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his ears. His head whirled. Then, as the last of the stragglers darted after the trail of dust, he breathed again.
    â€˜What have you there?’ asked a man’s voice from an unlit corner.
    Omed jumped and brought the box closer to his chest.
    â€˜I am a friend,’ said the voice. ‘Why does everyone follow you?’ it asked. ‘What do you have in your box?’
    The voice was thicker than smoke. It bristled with the sharp points of daggers.
    Omed pushed the box inside his shirt.
    â€˜Friend, it is me,’ said the voice and the Snake stepped out of the shadow. ‘There should be no hard feelings.’
    Omed showed his teeth, hard against each other.
    The Snake grabbed his arm. ‘Wait, I have news of your family.’
    The box slumped down inside Omed’s shirt, fell to his stomach. He fought to stay on his feet.
    The Snake smiled and nodded. Omed could see his forked tongue, sneaking up behind rotten teeth. ‘Yes, yes, news of your family.’ He slithered beside Omed, wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
    â€˜They send their greetings,’ he said.
    Omed narrowed his eyes.
    â€˜And of course their love,’ he added hastily. ‘That as well, of course.’
    The Snake stepped uneasily from one foot to another. ‘They are well. They are very well; excellent, I would say. But as for me, I am not so good. Things have gone badly for me and it was impossible for me to stay in Afghanistan.’ He looked up at the roof of the tent. ‘Running a business such as mine requires a great amount of money. I have to pay everyone ,’ he hissed, through gritted teeth, ‘to make sure things run smoothly.’
    Omed shook his head, but the Snake ignored him and carried on. ‘I have big debts. Debts to people that it is not good to be in debt to.
    â€˜So is it not funny how fate throws us together? Both without a country. Both hoping for a new life. We should help each other. Maybe what you have in your box could aid us in our escape?’
    Omed shrugged off his arm and tried to leave, but the Snake grasped at an elbow and spun him around. ‘Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I have not been on this earth long enough to read people’s faces. This is my business! I know what is in your box.’ His face softened again and his large eye shone like the moon reflected in a stagnant pond.
    â€˜I am sure we can both profit from this situation,’ he said, his voice suddenly soft as milk. ‘You have no idea how to escape this place, but you have the money to do it. I have no money, but all the contacts and plans. If you help me, then I will help you. It is a simple deal.’
    His face was lumpy with smallpox scars. Omed didn’t trust him, but what option did he have?
    â€˜It is up to you and how much money we have as to where we go. Where do you wish – Sweden, America?’ There was a pause before he asked, ‘Australia?’ Omed pursed his lips, and the Snake’s eyes slitted for a second as he saw he had won a small war.
    â€˜Australia is a beautiful country, full of fair-minded people. We will have a good life there. You will see.’
    He moved forward and put his hand on the box, but Omed turned to block him, pulling his jacket over to cover it further.
    â€˜As you wish,’ he said.

OMED AND THE SNAKE CROSSED the camp, walking until they seeped like two drops of ink into the starless night. No one would cry at night or think of them. No one would even know they had gone.
    Sometime before dawn, Omed fell asleep and dreamed he was home. His father was sitting reading under the gentle light of a lamp, his mother softly singing Liaquat to sleep. He could feel the warm curves of his brothers at his back and belly, like punctuation, bracketing him. But when he woke it was to the pox-scarred Snake, smiling.
    â€˜Soon Lahore,’ he said. ‘Gateway to Australia – The Lucky Country.’
    Beyond the