by Saul Dobney
Yanif listened. The washing machine, the dishwasher, the refrigerator, the air conditioning each humming quietly, imbued the house with a life of its own. Choice ornaments sat on the shelves; the walls and furniture colour co-ordinated and a picture on each wall; one of his figurines placed in prime position on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.
“Come and see your room,” said Lyndsay leading him upstairs. Yanif carried his bag to a bedroom with olive green walls. He put his bag down and ran his hand over the colour-co-ordinated sheets.
“We’ll let you freshen up first,” said Lyndsay. “And I know you must be tired from the journey, but we promised Reverend Cuvin we'd take you to church. Everyone is so looking forwards to meeting with you, if you're not too sleepy?”
Martha and Lyndsay left the room to let Yanif settle in. He opened the closet and found a stack of new clothes lying on the shelves. On the inside of the door were pictures: photographs of Yanif from when the two of them had found him; photos of him with gifts Martha and Lyndsay had sent; and, on the bottom shelf, a pair of small scuffed shoes with teddy bears on the buckles.
“You must be Yanif. I’m Wesley,” said Reverend Cuvin holding out his hand as they entered the church. “We have so wanted to for you to come visit. John has told me such a lot about St Peter’s and the children. Do you like our display?” Reverend Cuvin pointed to a wall display with pictures of St Peter’s and children in purple t-shirts. At the top was a picture of a beaming Yanif standing in front of the Principal's House.
Yanif smiled and pointed at the picture of Mosi and Kwasi each sticking their tongue out at the camera while messing with Eshe's hair.
As other church members came in, Martha and Lyndsay led Yanif to a seat at the front that had been reserved. The church was modern and spacious with large wood-framed windows that filled the space with light. At the front two steps led to up to a small stage where a simple plain wooden cross stood on a small cloth-covered altar table.
To the side of the altar a pianist, guitarist and drummer started to play and the music and the voices of the congregation filled the room in hymn as Reverend Cuvin led a small procession to mark the start of the service. It felt like a Sunday back at St Peter’s.
As the singing stopped, Reverend Cuvin stepped to the front.
“We have a special guest with us today,” he announced. “You will know about our fund-raising for the orphans in Kenya. Well today we are lucky enough to have one of St Peter's children here.” He gestured towards Yanif with his hand. “Yanif could you stand up for us please.”
As Yanif rose to his feet, the congregation gave a ripple of applause and his cheeks reddened.
“Yanif is a product of our friends John and Beth at St Peter’s Orphanage in Kenya – the same orphanage you can see in our foyer. He is with us because of two wonderful women. Martha and Lyndsay. Please stand up.”
Martha and Lyndsay stood next to Yanif and Martha squeezed Yanif's hand.
“What would you do if you found a lonely child by the side of the road?” continued Reverend Cuvin. “That was the question that Martha and Lyndsay faced when they found Yanif. And their answer was to give him their love. To support him. To see him through his childhood and to bring him here to meet us.”
Reverend Cuvin pointed to Martha and Lyndsay and another round of applause filled the hall. “Yanif, why don’t you come to the front?”
Martha nudged Yanif and he shuffled on to the chancel stage blushing and biting his bottom lip.
“What can you tell us about St Peter’s Yanif?” asked Reverend Cuvin.
Yanif gaped unable to say anything, his cheeks bright red. He shuffled backwards trying to step out of the limelight.
“It’s OK. It’s OK,” said Reverend Cuvin waving his hands to stop Yanif. “Yanif is a little shy,” said the Reverend to the congregation. “We don’t wanted to embarrass him.”
Yanif swivelled on the spot trying to shrink away from the eyes watching him. Martha snuck up to the front and placed a hand on Yanif’s shoulder. Then she whispered into Reverend Cuvin’s ear. He smiled and Martha returned to her seat.
“Martha has just told me that Yanif has a very special talent,” said Reverend Cuvin. “He knows the Bible by heart.”
A murmur came from the congregation.
“Yanif, if we ask you, could you recite a passage for us? Would you do that?”
Yanif fixed his attention on the Reverend and nodded.
“What should we choose?” Reverend Cuvin looked around the faces in the hall.
“Luke ten:twenty-five,” shouted someone from the back.
Yanif smiled towards where Martha and Lyndsay were sitting. He put his hands together as if in prayer, then he began in a clear, loud voice:
“And behold, a certain lawyer stood up to test Him saying, 'Teacher, what must I do to gain Immortal Life?'
Jesus answered, 'What is the Law? What do you read there?'
'You must love the Lord thy God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.' he replied.
'You have answered correctly,' said Jesus; 'Do this, and you shall live.'
But the man, wanting to justify himself further, said to Jesus: 'And who is my neighbour?'
Jesus replied and said: 'A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves, who stripped him, and wounded him, and left him half dead.
'It happened that a priest was going down that road. He saw the man, but passed by on the other side. Likewise a Levite came to the spot, but, when he saw the man, he too passed by on the opposite side.
'But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed came upon the man; and when he saw him, he had compassion and went to him, and bound up his wounds, dressing them with oil and wine, and put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.' ”
Yanif directed his eyes to Martha and Lyndsay.
“The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the inn-keeper and said. 'Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I return, I will repay you.'
'Now of the three men, who was a neighbour to him who fell among the thieves?' asked Jesus.
'The one that showed mercy,' he answered;
Then Jesus said to him: 'Go and do likewise.' ”
Yanif stood alone at the front. He looked at Martha and Lyndsay, then to the floor. He gazed back at the women and their friendly faces, warm and encouraging, and shuddered. A tear rolled down his cheek. Reverend Cuvin touched Yanif’s arm.
Yanif started to cry.
20. Next door birthday party
Yanif held Martha’s hand for the rest of the service, staring into the distance, oblivious to the people around him. As the final hymn finished, friends and churchgoers gathered around, but Yanif did not move, his eyes still swollen with tears.
“Let’s get you home,” said Martha, pulling him by the hand. “You’re probably still tired from the plane and all the new things.”
Yanif followed Martha and Lyndsay back to the car and climbed in still in a daze.
As they left the church, Yanif’s eyelids fluttered in the sunlight and he seemed to wake inside. “Why?” he asked. “Why were you so good? Why did you decide to help?”
“Well we couldn’t have left you by the side of the road. And now you’re the boy we never had, who’s become the man in our lives.” Martha squeezed Lyndsay’s hand and they shared a smile, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment.
When they returned home, pink and yellow balloons and lines of bunting were tied among the trees of the neighbour’s yard. A group of girls of seven or eight in pastel dresses of pink, blue and green were skipping in the driveway.
“Present time girls,” shouted a voice from the back of the house.
“Presents. Presents. Presents,” chorused the girls as they hurried around the house to the yard at the back.
“Just in time,” said Martha. “I have something fo
r Annabel in the trunk. Come on Yanif. We’ll introduce you.”
Martha took a parcel from the car and the three of them strolled around the back.
In the garden the bunting continued and a group of adults stood with cameras and mobile phones taking pictures as Annabel’s mother fussed around getting the girls to sit down.
“Are we too late?” called Martha.
Annabel’s mother waved the three of them into the yard. “Annabel, sit down. I can’t get the presents until you’re all sat down. Now close your eyes. Girls, make sure Annabel keeps her eyes closed.”
Annabel’s mother went into the house and emerged with a small trolley laden with presents. The girls began to sing, “Happy Birthday to you…”
Annabel opened her eyes and clapped her hands in delight.
She dived into the boxes and parcels, ripping off the gift-wrap without caring who had sent it. In a matter of ten minutes, a small mound of dolls, books, ride-ons, make up and dresses sat in front of her, the paper discarded on to the ground left to drift on the wind through the yard.
Annabel hunted around the presents. “Where is it? Where is it?” she called to her mother.
“What are you looking for Annie?”
“The Pippa doll. I told you I wanted a Pippa doll too.”
“But you have all these other presents. We didn’t think you needed a Pippa doll as well,” said her mother. She picked up a cuddly puppy and handed it to her daughter. “Here. Didn't you say you wanted a Trotfox?”
Annabel started to cry. “I told you I want a Pippa doll. I told you. You never get me what I want.” She turned away from her mother and crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground.
Annabel’s mother put her arms around her daughter to comfort her, but Annabel refused to turn around. “I want a Pippa doll. I want it now.”
Yanif shook his head in bewilderment.
Annabel’s mother pulled a face at the other adults in the garden mouthing for help. “OK. OK,” said her mother relenting. “We’ll get you one, we’ll get you one. Don’t get so uptight.”
The birthday girl bounced and clapped her hands. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and gave her mother a hug.
“Trampoline,” someone called and suddenly all the girls ran off to play, leaving Annabel's mother to pick up all the gifts that lay scattered on the grass.
Yanif sighed and gazed back out of the garden. He put his hand over his mouth and yawned.
“She’s spoilt. Isn’t she?” said Martha. “If you want to go and get some more sleep, the house is open. We’ll stay a little while longer.”
Yanif left the garden, but instead of going into the house he kept walking, mesmerised, following the road down through the estate. At the junction at the end he found a trail that meandered down to a small lake. It turned into a dirt track and he followed it out towards fields before coming out at a higgledy-piggledy estate of pastel-coloured houses losing himself among the cul-de-sacs.
“Go away.” A shrill voice and the sound of barks woke him from his thoughts. “Go away. Go home.”
In the next side street, two small dogs, one brown, one cream, danced around a small girl of four or five on a bicycle, snapping at her heels as she rode.
“Go home,” she shouted. She lifted her feet onto the frame to keep her legs away from their teeth.
The dogs took no notice and continued to yap. The brown dog darted left, the other right shepherding her towards the end of the road.
The girl screamed as the cream dog jumped up, nipping at her jeans and at that moment her foot tangled in the front wheel and she tumbled to the floor, the pedal scrapping down her calf.
“Aaaaah!” she wailed.
She scrambled on the floor trying to free her foot, but her cries emboldened the dogs. They danced around her, snapping and tugging at her clothes. She screamed louder and covered her face with her hands.
Yanif put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
The dogs turned, ears pricked to see where the noise came from.
Yanif whistled again and the dogs barked in his direction.
He approached the girl and the two dogs backed away, barking now at Yanif in unison, the brown dog's teeth bared. Yanif stared at them, daring them to come closer.
He stamped his foot. Bang. The dogs jumped back, startled at the sound. He stamped again and the dogs turned tail and ran, sprinting down the street.
The little girl sat crying on the side of the road, her arm scratched from the fall and blood on her calf from the pedal. Yanif lifted her up and brushed the grit from her knee. He smiled at her. She smiled back and wiped her grazed hand on her t-shirt, smearing a line of crimson across her top.
She let Yanif examine her. He wet his finger and rubbed the dirt out of her scratches, then he took the bicycle one hand, and her hand in the other, and accompanied her back to the main drive of the estate.
Around the corner a man was working in his front yard, a set of hedge clippers in his hand. He was about to start pruning the shrubs by his drive when he stopped and stared at them.
“Daddy,” shouted the girl. She burst into tears again, sobbing as she limped next to Yanif.
Yanif bent down and brushed the tears from her cheek then kissed her on the top of the head. He let her go and the girl hop-ran towards her father.
The man crouched down to inspect the cuts on his daughter's legs and hands.
“Go inside Jeanie,” said the man to his daughter. “Your mom will take care of you.”
He marched to Yanif, his eyes narrowed and sharp. He snatched the bike away, the point of the clippers pointing at Yanif's chest. “Hey, you boy. You tell me what you have been doing to my daughter.”
Yanif said nothing.
“I'm talking to you.” The man thumped the heel of his hand into Yanif's shoulder.
Yanif stumbled backwards trying not to fall over.
The man pushed again. “What'd you do to her?” He waved the clippers towards Yanif's face.
Yanif double-stepped backwards, his hands up to fend away the man's aggression. “She needed help.”
From their side, a voice came from a neighbouring house. “Hey Harry, what’s going on?”
“I dunno, but this punk just came round the corner with Jeanie all covered with blood.”
Jeanie had not gone inside, and she ran to her father and pulled at his arm.
“Dogs,” said Jeanie, pointing down the road.
“Dogs?” said her father. “What dogs? What you been doing to my Jeanie?” he snapped at Yanif.
“Dogs,” said Jeanie again. “Dogs.”
“Could be dogs Harry?” said the neighbour. “I heard some dogs howling a couple of minutes ago down there.”
The girl shouted, “It was the dogs, it was the dogs. They chased me.”
Jeanie's explanation knocked Harry off balance. He glared at Yanif. “You might be lucky this time, but don’t you come round here again. I don't like the way you was touching my Jeanie.”
Yanif made to say goodbye to the girl, but Harry thrust the clippers back towards Yanif.
“Get going. My brother was in Iraq and I don’t like no A-rabs.”
Yanif left, keeping his head down to avoid more attention. He walked down the street paying little heed to the prim yards and picture book houses. At the junction with the highway, he turned to check if he was being followed, but Harry was still tending to his daughter outside his house.
A handful of cars passed along the main road, and Yanif followed the side-walk towards a bus-stop where a couple was sitting under the canopy.
He was tired and he sat down on the bench besides an elderly man with grey hair in a suit and tie. Next to the man was his wife in a long dark coat, and between them, a large aluminium suitcase placed on the ground.
The woman smiled. “Going to New York?” she asked. “It's a perfect day for travelling isn't it?”
Yanif peered up to the white clouds drifting in the blue sky
and nodded.
“Well, the bus will be along in a few minutes.” The woman smiled again then pointed up the road.
An animal rustled in the fields opposite and Yanif watched as the tail of a grass-snake disappeared into the verge.
The bus arrived and the elderly man dragged the suitcase to the luggage bay under the side. The wheels of the suitcase creaked with the weight and as he tried to lift it by the handle he winced and reached for his back.
“Gerald,” said the woman to her husband. “Don't do your back again.” She tapped Yanif on the elbow. “Please, could you help?” Her eyes soft as she entreated Yanif.
Yanif smiled and with some effort he heaved the suitcase into the bus, pushing it into the void.
“Thank you. You're wonderfully kind.” She touched him on the shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Voices came from further down the road. Harry and his neighbour were marching towards the bus-stop, Harry still holding the clippers.
“We can't wait for ever,” said the woman at the bus door, holding out her hand.
Yanif glanced again at the men coming along the road, took a decision and climbed into the bus.
“That'll be thirty dollars for New York,” said the driver.
Yanif handed over his wallet. The driver raised his eyes in surprise, but took the remaining bills for the fare. As the bus departed, Harry and his neighbour passed the bus-stop pointing further along the road.
21. New York
Yanif slept on the journey and was woken by the old man shaking him gently.
“We're here,” said the man. “This is the last stop.”
Yanif helped the couple retrieve their suitcase and followed them out into the city streets. The lights of the shop windows mixed with the neon and LED signs casting a cavalcade of colours into the evening sky. He drifted with the stream of people flowing along the pavement towards huge plasma screens of Times Square; rich people in long coats and smart shoes; tourists with backpacks, and a tramp sat holding out his cap to the queues of theatre goers. At the corner of the square an image of a huge pair of eyes stared at him, on another corner a half naked woman was trying to tempt and seduce him.