The Other Hand

away with it. My paper always prosecutes. They’ll have this call traced and find out who you are and have you arrested. You wouldn’t be the first.”
    “You don’t believe it is me?”
    “Just leave me alone. Understand? I don’t want to hear about it. All that stuff happened a long time ago and it wasn’t my fault.”
    “I will come to your house. That way you will believe it is me.”
    “No.”
    “I do not know anyone else in this country, Mister O’Rourke. I am sorry. I am just telling you, so that you can be ready.”
    The man did not sound angry anymore. He made a small sound, like a child when it is nervous about what will happen. I hung up the phone and turned around to the other girls. My heart was pounding so fast, I thought I would vomit right there on the linoleum floor. The other girls were staring at me, nervous and expectant.
    Well? said the girl in the purple dress.
    Hmm? I said.
    De taxi, darlin! What is happenin about de taxi?
    Oh yes, the taxi. The taxi man said a cab will pick us up in ten minutes. He said we are to wait outside.
    The girl in the purple dress, she smiled.
    “Mi name is Yevette. From Jamaica, zeen. You useful, darlin. What dey call yu?”
    “My name is Little Bee.”
    “What kinda name yu call dat?”
    “It is my name.”
    “What kind of place yu come from, dey go roun callin little gals de names of insects?”
    “Nigeria.”
    Yevette laughed. It was a big laugh, like the way the chief baddy laughs in the pirate films. WU-ha-ha-ha-ha! It made the telephone receiver rattle in its cradle. Nye-JIRRYA! said Yevette. Then she turned round to the others, the girl in the sari and the girl with the documents. Come wid us, gals, she said. We de United Nations, see it, an today we is all followin Nye-JIRRYA. WU-ha-ha-ha-ha!
    Yevette was still laughing when the four of us girls walked out past the security desk, toward the door. The detention officer looked up from his newspaper when we went by. The topless girl was gone now—the officer had turned the page. I looked down at his newspaper. The headline on the new page said ASYLUM SEEKERS EATING OUR SWANS . I looked back at the detention officer, but he would not look up at me. While I looked, he moved his arm over the page to cover the headline. He made it look like he needed to scratch his elbow. Or maybe he really did need to scratch his elbow. I realized I knew nothing about men apart from the fear. A uniform that is too big for you, a desk that is too small for you, an eight-hour shift that is too long for you, and suddenly here comes a girl with three kilos of documents and no motivation, another one with jelly-green eyes and a yellow sari who is so beautiful you cannot look at her for too long in case your eyeballs go ploof, a third girl from Nigeria who is named after a honeybee, and a noisy woman from Jamaica who laughs like the pirate Bluebeard. Perhaps this is exactly the type of circumstance that makes a man’s elbow itch.
    I turned to look back at the detention officer just before we went out through the double doors. He was watching us leave. He looked very small and lonely there, with his thin little wrists, under the fluorescent lights. The light made his skin look green, the color of a baby caterpillar just out of the egg. The early-morning sunshine was shining in through the door glass. The officer screwed up his eyes against the daylight. I suppose we were just silhouettes to him. He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, but he stopped.
    What? I said. I realized he was going to tell us there had been a mistake. I wondered if we should run. I did not want to go back in detention. I wondered how far we would get if we ran. I wondered if they would come after us with dogs.
    The detention officer stood up. I heard his chair scrape on the linoleum floor. He stood there with his hands at his sides.
    “Ladies?” he said.
    “Yes?”
    He looked down at the ground, and then up again.
    “Best of luck,” he said.
    And we girls turned around and walked toward the light.
    I pushed open the double doors, and then I froze. It was the sunlight that stopped me. I felt so fragile from the detention center, I was afraid those bright rays of sunshine could snap me in half. I couldn’t take that first step outside.
    “What is de holdup, Lil Bee?”
    Yevette was standing behind me. I was blocking the door for everyone.
    “One moment, please.”
    Outside, the fresh air smelled of wet grass. It blew in my