The Vine Basket Read Online Free PDF Page B

himself.”
    Then Memet told her about the demonstration. Memet, Yusup, more than a hundred other boys, men—even women and children, he’d said—had gathered at the Hotan market for a peaceful protest. They hated that they’d lost their farms just because the Han wanted them. His friend Jawab and his ata had refused to give up their land and had been taken away to some unknown prison. It was an innocent protest. They weren’t armed. Memet said the police had attacked them before they got started. Shot at them. Killed at least twenty. Injured more.
    â€œWe’ve got to go, little sister,” Yusup said to Mehrigul, grabbing the handlebars of his motorcycle. Beginning to push it down the road. “By now they’ll have the roads blocked and be looking for us. Our pictures could be on their cameras.”
    Memet’s arms engulfed her, lifted her from the ground in an almost strangling embrace. Then Memet and Yusup were shoving the motorcycle down a narrow trail, away from the main road. A path that would, before dawn, lead them to the desert’s edge.

Five
    T HE GRAPEVINE WAS STILL entwined around Mehrigul’s hand as she stirred from her memories. Someone was calling. Not Ana, but a voice she knew. Her friend Pati. She rose and slowly untangled herself from the vine as she tried to clear her thoughts.
    Her friend’s red jacket was the first thing she saw as she threaded her way back through the peach orchard. Pati always wore red—a beacon of happiness. Always smiling, safe in a family of grandparents, parents who adored her, a brother, a sister, aunts, uncles, little ones.
    Mehrigul thought Pati’s happiness also came from the rushing stream that flowed through the mill beside her home, powering the turbine that moved the huge stone circles to grind wheat or corn. Mehrigul had been known to sit for hours watching the gushing water. She’d gladly be transported there now, but she saw Ata shoveling corncobs onto the wagon Pati and her brother had brought over from the mill. Ana was helping. Even Lali.
    Pati walked across the field toward Mehrigul, who slowed her steps. She wanted as much time as possible with her friend before going back to work.
    They greeted with a hug, Pati not seeming to mind that Mehrigul was grubby and smelly from her day’s labor.
    â€œI brought a book, Mehrigul,” Pati said. “Lessons are difficult this year.” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t think so, but I do. I need your help . . . I miss you.”
    Mehrigul reached for Pati’s hands and pressed them. She averted her eyes to shield her friend from the bitterness that swelled within her—anger that she couldn’t pursue studies that would give her some chance for her future.
    They began to walk toward the house. “I’ll have very little time for us to be together.” Mehrigul’s words were muted. “There’s much to do here.”
    â€œI’ll ride my bicycle over after school. That will give us some time,” Pati said.
    â€œI can’t explain, but I won’t be able to see you for a few weeks.”
    â€œDoes your ata make you do everything Memet used to do? You already had a lot of chores of your own.”
    â€œThere’s another thing I must do now, too. It’s important. And . . .” Mehrigul halted. “Are you still studying English?”
    â€œYou’re acting crazy, Mehrigul. There’s something so important you can’t see me. Then, suddenly, you’re interested in English.”
    Mehrigul hung her head. “I can’t talk about it.”
    â€œWell,” Pati said, “since you asked, there is someone who comes to our class to teach us English once a week. Our teacher wants to learn, and she makes us do it too.”
    Mehrigul nodded, then quickened her step. “I must help with the corn,” she said. “Ata keeps glaring at me.”
    â€œLet the others