Glass Collector (16 page)

Elbows on knees, crouched beside him and a group of men from the nearby slums, Lijah’s sucking up to his elders every chance he gets. Listening to and nodding hard about the many obstacles they describe.

Hidden behind a plastic wall of rubbish, Aaron moves slightly to get a better view and the bags crackle.

An old man glances in his direction before saying, “Only a few pigs are left to eat all the food we collect and Cairo Corporation has a new fleet of rubbish trucks. The merchants are paying less and less for the trash we’ve sorted.”

“Lord have mercy!” someone pleads.

“Yes, mercy!” Lijah echoes.

Lijah cheers up when he spots Suzan coming down the alley with a wide grin and a red tint to her roughly cut hair. Though she seems kind and friendly on the surface, Aaron’s heard about her spiteful streak. With her long chin and caved- in cheeks, it’s no wonder they call her Shovel Face behind her back. Why anyone would want to marry her is beyond him. But then Lijah is more like a vampire than a human being, so maybe they’ll be very happy. Suzan works at the craft center with Daniel and, being one of Shareen’s friends, Aaron guesses she’s keen to follow her example and get married as soon as possible. That way, they can hang out together and compare notes.

Lijah stands up to greet her. They don’t touch—just lock eyes. Touching would break every rule in Cairo. Not even married people hold hands or kiss in the streets. Aaron stands up. He wants to swagger past them on the way to the church wall, show them he’s doing fine without their help, but it’s difficult with them gazing stupidly at each other in the middle of the lane. As he gets closer, Aaron decides to barge through them with his head held high.

Gazing straight ahead, Aaron strides past with a confident whistle. Hosi glances at him for a moment. A few of the men do the same, uninterested. Suzan’s chin is longer than ever close-up, Aaron notes as he goes by. Then, passing a huddle of children sifting through mountains of congealed decay, Aaron catches his breath. Shareen’s up ahead, leaning on bags, talking to Father Peter.

Aaron’s stomach rumbles from fear as well as from lack of food.

He could go back, but then he’d have to see Lijah again, and if Shovel Face has gone he might decide to pick on him. Aaron hasn’t got the strength for it. He looks ahead at the curving path and the limestone walls, which are just there in the distance. If he can only get past Shareen and the priest without being noticed.

Flicking hair from his forehead with a sudden burst of courage, Aaron surprises himself by the speed at which he takes off down the lane scooting past them in a flash. Though not fast enough to avoid the puzzled look on the priest’s face, which proves that the missed talk hasn’t been forgotten. Shareen shouts after him but he carries on running, heart pounding in his throat.

When he reaches the wide-open space in front of the church, Michael’s settling a ladder against one of the high walls with a sharp click. Aaron would like to ask when the Jesus he’s sculpting in the limestone will be finished, but instead he stands back to watch. Awed by each fine and tender mark the chisel makes, Aaron glances back down the walkway to make sure the priest isn’t coming. He isn’t, so, though hungry and pitted with fear, Aaron watches dust fall from the limestone as if something in the sharp edge of the figure of Jesus is drawing him to it. It takes a while before he can cut the connection to the emerging shape and look away.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Aaron sees that the space in front of the church is empty apart from a black six-seater taxi van. Several local women lounge on the church steps, watching a tourist couple stare at the church with a look of amazement that asks how such indescribable beauty can exist this close to so much filth.

The Passion of Christ
. The priest’s words zip through Aaron’s mind but he has no idea why.
What does that mean?
He turns away from Michael’s ladder to walk over to the wall and to sit looking out at the tenements, ready to act when the perfect moment comes to dig out the earth. Which it does the second the tourists disappear into the taxi van with the clunk of a sliding door and the women on the church steps flap dust from themselves as they walk home to empty the carts.

Aaron’s pleased he saw fit to leave a bottle here before he stuffed the rest in his jeans. If he hadn’t he would have nothing now. Grit sticks in his nails as he claws his way through the earth to the small, rose-colored bottle. He should sell it but he can’t. A hot meal isn’t worth the only connection he has to his old life. What if he never sees Omar or the perfume shop again?

A small breeze touches Aaron as he whips the bottle from the hole to his pocket and rubs the earth from his hands. He feels better. Having the bottle feeds him with the energy he needs to do what he must do next. Breathing hard, he stamps the ground flat before heading for Jacob’s tenement. Lighter on his feet now, and moving quickly, he stops only when he turns a corner and sees two fresh apricots, orange in the sun. It takes a moment for the sight to register. The apricots are somehow waiting for him in the middle of the lane, like a gift from heaven. Chewy and sweet, the flesh clings to his teeth and puts a spring in his step.

Feeling blessed, Aaron kicks a tin can in the air. Kicks it again and again until he reaches the point in the next alley where the bags block his path and he’s forced to squeeze through the crackling plastic with arms held high. Out of habit, his eyes travel over the garbage, looking for leftover bread, not-so-old noodles, or half-eaten falafel that haven’t been delivered to the remaining pigs.

The taste of apricots still fresh in his mouth, the smell of soiled diapers in his face, Aaron runs his fingers over the smooth bottle in his pocket until he reaches the towering tenements. So far he’s found nothing else to eat and now the paths are divided by dark, filthy tunnels which morph into women and children picking through the garbage. The early shift is over and a raging tiredness fills their faces in the airless, midday heat.

It feels as if the sky is pressing down on Aaron as he pushes past a woman with a stove between her knees who is frying pancakes made from chickpea flour. There seems to be no way back as he hurries through a maze of filth to the cauldron where the medical-wasters live.

A few drug addicts huddle together in each alley. Aaron hurries past them and at last turns the corner to Jacob’s tenement, then heads up the stairs. He sucks in his breath as he grazes an arm on something poking from a bag on the way up. Aaron grabs at the scratches on his skin, scared stiff they’re needle marks. Turning back, wild-eyed and frightened, he focuses on a few copper wires, not needles, sticking out of the top of a bag. To calm himself he clasps the perfume bottle, pressing it to his nose like smelling salts. The scent of rose mixed with lotus and jasmine floods through him. Sniffing the stopper of the bottle again and again, he wallows in the ripple of peace it provides. Before he places the perfume back in his pocket, a new determination sets in: He’ll try and talk to Jacob, then … get out. He won’t stay here.

The calm determination stays with Aaron as he climbs the concrete steps to the second floor, where Jacob lives with his mother, Noha, and two sisters. When he reaches the top, he notices Fatima with the Filthy Mouth standing in the opposite doorway with a bundle under her arm.

Instantly, she swoops past him, flying down the stairs like a witch on a broomstick. The sight feels like an omen. A bad omen. Aaron shudders. He doesn’t want to go in, even though the door is wide open.

Aaron’s mouth waters at the smell of garlic and peppers as he hesitates for a second before stepping slowly into the room. Heart beating wildly, he almost turns back at the sight of Jacob and his family, cross-legged on the floor, eating from tin plates and surrounded by bags of medical waste. The room is cleanly swept, Aaron notices, and the glassless windows are clear of cobwebs—like his home was when his mother was alive.

“Aaron?” Noha jumps up to greet him, as if she was expecting him. “Sit here. I was hoping you would come.”

Aaron’s standing stock still. Run for it. Go. Get away. Forget the chance of a proper meal. You know medical-wasting is the worst job in Mokattam.

Now Aaron wishes he’d begged Hosi to take him back. Anything is better than this and he knows what will happen next.

Noha hands Aaron a plate of rice and oily brown lentils and a huge grin spreads across her wrinkled, kind face. For a moment the rich smell disguises the stink of plastic and old bandages coming from the bags, but it’s already too late. Too late because he’s accepted the food and he can read the payment she wants in her eyes.

Jacob’s pretty sisters watch Aaron with interest. He’s never been inside their two-and-a-half-room home before and they’re surprised their mother has allowed a handsome boy to come this close now that they are twelve and thirteen years old, let alone that she’s amazingly pleased to see him. While Jacob’s always happy to see Aaron, he’s more interested in eating just at this moment.

Casting off his fear, Aaron takes his place on the floor and hungrily digs into the first proper meal he’s had since the engagement party. The delicious lentils are mixed with peppers and garlic and Aaron gobbles them up in record time. Noha looks at him carefully, aware that he’s desperate and has no way of managing on his own. She doesn’t speak until he’s finished.

“Are you ready now, Aaron, to make up for your sins? For your stealing.”

“I don’t know,” he answers sheepishly.

“I think you do,” Noha says with a glint of triumph in her eyes. “Jacob, show—show.”

At this, Jacob springs from the floor with a burst of energy, as if the “fruit cordial” argument hadn’t happened, and leads the way to a tiny dark room, which is off the main room where his mother and sisters sleep beside the stove and sink. There’s a basic bathroom to one side.

Jacob’s half of the room has a yellow boxing glove that clearly serves as a pillow and a worn mat at one end. There’s no need for him to point out where Aaron’s meant to sleep. Beside the mat is an empty space just big enough for him to lie in. Beside that is a cardboard box with a bundle of clothes on top, a dirty white comb and a wax statue of Mary, Mother of God. Aaron picks it up for a second and smiles before putting it back.

“What made you come now?” Jacob asks.

“I got hungry,” Aaron answers simply.

It seems fate that has propelled Aaron to this place and he starts to feel ill, wondering if he’ll get out of here alive. A pang of regret for leaving the pony yard stabs him in the chest, until Jacob puts him straight.

“Shareen and her friends are gossiping about Rachel. You had to leave. She’s got enough to deal with. That nice Fatima, her stepmom, is going to die in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Aaron shakes his head in disbelief. “I liked it there, Jacob—at the pony yard. The stars at night and the smell of ponies and the funny noises they make.”

“And … Rachel?” Jacob grins. “Her too, eh? She’s always down at Sami’s, you know.”

“Yeah.” Aaron shrugs. “But it’s OK, I think. I don’t know. Rachel’s different.”

“Not that different. She’s still a girl,” Jacob says. “But not as pretty as Shareen.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Aaron’s shocked. “Shareen’s not half as pretty as Rachel. You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“No.” Jacob’s glad to have made him smile. “But Rachel is a bit weird. Everyone knows that.”

“She’s not. Not really.” Aaron touches the small bottle of perfume in his pocket and wonders whether he should try and sell it to Noha. She might have some money stashed away somewhere. The thought makes him smile as they re-enter the room and Noha looks up.

“I have a surprise.” She unwraps a paper parcel on her lap to reveal a nest of pastries dipped in honey and stuffed with pistachios and walnuts. “Come. Come. Have. Have.” She waves a hand at Aaron to show he’s included.

With a pastry melting in his mouth, Aaron instantly joins the group of bewildered people in Mokattam who have no idea how Noha manages to look after her family so well on so little money when everyone else scrapes by on next to nothing. Two years ago, when the village was at starvation point due to another war with the merchants, Noha was one of the few people who appeared not to be suffering, food-wise at least. The rumour is that she has a magic way with money, but Aaron knows she has a magic way with Habi, the married greengrocer, more like. Jacob’s never talked about it but eyes Habi with interest whenever he sees him—so he must know.

“Everyone’s got their secrets,” Aaron often heard his mother say. It’s true, he thinks as he licks his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. Jacob’s younger sister, Salome, smiles at him sweetly from the middle of the floor, while the older one, Wadida, refuses to meet his gaze. She seems uncomfortable and wriggles and shifts in her dark galabeya, as if backing away from her own body.

She hates herself
, Aaron thinks, and glances at the floor, wondering if she knows that she’s got a really nice face. Then he realizes that Wadida is probably ashamed of her family. Or hates being a girl who will be of marriageable age in a couple of years’ time and then palmed off, persuaded, sent away or even paid to marry the best available bet. Aaron can’t help feeling sorry for her. She looks so miserable that, for a moment, he takes on her sadness as well—almost as if he’s her.

One thing Aaron’s always been grateful for is that he wasn’t born a girl. He’s seen how the girls he knows are hoodwinked and fooled, often treated as servants by their husbands. How guys like Hosi and Daniel let them slave away while they play cards and talk about soccer.

Jacob distracts Aaron’s train of thought by tugging at his elbow. “Visitors are coming to see the church today. We should check them out. They might give us something.”

Aaron shakes his head. He has other ideas. “No. I want to go with Ahmet.”

It’s been several days since he last went into the city and he’s pining for the noise, fumes and craziness of the streets, for Omar’s shop and the excitement that only Cairo can bring. Suddenly he’s desperate to get out of Mokattam.