Red, white, orange, and purple
By: Elijah Hill
Tags: Syria, Adventure, Refugee, Romance, Books

Ayamin had a novel, a bunch of poppies, and a jar of water in her arms when I met her beside the hospital.

She glanced both ways then pulled me into a hug.

‘Hi,’ she said, then her hand found mine and we pushed through the white plastic doors into the hospital.

The chemical smell of disinfectant hit me so hard I nearly staggered back out.

Ayamin winced, ‘I suppose you’re not used to it yet.’

I took another breath and tried to stop myself from retching, ‘Do you ever get used to it?’

‘Depends how much time you spend here… besides the disinfectant is only there to hide its true smell.’

She started walking down the rows, and I followed her, glancing at the people who rested under slightly stained white hospital sheets. Needles and drug lines dripped into veins, and moans and coughs escaped their lips.

Our feet had only been tapping on the plywood floors for a minute when Ayamin stopped in front of a shrunken old lady with wispy black hair and an almost toothless smile.

‘Aya!’ The woman chirped. Ayamin put the book on her bedside table and the red and yellow poppies in the jar of water. She kissed her grandma on the cheek, and as Ayamin stood back up the old woman tugged on her jacket with a shaky hand, and whispered to her in Arabic. The old woman’s eyes went from Ayamin to me, and back again.

Ayamin laughed, and her face went red. She turned to me, ‘Danny, would you like to meet Grandma Teete?’

Teete’s hand touched my cheek as I knelt in front of her, she raised her eyebrows to Ayamin and nodded her head.

‘Good.’ she murmured, and then another sentence in Arabic that made Ayamin screech with laughter. Ayamin shook a finger at her grandma and the two of them exchanged super-fast sentences in Arabic that set them both laughing.

Ayamin’s laugh was light and warm, and her grandma’s was the same, only rougher. The old woman put a hand to her chest and started to cough. Gradually Ayamin’s laugh faded as Grandma Teete’s cough grew louder and louder. We sat in silence as her grandma wiped the flecks of spit and red splotches of blood from her elbow.

There was silence.

‘Your book there on the table, it looks interesting’ I said, more to get the sound of coughing out of our minds than anything else.

Ayamin picked it up, it had a yellow mountain daisy on its cover. Its pages were worn and dog eared from use. She flicked through it and a small smile ventured back onto her face.

‘It’s called Two Hearts in The French Night. It’s our favourite book.’ she laughed, ‘Teete says it helps her to believe she can still find love.’

She rubbed her grandma’s shoulder and the old woman nodded.

‘Usually I’d read to her. You don’t have to but… if you want to stick around and hear…’

I picked up a white plastic hospital chair, put it down beside her, and took a seat.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

A faint smile crept onto her lips as she began to read. The book was in English but she spoke in Arabic for Grandma Teete. I enjoyed her voice — it was almost musical. I enjoyed the way she folded her hair behind her ear and the slight lift in her voice when she came to one of her favourite parts. At one point she put the book aside and read two chapters with her eyes closed — straight from her memory. I guess that’s how important the book must have been to her. Or at least how many times she’d read it.

Samantha sat on the steps of the church waiting. The lights of Briancon were dark to save electricity — she had only the moon to find Rudy.

She wondered why he’d come to the small mountain town in the first place. She wondered why he’d stayed. She wondered where he was tonight. The moon was far above the church’s tiled roof.

As she read, I began to feel something in my heart, it was like waking up from a deep sleep, it happened slowly at first and then bam. I was awake. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was the smell of disinfectant.

I heard a cough and looked up, Ayamin was not the only one being watched. Grandma Teete’s eyes flicked to me and she had this not-so-subtle grin on her face.

The sound of Ayamin replacing the bookmark was like the closing of a dream. She smiled at her grandma, and turned to me, ‘You enjoy that?’

‘When’s the next session?’

She raised her eyebrows to Grandma Teete who winked.

Ayamin rolled her eyes, ‘We read again on Thursday.’

‘Count me in.’

****

That week I volunteered to carry messages around the camp. It meant I got to explore — and spend more time with Aya. As the long hot days wore on, I began to realise how different our lives were.

I realised by Friday that Ayamin wore the same three pairs of clothes in rotation — a mix of mostly reds, greens, and yellows. It took me a little longer to understand that she only had those three pairs of clothes.

I realised just about everybody in the camp was scared of loud noises. Aeroplanes sent most Syrians to the edge of a table or doorframe. Not quite crawling under, but ready to. The same thing happened when a jackhammer was brought in to break hard ground where the showers were being constructed.

But the biggest difference between us was shown to me one hot Thursday afternoon.

We walked through the camp, her in a Union Jack shirt and me in a singlet that showed my slowly tanning shoulders. Our feet crunched in the sand and dry dirt beneath us.

In some ways, I’d got used to the rows and rows of tents, and the faces that peeked out from them.

‘When Grandma Teete got sick,’ she said, ‘I moved so I wouldn’t be far from the hospital. It’s much easier to move a tent than to move house.’

She stopped in front of a row of five tents — three nylon ones, a tiny Winnie the Pooh kid’s tent and something that looked like a yurt.

‘Which one’s yours?’

She was biting the edge of her lip, ‘This one,’ and pointed towards the to the little Winnie the Pooh tent.

The tent barely looked tall enough to kneel in. My eyes wandered over to the duct tape stretched like stitches over the tent’s rips. Parts of it were faded from the sun. I swallowed and looked at Aya.

She didn’t meet my eyes.

‘You… stay here by yourself?’ I asked.

‘Me and grandma, but she doesn’t need the tent at the moment so there’s a little more space.’

I nodded, ‘It’s… nice Aya.’

‘I wish you hadn’t come.’

‘Why?’

‘Because look at it,’ she turned to me, her voice was soft, ‘It’s a kid’s tent, and we’ve been living in it two years. Teete got pneumonia because it leaks in winter.’ She was breathing heavily. ‘It sucks, but I’m used to it, I just hate you seeing it.’

I shook my head, ‘I’m impressed. You know how to look after yourself.’

She stood watching me, arms by her sides. I reached out. I wanted to hug her. Instead, I just touched her shoulder. Her skin was warm.

‘I haven’t met anyone our age that’s as strong as you are. You’ve done so well Aya.’

She gave a hearty sniff and wrapped her arms around me, I could feel her quick breaths through her chest, ‘You’re a great liar.’

She wiped her nose and laughed, stepping back from me, ‘Do you want to see inside?’

‘Yes!’

She unzipped the flaps and folded them back, then untangled her mosquito netting and spread out her hands… ‘My humble castle.’

Inside, a large inflatable mattress took up most of the floor. A collection of sleeping bags and blankets sat on top of it. Beside the entrance a gas cooker stood along with a small pan, pot, and two plates, two cups, and two bowls.

In the left corner was an iron-framed pack with a small sack of dried rice sitting on top.

‘You need to see it at night sometime,’ she touched a black battery box hanging from the tent roof. ‘I found an old set of fairy lights in the trash and managed to twist the wires together to get them working again.’

She smiled as she flicked a small black switch, it looked like Winnie the Pooh was flying amongst the stars, ‘Grandma was proud — they’re like something you’d see on Pinterest.’

I turned to her, ‘Wait… you know what Pinterest is?’

‘Yeah,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘Although grandma used it more than I did. I also know Tumblr, Snapchat, Instagram, WhatsApp, WeChat, Facebook and all the other hundred million social medias. We lived in Syria, not the 1920s.’

‘So, you have a phone?’

She climbed into the tent and ruffled around in the iron-framed backpack until she pulled out a solid looking touchscreen from a brand I didn’t recognise.

‘Only problem is I can’t afford data or texts or anything and there’s no wifi here. I just keep it charged for the day I start to travel again.’

‘Then how do you keep in contact with your family?’

She froze halfway through putting her phone back in the bag, then slowly shook her head. ‘I’ve depressed you enough already.’

I climbed into the tent behind her, and sat down on the air mattress, ‘Yeah I get that. My family situation isn’t the best either. Perhaps we can trade stories some time — some night?’

She nodded, ‘Under the stars and the fairy lights.’

As Ayamin talked, I slowly became aware of how close we were, how we were together alone. I looked into her eyes and she smiled as she talked. I wondered if she was leaning closer to me. I was leaning closer to her. We were just an arm’s length apart. Within kissing distance. Everything around her was blurring. Her lips were pink and red. They moved slowly as she spoke…

‘Hello, Danny? What are you doing?’

Ayamin’s voice pulled me back into the real world. She had an odd expression on her face. I blinked, then tried to grin. It felt forced.

‘What was that?’ I said, coughing to cover the fact that my face was turning red.

‘I said tonight? You could be a thief, sneak out, and bring me ice cream. We can watch the stars and eat ice cream from the tub.’

I felt my grin returning, ‘I’ll find you your ice cream.’

She laughed, ‘Great…’ then she touched the side of my head, ‘You okay?’

I tried to think of some way to make myself sound moody or mysterious, but in the end, I just had to shrug, ‘It happens when I talk to beautiful girls.’

She laughed, ‘Alright Augustus Waters. Go find me some ice cream — anything with berries in it is my favourite.’

****

It was midnight before I was sure everyone was asleep. At dinner we’d been warned again about the dangers of sneaking out. These included; death, being held hostage, broken bones, getting a cold, and no dessert for a month.

But at the same time, I didn’t care. There was a beautiful girl waiting for her ice cream and I intended to deliver.

I veered off from the bathroom and made my way into the kitchen where I’d stored a spare ice cream carton in the top freezer. Ice cream was strictly for celebrations, but I figured any time I got to spend with Ayamin was a celebration.

I slid back the door and slipped outside, then crouched down beside the wall and waited for our guard to move off.

There was a slight chill in the air, almost enough to make me want something more than a t-shirt. I could hear a baby crying and vehicles on a faraway road.

The soldier moved to the other side of the containers. The hollow thud of his boots disappeared. I ran.

The night air cooled me. All the tents were various shades of grey. It was only the starry sky that had any colour to it.

I made it to the hospital and retraced the route Ayamin had shown me. I reached the Winnie the Pooh tent and stopped, listening to see if she was awake.

A zip sounded and Ayamin’s head popped out, ‘About time. I could hardly sleep.’

She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, boots and all. Ayamin zipped up the tent and turned to me, a flashlight was in one hand, and her face deadly serious.

‘Please tell me you brought ice cream.’

I almost joked that we had none left, but I realised she’d tear me apart before I could say I was kidding. I handed the carton over.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, ‘I didn’t actually… expect you to have it.’ She held the ice cream like a child as she gazed at it, ‘Boysenberry, oh man.’

She threw her arms around me, tackling me onto the airbed.

‘Ayamin,’ I laughed, ‘Are you crying?’

‘I really miss ice cream,’ she held me a moment longer, her head was warm against my chest. ‘Now let’s get some teaspoons and we can watch these stars.’

While I ruffled through her kitchen box Ayamin went outside and there was a zipping sound. She tugged at the tent until I could see a square patch of the stars above us. She crawled into the tent beside me. I handed her the ice cream and a spoon and we lay back on the inflatable mattress, looking up at the sky.

My eyes adjusted until the stars glowed bright. I could see red, white, orange, and purple.

‘If we were more practical grandma and I could have found a slightly better tent. But if we weren’t able to see the sky whenever we wanted, I don’t think we’d have made it this far.’

She pulled out a spoonful of vanilla ice cream with boysenberries dripping from it, put the spoon in her mouth and closed her eyes.

A moan came from her throat. Ayamin shook her head, ‘Six months of care packages and a sack of rice. You have no idea how good this taste.’

I tried to imagine that I was in her position, nothing but bland food for months… probably some of them spent on the brink of starvation. I touched the spoon to my lips and closed my eyes.

It was okay, probably on par with the cheapest stuff you could buy in supermarkets, but Ayamin didn’t seem to care. She treated the ice cream like it was made of gold.

‘When I move to Britain,’ she said, ‘I’m going to eat ice cream after dinner every night. I’m going to become an ice cream collector; I’ll make world records for the amount of ice cream I eat.’

She took another spoonful and handed the tub back to me, ‘When I’m sad I’ll have special ice cream for that. When I’m happy I’ll have ice cream to celebrate.’

Her words made my next mouthful sweeter — I could taste the boysenberries, the cream.

‘Where in Britain would you go?’

She shifted slightly on the mattress. Her arm came to rest against mine.

‘Well, I’d live in London to start with. I want to feel what it’s like to live there, see the snow on the streets in winter, get a hot chocolate, and listen to people complain about the weather. I want to ride the underground and the London Eye and find a hidden bookshop in the backstreets.’

‘Then maybe the Scottish Highlands, a little cottage to make all cosy, all the beautiful lochs and old stone buildings you could ask for. After that who knows? Maybe Ireland, Wales…’

She was silent for a moment, ‘That’s the dream anyway. I’m still a long way from England, but when there’s no boysenberry ice cream on standby a dream can be the only thing to get you through.’

We stared up at the stars. Her arm against me was warm. I coughed and shifted a little closer.

‘You can come visit me, wherever the hell I’m living when I get back.’

Ayamin smiled up at me, ‘I’d like that. Maybe you can show me around. Take me to your parents.’

‘Umm…I could show you around… definitely.’

When I looked at Ayamin her eyes had this softness to them and her voice was low, ‘I forgot — tough family situation — I’m sorry.’

There was a moment of silence. When I spoke my voice was low and cracked, ‘I’m a foster care freak. Biologically speaking the people who created me are still walking around going about their lives. I just never met them.’

Her hand brushed my hand, then her fingers found the gaps between my fingers, ‘That’s rough Danny.’

I could see this epic swirl from the milky way, ‘How about you?’

‘I think I was kinda lucky, loving mum and dad, annoying little brother, and my grandma lived with us so I almost had two mums. It was a perfect little setup until about two years ago when an artillery shell or… something, blew up our house.’

She gave a little gasp, ‘Grandma and I were out buying bread. The house was basically dust, and we never even saw their bodies. After that we walked across the border, found a tent and shared it until her pneumonia got too bad.’

Her hand squeezed mine, ‘I feel like your story is worse in some ways, you never even got to know them.’

I rubbed her thumb, ‘I don’t feel the pain you do, it’s sort of a distant longing.’

We stopped talking for a while and I listened to the sound of Ayamin breathing. The air was starting to get a little chilly, but the places where our arms touched were just fine.

‘I’ve never had a conversation like this in English,’ Ayamin turned to look at me.

I laughed, ‘I’m available any time.’

She pulled a large woollen blanket from the front of the tent and draped it over the two of us, then leaned back, resting her head on my chest. She yawned as I put an arm around her.

If this was any other girl in any other place, I would’ve made my next move right then. Maybe a kiss on the forehead, or a not-so-subtle caress. But this felt different.

Maybe it was because we’d opened up to each other, or because I wasn’t even sure whether she liked me that way. Either way, I figured it wasn’t worth losing the beautiful Syrian girl.

I stared up at the sky and felt the slow rising and falling of her breath against my side. She was warm and it made me sleepy and comfortable just having her there.

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