Goodnight, Boy

by Nikki Sheehan

  But more than that.

  It was like she had recognised me.

  That was at the start of our years on the streets. Oskar recovered quickly after that. His arm was always bent – Melanie hadn’t tried to reset the bones – and his hand twisted outwards slightly afterwards. But gradually we stopped begging and began to steal or, when we could, we worked, lifting rocks and helping people to uncover the last bodies, and then begin to rebuild their homes.

  I learnt to saw wood, to shape cinderblocks, even to reroute electricity and water supplies without getting caught.

  I could do that here, Boy. We could have a light and running water. What do you think?

  No, you’re right. Melanie would say it’s stealing.

  Back then it wasn’t. It was living.

  There were so many of us trying to survive.

  Ours was a city of orphans.

  It’s not like here. Even before the earthquake there had been street children on every corner. Some of our new friends hadn’t belonged anywhere for a long time. Most couldn’t even remember that they had once had a family. But they must have, because you can’t have children without mothers and fathers, can you?

  For once in their lives street kids were the lucky ones. The earthquake had struck at night when most people were inside, but there had been nothing except the sky to fall down onto their heads. They might have been skinny and unloved, with hair that was bleached from malnutrition, but their ribs weren’t cracked and their legs weren’t smashed by bricks that night.

  The street kids were the winners. They wouldn’t limp forever, or remember their parents’ faces like statues still and grey with dust and death.

  We were all alone now. Alone together.

  In a way my life was better than it had been in the hospital. The streets were a place where kids were citizens and equals. A place with no walls or locked doors or rules. We formed tribes, and we fought and cried and played and laughed, and some of us died, but we blinked and carried on.

  Me and Oskar joined with the older kids for protection in exchange for a proportion of anything we stole or earned. In turn we looked after a few who were smaller than us, and we sent them to beg, then took some of what they had been given. It was just how it worked.

  There were bad days. We were living in the most dangerous place on Earth, and we could never relax. But we grew tough and learned to laugh at others’ fear, and to bury our own so deep we couldn’t smell it.

  Besides, we were busy. We moved home every few days, usually choosing the half-crumpled buildings avoided by adults because they were unstable. Sometimes they were held together with a single beam that could be toppled by the flapping of a pigeon’s wings or a loud cough.

  When the aftershocks struck, which they did without warning, day and night, we would run outside, laughing and pushing each other to hide our fear.

  When they were too bad we slept outside, often camping at the gates of the cemetery within sight of the collapsed and looted graves of our former leaders, with only flimsy wood and plastic shelters to protect us from the ghosts.

  But then the storms came.

  It wasn’t like the rain here, Boy. There the temperature would rise all day and then suddenly drop, and soon after God would squeeze the contents of a thousand clouds onto us, water collapsing the makeshift homes we tried to build like angry fists, ripping the plastic sheeting away from us and sending it cartwheeling down the road and out of sight.

  I hated the storms.

  Those were the worst times.

  A few weeks after the earthquake, more teams of foreign aid workers began to arrive.

  They pulled up in shining Jeeps wearing clothes with red crosses on, and we welcomed them because they brought food and water, and gave us real tents.

  Me and Oskar slept so well that first night, in our very own little home.

  The tent only lasted a few days because, when we returned from finding food, it had gone. So we took someone else’s, and after that was taken from us too we learnt to exchange tents for food and water with adults, and then steal them back before nightfall.

  I know it’s dishonest, but we had to do anything we could to survive. Anything at all.

  Worse things than this.

  You’re lucky, Boy. You have a whole doghouse made just for you.

  Look around!

  Walls and a roof! Even gaps in the wall to look through.

  And no one to take it away.

  I would have loved all this.

  Those were good times.

  Survival was easier, so we were free to do whatever we wanted. Even play.

  If we found a ball, the game would be soccer. That was when I first learnt to be a goalkeeper; standing in the heat, waiting for my moment.

  I was used to waiting. I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think.

  And my moment, when it came, made it worthwhile.

  Other times we found packs of cards or dice, and played with them on the sidewalk, all crouched, shouting and laughing, trying to win a pair of old shoes or the T-shirt from someone’s back.

  I was good at these games. I watched adults playing, noticed what they did and calculated ways to cheat.

  I made out that I was just lucky so that no one guessed my tricks. People soon heard about me, and the men would let me drink from their bottles of sweet deadly rum if I sat with them while they played.

  They hoped that my luck was contagious, like a virus. But in reality only bad luck moves between people like a sickness. People keep good luck to themselves.

  The best thing in those days, Boy, was the drains.

  It was how we kept clean, but really we went there for fun.

  The entrance was down through a grate in the middle of the road, so we would run out in front of the traffic and Oskar would stop the cars while I pulled the heavy metal grille away, and then we would jump straight down into the gushing water.

  The cold made us gasp.

  We would splash each other and squeal and yell and laugh until we were breathless and shivering.

  Afterwards I helped him to scramble up again, hoping he wouldn’t surface straight into the fender of a truck, before I climbed out after him.

  Then we would sit, hip to hip, knee to knee, on the curb while the sun dried our backs and our skipping hearts slowed to a walk.

  I had never heard the word cholera before.

  It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?

  CHOLERA

  Like the name of a flower, or a butterfly.

  But it’s not beautiful.

  It’s a disease that was brought to our country by the people who came to help.

  It got into our water.

  We shouldn’t be angry with them, but good intentions can’t bring back the dead.

  We drank from puddles and contaminated rivers, and we played and washed in poisoned drain water. Quickly, my friends became sick.

  One

  by

  one.

  Just some vomiting and diarrhoea at first, and then their brown skin faded to a transparent grey patterned with the delicate veins underneath. Their uneven breaths sounded like wood being sawn. Their eyes stopped seeing and then

  And then, Boy,

  they went.

  The day I saw Melanie again I was looking after a boy who was about five years old.

  He had been sick for days. His eyes didn’t shine anymore, and his hands and feet were wrinkled like an old man’s.

  She came with the people who were handing out food. She wore a pink T-shirt that glowed in the grime. Around her neck she had a shining instrument for listening to hearts. It looked like a medal.

  Melanie’s mouth smiled at me like before, but her eyes were sad and tired.

  They still said I Know You. But this time I knew her too.

  ‘Please let me help him,’ she said in my language.

  I nodded, and she picked the boy up as if he weighed nothing.

  I didn’t want to let him go, but I trusted her
.

  I saw Melanie again when she brought him back. The boy was still weak but he was alive.

  She was with a translator this time. She reached out and took my face in her hands and told me that there was a new children’s home opening nearby and that we should go there.

  I nodded, and said that we would.

  But, of course, we didn’t. No one else wanted to, and I couldn’t leave my friends. Anyway, I was sure that things were becoming better.

  Within days the water she gave us ran out and we were drinking from puddles again.

  One by one the rest of us fell sick and were taken away to a makeshift hospital under a canvas roof.

  I was the last. Melanie came for me herself.

  The roads were still too bad for cars, and I was too big for her to carry, so she propped me up against her as I staggered for half an hour to reach the hospital.

  Then she left.

  I lay down on the camp bed and thought that I would die.

  But I was given a clear liquid that looked like water and, though I vomited most of it out at first, I grew stronger.

  I was there for nearly a week. When I was able to sit up and eat a little porridge the doctor said that I would be leaving the next day because they needed the bed for other sick children.

  I was as thin as a skeleton and could barely hold my head up, but I was well enough.

  Melanie came to see me later that day.

  She asked me where I would go, and again she told me about the new children’s home.

  I said nothing but I knew that the streets were where I belonged. Not under a roof, in a place crowded with other people’s smell and noise. I was old enough to look after myself, I didn’t need help.

  ‘At least promise me you’ll stay nearby,’ she said. ‘I’m only here a few more weeks, but I’ll be looking out for you.’

  I said nothing. Her talk made me uncomfortable. I liked her and I didn’t want to hear her lies.

  On the way out of the hospital I stole some food and water, and then I went to find Oskar.

  Mmm…that smells so good. Can I have some? Please?

  Oh…

  Oh, no.

  I was dreaming that I was at Mamie and Pepe’s house. I haven’t told you about them, have I?

  We were both there, Boy, at the long table. Oskar was next to me on the wooden benches.

  You were at my feet, your favourite place.

  We were about to eat a huge, hot black bean and cornmeal stew. It smelled of the thyme that grew in the backyard. My mouth is watering now even thinking about it. I bet there were going to be fried plantains too. Big discs, two each.

  I wish I hadn’t woken up then. There might have been dessert.

  And clean water.

  I’m so thirsty.

  I wish I could cry, but that would be a waste.

  I miss Mamie and Pepe. Right now I’d give anything to be there again. Just for a few days.

  Not anything, obviously.

  Would I give you up, Boy?

  No.

  Never.

  And it would only be until Melanie came back, of course.

  I wonder why she hasn’t called.

  Where are you going? For a pee?

  No more digging in that pile while you’re out there.

  You’re back quickly. I must’ve fallen asleep again. Come close. Make us like we’re one person. One smelly, hairy person.

  I think I’ll just shut my eyes again for a while.

  I’m so tired today.

  Goodnight, Boy.

  Hey, wake up!

  Hear that?

  It’s the school bell again. It must be recess. The children are running out of class screaming like they’re being chased by a lion.

  Imagine if we had all that space to run?

  You haven’t been on a walk for a long time. He took you out every day at first, didn’t he?

  But now he stumbles as he moves, and I can see his legs shaking under those baggy jogging bottoms.

  If Melanie were here she would be able to help him, like she helped Oskar.

  He won’t go and see another doctor because then he would have to explain.

  I hope she comes back soon.

  Come on, let’s do some exercise.

  Big stretch, that’s right, bow down ’til your nose touches the ground.

  Perfect.

  Ready? Let’s go into the fresh air.

  You’re excited, aren’t you? Is that why you’re jumping up at me?

  You know that’s not allowed.

  He doesn’t like it.

  Oh, is it because you want to dance?

  All right…

  You’re a good dancer, Boy, but this is very weird.

  I wish we had a ball. Or that balloon.

  I suppose I could throw a stone?

  Maybe not.

  Should we run instead?

  All right, half-walk, half-jog around the perimeter of the fence, then ten circuits running as fast as we can.

  Hey, slow down, Boy!

  This is supposed to be the warm up; walk ten paces, jog ten paces.

  Change! That means let’s go in the other direction!

  This way, Boy, this way!

  Great. Now for the run. Let’s see how fast we can go.

  I bet I can win.

  Ready?

  You

  Won

  I

  have to stop. My breathing’s wrong, and my heart is beating so loud in my ears. I must be

  really weak now.

  You carry on.

  Go

  don’t worry about me

  I’ll join in when I can.

  No?

  You’re tired too.

  We’ll let our breath calm and then we will take a nice gentle walk.

  Walking is good for you.

  Maybe we’ve exercised enough for today. Tomorrow we’ll do a long run.

  Let’s go back inside, have a rest.

  You were found tied up outside a bar, Boy. Do you remember?

  You were nervous and thin, and the police took you to the pound. You stayed there a long time because you growled at anyone who wanted to adopt you, especially the men.

  And then you met Melanie.

  You weren’t you until you met her.

  People make us different.

  A flower can’t bloom unless it has sunshine, and you and me couldn’t bloom until we met Melanie.

  We both had to wait a long time for our person.

  Did you have friends in the dog shelter? Other big scruffy mutts like you?

  I hope you had someone like Oskar.

  I was worried that I might not find him again when I left the temporary hospital. I thought he might be dead, or gone to one of the children’s homes. But Oskar was where I had left him.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’ he asked.

  ‘As far from here as possible,’ I said.

  We walked to the outskirts of the city and there we found a settlement of little huts made of tin.

  We sat and watched and waited until the inhabitants of one went out, and we moved in.

  When they came back later Oskar put his back to the door until they agreed to go if we let them have the blankets and clothes that were inside.

  I’d like one of those blankets now, Boy.

  Although the people who lived in our hut had gone, they had friends nearby. They were adults who threatened to take it back, so Oskar stayed home while I earned money by cleaning cars at a nearby intersection, or carrying shopping bags, or helping taxi drivers to find customers.

  It was hard work, but not as bad as the work that the girls did, washing or disappearing in cars with men.

  Mostly it was just us two, but sometimes younger children lived with us for a few weeks until they were tempted away and never seen again. When they went I was always relieved. I was tired of losing people.

  It was better when it was just me and Oskar. Our home was a castle which the
wind couldn’t move and where the rain could only drum angrily against the roof.

  I loved that sound because it meant that we were winning.

  But then, gradually, I became tired of everything.

  Money and food were harder to find and although Oskar offered to go out working himself, I knew that I wouldn’t have been able to protect the hut alone.

  So I left him early every morning and stayed out until dark. Every loaf of bread or piece of meat that I bought with the money I earned we shared, while he sat in the doorway, chewing a piece of grass, waiting for me to return.

  I was exhausted and he was bored. But he needed me and I needed him. It was the way it worked. Without me he couldn’t have eaten, and without him I couldn’t have slept.

  I was trapped. We both were.

  Something had to change.

  I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn’t have a chance.

  And I’m sorry about that. I’m really sorry.

  I’d seen Melanie twice since the hospital. I had set out to find her, but when I did I had just stood and watched her from a distance, because what would I have said? Why would she have wanted to talk to me?

  After that, whenever I found the pink logo’d van, she hadn’t been among the workers. I knew that she must have gone back to America. She had said she would.

  The last time I saw her it was by accident.

  I had helped some boys to carry charcoal to the other side of the city. I stayed and shared their food around a campfire and slept a few hours with them overnight, then, before the sun rose, I began to walk toward our hut.

  That was when I spotted the tents that the doctors had set up; a splash of pink against the pale blue morning sky.

  Somehow I knew that this time she would be there.

  And she was.

  ‘It’s you,’ she called over when she spotted me standing at a distance. And she didn’t seem surprised.

  She found an interpreter and through him she said, ‘Nice to see you, JC. You’re looking thin. Come and eat with me.’

  It was early morning, but we shared her lunch, and then I slept on a blanket in the corner of a room where she was working.

  At the end of the day she took me back to my tin hut in a Jeep.