man?
Isn’t that something I should know for sure?
Realizing that I have forgotten the details of Melik’s face is like losing him all over again. The one thing I remember very well is the sight of him walking away from me after promising we would see each other again. Now that I have a window into what his life might have become, though, I have to wonder—does he bother to remember me at all?
I was only a few weeks in his life, with many days soaked in sorrow and grief and blood, both his and that of people he loved. We shared a few kisses, a handful of embraces, a fragile understanding floating in an ocean of want. For all I know, that ocean has dried up, leaving cracked earth and a broken promise. On the other hand, perhaps he is like me. Perhaps he can’t forget. Is it possible that he carries those memories tucked inside his heart, beneath the long scar on his chest? Does he run his fingers along its length and remember the night I stitched him up? Is it possible that he dreams of me? Would it hurt him to think I’d forgotten him?
How on earth could he afford to spare me a thought, when his life, his people, and his freedom are at stake?
He will not leave my thoughts, though. Most days I can ask him to take a seat in the back, to stay quiet. Today he refuses. I’m alive, Melik whispers to me. Just over the hills.
It is almost as if someone has erased the hundred-mile stretch between here and there. Like I could walk my fingers over a map, striding over mountains to find him. But really it’s a long day’s train ride or a week of hiking, through dangerous passes known for rockslides and ambushes by bandits, to a lawless province that has fallen into chaos. People do not make the trip unless they must.
It is ridiculous even to contemplate.
What we lack in injuries and illness this afternoon, we make up for in gossip. At lunch the office girls whisper of war while the workers wipe the sweat from their brows and argue over whether the war machines they are building will be deployed. The thought steals my appetite, and I return to the clinic to find my father drinking willow bark tea and reading the paper. He looks up when I come in. “We have flu in some of the dorms.”
“Dr. Yixa told me.”
He nods. “You were with Bo this morning?”
“As always.”
“I’ve just seen him. He’s testing those metal frames again.”
“Are you sure they’ll weaken him?”
“Parts of him.” Father sighs. “They make him feel safer, Wen. More powerful and in control. It is hard to blame him for wanting to feel that way.”
“I don’t blame him,” I say. “I simply don’t want him to become a machine.”
Father chuckles and sips his tea. “He always thought like one.”
“But he feels—”
My father stands up. “Yixa said he showed this to you this morning.” He waves the paper.
From the exam room I can hear Yixa’s muffled snores. “He seems certain the army will be sent to suppress the rebellion.”
I hope my father will argue, but he nods instead. “When things go this far, the government cannot ignore the threat.”
I bite my lip. “I heard something this morning. I was near Boss Inyie’s office when he came in.”
Father raises his eyebrows, and I continue. “He got an urgent call that he had been waiting for. And he canceled his morning appointments.” I fold my arms over my stomach. “And I heard him mention the Noor.”
My father, who is slight of build to begin with, suddenly looks even smaller. “That does not bode well for the Noor in the Yilat Province, then.”
His words sharpen the teeth of the unspoken fear that has gnawed at me all day. I touch the paper. “Is that him, Father?”
My father folds the paper. “Whether it is or not, it tells you nothing.”
I frown. “How can you say that? The men in those pictures are all condemned.”
“And if there is a war, all the Noor are. The government will not be merciful, Wen, not with what they’ve done.”
My eyes sting. “You say that so calmly.”
“Would it make one bit of difference if I shouted?” He sets the paper on Yixa’s desk. His narrow shoulders are slumped. “It is a hopeless situation.” His eyes meet mine. “And I’m sorry that it hurts you. I’m sorry that you are still thinking about