Glass Collector (18 page)

“Really?”

Aaron didn’t mean to say it out loud. All he was wondering was, what would Michael do if he asked him for help right now? Asked if he could go to his house and live with him? He’d take him home? Yeah, right!

“Yes, really. God wants us to be happy, Aaron.”

At which Aaron laughs. How can someone as clever as Michael get things so wrong? When did God ever help him? Michael’s stupid words make him angry, so angry he shoots his mouth off.

“Happy? Here? Simon and his brother are dead. His mom’s not happy. Loads of people aren’t happy. Shareen’s not happy and it’s her wedding tomorrow. I don’t know anyone who’s happy.”

Michael looks thoughtful for a moment, then, “I’m happy,” he says. As he picks up his tools to go, he looks Aaron in the eye and, as a parting shot, adds, “But maybe we can learn something from their deaths?”

Learn something? Yeah, that life stinks
.

Just as he’s about to speak, a soft padding noise interrupts Aaron’s thoughts. Abe’s running toward him, waving his arms like a baby.

As if from a place he’d forgotten, Aaron puts an arm around Abe’s skinny shoulders, hugging him awkwardly. The sudden heat of his friend’s collapsing body makes Aaron’s eyes well up. Quickly, he blinks the tears away and, embarrassed, sinks down beside Abe on to the low wall, with his arm like that for more than five minutes. For much longer than he wants—but it’s hard to let go when Abe’s crying and rubbing his face with his fist before starting all over again.

Aaron’s trying to get Abe to calm down when he spots Shareen. Her eyes are painted so thickly with kohl, she looks as if she’s wearing sunglasses. Standing with a group of older women, she puts her hands behind her back, then, for a second, stands on tiptoe. Her toenails are varnished bright red; tacky, not that nice plum color from before.

Aaron tries letting his arm slip down Abe’s back, but the boy pulls in closer still. Now Shareen’s staring at them. He doesn’t want her looking. With damp eyes, Abe glances at her curious face and quickly buries his head in Aaron’s gray T-shirt. Shareen walks over and pats Abe’s head in a
poor thing
kind of way and her fake gesture drags a sharp claw across Aaron’s stomach. She hardly knows Abe.

“Simon was nicer than his brother. Shame they both got blown up, though.” Shareen shrugs.

Abe howls and bursts into tears again. Shareen glances at Aaron, eager to make him see she didn’t mean to make Abe cry, but he turns away angrily. Shareen looks past him at the rows of tenements beyond the wall, staring hard, as if there’s something to see, then glances back at the church. She seems ready to go, but something stops her from leaving. Turning around, Aaron can see this is a far better viewpoint from which to see what’s going on than where she was before. With a little hum, she settles on the wall to the other side of Abe. Shifting slightly, Aaron pulls him away from her but, sitting on her hands, Shareen pretends not to notice and settles back to watch the comings and goings in front of the church.

Father Peter is flapping down the path to lead the prayers. It’s obvious the deaths have already been confirmed. Someone shouts that a family who was out on the carts is bringing the bodies home, which means the church candles will be lit and left to burn all night until the sun comes up tomorrow. Incense will smother the smell of garbage until the brothers are cremated within twenty-four hours and sadness will drift over Mokattam until their deaths become another sorry fact of life for everyone here.

Eventually Abe wipes his eyes for the last time and joins in gazing at the crowd on the concrete pews of the church that is singing prayers to the darkening sky. The shadows lengthen before Shareen, without a backward glance, rushes off to greet her friends. The deaths haven’t taken the spring from her step; she’s almost skipping. By the sound of the giggles coming from her friends, she’s chatting about her wedding tomorrow. She’s the center of attention again, despite the grief all around her. Aaron guesses that means the celebrations will be going ahead regardless.

He stretches his arms and stands up. “Are you going home, Abe?” His voice sounds slightly forced—even to his own ears. “Your mom will be worried about you.”

“Yeah, I’m going.” Abe nods with big, dark, sorry eyes. “You can come too, but there’s the pig and us in one room.”

“Nah, I’m going to Jacob’s.” Aaron sighs and Abe gives him an alarmed look. “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

A piece of cellophane catches the early-evening breeze and floats above his head before fluttering to his feet. He glances at the dusty earth and another picture springs to mind: a delicious plate of oily yellow rice. He’s resigned to being a medical-waster now, even if it kills him off.

Silence settles between the two boys before they smile and head off in different directions. A mosquito follows Aaron down the maze of alleys to the tenements. The annoying buzz forces him to blunder into the open doorway of Jacob’s home as if he’s drunk. Noha looks at him sharply before spotting the mosquito and capturing it with a single pinch. Flicking the squashed bug to the floor, she rubs away the blood on her fingers on the side of her black galabeya.

After Aaron gratefully finishes his plate of cold stuffed grape leaves, Noha blows out the candle at her feet and lies down between the garbage bags to sleep. By the time Aaron arranges his limbs in the tight space beside Jacob, who’s flat out on the mat, Noha’s already snoring.

Aaron’s more than tired, but the stench of bandages keeps him awake. He reaches for the perfume bottle in his pocket and holds it to his nose. “Only girls like perfume,” Shareen once said to annoy him. Well, what does she know? The sweet scent nearly persuades him to twist the stopper off for the first time and cover his face with the luscious oil, if only to send him into a deep sleep, but then Noha would smell it in the morning and question him before taking the bottle because she’ll guess it was stolen. One day he’ll open it, but for now pressing the rim of the bottle to his nose again is enough to give him wings. Wings to soar out of here, up into the sky like an eagle and along the banks of the Nile.

Jacob’s on his feet at quarter to five but Aaron’s in a state of sleep that takes more than a few tugs to bring him around. Try as Aaron might to snuggle back down, Jacob pulls him up by the elbow and gives him a beaker of warm hibiscus tea to drink. Clearly Jacob is excited not to be alone today; he smiles at Aaron as he gulps the tea down. Aaron’s glad Jacob seems more awake than him and decides he hasn’t had anything stronger than tea this morning.

They both duck into the shadows of the main room, where Noha’s guarding the bags, and Aaron is even more surprised to be handed a warm flatbread along with a pile of folded bags as they head out of the door and into the early-morning light. The full force of hospital smells fades for a moment when Aaron buries his nose in the bread, which flours his mouth and fingers as he hurries down the concrete stairs with the faint clatter of pans in his ears.

Aaron doesn’t have the nerve to ask Jacob exactly where they’re going. It’s a question he dreads knowing the answer to and at the same time his thoughts turn to Rachel, wondering if she’ll be at the yard right now, looking for him and perhaps missing him. More than anything, he wishes Jacob’s family kept their pony at her yard. At least then, like before, he’d have something nice to look forward to at the start of every day. But this yard is only two minutes’ walk from Jacob’s tenement and before long the flurry of pony petting and attaching it to the cart is over and they’re on their way to the first hospital.

As they pass a stall a news vendor flaps open a newspaper with the headline “Another Hotel Bomb Blast! Names of Victims Inside!”

“Bet Simon’s and Mart’s names aren’t there,” Jacob says, staring dumbly ahead.

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees.

“Let’s not think about them today, eh?” A huge smile spreads over Jacob’s face.

“OK.”

Aaron leans back. The nice feeling of friendship that comes over him reminds him how awful it was to sit beside Lijah each day. This ride is so different—peaceful and calm, despite the building traffic and noise of car horns. Even the thought of the pile of diseased waste that waits for them at the end of the journey doesn’t seem so bad when Jacob grins like that.

Jacob lifts a hand to flatten his curly hair. Today’s traffic is heading for the city faster than ever and with Aaron’s help they can be home in less than five hours. Slogging around the city hospitals on your own is never fun, but now there’s the unspoken worry between them that yesterday’s bomb may not be the last.

“I saw Daniel yesterday evening,” Jacob says. “He was behind the butcher’s, talking to old Katerina. She was reading his cards and said the eight of swords means there could be conflict or misfortune if he doesn’t seize an opportunity.”

There’s a long pause while Aaron takes this in. “What does that mean?”

“Dunno, but Daniel went yellow. He caught me listening and sent me away. He must be scared. I would be. Shareen threw a pot at him when he showed her the ring he’d bought.”

Aaron can’t help but laugh at that image.

“It’s not funny, Aaron.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, he might think he will be able to control her, but nobody can control Shareen. He doesn’t know what he’s in for. He’s going to get a shock.”

“Well, let’s go tonight and see what happens. Anyway, there’ll be tons of food. The baker was up all night, Mom said.”

Jacob tightens his hold on the reins and the dark, skinny pony swishes his tail as he quickens to a fast trot.

Before long the traffic clears as they turn down the main road leading to the west of the city, where the wide avenues are lined by large houses with big satellite dishes and have nice cars parked outside. They pass a school, a mosque, and a sport’s center. A feeling of ease seems to float over the area. There are trees at the edge of the pavement and patches of trimmed grass sparkle in the sunshine. Aaron’s never been here before and can’t help being amazed at how the cart glides over the flat, asphalted streets. Everything’s so clean.

“Where’s all the garbage?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“It’s kept in black bins at the back.” Jacob nods. “The Zabbaleen used to have this area, but now Cairo Corporation empties the bins in their trucks. If you live here you never think about trash. It disappears at night like magic.”

Aaron finds this impossible to believe. “Really?”

“Yeah, honest. They say there’s twice as much rubbish here because the rich buy what they want and then throw it away to make room for more things. Half the time things haven’t even been unwrapped. I’m telling you, there are shoes that haven’t been worn, olives left in jars, brand-new shirts, sunglasses even.”

For a moment Aaron’s baffled. He envies the people who get to clear the trash from this place. He wants their good stuff. Reaching into the left pocket of his jeans, he transfers the perfume bottle from there to the right pocket, where it feels safer. He wonders if Omar lives somewhere like this. Aaron wants to stop and look through the bins for himself, but instead they turn sharply down another tree-lined road leading to a mansion with a sign reading “The Sadat Hospital” painted in silver.

Halfway up the long path they turn sideways along a narrow dirt track that leads to a shabby wing of the main gray building. At the end of the track is the familiar smell of disinfectant and used bandages, together with a pungent whiff coming from a plume of smoke circling a high chimney. Soon the cart pulls swiftly inside a gap in a tall metal fence beside a yard crammed with bags of used bandages, grubby cloths, knives, beakers, scalpels, syringes.

“Ergh!” Aaron covers his nose.

“The incinerator’s working, then.” Jacob sighs. “But it must have been broken earlier, because there’s plenty of stuff here. When it’s operating twenty-four hours a day there’s not much here and I have to do the sister hospital two miles away to make up the load. I hate that place.”

Aaron eyes him cautiously.
He hates that place! What about this place?
First, it stinks to high heaven of death, then there are the leaking bags and boxes stacked against the peeling walls and filthy doors that thump and bang from whatever’s happening inside. The plume of gray smoke choking the sky smells far worse close-up.

Jacob steers the cart along the wall to a small concrete area hidden from view to one side of the waste. It’s this cover that allows the Zabbaleen to do their illegal job. Jacob climbs down, his eyes squarely on the white door near where the pony’s parked. He pats the pony on the nose and says, “Stay!” Aaron follows Jacob quickly back to where the waste is stacked, aware that if they’re caught collecting used and diseased plastic, metal, and glass, the hospital won’t be blamed for what they’re doing. The hospital managers rarely fulfil their legal duty of packing dangerous waste safely and paying special companies to take it away. They know the Zabbaleen will remove it for nothing so the blood bags, tubes, instruments, and test tubes are rarely packed correctly. And if the collectors are caught, the managers will say the Zabbaleen ripped the bags and boxes apart in their search for salable goods.

Today Jacob and Aaron have hit lucky. There’s no one around and they work in total silence. A shiver of fear strikes Aaron’s stomach. He’s used to touching glass and these materials are new to him. He imitates Jacob’s watchful eyes as he scans the sides of a huge white bag before kicking it over to check that nothing’s leaking underneath.

Jacob handles the first bag carefully, pinching an exposed edge, any clear edge, with a finger and thumb to avoid getting his hands and arms cut by syringes, scalpels and knives that haven’t been placed in the proper containers and are ready to stab at him like weapons. Aaron copies him, working hard to get rid of the bags as quickly as he can, as if they’re unexploded missiles.

Once they’ve emptied the hospital bags they start on the stack of white boxes marked “Bio-Hazardous Waste.” Only one box is tightly closed and taped; the rest have open lids and two are badly damaged and look as if they’ve been dropped from a window. Jacob is bending down to inspect one that’s filled with half-used blood bags and medicines when a car engine sounds and putters to a stop in the distance.