Dream Land by Lily Hyde Read Free Book Online Page B

stopped by the police from Krasniy Mak.” That was the village on the other side of Mangup. “The same ones who are sitting by the pond now. They asked to see our residence permits, but they must have known we don’t have any. Mama told them we’ve applied in Bakhchisaray and are just waiting for a decision, but the police said we’d never get permission and we’ll be sent back to Uzbekistan by the end of the month.”
    “They can’t send us back!” Along with the shock, Safi was ashamed to feel a nudge of hope. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go back to their lovely house, and Lenara, and Jemile… But they’d sold the house in Samarkand.
    “Of course they can’t.” Safi thought Lutfi sounded slightly regretful. He had left behind lots of friends too, as well as Larissa. “They just want to scare us by making pathetic threats and sitting on their fat backsides by the pond. The Russians have been trying to scare the Tatars away from Crimea for over two hundred years, ever since they first invaded; they’ve always wanted it for themselves.” Lutfi kicked a stone, scowling. “Stupid police. Papa was angry with Mama for even being upset about them.”
    “They never used to argue, did they?”
    “No.”
    Overhead the trees had tiny buds clinging to their smooth grey branches, and shining drops of water from the morning’s rain. The birds sang and sang, as if desperate to fill the silence, but they couldn’t; they only made it echo larger than ever. The path zigzagged steeply between tree roots and big stones padded with moss. The air smelt green.
    “Even if I could send the letter to Larissa, she couldn’t reply anyway,” Lutfi grumbled as they climbed. “Where would she send it to? Poky Little Valley Miles from Anywhere Under a Mountain?”
    “Adym-Chokrak.”
    “But Adym-Chokrak doesn’t exist any more, does it? Look at a map of Crimea. There’s nothing marked here except for Mangup-Kalye and the caves.”
    “Refat said there was a whole city up at the top.”
    “With a cafe where we can get a drink, thank goodness. I need it.” Lutfi was panting from the steep climb.
    “Daft.”
    “There is. Refat said. Best drinks in Crimea. I can’t wait, I’m really thirsty, aren’t you?”
    “I’ve got no money,” Safi said doubtfully.
    “I’ll buy you something. What would you like? They’ve got Tatar tonic, Karaim cola, Russian rum and vodka, Ukrainian, um, unicycles…”
    “You—!”
    Lutfi dodged her thump. “Of course, it’s totally staffed by the ghosts of whoever lived in this city…”
    They came to two long trailing stems of ivy laid across the path in front of them, as if to say,
No further
. Beyond, the ground was alight with pale yellow flowers growing thickly among scattered gravestones.
    They halted. The graves were everywhere, tumbled among the tree roots, leaning at crazy angles and green with moss. They were shaped like narrow stone beds with high ends carved deep with writing. The thousands of flowers glowed like lamps on the ground under the trees, lighting up this still, secret cemetery.
    “I guess we’ve found who lived here,” Lutfi said quietly. “Do you think they’re Tatars? They don’t look like Muslim graves. I don’t recognize this writing.”
    “Let’s go back,” Safi said. Her voice trembled.
    She turned to retrace her steps, and Lutfi followed.
    “Is that why Grandpa never talks about Mangup?” he wondered as they thudded downwards, knees aching from the steepness. “Let’s ask him. Maybe it really is haunted.”
    Safi shrugged. “They’re just graves.” She wished they had never found them.

8

EMPTY BEDS
    T he Bakhchisaray authorities refused even to see Papa and Grandpa. But while they waited in corridors and knocked on doors at the town hall, Mama had been to one of the schools. She’d met the director and somehow managed to arrange for Safi to attend classes, even though the whole family lacked residence permits.
    Papa teased her about it.