I don't know yet. Not many. We have to be careful."
"A handful?"
"Yes. Probably."
Asira looked toward the dirt path, where the next race was starting. "I wish we could save them before they are fed to the machine. Before they lose hope."
Sullha looked at the racing children, at their flushed faces, flapping shirts, and flailing arms. Some of them were older, eight, nine, ten. They didn't have much time left to be children.
She thought of Tomek and how hopeful she felt now for his future.
"Yes," she said. "I wish that too."