Boys without Names (12 page)

No one notices. It is there again as the wind blows from the west.
Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
. GC looks around. “What was that?” he asks.

Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
. This time it is louder. Rocking Boy stops rocking, because he has heard the sound, too.

“Listen,” GC says to Thick Fingers.

Thick Fingers looks around. “I don't hear anything.” Not only is he slow to think, I guess he is hard of hearing, too.

“The noise.”

Suddenly, an idea blazes across my brain. If this works out right, I might even get some food. “Like there is a big rat around here,” I add.

Thick Fingers's eyes are ready to pop out of his face. I bend over my bead tray and pick up a yellow bead. Only our hands move. There is not a sound in the room.

“I don't know. I thought I heard some screechy-scratchy noises,” GC says.

Come on, wind,
I pray.

Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
.

Night Chatterer lifts up his fringy lashes and stares at the far corner. Dimpled Chin jumps up. His chin quivers with fear. “I don't want a rat to bite me.”

Thick Fingers points his stubby finger to the floor. “Come, sit by me. There is no—”

Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
.

Silence.

Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech.

“Let me see where the noise is coming from,” GC says.

“Be careful. My uncle got bitten by one and had to get shots,” I say.

GC's face turns gray, the same color as his eyes.
Kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
.

Now everyone except me is up. “We'd better go down,” our brave leader, Thick Fingers, says.

GC is already climbing down the ladder when I stand up. It feels good to straighten up, move my legs, go down, and use the bathroom.

“What should we do?” Thick Fingers asks GC.

“I don't know. You're in charge. You should go up and check it out.”

Now Thick Fingers is not happy with GC. “Yes, I am in charge, and I am asking you to go,” he says.

GC is furious.
“Meri billi mujko meow?”

GC saying, “My own cat going against me?” to Thick Fingers makes me happy. I try to hide the smile sprouting at the corners of my mouth. GC catches me. “Send the new boy.”

Thick Fingers follows GC's suggestion and orders me, “Go up and check it out.”

I don't mind doing that, but I am going to get something out of it first. “I'll go only if you promise some food and—”

“I don't have to give you anything.”

“Then I won't do it.”

After a few minutes, I say, “I guess Boss will wonder why we have done so few frames. He won't be pleased.”

“You want food and what else?” Thick Fingers asks me.

“Promise not to complain to Boss about any of us. If you do, I will tell him you are afraid of a rat.”

“
Accha
. Go now.”

I take two steps up, turn my face, and point to GC. “I need help. Come with me.”

Panic fills GC's eyes. “I can't.”

“You go,” Thick Fingers says to Rocking Boy.

Rocking Boy hesitates.

I extend my hand. “Don't worry. Come with me.”

He follows me.

Once we get upstairs, I put my finger on my lips. I whisper, “There's no rat. It is just the tree branch rubbing against the building or the roof.”

“How do you know?”

I take him to the window. “Wait until there is wind and you will hear it.” A breeze blows and the sound is there again. Rocking Boy puts his hand on his mouth to stifle a chuckle. “Will you tell on me?” I ask, just to be sure.

He looks at me unblinking. “Never.”

From his deep, steady gaze I know he will keep his promise. I wonder if GC and Thick Fingers mocked and teased Rocking Boy. He has a frail body, soft features, and quiet eyes that make him look like an easy target. Maybe that is why he looks nervous.

“But how are we going to explain to them about the sound?” he asks.

I like the way he counts us together. Now Thick Fingers and GC are on one side and Rocking Boy and I are on the other.

“What does
Tea se jyada nai kitali garam hai
mean?” I ask him.

“It means you think you are smarter than you really are.” He smirks and shakes his head. “But you really are clever.”

Rocking Boy and I move frames around so it sounds like we are doing something. After a few minutes, we come down. “We looked everywhere but didn't see a thing. I think it is just the branches rubbing against the building. It is safe to come up. But I need some food first,” I tell Thick Fingers.

“You are telling the truth, right?” GC asks.

“Why wouldn't we? We don't want to be bitten by a rat any more than you do.” I turn to Thick Fingers. “I'm hungry.”

“We ate your share.”

“All of you?”

“Only I did, but let me see if there is any food in here.” Thick Fingers finds a piece of stale
roti
on a plate. It is dry and brittle. Yet food is food. Better to have some than not.

They wait while I eat the
roti
and drink water from my tumbler. I'm the first one to go back up. GC and Thick Fingers are the last ones to come up.

GC stands by the window and looks out to make sure I told the truth. When the wind gusts and there is a
kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
sound again, only then he settles down.

 

When Scar returns, he claps us down. I am a little afraid that Thick Fingers will complain about me even though he promised not to. But he keeps his word.

Today Scar didn't have time to cook watery
dal
and rice, so each of us gets two pieces of bread and lemon pickles. I like it better because the pickles are tangy and make the plain bread taste much better than it is. When I finish eating, I find myself licking my fingers. Dimpled Chin does the same. When our glances meet, he grins. Scar is watching us, but I don't care, because a thousand of his mean looks are worth one smile from Dimpled Chin.

“Stay down, you filthy pig.” Scar points to Dimpled Chin as we are ready to go back up. As I climb up the ladder I shudder at the thought of Scar hitting Dimpled Chin simply because the little boy was happy for a split second and gave me a smile.

When I hear Dimpled Chin's yelp, I flinch and a bead flies off. Rocking Boy picks up the bead and presses it into my palm. I wait for Dimpled Chin. When he comes up his cheeks are wet and he stares at the floor. The tops of his ears are bright red.

I hate Scar more than I did when he hit me. Dimpled Chin is so young. It is like Scar hitting Naren or Sita. Even Thick Fingers is upset about it because he keeps throwing pitiful glances at Dimpled Chin. I wish Thick Fingers had complained about me. Then Scar would have been mad at me and would have left Dimpled Chin alone. Maybe Scar
hit Dimpled Chin to make us all fear him more.

And if he did, he was successful. The terror fills up the space between us.

After Scar leaves Thick Fingers tells me, “You bring trouble to others. Do your work and never look and never ever smile at anyone else.”

“But it was not my fault if Boss beat—”

“Yes, it was.” He points to Dimpled Chin. “He got punished because Boss thought you are his friend. It is fine if you want to create problems for yourself, but don't drag others with you.”

“So you don't care if Boss hits me and starves me?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Why do you care about him?” I ask, pointing at Dimpled Chin.

“I, I am not…” Thick Fingers fumbles. He looks puzzled and a little scared. Others have stopped working and are waiting to hear him. “I don't have to give you a reason. Do as I tell you.”

I don't argue anymore.

We work for a couple more hours and all that time I wonder why Thick Fingers is so protective of Dimpled Chin. Maybe they have worked together for a long time and Thick Fingers cares for Dimpled Chin, or he reminds Thick Fingers of his own brother. Or maybe because Dimpled Chin is the youngest and it is hard to see him get punished.

Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. It has not been
as easy to run away as I had thought when I first came here, so it is better if I keep to myself. The only way I can escape during the day is if Scar asks me to help him pack the frames. Then when he takes the boxes out, but before he locks the door, I can run away. For that to happen Scar has to trust me, and I must not smile at Dimpled Chin or be friendly toward anyone. Then maybe Scar will trust me. It will be hard to do because I like Dimpled Chin and I hate Scar, but I have to imagine Scar is nice like my teacher Mr. Advale.

I
have been here for a week and Scar has not asked me to help him. Last night was hot, and as tired as I was, I woke up several times because of the mosquitoes. In the morning my legs and arms are covered with red, puffy welts, and it doesn't help that the day is muggy.

When you are trapped, each new day is the same as before. But today is different—it is a bath day. It brings a little variety. Scar hands me a pair of shorts but no shirt. Which means when I wash my shirt and hang it on a line to dry, I have to go shirtless. In this weather, that is fine. I will be gone before winter comes.

Three of us have to take a bath together to save water—Dimpled Chin, Rocking Boy, and me. GC is supposed to take a bath with Thick Fingers and Night Chatterer, but he refuses to do so. For some reason, Scar
lets him take one alone.

There is one bucket of water among the three of us. Dimpled Chin takes his bath in his underwear. He uses half a tumbler of water to wet himself. The he rubs the sliver of soap on his body and rinses with just two tumblers full of water. While he wipes his body with a piece of towel Rocking Boy cleans up. Between the two of them they have used only half the water.

When it is my turn, I close my eyes and dip my fingers in the bucket. The water is at room temperature and feels good on this hot day. I don't touch the edge of the pail, so my fingers are surrounded only by water.

With my eyes closed, the bucket becomes a pond. I can imagine the water stretched out like a bolt of indigo fabric. I hear the soft ripples. I can even taste the fresh water. I smile. Memories make time walk backward.

Almost.

“You're taking too long. Boss will be mad.” Rocking Boy brings me back to the present.

Before I can answer him a loud
clap
, followed by “Hurry up, you lazy dogs” from Scar rattles me. The other two are dressed and waiting for me. “Keep some water to rinse our clothes,” Rocking Boy whispers. I quickly get ready. We soak and wring our clothes, hang them on the line in the bathroom, and are back up in five minutes.

It feels good to take a bath, but the thought that I won't be able to take another one for a week makes me sad. Maybe I won't have to wait that long. Everyone is
clean and fresh. Night Chatterer looks the best with his combed hair. Even his lashes curve up like he has combed them.

Fresh and clean, we glue beads; morning, afternoon, and evening. Over and over until we are tired and dirty again.

 

For the last few days there has been no rain, no break in work, and no chance to escape. Scar locks up the doors not only when he leaves but even when he is here. In the beginning I thought I could escape, but now I am not sure. How can I plan something that seems impossible?

I was so eager to make money, and now I am trapped. I can only blame my foolishness. Aai must be heartbroken. I wonder if Naren has stopped talking like he does when he is upset or angry? And Sita? Just thinking about them brings tears to my eyes. Jama must be spending so much time looking for me. If Baba is back he must be miserable.

The mosquitoes are just as bad as before. I suppose there are enough puddles left over from the earlier rain for them to breed in and there is enough blood for them to feed on.

One thing about a dry spell is we can keep the window open during the day. Thick Fingers has moved me away from him, which is good, because now every time I look up to give my neck and back a rest, I see a sliver of sky and a branch of the
nimba
tree. Today I notice the
fingertip-long fruits have turned yellow. Oh, how I wish I could pick a handful of them, pop them in my mouth, and let the bittersweet juice coat my tongue.

Today Scar gives us new patterns. “Here is the thing, boys. You must all do export-quality work on these frames. It is a large order and we have to finish in time for their holiday season, so get going. I won't allow a single mistake.” He doesn't wait for us to start work before leaving.

“What is export-quality?” I ask.

“I thought you were the smart one. Don't you know what it means?” GC laughs, making his shoulders hunch even more.

Thick Fingers puts his stubby hand up. “Don't bicker. Do your work. Export quality means you have to do your best work because these things will be sold in faraway countries.”

Ever since I checked for the rat and Dimpled Chin got punished, Thick Fingers has lost a few thorns and has mellowed.

“Which countries?” Dimpled Chin asks.

“I don't know their names, but it doesn't matter to me and shouldn't matter to you. All we have to do is work on the order,” Thick Fingers replies.

I fill my bead tray, apply glue to a frame, and re-create the pattern on the frame as fast as I can. My palm is so sweaty that I can't keep a firm grip on the blunt needle that I use to pick up beads. It keeps sliding away. I wipe
my hands on my shorts often, but that slows me down. The only good part is that everyone else is doing the same thing.

How far will these frames travel? Will they cross the oceans on a boat or fly on a plane? Will they sit in one of those fancy rooms like the one in Mohan's
Star Homes
magazine? Who are the lucky people who will buy them? Maybe one will end up in a young girl's room. She will never know a young boy like her made the frame with his sweat and tears while his heart ached for his family. Tears roll down my cheeks. I move my arm to wipe them on my sleeve before realizing I am not wearing a shirt.

 

“Tomorrow we get a haircut,” Thick Fingers tells us as we put away our desks and beads for the night.

“Does Boss cut our hair?” I ask.

“
Mamu
,” GC says. “You think Boss will touch your lice-filled hair?”

“I don't have lice and I—”

Thick Fingers puts his hand up. “We have to get up at five, so go to bed.”

I wonder if we have to start work an hour early so we can take time for a haircut. I still don't know who will cut our hair. What if Scar takes us out? If he does I will make sure I run away. But as I think about it I realize he won't do that. He wouldn't want to spend money on us, take us out, and let others find out we are working for him.

Does that mean Thick Fingers will cut our hair? Or
GC? It would be so easy for one of them to poke me with the tip of the scissors and call it an accident. Maybe I should have been more careful and not made them my enemies. I am soaked in sweat and worried to my bones.

 

When we begin our work it is pitch-dark outside. I want to find out who is going to cut our hair. Who can I ask? They all must have gotten haircuts before and are not curious about it. Like Aai used to say, without good work there is no
bakshish,
tip. So it is better for me to do my work well and please Scar. If he is happy it won't matter who cuts my hair. Whoever it is will be careful. That will be my
bakshish
.

After tea Scar sends us all up except Night Chatterer and Thick Fingers. Soon Scar calls GC down. When Thick Fingers returns his hair is as short as a pencil point and he has taken a bath. He sends Rocking Boy down, which means GC must be taking a bath. I am the last one to go down after Dimpled Chin. Night Chatterer cuts my hair right outside the bathroom while Dimpled Chin is taking a bath. The pair of scissors is not big but looks sharp. Scar stands close by and watches us, tapping his foot nervously.

Night Chatterer combs my hair and snips away, combs and snips away. I wish I had a mirror to see how I look. When I am about done Dimpled Chin comes out of the bathroom. “Wash your hair and be out in five minutes,” Scar says to me.

“Yes, Boss.”

There is less than half a bucket of water left. I wash my hair and my body as quickly as I can. When I open the bathroom door Night Chatterer is ready to go in. I wonder if he gave himself a haircut or did Scar?

Why has Scar asked Night Chatterer to do this job? Maybe he has done this work before, or his father was a barber and he has learned it from him, or he is the only one Scar trusts with a pair of scissors.

In the heat, short hair seems to help. I don't perspire as much and I don't need to comb my hair. I wish we could keep our hair this short all the time but it is not going to happen, because when I came here everyone's hair was so much longer than this. I think Scar will let many months go by before he will allow haircuts again, and somehow I will be out of here. I have to be.

 

Around one, Scar gives us each a banana with
roti
. He must be feeling generous today because of the huge order. I wait for
bhaji
or
dal
, but there isn't any. When Scar gives something extra, he takes something back, so there is always a price to pay. The bananas are mottled black and soft. I take a bite of
roti
, a bite of banana, and a sip of water to make them all come out even like the way I used to when I was young.

My eyes droop after lunch. The heavy air makes me drowsy, and I have to fight it. Scar brings us water later that afternoon, which he hasn't done before. At least he
makes sure we are not thirsty.

I take my tumbler and begin drinking. He quickly snatches it away. “I don't have a well here! Sip slowly so you can stay awake and keep on working.”

Except for insults, Scar never gives anything for free. I must remember that.

 

We sip and work, sip and work. “You've become a rocking boy too,” Dimpled Chin whispers to me. Without realizing it, I have started rocking back and forth, back and forth. When I get up I am not as stiff as I used to be. Maybe rocking helps a person stay limber and that is why Rocking Boy is always the first one to get on his feet. He has learned to cope with sitting cross-legged all day, every day.

“I have to deliver these frames and I won't be back again,” Scar says around five. “There's some food for you, but don't eat before eight and keep on working. If one of you falls behind in work, all of you will be punished. Remember, no frames, no food.”

As perspiration trickles down my shirtless back, it is hard to keep on beading, and there are still two more hours before we eat. The time would go faster if we could talk or share stories. I think of all the
kahanis
Aai told me. When Naren and Sita fought, or if one of them was sick, I made up stories. On the
nimba
branch by the pond, I pretended to be Shahanshah Akbar or Birbal or a warrior. It was fun.
Kahanis
are like the sky. There is no end
to them. You can always retell the old one, make a new one up, or twist the old one to make it funnier, scarier, or sweeter. Aai used to say, “
Kahanis
are your best friends because they never leave you.”

“How about if we tell
kahanis
?” I ask.

“Tea se jyada nai kitali garam hai,”
GC says. I ignore his taunting, that I think I am smarter than I really am, but he keeps on pounding. “Just like you, stories are dreamed up, phony, and
faltu
, useless.”

“Remember when you thought that a rat made a
kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
sound? You ran down like a scared goat. Stories are like that. They may not be real but what we feel is real.”

“I want a
kahani
,” Dimpled Chin says as he leans toward me. The fading sunlight shines on him. “Please.” When he says the English word, his face swells up with pride. Even his dimple seems to deepen with satisfaction.

I wait for Thick Fingers to give me permission to tell a story or speak up against it, but he keeps on gluing beads and doesn't look up. That must mean at least he doesn't mind if I tell a
kahani.

So many stories fly through my brain,
kahanis
about giants, ghosts, and angels. I let them go. I pick the one I know best, the one that means the most to me. “Here is a
kahani
about a boy and a trickster,” I begin, applying glue to a new frame. “Once there was a boy who lived in a valley surrounded by hills. He helped his parents in their field and he roamed with his friends in their village.”

“What a boring, no-name boy story!” GC interrupts.

I go on. “The boy thought he would always live there. One year the rains were good and every farmer in the village was happy. Their onion crop grew and grew. When the field was covered with yellowish leaves, it was time for the harvest. The boy helped lift the plump onions from the ground and dreamed of all the money they would get and the things they could buy with the money. The boy's baba promised him new sandals, a book, and maybe new clothes. Even though the boy's hands and arms were covered with red soil, he imagined himself holding a book and reading it to his younger brother and sister.”

“What book did he get?” Dimpled Chin asks. He has put his bead picker down.

“You don't know how to read, so what difference does it make?” GC sneers.

Dimpled Chin looks at me. “But you know how. Right?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Keep working!” Thick Fingers shouts at Dimpled Chin.

I continue. “The boy and his parents filled the jute sacks with dried onions. When the boy and his baba went to sell the onions, they didn't get much money, because everyone had a big crop and there were too many onions at the market. The price of onions fell, and with that, all of the boy's dreams shattered.” As I say the last sentence,
something soft and sad rises in my throat and I wait for a second to let it pass.

“Then what happened?” Dimpled Chin asks as he beads a red flower.

I tell the rest of the
kahani
about the boy and his family moving to the city, his baba getting lost, and him getting tricked by a stranger. I finish with, “And that is how the boy came to work in the bead place.”

When I am done, the circle is quiet.

“It is your very own
kahani, na
?” Rocking Boy whispers.