Cloud Girls

DedicationThis book is dedicated to all thosewhose lives have been stolen by traffickers. EpigraphNo one worth possessingCan be quite possessed;Lay that on your heart,My young angry dear;This truth, this hard and precious stone,Lay it on your hot cheek,Let it hide your tear.Hold it like a crystalWhen you are aloneAnd gaze in the depths of the icy stone.Long, look long and you will be blessed:No one worth possessingCan be quite possessed.Sara Teasdale, “Advice to a Girl” Contents CoverTitle PageDedicationEpigraph1: Nico2: Sammy3: Nico4: Sammy5: Nico6: Sammy7: Nico8: Sammy9: Nico10: Sammy11: Nico12: Sammy13: Nico14: Sammy15: Nico16: Sammy17: Nico18: Sammy19: Nico20: Sammy21: Nico22: Sammy23: Nico24: Sammy25: Nico26: Sammy27: Nico28: Sammy29: Nico30: Sammy31: Nico32: Sammy33: Nico34: Sammy35: Nico36: Sammy37: Nico38: Sammy39: Nico40: Sammy41: Nico42: Sammy43: Nico44: Sammy45: NicoAuthor’s NoteAcknowledgmentsAbout the AuthorCopyrightAbout the Publisher 1NicoA cooling breeze creeps up my skirt, tickling my thighs, as I climb to the highest branch of the highest tree in the forest. Puffs of cloud, like God’s breath, float all around. Some of the other fellows are yellowing and balding, but this old man holds on to his crown all year round. He smells of leather and Papa’s pipe. Lying back on his wrinkled bark, blotched with freckles, I scout the sky for shapes. With a slight squinting and blurring, a galloping filly appears just beyond my reach. I swing both legs either side of the branch and ride like the cowboys ride in the films Maria’s dad lets us watch. “Would you like a man like that?” he’d say. “A man with bandy legs who spits on the ground?”Maria would laugh, and I would think: but what about the gun packed so close to his thigh?When we’re alone, Maria says she dreams of those spitting men.Luca has climbed up behind me and is shaking the branch I’m clinging to. “Hey, don’t be such a dumbass! I could fall.” He starts to laugh, sounding as cruel as Sergiu. The dog is running round and round the base, making strange grunting sounds. “That stupid animal doesn’t know it’s a mutt,” he says, and throws a baby-green fairy cap in its direction. He should know better. Mama says if they are pulled too soon, you can hear their cries on the wind. Luca hits the dog on its head, and it yelps helplessly, looking towards the sky. It still hasn’t worked out where we go when we climb up the trunk of the tree; as far as it can see, we disappear into the clouds. It’s been around as long as I have, which must make it very old in dog years. “Senile old nutter,” Sergiu would say, as he’d give it its tenth whack of the day with his pointed boot. We’ve never given the old hound a name. My brothers all laugh when I suggest it. “It’s an animal, a creature, an “it,” and that’s that, silly sis.” Mama reckons the boys were knocked on their heads when they were little, or jostled about too much when they were growing inside her. I think it’s because they came out just like Papa, except for Luca, who is more like Mama and me, although he tries very hard not to be. “Where is your little friend today, sis?” As if he doesn’t know. He follows us to the river most days and hides behind a bush where he thinks we can’t see him. “Just who are you talking about, donkey?” I’ve arranged to meet Maria later at the watering hole, at the same time we meet every day during the summer holidays. “Do you think she likes me?”He’s asking for it now. “She doesn’t even know you exist.”He shakes the branch in a fury so I’m on the edge of falling.“Stop, you castrated bull!”He laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you on the way down.” The dog’s anxious grunting increases. “Stupid yoke,” he says.Of the three boys, Luca has the bluest eyes, the thickest hair, and the smoothest skin. Although he’s the youngest, he’s also the tallest, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and a taut body. The girls in school giggle when he’s around and wear high color on their cheeks. Maria’s no different, although I’d never tell him this. “Come swimming with us today.” The words are out of my mouth before I can pull them back. Maybe it’s because I know there are only five more days left before school starts, or maybe it’s because I want the shaking to stop. “Okay,” he says, as if he doesn’t care.An image of Maria and Luca alone together floats out of nowhere, gaining substance until it’s hard and solid, hitting me in the chest, leaving me breathless. “I can see up your skirt,” he shouts, conceding nothing.There is a silence, until I realize he has started climbing back down. I let go of the branch I was clinging to and spread my arms wide. Look: no hands! The sky is piebald blue and white, and I am trotting, cantering, galloping along the plains. I would much rather be one of those men than meet one, as a girl. “Are you coming down?” He’s in a desperate hurry to get to the river.“In a minute,” I shout, as a strange and strong pain hits me in the stomach. It has been happening more often: this clutching feeling, which comes with no warning and leaves me with wet in my eyes. I lean forward and lay the length of my body down, pressing my stomach against the wood, resting my cheek on the rough bark. Waves of swimming lines float in the air. “Come on, sis, Maria might think you’re not coming.”I turn my head so the other cheek is rubbing against the old fellow’s gnarled skin. I press and I breathe. Almost as soon as it arrived it’s gone and I sit back up, swing my legs around and drop down into the center of the tree, using legs and arms to root and dangle until the last swing lands me on my