Glass Collector (27 page)

“Jacob!” Aaron shouts as he gets closer. “Why aren’t you out on the cart?”

“Hey, Aaron.” Jacob looks scared. “I—yeah …” There’s no hint of a smile on his red, swollen face and sunken eyes.

“His cousin’s taken over until he gets better,” one of the men says.

“I’ve got that skin disease.” Jacob holds out his bony arms, which are bleeding from where he’s been scratching an ugly rash. Then he lifts up his T-shirt to show a stomach marked with the same blistering scabs. “It’s driving me crazy.”

By the patches of limestone dust on his ears, nose and hands, Aaron sees that living in Mokattam is adding to Jacob’s problems and the terrible state he’s in. “What did they say at the clinic?”

“They gave me some cream, but I’ve used it all up. I should get some more,” Jacob mumbles, tripping slightly. One of his friends catches him. “If we’d kept that necklace I could have sold it and afforded the best doctor.”

His new friend places an arm around his sagging shoulder.

“What did you do with it?” Aaron asks. It seems to him that Jacob needs more than money or a skin doctor now.

“Noha gave it to the priest,” his friend answers for him.

The quick response is an excuse for them all to nod in a self-righteous way—as if they would have given it to the priest too. All the while covering up their real problem, which isn’t what they might have done with the necklace, but something more ordinary—drugs.

Aaron’s sure that Jacob is lying. He hasn’t been to the clinic. Aaron doesn’t bother to look back as he walks away disappointed, sad and full of suspicion that Noha will try to persuade him to help the cousin collect medical waste. If Aaron wants to eat that might be his only option. The thought makes him shudder. Makes him want to run for his life.

When he reaches the last alley he hears the familiar sound of Abe thudding a ball against a concrete wall. Before the boy sees him Aaron shouts, “Hiya.”

“Where you been?” Abe cries, clapping the ball to his chest and admiring Aaron’s new jeans.

“Nowhere much.” Aaron grins. “Anything happened?”

“Nah. Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Aaron sighs. “You sure?” He eyes Abe closely before asking, “What about Rachel?”

“Oh, her? She’s back home.”

Suddenly understanding what he’s getting at, Abe smiles. Aaron wants to hear Mokattam news, not what
he’s
been doing.

“Rachel’s leg was in a fat cast. Her knee still bends funny. Lijah married Shovel Face and Shareen disappeared.”

Rachel’s here.
Aaron grins to himself.

“I saw Shareen getting into a car in Cairo,” he says out loud.

“She ran away just after you left,” Abe says. “Daniel went crazy looking for her and everyone’s been praying for her to come back. Nobody knows why she went.”

“Where’s the wheelbarrow?”

“Old man Mebaj bought it,” Abe tells him. “Oh, right.” Aaron nods.

“Why do you think she left?” Abe asks, curious for his opinion.

Aaron thinks for a moment. He understands exactly why Shareen left.

“She married an old man. It wasn’t her dream,” he explains. “That’s why she went.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t have to,” Abe says.

“Her father
made
her marry Daniel. Anyway, she may have escaped Mokattam but not old men. She got into a car with one.”

“Maybe he’s rich?”

Abe’s about to mention the merchant’s latest stupid price offering, the argument with the council about their new fleet of trucks, and the trouble his mom’s having hiding her pig, when the sound of a high-pitched wailing interrupts them.

It’s coming from the next lane, where Aaron’s old home is. They take to their heels, stumbling over bags, with a thousand possible disasters flashing through their minds.

A crushed white plastic bottle rolls over Aaron’s feet as he slows down to approach a dozen men and women in front of his stepfamily’s open room, which is dripping with trash and food slop. From a nearby home the Christian radio station is echoing a recent speech of Pope Shenouda III. Out of fear, Aaron hangs back while Abe rushes in. His first thought is that Lijah’s beaten someone up, probably his new wife, and he’d rather not look at the result.

Stepping backwards, Aaron tries to avoid being noticed, but a cranky man with a solid jaw commands him to come closer with a wave of his arm. Aaron hesitates and Abe pushes back through the group to join his friend. Slightly apprehensive that Aaron’s going to react badly to what he’s just seen, Abe grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Get off.” Aaron’s embarrassed by his affection.

Abe laughs, then pulls a sad face. “Hosi had a heart attack.”

“Is that all?” Aaron was expecting something worse. “No, he’s dead now!” Abe says. “He’s still warm but he’s dead.”

“I heard you.”

Aaron doesn’t feel anything much except relief. He shivers for a second before realizing he’ll never have to listen to his snoring again. He’ll never again have to look at Hosi’s ugly, gnarled hands. Now there’s no one over him and he’s glad to see the back of him. Aaron knows it’s wrong to feel what he feels, but he can’t help it. His life has just changed for the better.

In a strange way, Hosi’s death also means that Lijah is suddenly irrelevant. Youssa the drunk is head of the family now and no one can know how that will work out. Even so, neither stepbrother can demand the kind of respect from Aaron that Hosi could as an elderly stepfather. A whole layer of judgement has fallen away and it feels good. Very good. As if his death has given birth to a new life for Aaron.

A new beginning.

The family is going to need his help more than ever now and he won’t have to return to medical-waste clearing again. He can go back to collecting glass like he wants. But even that pleasant thought doesn’t help him take the twenty steps needed to see Hosi’s dead body on the dirty ground.

A light rain begins to fall as Aaron hightails it back down the alley before Lijah or someone else insists he pay the proper respects to his stepfather. The damaged perfume bottles clink, hum, and vibrate in his pockets as he runs toward the pony yard, enjoying the fantasy that Rachel will be there waiting for him. Abe doesn’t try to follow him. He knows well enough that when Aaron’s in the mood to take off, he’s also in the mood to be on his own.

Firing on all cylinders, Aaron turns the corner to the yard and stops abruptly at the shock of seeing three scraggy ponies nosing the bare, dark earth and no water in the trough. Littered with dirty cigarette cartons, lighters, and used tissues, the place is disgusting. He’d convinced himself Rachel would be here, but now he’s glad she isn’t.

His gaze wanders to the disappearing hills in the cloudy darkness and the smell of pony flesh mixes with the stink of dung. The memory of the beautiful, velvety night the last time he was here with Michael briefly returns and a tiny smile crosses his face as he picks up the rubbish and adds it to the pile in the lane before filling the trough with water from the hose.

Having time to himself makes him feel free. He’d rather be here, out in the open, than cooped up on Michael’s sofa, listening to the sound of motorbikes revving up in the square. Michael and Inga have cared for him so kindly, he’s grateful, but being part of the shadows feels familiar and safe. But what about the empty reject bottles he took from the alley beside the shop this morning? Where can he hide them? Does he need to hide them? The straggles of hay behind the shelter aren’t big enough to disguise a box of matches, let alone all this glass. Why not throw them away? Or try and sell them to Faisal. He won’t care where they’ve come from. But then people are always watching Faisal. They’ll see Aaron trying to offload the bottles and get angry with him for stealing. It’s clear they’re only good for melting down. But to Aaron they’re windows to look at the world through and something to call his own. His bottles. His glass.

Deep in thought, Aaron moves behind the ramshackle shelter and shivers. The blackness feels like a demon that’s about to pounce. Aaron pauses to glance at three wheel spindles beside the wire fence and for a moment thinks they’re vicious snakes. He wants to strangle them even though he knows they’re not real. The real snakes are weaving in and out of his mind, not the creepy fence.

Hosi’s last words come back to him: “You’ve cost me my reputation. Stay away from my family. You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

The sudden echo of a distant barking dog brings Aaron back to his body with a jolt. The world around him returns: the rickety shelter, the wheel spindles, the straggles of hay, and the wide, dark sky.

Wandering to the front of the yard, Aaron watches the ponies nuzzling each other while sniffing the air. He sits cross-legged on the hard earth with the sound of rustling and pony snorts in his ears. Carefully, he inches lumps of earth out with his fingernails and soon a small mound forms beside his knee. When the hole is big enough, he lines the clinking rejects up one by one to examine the stems and bases for defects, as he’s always done. All except the one perfect bottle. The veil of night disguises their beauty, making them just bottles, not things capable of holding, transforming and reflecting light.

In a few deft movements, Aaron buries them quickly, patting the ground with his hands and then stamping the uneven bits with his feet. It’s done. He eyes the ponies for a second before climbing over the fence to mingle with them, breathing in the smell of their skin. With both hands, Aaron rubs the gray one’s bristly neck, then, when tiredness sweeps in, lies down beside the biggest pony to sleep, arm across his rising and falling stomach. Throughout the night, Aaron jerks awake several times, looks around, remembers where he is, and goes straight back to sleep.

The moment the sun comes up, Aaron’s on his feet. For more than an hour he stands waiting, watching the dusty lane for Rachel while the ponies pummel his back with their noses to remind him they want food and water. Eventually Aaron fills the trough and gathers up the hay scattered behind the shelter.

Wiping his hands on his sides, he glances at the ground where the bottles are hidden. He kicks dust over the dark earth to disguise it, then takes off. He can’t just turn up at Rachel’s house. It would lead to questions being asked and her father jumping to conclusions. Instead, he darts down the alleys with a mad energy that doesn’t fade until he gets to his stepfamily’s home.

Hosi’s funeral took place a few hours after he died and Aaron didn’t hear about it until it was over. Although he’s glad he missed it, something he can’t quite put his finger on brings him to a sudden stop. Hopeful but slightly hopeless, Aaron hides in a patch of shade at the end of the alley, staring past the waking families and piles of bags at a shamefaced Lijah, who’s apologizing to his wife.

“Sorry. How many times do you want me to say it? Sorry I forgot to tell you about the meeting.”

“You didn’t want me to come!” Suzan sniffs.

“I didn’t think you’d want to!” Lijah smiles. “Look, there’s Aaron.”

Look, there’s Aaron?

A chill runs down Aaron’s spine but he creeps forward toward the opening in the house. Seconds later Lijah gives him a friendly cuff around the ear. Aaron flinches. Lijah’s face is inches away and the sudden closeness feels weird, because it’s not scary.

“We kept a place for you.” Lijah points to a miserable spot on the floor between the rubbish bags where he can sleep next to Youssa. “I knew you’d be back. We’ve got the upstairs room now.” Lijah nods. “Some of the kids have been on the cart to help collect the glass, but they’ve cut themselves so many times it’s not worth it. And the house next door is empty now that Shareen’s gone and her father moved in with his sister. I told Youssa to take it but he likes being here.”

“You’re back, then?” Suzan interrupts.

Aaron shrugs. It looks like he is. When Youssa slopes over with a grin and welcomes him by handing him the ball of rice he’s about to eat, a powerful feeling of defeat settles on Aaron. “You know, Aaron can pick up glass faster than anyone in Mokattam, Suzan, and he never cuts himself,” Lijah boasts.

Aaron blinks with shock, but the neighbors watch the scene with huge smiles. They can see by the way he stands that Aaron has changed. He’s a man now and they know him. They knew his mother. His long-dead father. They’re part of his past. His history. Aaron can feel their acceptance of him in their quiet faces and it feels good.

Suddenly the merchant’s truck rumbles toward them and the women disappear like magic so the men can take care of business.

Seven elders scurry from the side alleys to confront Faisal and form a ring around the battered white vehicle with an enthusiastic look on their faces.
This time we’re going to win.
The elders are followed by two foreign men in dark trousers and white shirts who aren’t part of the community; they do a winding gesture with their hands to force Faisal to lower his window. Everyone is paying attention now.

A blast of air conditioning fans the watching men’s faces before the merchant switches it off. Unprepared for this confrontation, the jowly, middle-aged crook narrows his eyes. Standing slightly back beside a mountain of bags, Aaron watches Lijah hurry Suzan upstairs.

A local man who’s hard of hearing shouts to the man beside him, “The foreign men are from a charity that is trying to build recycling factories in Mokattam.”

Aaron looks at the foreigners and their fine black shoes and listens to their polite threat. One man speaks while the other translates his words into Egyptian.

“These people are doing all the work but are being squeezed out of a living by the low prices you’re paying for the trash. Our charity’s raising funds to allow the Zabbaleen to make goods from the plastic, metal, and glass they collect. Soon you’ll be out of business.”

“That’s what you think.” Faisal laughs.

Charity workers have visited Mokattam many times with good intentions. The craft workshops and school have grown out of Egyptian as well as foreign aid, but no one has ever mentioned doing the merchants out of business. Aaron moves closer to listen as a ripple of excitement passes through the crowd.