Glass Collector (13 page)

“They’re from Omar’s perfume shop,” Lijah tells Father Peter, who nods and pockets them in the folds of his black robe.

“I want to talk to you tomorrow,” the priest says to Aaron. “Let your conscience be your guide until then.”

Conscience? What conscience?
Aaron nods but there’s a part of him that doesn’t care one bit what the priest or almost anyone thinks. It’s Rachel’s sad, then disappointed glance that’s carving a hole in his heart. When Aaron finally looks up, one of the elders catches his gaze. The man’s stern eyes are filled with disgust and the same eerie hate is visible in everyone surrounding him. It’s then that the seriousness of the situation sinks in and a bubble of fear wells up inside Aaron.

They’re waiting for him to react.

In addition to remaining silent, braving their contempt, and trying to hold his ground, an itch breaks out on the back of Aaron’s neck that he dares not scratch. It distracts him as he stares into the distance with his hands in his pockets. Not moving is a way of not really being here and though at least twenty people are standing close by and staring at him, it feels as if there’s an empty, throbbing space the size of an ocean between him and them.

Not until one of the women shakes her head, as if to say he’s a lost cause, does their interest in him finally fade. People begin to mutter and turn away. Aaron quietly sighs, but when the crowd thins to just his stepfamily and Shareen, even he’s shocked by what happens next.

“You’ve cost me my reputation. Stay away from my family,” Hosi says. “You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

The word
family
falls on Aaron like a heavy weight as he watches Hosi walk away, followed by Youssa, who is sneering at him as if he’s a worm. Aaron’s heart sinks. They were happy to eat the cake that was obviously stolen. The liver, rice, and kebabs he bought were paid for with stolen goods. Hosi didn’t ask how he managed to buy the food. He’s only angry because everyone knows about the stolen bottles and he’s pretending to be more honest than he actually is. Today is supposed to be a good day. Faisal the merchant has paid for the sorted trash.

Everyone has money for food. Aaron took the rug and lamp he stole back to the shop and meant to leave the perfumes there too, and this is his reward.
Thanks, God!

He’s homeless. Despised. Finished. Doomed. All thanks to Shareen.

And Lijah isn’t done with him yet. In one sharp move, he turns and spits in Aaron’s face.

Aaron crouches as Lijah begins to bust him apart, until Shareen drags Lijah off, hauling him backwards down the path by his shirt, which he enjoys. She’s yelling and screaming as if this is all Lijah’s fault, not hers, and he’s twisting, jumping, ducking, and diving. Still finding time to blow her kisses with his mean lips.

When the sound of her high voice eventually disappears, Aaron uncurls from his crumpled heap on the stinking, hard ground. There’s a pain in his shoulder blade, another in his belly, and as he opens his eyes to the state he’s in, the same rickety shelter greets him. Instantly, a black hole of self-hatred and bitterness opens up inside. Why didn’t he just leave the perfumes where they were—under the wall? Why did he take more? Brushing dirt from his arms and knees, Aaron looks up to see Abe watching him from the pigpen fence, his gray football tucked under his arm.

“You could stay on my floor, but the pig takes up most of the room,” Abe jokes.

“It’s OK.”

A familiar thought flicks through Aaron’s mind: He doesn’t fit here. Why should he not have a home or somewhere to go like everyone else? He’s seen the way real families talk, with the same expressions and instant understanding. People who share blood have a kind of secret language. A language that’s been missing since his mother died.

A panting slope of pig appears and begins nuzzling the fence. Aaron’s aching all over but if the pigs can grow fat and strong eating congealed crud while living in their own dung, so can he. There’s a sharp edge to this thought, but as Aaron heads to the tap to wash his face and hands and soak his feet in the cool water, the nasty pain in his stomach returns. With it the confidence of being able to survive on his own disappears as quickly as it came. He’s had it now and he knows it.

Abe points to the oldest pig with the dirtiest snout. “This morning I saw its friend being roasted for Shareen’s party tonight.”

“Yeah?”

Aaron stares at the old pig with sympathy. The thought of its friend roasting on a spit over a charcoal fire squeezes his heart. The horror of life comes home to him as he imagines the pig’s bones picked clean of meat. All that will be left of it in a few hours’ time.

In his heart Aaron knows he deserves to be shunned and humiliated. He’s broken the basic moral code of their community: “Strive to do your best even in the worst conditions. Don’t steal. Don’t harm. Don’t lie.” That’s why Rachel hates him now.

As Aaron sinks his head back under the tap, the lack of anywhere to sleep or any idea of what to do now that he can’t go glass collecting almost makes his heart stop. He’s lost his place in the community. His stepfamily wants nothing to do with him and, though he doesn’t like any of them, they’re all the family he has. Aaron’s fears are so many and so awesome, he laughs—a short, sharp, silly laugh—but after that a deep feeling of shame spreads over him, followed by a shattering hopelessness. Now there’s nothing else to lose. He’ll never again have to answer to anyone.

With the sound of Abe slapping the soccer ball from hand to hand and water trickling down the short sleeves of his tattered shirt, Aaron lifts his head from the tap, shakes his hair, and steps out of the puddle of water to look at the darkening sky. When he glances back toward Abe he’s amazed to see the glowing figure of Rachel in a blue galabeya with a folded warm bread in her hand.

She came back!

Aaron splutters the first thing that comes to mind. “I didn’t kill the pony.” He can’t face mentioning the stolen perfumes.

“Who said you did?” Rachel frowns.

Like a book that keeps falling open on the wrong page, Aaron is suddenly dumbstruck when she hands him the warm bread smelling of cumin and coriander.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, aware that on one of the worst days of his life, he’s eaten one and a half massive kebabs and now this, and will be filling up with more food at the party—if he’s allowed to go.

Aaron’s so touched by Rachel’s thoughtfulness, his eyes start to water and he turns away to put his face back together. “I’ve got to help my father,” Rachel says, then walks off as Aaron squints again to look at her. He’s missed his moment once more.

“You can have this.” Aaron says to Abe.

With nothing to do but wait for the dreaded party to begin, Aaron knows he’s in a two-way bind. If he doesn’t go it will prove he’s not willing to make the effort to change and take part in the community, but if he does he’ll be treated as an outcast and ignored by everyone, though he will get the chance to see Rachel again. An hour later Aaron still doesn’t know what to do. Sitting on the wall by the church with Abe, he watches the sun slide from the horizon, leaving a blaze of orange streaks behind. Soon a gloomy twilight sets in. Once upon a time Aaron didn’t have a clue about twilight, but then he’d overheard Omar tell a customer it’s when a door opens up between day and night. When the veil between this world and the other is at its thinnest and spirits are most easily seen. It could be a joke, but even the priest said it was a good time to pray. Perhaps he should pray for an answer to the party question.

Aaron stares into the fading light for a moment, but no spirit appears to talk to him. Perhaps he should just go to the party and try to keep out of everyone’s way, then see what happens. Didn’t Omar once say that what you intend to do is as important as what you actually do?

Before the darkness takes over, Aaron watches the lengthening shadows and makes up his mind to face the music. He’s going to have to one day, so it might as well be tonight, when everyone will be wondering if he’s got the guts to come. As a shiver runs down his spine at the thought of the disappointed stares he’s going to have to suffer, the overpowering twilight closes in like a thousand demons who are determined to spook him. But instead of strange spirits, it’s Abe who surprises him.

“It must be weird being see-through,” Abe suddenly pipes up.

“What?”

“Those clear moon jellyfish, how do they feel?” Abe says.

“They’re blobs—nothing. They just blob around,” Aaron says, sighing.

“But they swim and eat and lock their tentacles together. That’s not blobbing. Pretending to be a blob is kind of good anyway, because then tuna and sharks swim right past instead of eating you up.”

Aaron nods, standing up to stretch his legs and cock an ear to the sound of music starting in the distance. It’s almost night, he’s covered in bruises, has nowhere to sleep, no means of earning a living, and they’re chatting about jellyfish.

“Fish eat fish eat fish. Can’t be tasty, can it?” Abe pipes up.

“No,” Aaron agrees, if only to shut him up, although he smiles in the darkness.

The ball bounces from Abe’s lap and rolls down the walkway to the wide-open space in front of the church, coming to a stop by the concrete table and benches where two families are chatting. One of the kids has a dragging foot, but he rushes to grab the ball and throw it into the air. The church lights flicker to life as he passes the ball back to Abe, and Aaron can’t hide his irritation as he waits for the boys to stop throwing it around. He doesn’t want to arrive at the party on his own, so he has to hang around until Abe’s finished playing. With sad eyes, the disabled kid’s mother is someone he recognizes. Her daughter was given up at birth; sold to make ends meet. Her black galabeya is as wide as a tent and she sits nervously on the edge of the bench, watching her son try to kick the ball with one working foot and the other lagging behind him.

Nearby, a few of the elders are huddled together, talking quietly. One of them looks at Aaron and frowns. The others dismiss him with a brief glance.

Aaron turns away, embarrassed, and hears one of them say, “If they cull our pigs because of swine flu the heaps of garbage will finish Cairo off before that virus.”

“Why kill all the pigs when nobody here has had swine flu?” another man mutters.

They’re talking about the pigs, not Aaron, but their anger feels directed at him.

“Come on, Abe,” Aaron says, walking off down the dusty path heading toward the community room where the party’s taking place.

Although he hates Shareen, he doesn’t want her to think she’s forced him to stay away. Plus the need to see Rachel is on his mind, giving him the courage and strength to get there.

Like a puppy dog, Abe grabs the ball and runs after him.

It’s a shame, Aaron thinks, that the community room’s locked at night, because it would make a good sleeping place. Although most celebrations are held outside, with people sitting on faded blankets and cushions laid out on the ground, Shareen has insisted that her party should be inside, which will make Aaron’s sudden appearance even harder to disguise.

The nearer Aaron and Abe get to the soulless concrete shed with a single strip light and a broken toilet, the sound of traditional singing becomes clearer. The door’s open and the rhythm of voices fills the night air. It’s not easy for him to step inside, but the smell of roasting meat is too strong to keep him cowering outside, where a group of men are perched on their haunches in the half-light, drinking, sparking up cigarettes, and studying the shapes on their playing cards.

Aaron sees Daniel slapping a card on the ground with a desperate look on his face. He’s more interested in winning the game than being with Shareen, his future wife.

With a quick scan of the bleak concrete room, Aaron sees that Rachel isn’t here. A hush quickly spreads from family to family until all eyes are upon him. Only this time, because an engagement celebration is in progress, there’s a faint hint of tolerance on their faces.

Aaron shudders. In one corner is an old-fashioned tape deck and a shamefaced Hassan, one of the foundry workers, is suffering the embarrassment of not being able to get it to work. At least it gives the choir in the farthest corner time to sing another traditional song. Opposite the tape deck looks like a safe place for Abe and Aaron to make for as they skirt round several people on their way to the wonky food table, which is being loaded with tubs of beans and slices of pork and chicken. Someone’s cut out a red paper heart from a magazine to decorate the faded Formica, and a few plastic roses and ribbons add to the halfhearted celebratory feeling of the room.

Hanging from the wall above the edge of the food table is a picture of the Virgin Mary surrounded by a sparkle of light. Aaron glances at it for a moment. The image makes him slightly less nervous. She feels like a friend and he stands underneath her for protection as his eyes land on Shareen. He tries hard not to make his hatred for her obvious. She is dressed in a faded green-and-blue galabeya with a lotus flower in her back-combed hair. At least she’s wearing her own dress and not Seham’s brown one, which might be newer but not any prettier. The only new things Shareen has on are a string of black beads and a thin silver bangle. She’s almost a head taller than her thin, hungry friends and looks much older. She’s smiling sweetly at everyone, but the only really happy person here is her father, who’s holding court beside the burner, slicing up meat.

He’s happy to get rid her of her
, Aaron thinks.
I don’t blame him
.

As parties go, it’s a bit of a washout. People aren’t used to standing around like this. They can’t relax and would rather be outside, lolling on blankets and cushions. Aaron doesn’t perk up until Rachel finally arrives. She is wearing a gray galabeya, has her hair tied back, and is carrying a gift for Shareen in her arms—a yellow cushion embroidered with the word
love
in red.

Aaron wonders if she sewed it herself.

Try as he might to catch her eye, Rachel ignores him, but knowing she’s here improves the party to no end. Instead Aaron catches Sami’s eye. His family own the secondhand electrical shop and he’s watching Rachel too. Short and stocky, with a tattoo of Jesus on his hand, he’s not married and nearly twenty-five. They’ve all known each other their whole lives, but for the first time Aaron sees that Sami’s interest in Rachel is more than friendly.