Refugee

Everywhere around them, people fled into the streets, covered in gray dust and blood. No sirens rang. No ambulances came to help the wounded. No police cars or emergency crews hurried to the scene.

There weren’t any left.

Mahmoud screamed.

He howled louder than a fighter jet, and his parents didn’t even tell him to hush. Lights came on in houses nearby, and curtains ruffled as people looked out at the noise. Mahmoud’s mother broke down in tears, and his father let the life jackets he carried drop to the ground.

The smuggler had just told them their boat wasn’t leaving tonight.

Again.

“No boat today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow,” he’d told Mahmoud’s father.

“Please!” Mahmoud cried. He sobbed with the effort of fighting off the man’s fingers and hanging onto the dinghy. “Please, take us with you!”

“No! No room!”

“At least take my sister!” Mahmoud begged. “She’s a baby. She won’t take up any room!”

I don’t remember much about him, but I do remember he always wanted to be a grown-up. “I don’t have time for games,” he would tell me. “I’m a man now.” And when those soldiers said one of us could go free and the other would be taken to a concentration camp, Josef said, “Take me.”

My brother, just a boy, becoming a man at last.