Altan ducked into his office and rested his head in his hands, but was startled by the constant buzzing in his left pocket. His phone showed a total of thirteen missed calls; six of them were from his wife. Suddenly his throat felt very tight and the worry bubbled to the surface.
“Sule? Sule? What’s wrong?”
She answered on the first ring.
“Altan. Where were you? I was so worried.”
“I was just in a meeting. I’m okay. What’s going on? Is it the kids?”
She sighed into the receiver. “No, it was just the strangest thing. I was out walking to the market and passed the old woman on the corner. You know the one by the teashop? She jumped out in front of me and started yelling. She was saying the most awful things, Altan. She said the sins of the father would be paid when the stones bled. People were staring at me. I was so frightened. I’m sorry. I just had to call you. It was so strange. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“The sins of the father would be paid when the stones bled?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t say anything about vultures?”
“No. What? Why?”
“No reason. Did she say anything else?”
“I don’t know. I ran, Altan. I couldn’t bear for her to yell at me, pointing her finger in my face.”
“It’s okay, Sule. You are safe. She was probably just spouting nonsense. You know she likes to drink.”
“Perhaps.” She didn’t sound convinced. He could hear that she was shaking through the phone.
“I’ll be home soon. Just try to calm down.”
“Altan. That isn’t all. I just got a call. Mehmet is dead.”
6. March 7, 2017. 5:59 A.M. Oxnard, California
Something was on fire. The smoke was rushing into his nose, weaving into his hair. It was the sharp smell of danger that roused Matias. He looked around the room, using his flashlight in the murky dawn, its golden circle tracing a path from corner to corner. He pulled on the jeans that were on the floor and headed towards the door. His palm determined the fire wasn’t on the other side and he pushed it open with a long squawk. The rest of the house was quiet, still in slumber, and yet the smell of smoke persisted. It was strongest in the kitchen. He rushed through, placing his browned hands on every surface he could find, seeking the heat source. And then he looked up. Out the kitchen window. Then bolted out the back door, bare feet scraping on the rocks, the heavy warm air pelting his bare chest.
The fields were burning.
Flames licked the air with their dancing orange tongues, and the thick gray smoke choked the sky. Acres and acres of their lives were being consumed right before his eyes. He ran as close to the field as his lungs could stand, finally coming to rest on the southwest corner, safely out of the path of the smoldering cloud. There were a handful of other men standing there, watching it burn, defeat etched into their faces. He snagged the gaze of one.
“Carlos. Eh? What’s going on?”
“Matias.” His friend put his sturdy hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know man. This isn’t good.”
“Not with what happened yesterday, no.”
“Si.”
“You don’t know who set the fire?”
“No. Who would do this?”
“Everything. Just gone.”
“I’m going to have to move my family. Again. And we have another one on the way.”
“Lo siento Carlos. I’m sorry.”
“What about you? How is Teresa?”
“She’s a little better these days. I don’t know. We might just stay. See what happens.”
“Well, just stay safe, okay Matias?”
“Si. Of course. Hey, have you seen the foremen?”
“No. Nowhere to be found. I thought I heard their trucks earlier, but maybe I was just crazy. There’s no work anyway.”
“Right. It’s just strange.”
“I guess I should go. Pack up the truck.”
“Good luck to you and your family, Carlos. Come back and find me some day.”
“Ah,” he let out a soft sorrowful sigh, “I will, man. I will.”
The men shared a hug there on the edge of the burning field. Matias knew he might never see his friend again, and watched him walk away, brushing the wet grit from his eyes as he turned. When he walked back into his house, the girls were standing by the truck with their arms crossed over their thin t-shirts.
“Papa?” It was always the youngest, Maria Elena who sought his comfort.
“It’s okay, Maria. Go back inside.”
“But what happened? Who started the fire?”
“We don’t know yet, girls. Go wake up your mother.”
“Are we moving again?”
“No. Now go inside.”
They shuffled in their plastic sandals back towards the door. Matias leaned against the truck for a moment and watched the sky. Nobody was coming to put out the fire. They were just going to let it burn. Scorch the earth down to the dust. The first rays of the sun popped up over the hills, flooding the valley with an eerie greenish glow. Smoke always did that: ruined perfectly good sunlight and filled him with an odd sense of foreboding. Like the sky was coming down to earth, lower and lower, close enough to touch, to taste, until finally it smothered you.
Several other migrants had come out of their houses, walking in a daze, shouting things at each other in Spanish. Women crowded the doorways and children cried. Clothes were shoved into plastic bags and chucked into pickup beds. Refrigerators were emptied, pictures were taken down from the walls, rosaries already clutched between dirty fingers, ready for another journey. By the time the sun was high, eight families had already left. Teresa begged to join them.
“Please mi cielo, stop. We are staying.”
“But there is nothing left for us here! No money!”
“We will be okay. You have to stay. You need your medicine. And the doctor is here.”
“No, Matias! Let’s go like everyone else. They’re the smart ones. What if the bosses come for us next? What if they shoot us?”
“Teresa, por favor. We are not going anywhere. Nobody is going to shoot us.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Put your stuff back. We are staying. The girls can go back to school tomorrow until we can find another job.”
“What? No. Please Papa! Not school.”
“Yes Gabriela. You go back to school. I want a better life for my girls than this.”
She stomped three paces into the room she shared with her sister, slamming the door once she squeezed inside. Teresa sighed a heavy sigh, pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose.
“Matias. I don’t feel good.”
“Sit.” He gathered her elbow and led her to their armchair, covered her with a wool blanket. “We will figure this out.”
“Si.” And she shut her eyes.
He felt useless away from the fields, his hands itching for something to do. He fiddled with the truck for most of the afternoon, covering his mouth with a wet handkerchief to keep out the smoke, tucking in a fresh spot of tobacco underneath. He walked to the corner of the farm twice more just to watch the fire, mesmerized by its sheer size and power. He spit in the dust, burying it with the toe of his boot.
By the end of the day the fire had burned itself out, leaving vast acres of ash and smoldering spots as far as Matias could see. There was not a single berry to be picked. And that night as he lay atop the smoke-tinged sheets, he heard the last of his neighbors drive away.
7. March 8, 2017. 12:44 P.M. London, England
Gregor looked up from his desk, craning to see outside the double glass doors. He was sure he’d heard something. Supplying power to South London wasn’t necessarily a hard job, but one didn’t really appreciate its importance until a time of national crisis. Their phones were ringing nonstop, a cacophony of shrill clanging noises, mostly government officials or concerned citizens. They’d finally had to turn off the television set earlier that morning because everyone was too distracted by what appeared to be an impending doomsday. A quarter of their staff had refused to show up, only adding to the atmosphere of stress and panic. But nothing could have prepared them for that afternoon. Prepared them to face what was approaching those double glass doors.