The Wanted

There was defiance around every corner.

I glanced back to see pipe embers floating in the dark, lighting up the worn faces, mischievous eyes that shouldn’t be so bold. My heart felt less heavy, my hope more realistic.

We got to the gate, and it was already hanging open. I didn’t ask. We passed through every gate easily and were in Ring Four.

Drums like bells, is the only way I could think to describe what I heard.

It was about eight o’clock. At this time, in Pau, everyone was inside, doors locked, curtains closed. Guards always patrolled the streets, but there was never anyone to catch.

Not here.

Soldiers guarded the streets but they had to wind their way through the groups of people—the children playing in the street, the parents sitting on their lawns, clustered in groups, clapping along to sounds I’d never heard before.

I watched as a soldier tried to stop a man from dancing. They warned him, he bowed, and stopped only to start again as soon as their backs were turned. It was only when they grabbed him and dragged him off that people calmed. But then we’d turn the bend and more music and dancing continued. They were clinging to what little freedom they had and risking their lives in the process. I kept tightening my jaw to stop my mouth from falling open.

Nafari relaxed more and more as we passed through these groups. Some people he knew or seemed to. He joined the dancing for a moment, and then side stepped out and kept walking. I kept my distance but found myself relaxing just a little too.

We walked up the path of a plain, standard-looking house. Nafari turned and said, “Wait here,” in a sinister voice.

He turned the knob and went inside. The room was dark, but I could hear voices.

Turning around, I ran my eyes over all the Palma I could see. I took it in and held the possibility of it in my heart. They were bright. Color hung off the people like dumped paint. But they wore it well. They were more ready for this than any other town. I patted the disc in my pack. The firework would go off soon.

Nafari came back quickly; he was still talking as he passed through the door, bobbing his head and talking in a strained tone. “Yes, yes, all right, woman.”

A woman’s voice muttered in the dark. I couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked as I watched Nafari kick off his shoes and swing himself up into the palm tree that grew in the front yard, leaning towards the roof.

Between grunts and heavy breathing, he said, “My wife.” Then he chuckled as he paused and held out his hand, beckoning me to follow.

I took off my shoes and climbed after him, my soft feet getting cut up on the rough bark. The tree struggled under my weight but luckily, it just leaned closer to the roof. Nafari held out his hand, and I grabbed it. The palm tree sprung back into place as I met the roof. “How are we going to get down?” I asked, my skin prickling from sweat and the cool wind that ran over the tin roof.

“We jump.” Nafari jumped high and landed firmly on his feet, while the roof vibrated from his impact. His wife shrieked and swore inside the house. The door swung open and a small, dark woman with her hair swept into a colorful rag stomped down the path with a bag on her back. Nafari watched her leave in silence.

I put my hands out to steady myself and followed him to the apex where we sat down to wait. Nafari placed his hands down on either side of his body and leaned his head back to gaze at the stars. He sighed, the sound like an empty water tank.

“Do you miss your wife Rosa?” he said, his round eyes still staring at the sky.

I miss her like someone performed open-heart surgery on me and forgot to sew me back up. They cracked my chest and left me that way, gaping and in danger of infection.

“I’m not married,” I replied.

He punched my arm. “The way you stare at her face in the sky. How you feel about her in here,” he punched his chest, “you are joined even if you’re not married.”

I know.

“Have you missed your wife?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. At this, he laughed hoarsely, a whistle coming from his gappy mouth.

“I don’t miss her. We are not joined. We are married, but I don’t love her. We were forced to marry. The one thing I do miss is our child.” His head fell between his knees. “I don’t even know where she is or if she’s alive.”

“What was her name?”

“Zawadi.”

“Beautiful,” I whispered.

“It means ‘gift’.” Nafari clasped his hands tightly, and quiet floated between us for a few minutes.

“Joseph, when we start the playback, I will run to the gate. You can stay here if you want.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m coming with you.”

He nodded.

We stared up at the sky and waited for the firework.

I placed the disc on the chimney of Nafari’s home, my finger hovering over the play button. Once I pushed it, we had five minutes before it started.

In Pau, on Signing Day, everyone was forced from their homes. Kids stood in their pajamas in the street, shivering. We lined the sidewalk like ma

Here, the firework popped and shot into the sky. I watched the streets for the peoples’ reaction. But they continued to talk and sing as if nothing had happened. Shuffling around their fires, their hands and faces reddened from warmth. No one even looked up.

I pressed the button on the video disc, and we skidded off the roof.

Nafari took off ru

Just as we passed through the first gate, the playback started. I didn’t look up tonight. I followed Nafari’s dark form through the streets, the lights catching us in quick snapshots of action. My legs burned to keep up with him. He was a small ball of muscle, fast and determined.

“If you want to see your girl, look up,” Nafari urged, barely panting. I couldn’t answer; I was so out of breath. I just shook my head, which he couldn’t see. I couldn’t look at her now. Whatever this was, this risk, this action, was keeping her under my thoughts. It was making it easier to smile, easier to laugh. I wasn’t ready to give up on that. So I had to keep moving. She would slow me down.

By the time we reached the next gate, the streetlights were flickering on and off. Noise was building. Voices, wails, broken glass.

Halfway to the last gate, the lights went out permanently.

People streamed past us. Angry people carrying boards and shards of glass. A woman pushed past me to get through the last gate and slashed my arm with a broken bottle. I put my hand to my bicep, glanced down at my blood-covered fingers, and stopped.

I lost Nafari in the crowd.

I knew where he was going, so I kept on towards the gate, the swarm of people thickening around me. The angry shouting was a mix of oppression and freedom forcing its way out the end of a bottle, squeezing and then bursting.

A shot fired.

Emergency lights flooded the Outer Ring with amber light.

I thought, This is where it stops. Fear would stop them. But people followed the shot, poured over the soldiers holding the guns until suddenly they were the ones putting their arms up in surrender. I watched one soldier, still holding on, blinking desperately, moving his gun frantically back and forth as he was forced against the wall. A woman stepped towards him, her palm up.

“Put your gun down. We don’t want to hurt you,” she shouted.

I started ru

My heart knocked on my chest wall, reminding me I had to find Nafari. My eyes sca