8 Goodbye

I smiled tearfully, staring into those moisty brown eyes. The One-day had come and I must say goodbye.

I wished this was a bad joke, where the jester spiked my heartbeat to the brink of cardiac arrest only to set in a purge. I wish it was a nightmare which would pass with the shadows of the night.

Will this be the last time I stare into those eyes? Will it be the last time I hold this warm hands? My tumultuous mind questioned, but who would answer me. Truly, the life of a fugitive must have a sick scene called, the end. This was our fate!

I hugged him again sobbing louder. How much I loved him; the man that caused my birth, the man that shaped my life.

"I'm going to miss you, Daddy. I wish...I wish..." Consumed by emotions, I couldn't say more.

When I looked around I realized that I was not alone. The airport was teeming with deportees, their families, friends, news reporters and public service workers.

At the edge of the steel bench on my side was a couple hugging their 5 years old son, it was probably the last time they would see him. Another family bid their two teenage sons and a daughter goodbye. The lady held her daughter so closely and I recalled how my mom had held me a few minutes ago.

There were more families like them, each singing the same lamentation as mine. I feared for the fate that awaited those kids even more than I feared for myself. They would probably be taken to foster homes or orphanage homes, while the kids my age and above would forget about college and begin a life of struggle to survive.

"They are just like me," I muttered, releasing Dad from my embrace.

My parents as well as the Diogo and the Edmundos turned to look at the mass of separated families.

"It's not fair!" I cried angrily. Some immigration officers turned to me and so did other people, but I kept speaking in between my sob,

"These kids need their parents and you are taking them away! How would you feel if you precious kids were taken away from you, how would you feel?" I directed my arrow-like words to the officers dressed in a black leather jacket and cargo pants and I could see the guilt on their faces. My childish mind felt they were to blame.

"You will take these kids to foster homes and orphanage homes, when in fact, they are not orphans! They have fathers and mothers, they all have a family for God's sake!" I was emboldened to speak further by the venomous rage inside me and the look on their faces.

"All these families ever wanted, was a chance to live peacefully and raise their kids. But you took that away!" I stepped forward, standing in the middle with all eyes and cameras on me.

"No family deserve to be separated! No child deserves to live away from the people they love! You took their parents away from them, You took mine away from me! It's not fair!" I shouted, as I sunk onto the bench.

A cold silence fell. What can anyone do against the government? I was pained by my helplessness and so were the others. Their bleeding hearts, only renew their reasons to cry, raising the chant: "IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!

The indistinct chant continued, more like a protest:

"DON'T SEPARATE OUR FAMILY!"

"IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!"

Children as well as adults joined in raising their voices and right arm. many were on their feet adding more phrases to the chant to emphasize their points.

The immigration officers and police multiplied without stopping the calm protest. All they did was stand at attention watching the unfolding drama.

Some news reporters took pictures and videos of me but Diogo ordered them to stay back. I was bitter and grief-stricken. My parents came to my aid holding me from beating myself.

"I'm so sorry my baby, I'm so sorry." My mom cried, holding my face as she spoke. "You don't deserve to go through this." She cried.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"We're always here with you, child." Mom said.

"Will I survive alone?"

Dad wiped a tenth of the flood stemming from my eyes and said,

"You are strong my dear, I trust you will be fine. I will always pray for you and your sister. You both are the best gifts I could ever have and I'm proud of you."

Tears force him to speak no more as he tried to hide trickles of tears.

A loud call for the deportees sent the signal that it was finally goodbye. This was enough medicine to neutralise the protest and It was like a rush against time. I held Mom close and Dad too, and so did the other kids, their parents. When the officers approached us, I yelled,

"Stay away from them!"

"You have to let go." One of the officers said.

"No! please No!" I begged.

Diogo and Mr Edmundo held me tightly, drawing me away from them and I struggled. I never wanted to let go of mom's arms. I had clung to her like a magnet, sadly, the more I pushed closer the more my parents pulled away.

I made an indistinct scream in pain and hurt, as my dilated eyes watch them leave. The loud mix of many children outcries increased more than ever, forming a sad folksong.

The fear of being alone, the fear of the unknown were leeches clung to my feet. I couldn't move, I just stayed weak in their hands watching until the last trace of them disappeared. I wished that some miracle could happen and they would not leave anymore. I recalled Dad's last words,

"Never forget to read the words of the prophets it will guard you."

I had agreed to this quickly as if this was his dying wish. I resolved in my heart to read the Torah even for a thousand times if that was his wish.

I walked away in the haze with my hands tucked in my ash hoody and my head bowed. The Edmundos and Diogo walked by my side. We had matched through the crowd of heartbroken fellows and reporters who scrambled towards me.

I was grateful that Diogo and Mr Edmundo were handy to protect me from the reporters that tried to question me.

During the long journey home, I was quiet and awake. I did not shed any more tears. I sat opposite Mrs Eunice on the train and she kept staring at me. I guessed she was worried about me.

Mrs Eunice was mom's best friend, it was only natural that her husband Mr Edmundo become friends with my dad, despite his higher position at their workplace. Another biding cord was the fact that the Edmundos were also Jews like my family.

Unlike them, Diogo was Dad's best friend, although Diogo was much younger than Dad. He was probably in his early thirties.

10 years ago, when we first arrived Douro valley, Diogo felt pity for us in our homeless state and offered us a place to stay. He also helped Dad get a job at Don Carlo farm. Ever since then, Diogo became the brother my Dad never had and an uncle to me.

Late that day, I arrived home to a dark, stealthy cabin. It was like a haunted aunt hill, cold and stale looking. Maybe I was imagining things so I switched on the sitting room light. After shutting the door, I rushed to my room.

I immersed myself in my bed and sobbed loudly, saying so much in my heart. A while later, I grabbed my dairy, and began writing.

"Dear Diary,

My heart is torn apart, and each piece is crushing down. I died the moment you said goodbye. My melancholic song will remain as I count my lonely days. As I sulk in the traces of an empty house, void of the laughter, love and peace; the gems that made it home.

Sorry, we said little, as little as "I love you" When a lifetime would not be enough to show it. Tell me anything but goodbye, tell me it's a game, and I will let you win. I will hold close the remains of our forever. Though you must leave, please live in my heart."

I couldn't write any more, I was grieved, even my book could attest to my sullen state for it grew wet with tears. I can't remember what happened next as I woke up to a new day.