She hadn't realized that she forgot the smell. She didn't know how she could have let the smell of rotten water, filth, and decay escape her mind, but she did. Nalliah didn't realize that she forgot how much the pavement was cracked or how hot the trash fires burned and left a sting in her eyes. She had never been thankful for forgetting something until now.
The promise she made herself to never return here was in the back of her mind as she tucked her hands into her coat pockets and walked through the crowded twist and turns of Tent City. Her home for the first twelve years of her life. A place she wanted to leave in the past and lock away in her mind. Yet here she was, looking for the one person she wanted to forget more than any of this, her mother.
"Nalliah Zuva. Showing her face in the slums. I never thought I would see the day again." A voice that had once haunted her dreams and provoked her nightmares left her frozen in her path. A fear passed over her before she had the chance to contain it. Her gaze remained forward as she scanned the crowd in front of her. Their tired eyes showed empathy, some anger, and some were just empty.
She once belonged to these people, she was once just as angry, and just as empty. She used to have the same fear in her eyes when the man standing behind walked the streets of Tent City. That was not who she was anymore. She was no longer empty, she was no longer alone, and she was no longer scared.
"Zachariah," She turned on her feet and met the man's gaze with as much strength as she could. "Where is she?"
Her voice didn't waiver and her fist didn't leave her pockets. As the man in front of her walked towards her with a swagger that made her stomach turn.
"Your mother?" His deep laugh ran a chill down her spine. She had once been terrified that this man would burn what little she had to the ground. She remembered how his scarred face and amber eyes left her screaming as he would rip what small amount of money her mother had collected from begging out of their hands that was the fee for being able to take shelter in Tent City. She had fought against him once, trying to steal back the only money they had for food for the week. She had learned quickly why her mother never fought against him. Why she would coward away with her liquor bottles and rotten dinners. Nalliah had to learn the lesson the hard way that no one ever stole from Zachariah, the King of the City. The scar left on her left forearm was nearly six inches long and when she had come back to her makeshift tent crying to her mother for help. She received nothing but a shrug.
She realized then that her mother would never fight for anything. Including her.
"Your mother is definitely somewhere." He chuckled as he ran his hand over his face. The light from the trash fires illuminated the rings he wore on his fingers. Her stomach turned at the realization of how many warm meals those rings could buy the citizens of this wretched place.
"Care to elaborate?" Her hands still in fists and her nails dug into her palms hidden in her pockets, but her voice did not waver. She suddenly became very aware of the feeling of her shirt rubbing against her scar.
"Look at you, eh?" Zachariah sauntered towards her with his finger waving in the air. "Little ole Nalliah thinks that she can come back here with a fancy coat and clean shoes and talk to me like she runs the place!"
He was close enough to her that she could smell the alcohol on his breath and see the anger in his eyes. Her feet stayed firmly in place and her back remained straight. A crowd had gathered around them, all of their tired eyes watching and waiting as she stood face to face with the man that had made this place what it was, soiled.
"Where is she, Zachariah?" Her voice was quieter but in no way submissive. His eyes trailed over her like she was a prize and she could feel her nails draw blood from her palms. It was everything she could do to keep herself from knocking that look right off his face.
"She's by the basins!" The voice was one Nalliah did not recognize, but as both she and Zachariah turned to see who had shouted out they noticed that it was an older woman standing in front of the larger crowd that had now gathered.
She had a strength about her that restored all confidence in Nalliah. A story written in her eyes that held bravery and cause. Nalliah nodded towards her in thanks as she left Zachariah standing in his place.
When she had gotten far enough away to lose Zachariah she turned around and looked for the woman. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she was nowhere to be seen and said a silent prayer that she had gotten away before the self-proclaimed king had the chance to retaliate against her.
As Nalliah made her way to the basins she looked over the faces of the citizens around her and her heart wrenched. Little boys cowering behind sheets for warmth, little girls who looked like they hadn't had a meal in days. Memories washed over her as she saw families cowering around fires and huddling for warmth. She tried to shake them away as she continued to look for her mother.
It wasn't long before she had made her way to the farthest corner of the city. As she looked at face after face hoping that her mother was amongst the crowded bathing station her eyes froze on a little girl standing a few yards in front of her. It was as if all of the sudden her feet refused to move, and her eyes had become locked in place. Nalliah could tell from the short distance that the girl's body was weak from malnutrition and her hair matted beyond fixing. She saw herself in that little girl, saw the same pain in her eyes as she had once had, saw the same loneliness in her face that all but consumed her. The darkness she had long since buried. Nalliah was moving towards her and kneeling in front of her before she even realized it.
"What's your name?" Nalliah almost didn't recognize the softness in her own voice.
The little girl stood still in front of her, not saying a word. Just looked up at her with wide wondering eyes. She could read the story written in them but knew that there were pages and pages of that sad story that had yet to be written. Nalliah didn't even think before she was taking off her coat and wrapping it around the little girl's shoulders. Covering her torn clothes and too prominent collar bones.
"You keep this safe for me, okay?" Nalliah tied the belt around her three times before it was snug enough to protect her from the cold. "I'll be back to get it." She masked the sadness in her voice with a smile as she finished the tie.
The little girl still said nothing as Nalliah stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. The faster she could get out of this place the better off she would be. And as soon as she got the answers she was looking for, she could leave all of this and her mother behind her.
She smiled once more at the little girl before she turned around and started to search again for the woman she came here for. She didn't think that she would be hard to find, but a decade could change a lot about a person especially when they lived in a place like this. Her appearance would be no doubt different, but she prayed she would be some sort of recognizable. Nalliah had made a little effort to keep tabs on her mother, just so she could make sure she was still breathing, but that is where any connection with her mother had stopped.
It wasn't long before her silent prayers were answered. The moment she saw the old women resting on a pile of filthy blankets she knew exactly who she was. She had the same blank gaze in her eyes, the same worn scars on her dark skin. This woman was her mother. There was no doubt.
She approached her with quiet steps. As if she was approaching a lion protecting its den. Her mother's eyes never strayed from the trash fire in front of her as she approached.
"Mother?" She tried to find the strength she had when she was confronted by Zachariah. But her mother brought out a weakness in her that she could not reign. Despite the fire that was burning just a few feet away from her, the absence of her coat was making Nalliah shiver against the cold.
"Nalliah," Her mother still did not make eye contact with her as she let out a soft laugh. An anger rushed through her as she stared at the woman in front of her. This was the woman that left her to rot, that made her scavenge for food and beg strangers for money, this was the woman that watched her stich her own arm back together with a loose string and a worn sewing needle. This woman did not get to laugh.
"I need one thing from you." She had found that anger and strength once more. As she stepped in front of her mother she was no longer concerned with the cold as she pulled up the sleeve of her shirt. The change in her mother's expression let Nalliah know her mother knew exactly why she came here.
"Tell me, what in the hell this is." Nalliah finished rolling up her sleeve and kept her gaze locked on her mother face. The old woman in front of her stared at the mark on her arm. An almost pentagon shaped symbol that was made of numerous smaller shapes and swirls sat on her forearm. It was the size of her palm and glowed a dull blue.
"This means child," her mother said quietly. Slowly reaching for her arm, admiring the mark with a sort of wonder. "It is time for you to go home."