The Necessary Beggar by Susan Palwick Page A

to nothing that woman said? We would still need to be from a place whose history they already knew.” But Darroti had begun to weep, and gave no sign of having heard her.
    Macsofo and Erolorit went to comfort him, and Zamatryna saw their weariness, and their fear. They were guarding him again. Perhaps they had never stopped. Mim-Bim traced its pattern in her pocket, and a great hopelessness descended on her. They would never get out of this camp, with its dessicating heat in summer and its brutal wind in winter, its stench and its deprivation. They would never see flowers again, never be able to bathe whenever they wished, never be able to go outside the wire fences. A great longing for home rose in her, and she crept to her mother’s side.
    Harani held her and rocked her. “Sleep, Zamatryna. Everything will be all right. I don’t know how, but I promise you it will be. Sleep, child. We have made you do all that work of talking, too much work, and you are tired.”
    She slept. She woke to find herself in her own bed, still in her clothing, Mim-Bim still pacing in her pocket. She propped herself up on an elbow and peered around the tent in the dim light from the lanterns, which they never
turned off completely because Poliniana was afraid of the dark. Everyone else was asleep too, Timbor and Aliniana snoring. Erolorit and Macsofo had moved their cots to either side of Darroti’s. She lay back down, too tired even to unbutton her pocket so that Mim-Bim could roam beneath the covers, and slept.
    She awoke again near dawn, pulled into consciousness by an unfamiliar sensation. Her pocket—there was a buzzing from her pocket. Mim-Bim was frantically vibrating its wings, trying to get out, trying to fly through the cloth. The beetle had never done that before. Zamatryna stuck her head under the covers and unbuttoned her pocket; Mim-Bim shot out and tried to fly out from beneath the sheets, which it had never done before either. “No,” Zamatryna whispered, catching it in her hands and stuffing it back into her pocket. “No, no one can know you’re here, or the Americans will kill you.” As often as she had wished to be rid of the insect, she couldn’t let that happen. Back in her pocket, Mim-Bim began tracing the X again, but jerkily, more quickly than usual. Dread filled Zamatryna. Something had happened.
    She pulled the covers back and sat up, scanning the room. Timbor and Aliniana had stopped snoring; Erolorit and Macsofo had both started. Everyone else was—no, wait. The cot between Erolorit and Macsofo was empty. Darroti was gone.
    Bile filled her throat. She got up, ran over to her father’s cot, and began to shake him. “Papa! Papa! Uncle Darroti is gone. Papa—”
    â€œWhat, what?” He woke up groggily. “Zamatryna, what is it? Did you have a nightmare?”
    â€œUncle Darroti is gone! He isn’t in his bed!”
    She saw her father’s face tighten, saw him glance at Darroti’s empty cot. But he spoke cheerfully. “He probably just got up to relieve himself. I’m sure he’s fine, Zamatryna.”
    Mim-Bim was buzzing again. Zamatryna wondered how her father didn’t hear the vibrating wings. She began to cry. “I’m afraid.”
    Macsofo was awake now, blinking, and soon Timbor woke up as well, and not long after that, everyone was awake. Zamatryna couldn’t stop crying, although she knew she was being a baby.
    â€œErolorit’s right,” Timbor said. “I’m sure Darroti went to the Porto-San. But I will go look for him, to reassure Zamatryna. Macsofo—”
    â€œI’ll come with you too, Father.”
    â€œI’m coming,” Zamatryna said.
    Timbor shook his head. “No, child. Stay here.”
    â€œI’m coming with you!”

    Harani had gone to examine Darroti’s bed. “One of his sheets is missing,” she said, her voice curiously