He followed Allam now as they left the car. The entrance to the warehouse was in semi-darkness, but voices could be heard—the chattering voices of children. A bright light shone at the end of a long corridor. Allam continued on to double doors that opened into a gymnasium-sized room that had high windows covered in wire mesh. Long, low tables had been set up at one end. In the centre, tables of standard height were arranged irregularly. Seated at the low tables, some kneeling on their chairs, were about a dozen children between the ages of four and eight. A meagre supply of materials was stored on open shelves along one side of the room. Paper, paints, pastels, crayons and coloured pencils had already been carried to the tables. The children were eagerly and earnestly bent over their creations. Two adults, a young man and woman, circled the room, moving from table to table, offering encouragement. Everyone called out greetings to Allam and then settled again after Tom was introduced.

Allam swept his hand toward the shelves. “We are always trying to raise funds for supplies for the children. Toys and games, also.” He guided Tom to the far end of the room, where there was a doorway that led to a galley kitchen. He poured hot sweet tea into small glasses, and Tom sat across from him at a corner table.

“Is this where you come in the afternoons?”

“I work here part of the week, not every day,” said Allam. “The place is sponsored by the city. These are the youngest children. They finish school early. Older children arrive later. The schools are near to this place. We have students in high school, middle school, and these young ones. All come to play and draw and paint and talk to one another—and to me and our workers and volunteers. We teach them about Syria because it was their country, which they had to leave. It is good that they learn stories of their first culture and the history of their land, an old civilization in the world. The volunteers help them with English. Sometimes we play a trivia game. I prepare my questions about places and things in the world. Like the pangolin, its entire body covered in scales. Who has been hearing about that, Toe-mas? This mammal lives in Asia and Africa, south of Sahara. It is on the edge of extinct because of greed, illegal traffic, poachers. Why? Because foolish people want the scales for healing. These small animals wobble on their hind legs. When I show the children a photograph, they think it is an anteater.”

Tom knew nothing of pangolins. He had never heard of pangolins.

Allam continued. “The children come here because we are kind to them. This is one more place where they can belong. We are hoping, too, that they will let us know what is in their minds and their memories. But only if they reveal in a natural way. Some have lived sadness, sorrow, tragedy. Each has a different story. Some have seen violence, even extreme. Some have no parents and now live with uncles, aunties. Here at this place, they must feel safe. We want them to know they are safe. At first, when new children arrive, they don’t join in. But always they are looking around. They see smiles, they hear laughter. This is like watching baby birds learn to fly, Toe-mas. Flap and flap again, the bodies sink through the air, and then, before the final moment, a flutter and somehow they are saving themselves. Or they plunge to the ground and don’t get up again.”