Boyak

Contains references to child trafficking. No graphic descriptions.

Boyak puts on his boots. Always the left one first, then the right one. And the shoelaces have to fall into just the right kind of casual carelessness. He used to watch his father tie his boots like this every morning. And then, one morning. Boyak clenches his jaw and stomps his feet hard on the ground. He stands up and immediately has to bend forward just to get through the door.

He marches through the city with long strides. It's only morning, but it's already hot. Tourists with huge backpacks trail behind a man holding a big dragon flag. He passes people in flip-flops. People in sandals. Keep going, almost there, he tells himself. He finally reaches that miserable roundabout. And guess what? Sayis isn't even there. "Calm down," he hisses under his breath. He keeps scanning the street until he spots Sayis, leaning against the rickety, overloaded fruit cart that he tucked completely into the deep shade of the walnut tree. Perfect spot, friend. How exactly are they supposed to sell all those prickly pears if nobody knows they're even there?

Just as expected, the day crawls by with barely any customers. Sayis chews on a piece of old bread. "Remember your grandmother's oven in the garden? Sometimes I think I can still smell that bread!" Sayis laughs, tipping his nose up dramatically and sniffing the air.

Boyak has fond memories of his grandmother. She didn't just bake her own bread. The honey came from their own garden as well. She could watch the bees crawl for hours. Yes, that's how it was. When he came home from school, she'd be sitting there in the back of the garden under the fig tree. Hidden from the world, but completely absorbed in her own. And while they both stared at the bees, she'd tell him stories about the old days. About his father as a child. About the day the dragons brought Boyak home.

Boyak doesn't believe in dragons. His father simply walked away. So many men did that. Sayis slaps him on the shoulder. "Hey, daydreamer, it's getting dark. Time to go home!" As always Boyak agrees to help Sayis take the cart back uphill, but as he starts pushing the cart, he suddenly notices a girl. A young girl. A foreign girl. Completely alone. She approaches them hesitantly, as if she doesn't want to be here.

She waits, just looking at him with a questioning expression. Boyak knows the drill. Those tourists always want the pears, but not the prickles. Sayis murmurs something about ‘going home’ and ‘not that pretty anyway’. With a practiced motion Boyak pulls out his knife, ready to start peeling the fruits, but the girl freezes completely. Her eyes lock onto the blade.

She's scared. She thinks I'm going to cut her to pieces. Boyak starts to chuckle. "No worries," he says, putting the knife down and raising his hands theatrically. She starts laughing too, but he notices how exhausted she looks.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Then she looks at him. Her mouth opens, no words come out. He tries to look as approachable as possible, though he has no idea what that's supposed to look like. At least he tries to face the knife away from her. That's something. Then she takes a deep breath and says, in a flat accent: "I've heard there are dragons in the desert. Have you ever seen them?"

Sayis instantly laughs his rumbling laugh. "Nonsense. No dragons. Just fairytales. But I'll take you on a tour if you pay me." He gives her a big wink and the girl shrinks. For a moment hurt flashes through her eyes, then she regains her composure. "But, I mean, you go to the desert. That's where you get those fruits from."

She surprises Boyak with her courage. He leans forward. "Prickly. Pears. Yes, they grow in the desert, but we don't harvest them. We just sell them." He feels pleased with his explanation. She doesn't look at him. Instead, she stares at the fruit he handed her. Is she examining his arrangement? Is she counting them? She picks up one of the pears with a bee on it and somehow makes it step on a walnut leaf. “A wasp,” she says.

Sayis hands her a plastic lid. “Might be the first time Boyak forgets this.” She nods and closes the container. "So you know people who live in the desert. Have they ever seen a dragon?"

Boyak's mouth becomes dry. He knows what he wants to say. He knows what he's been telling people his whole life, but this girl looks him straight in the eye and somehow the lie gets stuck in his throat.

Sayis thinks this is funny. "Oh, Boyak, please tell me: are there dragons in the desert?" Boyak swallows hard and tries to feel his feet in his boots. "No, there are no dragons. Dragons don't exist." He says it calmly, but all he can feel is the sweat pooling in his socks.

The girl lets her shoulders drop again. "They took my little brother," she whispers. "I don't know where he is, but maybe the dragons can help me."

Sayis claps his hands. That's what he always does when he thinks people from foreign countries live in houses made of gold. "Okay, princess. What you need is called an embassy. I'm sure you can Google the address. No need for imaginary desert dragons."

He might as well have hit the girl straight in the face. The reaction would be the same. Tears turn her eyes red and she sniffs, almost aggressively. She's hurt, but angry too. "I've seen every fruit cart in this dirty city and I'm tired. Tired of walking. Tired of your faces. Pity mixed with amusement. I'm a joke to you. A funny anecdote to tell your family at dinner. Well, guess what? I don't have a family. My baby brother is somewhere out there. He is hurt, alone, afraid. And I have to help him." She stares at Boyak with such intensity that he immediately steps back.

It's as if she can look straight through his eyes into his brain. Straight to the truth buried somewhere deep inside. That can't be. That's impossible. And even if, it isn't even the truth. Not really. This girl has no business being here. He can't help her. This is not the same thing. He bites down too hard on his lower lip. The pain only pulls him deeper inside himself. He tries to shake it off, but it's no use. He presses the palm of his hand flat against his forehead.

It was that morning. His father was putting on his boots, like always. When he said Boyak could come along, he'd been overjoyed. But far too soon his father parked the car and started arguing fiercely with a chubby man. Eventually they both seemed satisfied. His father even got a yellow envelope. If he is really this happy, they might get ice cream. Then Boyak suddenly got dragged out of the car. He tried to fight back, but the men were big and he was small. He screamed for help as loud as he could. His father didn't hear him. He simply started the car and drove away.

The chubby man kept him tied up in a small room. Five children in total. They left the city in a pickup truck. He lost track of time. The truck made a hard stop. Masked men shouting. Dragons, that's what the people call them. His grandmother cried heavy tears when he finally came home again, but he never learned what happened to his father.

And then it's over. The memory went as quickly as it came. He rubs his face violently. The girl studies him. "Do you maybe know where the dragons are?" she asks softly. He grips the fruit cart to steady himself. He starts counting the eyelets on his boots. First his left boot, then his right boot. Thirty-two in total. He can still feel the girl staring at him. She is moments away from losing hope. It's like he can smell it in the air. He tries to count the eyelets again, but his sight is blurry. He takes a deep breath and leans forward on the fruit cart.

"You searched the whole day and you're tired. But maybe you're searching for the wrong thing. Fruit sellers can't help you." He says it as steadily as he can. Unable to look at her.

She doesn't say another word. She just walks away. And Boyak knows she will never come back.

Sayis starts packing away the unsold containers. "That's enough crazy tourists for today." Boyak wants to laugh too, but he keeps staring towards the left. The girl is still within earshot. She drags her feet, holding onto the prickly pears with both hands. Head down. Just watching her washes a familiar feverish heat over him. His temples start to throb. He can hear the blood whooshing in his ears. Finally, she turns the corner and disappears. The interrogation has stopped.

Sayis is swinging his arms and taking one step forward, then backward. “You know,” he says. “I can take the cart back by myself. That hill is only a molehill, really.” Boyak shakes his head and starts pushing the fruit cart. He can feel his sweaty feet chafing against the boots with every step. Sayis grabs the other handle and they push side by side.