On the Run Page 4

  We turn off the light and make a tent under the sheet.

  “Do you think he’ll be able to get away?” I ask.

  “I hope not.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Lise says. “When you escape and get caught again, you get a longer prison sentence. So the more Dad runs, the longer he’ll be in jail.”

  “But he might not get caught.”

  “If he doesn’t, he’ll never live in peace. The police will always be chasing him.”

  I sigh. “I guess you’re right. Do you think Grandpa helped him escape?”

  “Maybe. But I can’t imagine Grandpa on a scooter. And on TV, they said that’s how Dad got away.”

  “Yaya, then?” I say, even though it’s hard (and pretty funny) to picture my grandmother on a scooter. She’s afraid when we ride our bicycles.

  “You’re nuts!”

  “Where will Dad go?” I ask. “You think the police are watching everywhere?”

  “Probably. But I bet he knows that. It’s better not to think about it.”

  “Can we do hot water bottle?”

  I put my feet over Lise’s and we fall asleep.

  Lise leaves a few days later. Just takes off.

  She says she’s going to her friend Aïssata’s, but around nine o’clock that evening Mom starts to worry and calls Aïssata’s house. Lise isn’t there. Then Mom calls Yaya and Grandpa and all three of them go looking for Lise.

  For the first time, I’m home alone. I start to get scared. I hear strange noises, and the streetlights cast creepy shadows through the windows. I feel anxious even though I know I’m being silly. I go to Lise’s room and play some CDs. Normally I’m not allowed to touch them, but today is different. Then I turn the lights on in every room: my mom’s bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, even the bathrooms. I turn the TV on for company. I check behind doors and under furniture to be sure no one is hiding. I feel better, less afraid. I lie down on the couch and see what’s on TV. I channel surf but nothing interests me. I watch a DVD instead; it’s one I’ve seen, and it’s funny, but this time it doesn’t make me laugh. Later I get up and go back to Lise’s bedroom, where I notice that she took her diary, along with her favorite CD and her pajamas.

  I start checking my watch constantly, but time is moving really slowly.

  Through the window, the policeman watching our house signals to his approaching replacement that something is going on. I look at them and they look back at me. At least if the police are here, no alien or monster will leap out of my closet and kidnap me. But monsters are stronger than policemen. I open the window in case some monster does attack me. That way I can shout for help.

  The policemen talk to each other and make phone calls. I want to go out and speak to them, but I know it would be a big mistake. But what if they could find my sister?

  Much later, my grandparents and mom come home. Lise is with them and no one is scolding her. She has her big backpack with her; I didn’t notice she had taken it. They’re all very calm, trying to act normal, not like when Yaya talks loudly, Mom yells at Lise, and Grandpa grumbles.

  “Anthony, what’s all this noise?” Mom asks. “I could hear it from the other end of the street.”

  I don’t want to tell her that I was afraid to be alone.

  “I wanted the police to think there were a lot of people home, that’s all.”

  “Really? Well, we’re all back now. You can go to bed.”

  Mom gets a snack for Lise, and Yaya comes up with me to tell me a story. I love my grandmother’s stories—they’re better than my mom’s and they last longer—but tonight I’m not listening.

  “What did Lise do?” I interrupt her.

  Grandma frowns. “A stupid thing, that’s what Lise did. Don’t ask her about it.”

  Why? Why can’t we ever talk about important things? I wonder.

  I’ve been going to school with Mr. Pizza Face every day since that night. He also picks me up in the afternoon.

  After a few days, something happens. It’s the day we have a natural science lesson at school and draw animals and plants. Mr. Pizza Face doesn’t pick me up in his car; he’s on foot instead. We’re walking home together and I’m telling him that Hassan and I are friends again, but he isn’t listening to me (anyway, it’s not true: Hassan is friends with Bruno now—and I hear Bruno’s good at jigsaw puzzles). Mr. Pizza Face keeps turning around because there’s a man following us and taking pictures. The policeman tells him to stop and get lost, but the guy answers that he’s only doing his job and that he’s got something called freedom of the press on his side.

  When I get home, Mr. Pizza Face goes back inside his smelly car and opens his newspaper. The man who followed us rings the bell. Lise is munching on a candy bar as she opens the door.

  “Hi, I work for a newspaper and—”

  “My mother isn’t here,” Lise says quickly. “So leave right now or I’ll call the cops.”

  She tries to push him out but he barges in anyway. Lise looks scared. I’m scared too. But the newspaper man peels off his mustache and takes off his blond hair.… It’s Dad!

  “Is that how you greet your father?” he asks us.

  “Dad?”

  I can’t believe it! Lise stands there open-mouthed while I jump to hug him. He tells us how he’s been watching us these last few days, even with the police everywhere.

  “Are you staying tonight?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No. It would look suspicious. I’ll take a few pictures. I have a letter for your mom. Will you give it to her, Lise?”

  Lise takes the letter but doesn’t say a word.

  “Where are you hiding?” I ask.

  “I can’t tell you, Anthony.”

  I want to cry. Why won’t anyone tell me anything, ever?

  Dad sees I’m upset. “I’d like to, but I really can’t. I’ll come to see you again soon, I promise.”

  “And what if I go with you?”

  “What about school?”

  “I don’t want to go to school anymore. I don’t have any friends left. Besides, in one week we’ll be on vacation.”

  Dad doesn’t want to hear any more about it.

  He stays long enough to watch a cartoon with me and Lise. But he leaves before Mom comes home.

  When we tell her that Dad came by, she doesn’t believe us. Says we’re making it up.

  “This isn’t funny,” she says. “Do you think it’s easy for me? At work, I’m bombarded with questions and newsmen harass me, and on top of it you—”

  Lise takes Dad’s letter and hands it to her. “But, Mom, it’s true.”

  Mom drops onto a chair and begins to laugh, but not a regular laugh.

  “He’s mad, completely mad. Was the policeman outside?”

  “Yeah, but Dad disguised himself,” I say. “He wore a wig and a mustache and pretended to be a journalist.”

  “Is this true, Lise?”

  Lise nods. “Yes, it’s true.”

  Mom starts to laugh again. I can tell she’s relieved and proud too. She reads Dad’s letter while Lise and I watch the news on TV. They’re saying that no one knows the whereabouts of Rafael Cantes. The police are wondering if he went to Italy, where he has friends, or Belgium, or maybe Ireland. Lise and I look at each other. We know he isn’t in any of those countries. He was right here in our house—and it’s our secret.

  Lying in bed that night, I think about Lise and her backpack, and about Dad’s visit. What if Lise tried to join him that night she ran away? I want to ask her if she did, but Mom made me promise not to talk to her about it. For once, I know better than to ask.

  I’ll ask her when we’re older.

  Now I’ve decided that I want to go away with my dad. And I won’t fail.

  The next time he comes to visit us, I’ll leave with him. I’ve already packed my small backpack, which I’ve hidden under my bed. I took a flashlight, a thick sweater, my Windbreaker, so
me sugar cubes for snacks, and my Swiss army knife. I even stole some money from Lise (a twenty-dollar bill).

  I’m waiting for Dad to come and get me. I want to be with him. We’ll write to Mom and Lise. And when I go to school again, it will be someplace far away, under a different name, where no one will ask me nosy questions. Mom and Lise can join us later, and when the four of us are together again, we’ll go to the movies, on vacations, and on picnics, and on Sundays I’ll do jigsaw puzzles with my dad.

  Eventually the police will forget to look for him and he’ll get a regular job and pay back the money he stole from the banks, and we’ll be able to come back to our house.

  Lise and I wonder what disguise Dad will think of next time.

  “Mailman.”

  “Garbage collector.”

  “No, that’s lame. Plus it stinks.”

  “Policeman?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Singer.”

  “Journalist.”

  “Not twice in a row.”

  We make a bet: Lise says he’ll show up as a cop and I say he’ll be a mailman. We have our answer a few days later, on the second day of vacation. Lise is in her room with a friend (they’re rehearsing dance choreography for a show at summer camp) when someone rings the bell. It’s an old man I don’t know. He winks at me.

  “Dad?”

  He nods. I let him in. He eats while I stare at him, and we talk.

  “Lise is upstairs with a friend,” I tell him.

  He seems disappointed.

  “Doesn’t matter. I can’t stay long. I just came to say hello. Please give this to your mother.”

  He hands over a package. I put it in the hall closet for safekeeping; my mom will see it when she comes home. Dad goes up to say hello to Lise (pretending to be a friend of Grandpa’s, though I think she recognizes him) and I go to my room and grab my backpack.

  When Dad leaves, I follow him. He notices me right away and stops walking. Mr. Pizza Face looks up and gets out of his car. My dad sees him and turns to me.

  “Anthony! Go inside the house immediately,” he says softly but firmly.

  Dad’s trying not to make himself obvious to Mr. Pizza Face and he’s scolding me in a whisper. I take his hand. Now he has to stay with me or the policeman will definitely know something is up.

  I say hello to Mr. Pizza Face and he asks me who the man I’m with is.

  “It’s my other grandfather,” I say.

  “I see. Good evening, sir.”

  My dad lifts his cap in greeting and we keep walking. Once we turn the corner, he stops.

  “What’s going on, Anthony?” he asks. “Why are you following me?”

  “I want to stay with you,” I tell him. “I’ve got everything I need in my bag. And I’ve got some money. I left a note on my desk for Mom and Lise so that they won’t worry about me.”

  “But you can’t stay with me, Anthony. It just isn’t possible. I’m on the run.” Dad sits on the sidewalk to think for a moment. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “If it’s dangerous, why did you escape?” I ask. “Why are you on the run?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You could have stayed in jail. Lise says that if you’re caught, you’ll be in jail even longer and we’ll never be together again.”

  “Lise doesn’t know everything.” He looks at me for a long time. “Anthony, I can’t stand being in jail. I don’t want to go back there.”

  His answer bothers me. It’s too easy. When I don’t want to go to school, I don’t have a choice.

  “Why didn’t you think of that before? A lot of bank robbers end up in jail.”

  “Yes, you’re right. But I didn’t know what jail is like.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It’s too difficult to explain. Now I really have to go.”

  Maybe I’m too young to understand, but I get up and look straight into my dad’s eyes.

  “If you don’t take me with you, I’m going to tell Mr. Pizza Face that you’re Rafael Cantes and he’ll have to arrest you.”

  As soon as I say that, I regret it.

  “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Dad asks.

  “Yes, I would. Take me with you.”

  He thinks about it as he looks at me. He’s angry, I can tell.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he finally says. “Have you thought it over? You won’t see your mom or Lise. You won’t be able to call them. You’ll have to sleep without your night-light. We’ll be alone and we won’t have much fun, Anthony. This is serious business.”

  I nod. “I’m sure,” I say.

  Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. “Okay, come along, then, but only for a little while. When I really leave, it will be a long time before we see each other again. You’ll go back to Mom and Lise. You promise you won’t be sad?”

  “Promise.”

  He’s wrong if he thinks I’ll let him go away again.

  • 5 •

  The Journey

  We walk to the train station. On the way, Dad explains that if someone asks my last name I have to invent one.

  “How about Essaouida?”

  “Whose name is that?”

  “Hassan’s. He’s my best friend. Or my ex–best friend. Now I don’t have any friends.”

  “Not the right name. It doesn’t sound French enough. We’ll call you Anthony Martel. That sounds good, don’t you think?”

  I nod. “Yeah, it’s good.”

  Dad explains what we’re going to do. On the train, he’s going to change out of his old-man wig into a different one, and he’s going to start speaking with a foreign accent. If someone talks to us, I’m supposed to keep quiet.

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “What’s your name, again?”

  “Anthony Cantes.”

  “Anthony!”

  I already forgot that I’m supposed to lie.

  “Anthony Martel,” I say.

  “That’s better.”

  We arrive at the train station. I hold my dad’s hand tight; there aren’t any metal bars here, but my heart beats even faster than the first time I visited Dad in jail. Dad looks at me and smiles, which makes me feel better. He goes to open a locker and retrieves a big backpack. At the ticket window, I don’t recognize his voice. His accent is worse than Yaya’s.

  “Good-eh morning, miss-eh. I want-eh two one-away tickets to Nantes.”

  The woman hands him two tickets. He thanks her in a language I don’t understand. It’s weird.

  I feel like bursting out laughing and I’m terrified at the same time.

  We board the train. I don’t know whether I’m allowed to talk or not, so I don’t say a word. The controller checks our tickets soon after we pass Saumur; the Loire River is dry and some people are walking on the riverbed, between the sandbanks.

  When we get off the train at Nantes, I see a few policemen with dogs. I think they’re here to arrest us. My dad takes my hand and we cross the station. I can’t feel my legs, probably because I’m shaking so much it’s like I’m floating on air. When we pass the policemen, one of the dogs barks. I jolt backward and the policeman holding the barking dog comes over and apologizes. My father tells him that I’m just scared of dogs, not to worry. He has the same accent as when he bought the tickets.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he tells me softly.

  Once we’re out of the station, I walk with my head down, looking at my shoes, and I hold my backpack tightly.

  My dad looks around before he talks to me again. He bends down and looks me straight in the eyes.

  “From now on, no more blunders,” he tells me. “We can’t afford to be spotted.”

  I don’t want him to notice but I start to cry. It’s not my fault I’m afraid of dogs. How could I have known this one would bark at me? Dad strokes my hair and I stop crying.

  “Never mind this time, but we have to be very careful. We have to be invisible. They’re
looking for me; everyone is looking for me. We can’t turn back now, Anthony, we can’t turn back.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the seaside. I have a friend who’s going to hide us.”

  “And they don’t know him?”

  “Yes, they do. That’s why we have to be careful. You know, dogs can sense when someone is scared. And if you’re scared, they come to you. So don’t be afraid, that’s all.”

  Easy to say.

  I want to go home. Dad was right; being on the run isn’t fun. But if I tell him that now, we’d have to take the train back and I might have to walk past the dog again.

  We take the cable car, a first for me. It’s like a bus but on rails, and it glides when it moves.

  Dad still holds my hand, so tightly that it hurts, but I don’t complain. He’s looking around. Some policemen board the cable car. I feel Dad’s hand shaking. These policemen aren’t like the ones at the train station; they have no dogs, so I’m not afraid. My dad turns to me and starts talking in a language I don’t understand.

  We get off at the very end of the line.

  Then we walk along the river for a long time. I don’t like to walk, especially not when we could be on a bicycle or in a car. And this road just has factory buildings on each side. It’s ugly, it stinks, and my feet hurt. When you’re in a car, the landscape changes faster.

  At last, we get on a new road where there are no factories and there’s less traffic. My dad walks in front of me and waits for me to catch up all the time. I’m afraid he’ll scold me, but every time he turns back, he plays games to help me catch up, telling me jokes, teaching me new songs. It’s nice of him, but I don’t think I can take another step.

  I should have stayed home with Mom.

  Finally we stop in front of a house. It’s dark out. The streetlights have been lit for a while, and there are fewer cars on the road.

  Dad stashes his backpack at the back of the house and tells me to wait there while he forces a window open and hoists himself inside. I stay right where I am. Strange insect noises start to give me the creeps. I’m getting cold too, and wish I weren’t so far from my bed and my home.