Prison Boy

by Sharon McKay

  Kai dropped the ribbon on the smokestack-high pile of files. All around the office, tiny mountains of papers threatened to topple and explode like child-sized volcanoes. Kai trailed his fingers over a mound of paper.

  “Careful, I don’t want them to fall and get mixed up,” said Bell.

  “Why?” asked Kai.

  “Why? Why do all children ask ‘why’? Because the forms tell whoever wants to read them how you arrived, how much you weighed, your birth mother’s name, and as much as I know about your birth father,” said Bell.

  Kai pointed to a piece of paper with Pax’s name. “What does it say?” Kai reached for the page.

  “Give me that.” Bell snatched it back.

  “What do you say about me? How much did I weigh?” Kai asked.

  “How would I know? I made that bit up,” Bell growled.

  “Who is whoever?” asked Kai.

  “Whoever what?”

  “You said whoever wants to read them. Is whoever a boy or a girl?” asked Kai.

  “Sit.” Her eyes drooped.

  “Bell, are you sick again?”

  “Who says I am sick? You are not a doctor—not yet.” Bell looked down at the pages in front of her.

  “It’s all right, Bell. You don’t have to tell whoever about my mother. I know all about her,” said Kai.

  “Is Pax still telling stories? Aren’t you too old for stories?” Her voice was grizzly and low, as if she had sand at the back of her throat.

  “No. Pax’s stories are real.” Kai was adamant.

  Bell looked into Kai’s big brown eyes. “We could put those eyes of yours on a poster. Maybe people would give us more money.” She sighed.

  “My mother the queen will give you money, maybe,” said Kai.

  Bell shook her head. “You are five years old, a big boy. You can go to school soon. It does no good to have such wild fantasies. I highly doubt that your mother is a princess.”

  “She is not a princess. She is a queen.” Kai was indignant.

  Bell went back to flipping through her papers. Kai looked over to a hand-woven basket filled with art supplies sent to them by Bell’s sister. None of the children knew her name, but they all recognized the boxes when they arrived from England.

  Kai picked up a bottle of glue. “Bell, why does the glue not stick to the inside of the bottle?”

  Bell did not look up. “Ask Pax.”

  Kai nodded. Pax would know. “Bell, can blind people see in their dreams?”

  “Yes.” Bell was definite.

  “But can they see colors? How would they know it was red or orange if they had never seen red or orange?”

  “Ask Pax.”

  “If someone is blind and goes to heaven, will he see God?” asked Kai.

  “No one is blind in heaven.”

  “Is everyone perfect in heaven?” Kai walked around to Bell’s side of the desk and put his head on her shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “Are there sick people in heaven? Are there babies? Do the babies grow up and then stop growing before they get old?” Kai’s questions rolled out.

  Bell stared hard at Kai over her reading glasses. She said nothing.

  “I know, I know. Ask Pax.” Kai shrugged. “Bell, Santoso said that when I first came here, you didn’t want me.” Kai folded his arms on the desk and rested his chin on top.

  Bell let out a long stream of air, rather like a balloon deflating. “You were tiny. I did not think that you would live, but Pax said that he would take care of you.” Bell’s face softened. She sat back and looked off into the distance, as though she was seeing something inside her head. “He fed you like you were a baby bird. He carried you on his back. The boys on the road made fun of him. He never paid them any mind until one boy called you a little monkey. I thought Pax was going to tear him to pieces.” Bell laughed. “Never in my life have I seen a boy care for another living soul like he cared for you. It was enough to make one believe in destiny.”

  “What is destiny?”

  “Fate.” Bell looked at the mess of papers in front of her, pursed her lips, and furrowed her brow.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Go now, I am busy. I am an old, white, English colonist woman who must try and undo the damage I have apparently caused.” Bell peered down at the numbers on the piece of paper.

  “I don’t understand,” said Kai.

  “Neither do I.” Bell rubbed her face with her hands. Her voice was soft, like she was talking to an imaginary person.

  “Bell, are there black womans in England?”

  “Yes. Women, not womans.”

  “Are there brown women?”

  “Of course.”

  “If a brown lady came to take care of us, would she be an old, white, English columnist woman too?”

  At first—stunned silence. Then Bell lowered her head. Her body shivered, then quaked, then shook like jelly. She made noises, funny noises, hiccup noises. She fell back in her chair. A sound came up out of her throat and exploded into the air. She cupped her hands over her face and rocked back and forth.

  Kai watched. Bell looked a little bit scary. He crept forward and reached up to Bell’s face and peeled her fingers away from her eyes, one by one. “Bell, are you crying?” He asked. She shook her head.

  “No, I am laughing. I don’t think I have laughed in a long time. And it’s colonist not columnist. Sit.” She took a breath. “I have work to do!”

  “What’s that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Bell wiped her tears and smiled.

  “Do I matter?”

  “You matter.”

  Kai nodded and looked down at the papers. “Bell, those numbers are wrong. It says eighteen plus fourteen equals thirty-four, but really it’s thirty-two.” Kai pointed to the sheet of paper on Bell’s desk.

  Bell sighed. “You might have said that this minus over here was a plus, then it would mean that we had money.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Kai.

  “I don’t understand many things either. If the riots would stop, the tourists would come back, the King and his government would have more money, and we would not always be broke.”

  “I still don’t understand,” he repeated.

  “Sit.”

  Kai thumped down on the floor and pulled out the encyclopedias. He read about molten lava, grenades called potato mashers, a deaf piano player, and the rules of cricket. After a while he pulled out the book called Algebra. He liked books that had numbers in them.

  The sun was still high in the sky when Pax and the children returned from school. Bell and Kai heard Pax clomping around on the roof. Pax was always on the roof. No sooner had Pax patched one area than another spot opened up and leaked.

  Kai jumped up and raced towards the door of Bell’s office.

  “Stay off the roof, do you hear me?” snapped Bell.

  “I promise.” Kai nodded and crossed his fingers behind his back.

  “I see you. Don’t come running to me when you fall off and break your leg.” Bell picked up a stack of bills and tossed them in the garbage.

  “But Bell, if I broke my leg, I could not run—”

  “Off you go. And no more stories about where you came from.” She shooed him away with a flick of her wrist.

  Kai ran out onto the porch. The awning over his head creaked. “Pax, what are you doing up there?” Kai leaned his back against the porch railing and looked up.

  “I am fixing the roof.”

  “No you’re not. I can see you. You are standing with your arms out. Are you trying to fly?”

  “No, that would be silly. I am feeling the air.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “It feels clean,” said Pax.

  “Can I come up?” asked Kai.

  “No. It’s too dangerous. See those nails in the cup? Hand them up.” Pax picked up his hammer, crawled to the edge of the roof, and peered down at the boy.

  Kai stood on Bel
l’s stool and passed Pax the cup that held the rusty nails.

  “I know something,” said Kai.

  “What do you know?” Pax covered a stretch of roof with a piece of rubber and banged it into place.

  “I know the real story about me.”

  “Tell me,” said Pax.

  “My mother the queen wanted me to go to another family but I hid behind a star and waited. When she wasn’t looking, I jumped onto the rainbow and came to you.”

  Pax crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. “That’s right!” Then he fell back on his haunches and laughed.

  Chapter 6

  “Make way, make way!” Bell came charging out of her office. She was heading to the outhouse, but between her and relief were children playing on the floor. “Make way!” she shouted.

  Bell dodged, weaved, and, with a swipe of her arm, bashed back the plastic sheeting that covered the door. Then she thumped across the porch, took a sharp turn, and sped towards the outhouse. She was instantly out of sight.

  Bell was shrinking. She slept much of the time, and when she wasn’t sleeping, she would sit on the porch and stare out towards the great city that winked in the far, far distance.

  Pax waited for Bell on the porch. He held a small, badly worn blanket. He wasn’t worried about her. Why should he be? Bell was just tired. She needed rest. But, what if she was really sick? What would happen to them? No, he couldn’t think like that. He would take care of her until she felt better.

  Bell returned from the outhouse, dragging her feet up the steps. “I could sit on the bloody pot all day and nothing comes out.” It was as if she was talking to herself.

  “Here, Bell.” Pax put the blanket around Bell’s shoulders.

  Bell took his arm and leaned on him as they walked slowly across the great room. She stopped midway and gazed over at Bambang, Santoso, and Guntur, who were playing quietly in the corner. “It’s not fair—how I get older and you children stay so young.” Bell stopped to take a breath and rested her head on Pax’s shoulder. She took a few steps forward, each one tentative, as if the floor might give way.

  “I might have had my own children, had things turned out differently. I was to be married, back in England. He was a handsome boy. I was only nineteen when he died. It was a motorcycle accident. Just like that, he was gone.” Bell lumbered on.

  “Harry,” said Pax.

  “Yes, his name was Harry. I have told you all this before, haven’t I?” said Bell. Pax nodded. “But you can tell me again.”

  “My sister told me to soldier on, buck up. I hated her for it. I was no beauty and I knew it. And I knew I’d never find another like my Harry. I was a widow without ever having been married. I left England on my twentieth birthday and haven’t been back since.” Bell stopped and looked down. “Oh, I am sorry.” A puddle formed around her feet.

  “It’s all right, Bell, I will clean it up,” said Pax.

  Bell nodded. Gingerly, Bell clinging tightly to Pax’s arm, they shuffled around the pee and reached her office. With a deep sigh, Bell lay down on her cot. “I will be better tomorrow. Visitors are coming tomorrow,” she said as she closed her eyes. “Pax, are you still there?”

  “I am here, Bell.” Pax tucked the blanket around her thin, little body.

  “Don’t forget about the visitors.” Bell took a deep breath. “‘Every bad day has an end, and every good day has a beginning.’ Someone said that. I wonder who? I suppose it’s all been said and done before.”

  The visitors arrived at midday. Three men and two women picked their way carefully down the path, jumped the ditch, and climbed up the broken steps to the porch. One woman, wearing men’s pants, looked angry and disapproving. The second woman wore a prim hat with a brim, a dress that swished and flowed around her like water in a pool, and shoes with little heels that left tiny tracks in the mud.

  The man, holding a briefcase and looking very damp, asked to see Bell. Pretty Mega, with a red bow holding back her black hair, took them through the pink great room to Bell’s office.

  Only the man at the end of the line stopped to say hello to the children. Two years had passed, but Pax recognized him. It was Dr. Peter Bennett. Pax was sure of it. He was a doctor, but not a medical doctor. What had Bell called him? He could not remember.

  Bambang, Bhima, and Santoso stood silently. Guntur licked his lips. Guntur was hoping for money, or at the very least candy.

  “Kai, stand behind me,” Pax whispered. He knew to keep Kai out of sight.

  The children followed the visitors as they crossed the great room. Bell was stationed behind her desk, her fingers laced. She looked up from her desk, but instead of greeting them with a smile, she pursed her lips.

  Today was one of Bell’s good days. They came like that—a good day, followed by a bad day, followed by a good day. There were times when she seemed almost well.

  The foreigners crowded into Bell’s messy office. “Close the door, Mega,” said Bell.

  Later, the foreigners came out holding white cloths over their noses. Poor Bell was very stinky now. It wasn’t her fault. It was hard keeping clean.

  All but Dr. Bennett and the woman with the heeled shoes walked through the great room, across the porch, down the steps, and weaved carefully along the path towards the main road. No one said good-bye to the children.

  “Is that him?” Dr. Bennett spoke to Bell but pointed towards Kai. Bell nodded.

  Pax stood still. What did this man want with Kai?

  “Pax, come here.” Bell motioned to Pax. “Do you remember meeting Dr. Peter Bennett? He is an education specialist from England. He wants to speak to Kai for a moment.”

  Before Pax could open his mouth, Dr. Bennett bent down and said to Kai, “I hear that you like arithmetic, and you can read and write, too. I’d like to talk to you. Would that be all right?” He spoke kindly. Kai beamed and nodded.

  Pax went out onto the porch and sat on the steps, resting his chin in his cupped hands. What would an educational specialist (whatever that was) want with Kai? Bell should have told him about Dr. Bennett. He was the one who cared most about Kai. Bell had no right, none at all.

  Bell came out and sat on the stool. The woman with the hat sat in the rocking chair. Taking a fan from her purse, the woman rocked and fanned, rocked and fanned. The children—Mega, Bambang, Bhima, Santoso, and Guntur—sat around them and pretended not to listen.

  “Well, Millie—may I call you Millie?” asked Bell. “What is it you young people say? Are you and Peter . . . involved?”

  The woman called Millie laughed, and the children reared back in amazement. Millie had silver stuck in her teeth.

  “Good grief, no. I am a volunteer. Peter is married to an academic—you know, the Oxford University type, all flat shoes and no lipstick. I have heard that she’s mad for science and math. And she has a foreign name. Nadia, I think.” Millie shook her head.

  “Nadia is not an especially foreign name,” said Bell.

  “Well it’s not Debbie or Susan, or something normal.” Millie was miffed.

  “His name is Bhima, and his name is Santoso.” Bell pointed to the children.

  “Well of course they would have foreign names. They are foreign!” said Millie.

  Bell snorted as Millie fanned herself. The silence seemed to bother Millie. She wiggled about in Bell’s rocking chair.

  “I am sorry that it had to come to this. How many are left, ten?” asked Millie.

  “Six,” said Bell. She never counted Kai.

  “Well, that’s hardly an orphanage, now, is it? And it has been proven that orphanages are not the best places for children to grow up in.” Millie bobbed her head as if to agree with herself.

  “The government calls us an orphanage. I think of it as our home.” Bell was weary.

  “And the children can all be easily placed. Maybe the older ones can be put out to work. That’s not unusual for this country. And with the government in another uproar, it might be a good thing to see them
placed, perhaps in apprenticeships. They can’t go to school forever,” added Millie.

  Bell said nothing. She looked out into the distance like a blind person.

  “You must miss England after all this time. Think of the medical care that you will receive. Is there someone you can move in with?” Millie’s voice pitched up into a whine.

  “I have a sister. She has no soul. I can’t possibly live with such a person,” said Bell.

  “Really, you don’t mean that. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Thirty-five years ago. Just yesterday,” replied Bell.

  “People change.” Millie fanned her face so hard that she created a small breeze.

  “Do they? Or do they become more of what they really are? She called my work meaningless, as if living in a four-bedroom house with two cars in the drive gives her life meaning. Three and a half decades is still not long enough.”

  “Well, it’s good to know that you stay in contact.” Millie kept looking over her shoulder towards the door, or rather the plastic sheeting over the doorway.

  “Yes, I get the occasional epistle, along with a packet of biscuits and a bottle of Camp Coffee,” said Bell.

  Pax listened to every word. He didn’t understand four bedrooms or two cars in the drive or epistle. What he did hear was something about the children being put out to work. What did that mean? They all worked. He looked at Bell. She was struggling to sit upright. If only she were in the rocking chair and not perched on a stool. Bell’s face had turned gray. He’d have felt sorry for her if he hadn’t still been angry.

  Just as Pax was about to go and check on Kai, Dr. Bennett sauntered out onto the porch, Kai behind jumping around him like a puppy.

  “I will report back to you, Bell, but yes, you are right.” Dr. Bennett motioned towards Kai.

  Pax watched his every move. What did he mean? Right about what?

  “Then you can make arrangements for him?” asked Bell.

  “I will look into it. He will have to take more formal tests, but I have no doubt that he will do very well. He is an unusual boy. Think of how many children like him we miss, who end up dying on the street.” Dr. Bennett pressed his lips together and shook his head.