A Long Way from Home by Alice Walsh Page B

door for Mama. Rabia and Karim climbed out the back.
    â€œJason,” Millie said, “could you show them to the apartment?” She turned to Rabia. You’ll no doubt be needing to rest. If yeh needs anything, my love, give me a shout, okay?”
    â€œTashakor ,”Rabia said. “Thank you.”
    â€œThis way,” Jason said, leading them around the back of the house. He opened the door to a small foyer, then another to the apartment. Neither door was locked. “It’s small,” he said, switching on the living room light.
    Rabia took in her surroundings. The room had a sofa, two chairs, and a small television on a stand. It was much bigger than the room they’d shared in Kabul.
    â€œSofa converts into a bed,” Jason said, pulling down the back to demonstrate.
    There was a kitchenette with cupboards, sink, fridge, stove, and a small table with four chairs. Jason opened the fridge. “Mom left egg sandwiches,” he said. “There’s cheese and fruit. Milk and sugar for tea.”
    â€œThank you,” Rabia said. She was starting to feel hungry.
    â€œIn here’s the bedroom,” Jason led them into a small room off the kitchen. The room had a double bed with a white ruffled spread. There was a small set of drawers, and a little table with a lamp and a telephone on it.
    â€œCan I use this telephone?” Rabia asked. “I will make a…collect call.” Fatima had told her about collect calls and how to make them in case she needed to.
    â€œThat phone doesn’t work yet,” Jason said. “But you can use the one upstairs. Come, I’ll show you where it’s to.”
    â€œI try to call at the airport,” Rabia told him when they were outside. “The phones do not work.”
    Jason shook his head. “That’s what they wants people to believe. My stepfather works at the airport. He told me they wanted to get everyone through the airport as quickly as possible. Didn’t want people stopping to use the phones.” He led Rabia up a set of concrete steps. “Made sure all the televisions were turned off too, they did. S’pose they thought the shock would be too much for most people.”
    It must be very bad, Rabia thought. “What happened?” She summoned up her courage to ask.
    â€œYou mean you don’t know?”
    â€œYes, I hear something…an attack….”
    â€œTerrorists flew planes into two buildings in New York. A lot of people were killed.”
    â€œWhy do you take us to your home? Why do we not go with the others?”
    Jason looked down at her prosthesis. “I s’pose it’s because of your…disability. Families with elderly or disabled members are being sent to private homes.”
    â€œI am not disabled,” Rabia said firmly. What did this boy know? He had not seen her play soccer. Before the Taliban came with their silly rules, she had played soccer all the time and kept up with the others.
    Jason shrugged. “Be thankful you don’t have to stay at a shelter. The apartment’s small, but at least you’ll have privacy.”
    The boy was right, Rabia realized. Crowds frightened Karim. “Thank you,” she said. “Your family is kind.”
    Jason nodded, absently. “What happened to your foot?”
    â€œIn Afghanistan, I stepped on landmine.”
    â€œGeez.” Jason frowned. He opened the screen door and led her through a large foyer into a well-furnished room. The walls were painted a soft gray and the wooden floors gleamed. A large painting of the ocean hung over the fireplace.
    â€œPhone’s in there.” Jason gestured toward a small kitchen where a phone hung on the wall.
    There were no people around, but Rabia heard a buzz of conversation coming from one of the other rooms. She dialed the operator and gave her Fatima’s number, exactly the way she had been instructed. The phone rang twice before a