Boys without Names (16 page)

My scream wakes me up.

I
n the daylight I stare at the
nimba
trunk with a gash where the big branch broke off many weeks ago. It has left a hole in the tree. I have a same kind of wound in my heart since I got separated from my family.

Scar comes early and doesn't leave until after the clock strikes eight so he can supervise us. The export-quality work order must be very important. One muggy day, when he pokes his head in to see if we are doing a good job, he has to keep swatting at the mosquitoes that buzz around him. He spreads his arms wide. “We have another big order.” Sweat beads form on his temples and balding head. A small pencil is stuck behind his ear. I imagine reaching out and grabbing it.

We all look at him blankly.

“How come there are more mosquitoes here than
downstairs?” he demands, as if we invited them to come and suck our blood.

The mosquitoes have been bad for so long that we have gotten used to it, but Scar only notices them now when we have an important and urgent order. “I think because at night they find their way up,” I reply.

“It must slow you down. What can we do?”

None of us has an answer. So Scar answers his own question.

“I will bring a spray tomorrow.”

Mr. Advale told us that some sprays are very dangerous and I don't want Scar to bring something that will hurt us, but I have to tell him in such a way that he won't do it. “You have to spray every few days to keep them away. It will cost too much.”

He narrows his eyes. “You have a better idea, smart mouth?”

“If we put some fresh
nimba
branches in a pail and run a fan, it will drive the mosquitoes away.”

Scar's eyes settle on the
nimba
tree. “That's a good idea, but here is the thing. The fan will cost money.”

I am afraid he will order us to work extra, so I say, “A used one will be cheaper than the spray.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn't tell us what he is going to do. I hope he buys a fan.

 

The next day he brings in an old fan and a pail filled with
nimba
stems. The yellowed fan blades are covered
with a layer of grime and one of the knobs is broken, but the
nimba
leaves are fresh. There are some ripe, fleshy fruit hanging on the branches, and my mouth waters. “Run the fan only when the mosquitoes are bad. Turn it off at night or else all my profit will be eaten up by electricity,” Scar says.

It is nice to have a fan, even an old gurgling fan, while we work. It throws
nimba
-scented air around. When we turn it off the glue smell creeps back. I wish we could keep the fan and share stories so I can imagine I'm sitting on a tree branch on a breezy day.

At night I pick the
nimba
fruits. Everyone except GC eats a few. Amar, Thick Fingers, and Sahil like the ones that are yellow and fully ripe because they don't taste bitter. Roshan is the only one who loves half-ripened ones like I do.

Since Scar brought us the fan he expects us to work one extra hour a day. We split the hour. We get up half an hour early and go to bed half an hour late. The kink in my neck has become permanent. No matter how much I rotate my neck, I can't get rid of it.

Our days are like a worn-out path—dull and the same. Since GC threatened us we have not shared stories. The only new thing I notice is the pain I have in my elbows, knees, and shoulders. In the beginning I used to plan my escape, think about how I would fool Scar, but now I don't bother to do that.

All I know now is it is hard to fall asleep with an uneasy
mind and an aching body. And once I do fall asleep, it is hard to wake up.

 

Today the day starts with bright sunshine and Scar comes in humming. As soon as he turns the television on, the chant,
Ganpati bappa morya, pudcha varshi laukar ya
—“hail Lord Ganesha, return again soon next year”—floats up. It tells me that it must be the festival of the elephant-headed Lord Ganesha, which comes around the end of August.

I think how last year Aai, Naren, Sita, Baba, and I went to the village temple and listened to the priest's chants. We offered red hibiscus blossoms and a few grains of rice to Lord Ganesha, and the priest gave us sweets, coconut pieces, and rock candy. Maybe the rock candy Aai gave to the twins at Thane Station were pieces she had saved from the festival.

I tell myself a story about Lord Ganesha that Aai used to tell me. Once Ganesha and his brother, Kartikay, fought about who was the wiser of the two. They went to their parents, Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, to decide the matter. Their parents were sitting in their abode on top of the Mount Kailash in the Himalayas.

Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati said that whoever could travel around the world and return first was wiser. Lord Kartikay flew off on his peacock to go around the world. But Ganesha circled his parents and bowed saying, “I am back.”

Lord Shiva said, “Beloved son, you did not go around the world.”

Ganesha replied: “No, but I went around both of you. My parents symbolize the entire universe for me.”

Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati declared that Ganesha was indeed the wiser one.

Aai told me that Lord Ganesha was the god of wisdom, intelligence, and worldly success. Maybe if I pray to him he will help me.

After several days the festival of Lord Ganesha ends, but I am still here.

T
he monsoon seems to have tapered off with soft rain, and in a few weeks the seasons will change. Nothing will change for me. I have been here for almost three months now, and each passing day glues me more firmly to this place.

Now I don't have to fight tears because even they have disappeared.

Today Scar brings in fresh-cut
nimba
stems and they fill the room with a pleasing scent. And there are more fruits to pop in our mouths tonight. As soon as I think that, I hate myself for not even planning to escape. I have become as lifeless and dull as a dried-up clump of soil.

For lunch, we have cabbage with
dal
and rice. I think of how Aai used to make fresh cabbage-and-onion salad seasoned with mustard seeds. It was delicious.

Sahil doesn't eat anything. “What's the matter? Are you on a hunger strike, or don't you like the food?” Scar snaps.

Sahil looks at the floor. “I don't feel good.”

“You look fine to me,” Scar says. “Don't think that by not eating you can fool me and be lazy.”

Sahil doesn't look up.

“Well, don't waste your time staring at the floor waiting for an ant to cross it. If you don't want to eat, start working, you fat donkey.”

Sahil goes to the ladder. I watch as he wobbles up on his skinny legs. “Fat donkey” is the wrong name for him.

“Hurry!” Scar shouts.

I want to smack him for not caring at all. Sahil has been here for such a long time. He must have made hundreds of frames for Scar, and when Sahil is sick, Scar doesn't show even a little kindness to him! I am so upset that I can hardly swallow the food. The cabbage tastes like dried-up onion leaves.

Once back upstairs, I keep an eye on Sahil, and in the afternoon his face turns red. “Looks like Sahil has a fever. He needs rest,” I whisper to Thick Fingers.

He keeps on working and shakes his head. “I can't allow that.”

“But look at him. Just look at him.” I realize I am not whispering anymore.

By now all of us have stopped working. Thick Fingers glances at Sahil. “If Boss comes up, he will give us all a
thrashing,” he whispers.

“What if he gets worse? What if someone else becomes sick? What if we all do?”

Thick Fingers's mouth turns glum like he has eaten a handful of unripe
nimba
fruits.

“I will watch for Boss. Let Sahil rest,” GC says, scooting closer to the ladder. It is so unlike GC to offer such help to Sahil. Maybe GC has changed in the last few weeks. I don't know how, though. Maybe he is disgusted with Scar because he has been so mean to Sahil or GC is worried about getting sick himself. The reason doesn't matter. Right now I am glad that he wants Sahil to recover and has offered to help.

“Close your eyes and take a break,” Thick Fingers says to Sahil.

“I'll fall behind,
na
?”

“We can all divide up your work,” I say.

“Sma-smart idea,” Roshan agrees.

Sahil rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. I wish he could lie down, but until Scar goes home it is dangerous to do that, because he could come up at any minute. We work so fast and furiously that we don't hear Scar coming up the stairs. “Why are you sitting so close to the ladder?” Scar asks GC as he pops his head up like a crocodile lifting his snout out of the water.

Before we know it, Roshan is on his feet blocking Scar's view of Sahil. It gives Sahil a chance to wake up and look busy. When Roshan sits back down, he knocks
over his bead tray and the beads spill and roll in all directions. “You clumsy fool. Look what you did! Come here,” Scar says.

When Roshan gets close, Scar gives him
xhun se laafa,
a solid slap, on his right cheek, and Roshan staggers backward. His lips tremble, his mouth clamps shut, and tears fill his eyes as he bends down to pick up the beads.

“I came up to check on the lazy boy. Is he working?” Scar asks.

“He is, he is,” Thick Fingers replies.

“Good. You make sure he keeps up with his quota.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“I am going to leave early today. There is bread and pickle in the kitchen. The ladder will be here, but after dinner you cockroaches stay up, understand?” He points at Roshan. “That one must work an extra hour for being careless.”

“Yes.” Thick Fingers's voice is so low that Scar gives him a sharp look.

As soon as Scar locks up and leaves, I spread Sahil's sack on the floor and make a bed for him. “Sahil needs medicine to bring his fever down.” I say it out loud.

Thick Fingers throws up his hands. “Where are we going to get medicine from?”

Sahil is lying down with his eyes closed. “We should at least put cool, wet napkins on his forehead,” I mumble.

I go down and fill my water tumbler and add some salt to it, as I have seen Aai do when Naren was sick. When I
come up and ask if we have a piece of cloth, Thick Fingers hands me his extra shirt. “If we use our towels they won't dry out by morning and Boss might get suspicious,” he says. It is a long-sleeved plaid shirt and he must wear it in the winter. I soak one of the sleeves in water. Then I squeeze the excess water out and spread it on Sahil's forehead. After a few minutes, I do the same with the other sleeve. “Gopal, you will fall behind,” Thick Fingers says.

“Let Gopal take care of Sahil, and the rest of us can stay up a little later,” GC says. I stare at him with disbelief. It is wonderful. If GC is on our side, we don't have to worry. And then maybe, just maybe, we can plan our escape.

As soon as I think of escape I tell myself not to dream about it. GC is selfish, and right now he probably wants to help because he is afraid of catching the disease from Sahil. Once GC doesn't have that fear he will return to his old nasty self.

 

After half an hour of cool salt water on his forehead, Sahil's fever seems to have come down a bit, but it is not completely gone. “Do you think Boss has some medicine hidden around here?” I ask Thick Fingers.

“He keeps his stuff by his wooden bench. I remember him taking a pill for his headache the other day. Let's go down and look.”

Thick Fingers and I check on, under, and around Scar's bench. We snoop in the kitchen and on the two
shelves that hold our tumblers and plates, but we don't find any medicine. I am so mad at Scar for not even getting Sahil a pill to bring his fever down. I punch Scar's bench with my fist. “I hate Scar. I hate him.”

Thick Fingers brushes his hair back from his forehead. His eyes are wide with surprise. “Who is Scar?”

I hold my breath. This is the first time I have called Boss by that name aloud. I am the biggest
khajoor
! But Thick Fingers flashes a smile. “I like the name. It suits him well.”

I breathe again. “I don't want GC to know Boss's nickname.”

“Don't worry about GC. He is with us.”

What does he mean by saying GC is with us? I'm not even sure if Thick Fingers is on our side. “I don't trust GC. He threatened me and stopped us from sharing our stories.”

“Yes, but he never told Boss about your flashlight.” He locks my gaze. “You don't know GC like I do. When I first came here, I was slow. Boss—I mean Scar—was furious. He wanted to send me to a fireworks factory. It is the most dangerous place because if you make a mistake, you can get burned. GC helped me with my work so Boss would keep me here. When Boss found out he beat GC up.”

“You are so fast now. I can't believe you were ever slow.”

“I was. GC saved me and paid with his front teeth.
Still, I won't say a word to him. What about Sahil?”

“Let's just hope his fever comes down without medicine,” I say as we go back up the ladder.

Roshan has picked the fruits and leaves of the
nimba
and is feeding them to Sahil.

“Do I have to?” Sahil protests.

Roshan gives him an encouraging smile. “Yes—only a few more.”

“Are you turning Sahil into a goat?” Thick Fingers asks.

“No, no let him eat
nimba
. That is what my aai gave us when we got sick,” I say. We make our beds while Sahil is still chewing the tender leaves. His face is scrunched up with bitter taste.

Amar sighs. “I wish we could tell stories.”

Sahil opens his eyes. “It will make me feel better and sweeten this horrible taste,
na
?”

We all look at GC. He shrugs his shoulders. “As long as we keep working.”

“No,” Thick Fingers says. “It will slow us down and tonight we have more work because we have to do Sahil's too.”

“We can stay up a little extra,” GC says.

“Will you please tell us a story, Gopal?” Amar asks.

I wink at Amar and he beams his dimpled smile.

So we don't turn off the naked yellow bulb and don't turn on my flashlight, but keep on gluing the beads during story circle to make sure our work gets done. I tell
them a story about a bull named Giant, whose job is to turn the water wheel. Giant is lazy and he traps six calves to do his work. This is a story I have never heard or told before and I make it up as I go along.

“I think—”

“Don't say a word. I want to hear the story,” Thick Fingers says to GC.

“
Suna
, tell us, Gopal.”

“All day long, the Giant makes the calves move the wheel. If they stop to take a break, he hits them. He gives them just enough hay so they can keep working, but not so much that they become strong.”

“Does he make them wo-work at night?” Roshan asks.

“No. He gives them enough rest so they can work the next day.”

“Wh-why don't they just run away at night?”

“Because he ties them up in the shed.”

“Poor calves,” Amar sighs.

“One of the calves decides not to listen to Giant and doesn't move. This makes Giant very angry and he whips him. That night other calves take care of the hurt calf and they make a plan to escape. They must wait until the injured calf is strong enough to run.”

“I hope they get away,” Sahil mumbles.

“One day they all pretend they are sick. Foam covers their mouths and their breath is heavy and labored. Giant thinks they have come down with some mysterious curse.
That night he doesn't tie them, because he doesn't want to get close to them. It is the night they run away.”

When the story is done, Amar asks, “Do the calves go back to their families or stay with each other?”

I haven't thought about that and I don't know what to say. “I guess you can decide.”

“I think they go back to their families, but they always stay friends.”

“That is a good ending to the story.”

“What if one of them doesn't have a family?” GC asks.

“I suppose he can stay with a friend's family and become part of that family,” I reply.

GC stares at the floor. As he picks up a purple bead and places it on the frame, he seems to shrink with sadness.

We are putting away our bead trays when Sahil babbles, “We had many goats and three camels. And my father had a shop.” His eyes are closed as if he is dreaming about his childhood.

“What happened to those goats and camels?” I ask.

“I don't know.” He covers his face with his hands. “One day when I was in school the earth began to shake and the building collapsed. I escaped and got caught in the sand. The sea of it whirled around, slapped my face, and stung my eyes.”

Sahil is talking about an earthquake and a sandstorm. He must come from the desert area in Gujarat or Raj
asthan, because that's where they have sand and camels. Each thing he tells us about his life before is as tiny as a bead, but when they all come together they can make a pattern.

“Were you good or were you like me?” Amar asks Sahil. “My stepmother said I was always bad.”

“Your stepmother lied,” Thick Fingers says. “I know her. She is a liar.”

Amar looks up. “How do you know that?”

We all wait for Thick Fingers to answer. His eyebrows bunch up with a puzzled expression. He speaks after a few moments. “Amar, you don't know this, but we are from the same town. My mother and yours were sisters.”

My hand flies to my mouth.

“My real mother?” Amar says.

The room turns still as if we have all forgotten to breathe. Even the wind has stopped to hear Thick Fingers.

“Yes.”

Amar untangles his crossed legs and folds his knees to his chest and leans over. His eyes are wide, his mouth is open, and his face is flushed. “So, you and I, our mothers, I mean we two are like, like kind of cousins?”

Thick Fingers whispers. “Not kind of. We are.”

“Are you, I mean, are we? For
pakka
?”

“Yes,
pakka
, sure. I used to play with you when you were as tall as this window. You couldn't say my name, Barish, so you used to call me Ish. Don't you remember?”

I feel goose bumps on my arms. Thick Fingers—I mean Barish—must have known Amar all his life. When Amar came here, Barish must have recognized him right away. How could Barish keep it a secret all this time?

Amar shakes his head.

“When your baba began to beat your mother I stopped coming to your house.”

“No.” Amar springs up. “Don't talk about my baba like that.”

“It is the truth. Your baba got drunk once a week. Always on payday.”

Amar punches Barish.

Barish grabs Amar's hand. “Don't hit me for telling the truth.”

The next thing we hear is Amar's sobs, loud and uncontrollable. Sahil reaches out to Amar. “Come, sit down.”

“I came here this spring. Why didn't you tell me then?” Amar asks Barish between his sobs.

“I was afraid Boss would find out.”

“Then why did you tell me now? Why?”

“All the stories others have shared reminded me of how I used to carry you, feed you mashed rice and yogurt, count your baby teeth, and take naps with you. I tried to keep it a secret, but today I couldn't. I just had to tell.”