“Harvey reckons that when someone dies, they turn into a star,” I say finally.
Jimmie looks up at the sky and points to a star brightening on top of us. “Well, if he’s right, that star there looks like a pretty good one.”
It’s true. That star there looks just about perfect.
“Here, I’ve got something to show you.” Jimmie reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone. The screen is cracked up the side and there’s a bit at the top saying EMERGENCY ONLY.
“Sorry, there’s no credit. In case you wanted to call anyone.”
“I don’t have his number,” I say, and we both smile, just a little.
I wipe my eyes, and Jimmie presses at the phone. Suddenly the picture on the phone changes and I’m looking at a white rat.
“This is Raticus. He’s my pet,” Jimmie says quietly. She looks at the hurt on my face and must think that I’m thinking it’s bad to have a pet rat, because she says, “They’re not dirty or anything. At least, Raticus isn’t. He’s lovely and smart. I’ll bring him in some time.”
“I killed a rat once,” I say. “A baby. I had to. I didn’t want to. And now all the rats in here hate me.”
Jimmie doesn’t even change the look on her face. Not a bit. “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to.” She shrugs. “Leave the other rats some chocolate and they’ll know you’re sorry.”
Her finger moves over the screen of the phone and the picture changes again. This time to a house. Just like the ones in magazines, except the garden is full of broken pieces of wood and a rusted car with no wheels and an old empty bathtub and a tree right in the middle with beautiful yellow flowers all over.
The picture flips again, and now I’m looking at a bed with a yellow blanket covered in monkeys, and four pillows, all piled on top. The bed looks so big and soft. Queeny was right: real beds and pillows must have feathers in them, because what else could get them that puffed? I try to imagine what it must feel like to sleep on feathers, but I don’t know about things that soft. There isn’t much soft in here.
Now there is a toilet, which isn’t cracked or brown or broken. It’s in a room all white with pink flowers on the tiles and a whole roll of toilet paper. Not just six squares, but a whole roll. And no line of people waiting and telling you to get a move on and make it fast. Someday I’ll be able to go to the toilet whenever I like and sit for as long as I like and use as much toilet paper as I like, just like Jimmie. Thinking that makes me smile.
The next picture is a man with sad in his eyes and shoulders, and hair as crazy as Jimmie’s. “That’s my dad,” Jimmie says, but she doesn’t need to. He has the same look about him as Jimmie.
Now is a boy, almost grown to a man, who is sleeping on a chair, all nested in the pillows, with headphones on and dribble coming out his mouth. I’ve never worn headphones before, but I’ve heard about them. It must be strange having music go right into your ears that no one else can hear. A bit like my Night Sea that goes straight into my eyes that no one else can see. Jimmie laughs at the picture of the boy and tells me it’s her brother, and that she can’t wait to send that picture to all of his friends.
And then the pictures are all outside. I see trees and rivers and rocks and nests and roads and tracks leading to more and more of Outside. Jimmie tells me about each and every one, and tells what we’ll do and asks where I’d like to go first. Jimmie takes me all over on that phone.
Then she pulls me in close to her and sticks her head right next to mine. “Don’t look at me—look at the phone, duh. And smile, Subhi!” Her arm holds the phone straight up in the air.
Then she brings the phone down and shows me the two of us, our heads squashed in together and smiling. I don’t look anything like I did in the newspaper all that time ago. I look almost grown.
My brain is so full of Jimmie and all her photos of everything Outside that I have forgotten about the book. But Jimmie hasn’t. She pulls it out of her pocket.
“Just a little bit,” she whispers, “please.” Without waiting for an answer, she drops the book in my lap and closes her eyes to listen. I look up at the sky. Nasir’s star is shining brighter even than before. I start to read.
The soldiers came at night. By morning, only two people remained in the town. One of them was Oto. He had been knocked on the head by the butt of a rifle and lain unconscious for the rest of the night. The soldiers who passed him by assumed him to be among the dead and left him to rot or be eaten by wild dogs.
The other person who was neither killed nor taken was Mirka. She had watched the events unfold from her seat in the town square, her fist gripping the Bone Sparrow, her thumb working at the green coin in its center, fully aware that she could not help a single soul. She waited to be rounded up and killed with the others deemed too old or young or sick to travel. But, for whatever reason, the soldiers did not seem to notice the ancient woman seated calmly on the stone bench where she had spent so many days before. When the last of the soldiers left, Mirka felt the Bone Sparrow burn hot beneath her fingers.
It was Mirka who nursed Oto back to health, and Mirka who told Oto that Anka had been among those taken. It was Mirka who took the Bone Sparrow necklace from around her neck and handed it to Oto. “The Sparrow will recognize Anka’s soul,” she told him. “She has rubbed her story deep down into his bones. Perhaps he can help you find each other.
“Follow the hill path to the top of the mountain. There you will find a cave, and inside the cave is my grandson, Iliya. Tell him it is his time for the Bone Sparrow.” Mirka placed the necklace in Oto’s palm and patted his cheek fondly. “Stay with Iliya. Walk your journey to find peace. Perhaps then, you can cheat fate one more time.”
Oto knew of Iliya the healer. Everyone did. It was through his concoctions, brewed inside the cave at the top of the mountain, that many in the town were still alive. Oto turned to ask Mirka what she meant, but Mirka had already gone.
Oto closed his eyes and gripped the Bone Sparrow in his hand. He remembered Anka as a child, rubbing away at the bird as she sat on Mirka’s knee, her fierce unseeing eyes matching the sparrow’s. Oto wondered how many times Anka’s fingers had rubbed at this very place. He felt the wind blow across his face. He knew the same wind would be heading for Anka and their unborn child. He cried his love into the wind and prayed that it would reach Anka’s ears. Then he set off up the mountain to find Iliya.
Many miles across the land, the wind blew over Anka’s face as she was marched forward by the rough hands of the soldiers. She lifted a hand to touch her face and felt Oto’s tears on her own cheeks. Her ears rang with his call, and despite everything, Anka smiled.
I close my eyes and for a moment, I can feel that wind brushing against my cheek. I think of that wind brushing across the cheeks of Ba. When I open my eyes, Jimmie wraps my fingers around the Bone Sparrow.
“Can you feel it? That’s what he’s doing. He’s keeping the clan safe.”
I can feel a burning so hot in my fingers that I want to pull back, but Jimmie’s fingers are held tight around mine and she’s smiling. And that hot doesn’t feel bad anymore. I know now for sure that Queeny was wrong about the sparrow on the bed. It didn’t mean death at all. It was bringing a different message. Maybe it was keeping me safe.
Then Jimmie drops my hand and tucks the Bone Sparrow back under her shirt. “I’ve gotta go,” she says. “Come with me?” I think she’s joking again until I see the serious on her face. My breath catches, but my head is shaking. Long, slow shakes. “The duck could come too, you know.” This time she is joking. I think.
“Let me show you, then. In case you change your mind.”
Jimmie takes me by the hand and pulls me up. “It’s this way,” she whispers. Even though my feet feel heavy and my heart won’t stop pounding in my chest, there’s nothing in the world that could stop me from following Jimmie.
I thought it was only me and Eli that knew all the squeezeways. I should have known that if anyone else did, it w
ould be Jimmie, for sure. As she pushes her way through and around the tents down behind Hard Road, I can see the Jackets playing cards and drinking, their sticks hanging there on their belts, just waiting.
“You’ve got to be careful,” I whisper. “If they see you…” I don’t know what would happen, but Jimmie doesn’t need me to say.
“Don’t be silly,” she says, “I’m just a kid.”
I don’t tell her that in here it doesn’t matter. Especially when Beaver is on shift, and I know he is because I can hear his laugh. The sound makes me shiver even though it isn’t even a little bit of cold. “Just watch your back,” I say. “Everyone needs to watch out. Kid or not.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now, listen,” she says. She pushes my hand onto the fence. “Every fence has a weak spot. You just got to know where to look, right? This fence, its weak spot is right over here. From this spiky shrub right here, yeah? You walk sixteen steps from here.” She starts walking with me and keeps my hand pushed to the fence under hers as she’s counting out those steps. “And then you feel it. See?”
I don’t feel anything. Just the fence. Just the same as every other bit of fence. But then, there it is. Like something in the fence is waiting for me. That wire, it softens under my hand. Jimmie whispers a laugh, seeing my face, my eyes opening wider and my mouth all loose and wobbly, and her hand slaps over her mouth to stop the laughing from making it to the Jackets.
“I’ll see ya, Subhi,” Jimmie says, and she gets down on her stomach and lifts the wire just high enough to squeeze herself under. I help her lift it, and when I do, the wind picks up and blows leaves up against the fence. Even though that fence is just wire, somehow that wind feels different coming through that hole.
Jimmie waits a bit, and I realize that I still have her book held tight against my chest. Jimmie holds up the wire for me. When I pass the book through, my hand touches on the dirt outside and sends fire shooting up my wrist, so hot that I have to pull back.
Jimmie, she stays there, holding the book in one hand and the wire in the other. She keeps that wire up, letting the wind feel its way over my face, letting me taste the air on the other side.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. It feels like a long time. Like when I put my head under the water. Except this time I don’t need to hold my breath. This time I can enjoy the breathing. Enjoy pulling that air deep inside of me. This time the birds don’t need to worry.
“And once you’re out,” she whispers, “you head straight toward that old gum tree almost at the top of the hill. When you reach that, you’ll see my house farther on. It’s the only house with a letter box made out of LEGO.”
I nod ói.
“Okay, then,” Jimmie says and lets the wire go. It springs back into the earth, as tight as all the rest of the wire. “See ya,” she says again, and even though she’s turned, her voice shooting away from me and out into the night, her legs don’t follow.
“See ya,” I whisper back.
Jimmie waits a bit more, then nods. She goes straight up to the perimeter fence, walking in the space between the two fences just like it was any other space to walk in. I’ve only ever seen Jackets walk in that space between the two fences. The rats don’t even go there, in that space.
Just like that, Jimmie pulls herself under the perimeter fence. When she stands up, all the way on the Outside, the wind starts to bellow and blow. For just the tiniest of moments, that wind picks Jimmie right up off the ground, and she’s flying in the air, higher and higher until her head brushes against the stars. She laughs and smiles back at me, shining and beautiful. She’s up there in those stars, the blackness going on forever all around her. I can hear the trees calling up to the stars, and the earth whispering out its stories in the wind for everyone to hear.
And then she’s back on the ground and padding her way into the dark again before my eyes can even blink from the wondering of it.
But that shining and that smile, I won’t ever forget the way they warmed me up. Right down to my very bones.
The Night Sea came again last night, lapping at the tent. The duck poked his head out and squealed with the joy of it.
In the morning, there’s another treasure, half buried in the sand. It’s a photo of a man with earth lines running all over his face and a smile full of stories. When I look at that photo, that man stares out at me like he sees me as well as I see him. He has cat eyes that are as blue and dark as the night sky right before a storm. I tell that man to let my ba know that I’m still waiting. I haven’t forgotten. I’m here.
There’s a sick going around the camp. Not just the normal sick where the dust gets into your lungs and tights up your chest, or the scratching rash that goes on your skin all over and makes you even hotter than before, or the ache in your belly that is just there without letting up no matter if you eat or not. Those kinds of sick are just sorts of camp sicks and they never properly go away. There’s a different sick going around. A real sick.
All of us are vomiting and racing to the toilets, and there’s not even time to line up or get paper from the Jackets. Six squares wouldn’t do much anyhow. The Jackets aren’t even trying to stop us either. They just stand back with their white masks on over their mouths and noses so that they don’t get sick themselves.
There’s a smell and a fug in the air, and even the people who didn’t eat the food that poisoned us all are feeling queasy from smelling it. The Jackets try to hose the sickness out onto the other side of the fences, but all that does is make puddles of sickness all over the dirt for everyone to walk through. Useless as teats on a bull. That’s something Harvey says about the other Jackets a lot. I said that about Queeny once, but all it got me was a sore arm.
“This is what happens when you lot don’t wash your hands properly before dinner,” one of the Jackets told me. That’s what they’re saying. That it’s our fault we’re sick. “You mean all of us didn’t wash properly?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but he wouldn’t look me in the eyes either. “And how come it’s only the ones who ate the food that are sick?” I said, and then I threw up on his boots.
I haven’t seen Eli, but if he was here, I know he’d be raging that it was only a matter of time, because if you keep feeding people food that’s off, then sooner or later it’s going to make us all sick. I wonder if Eli’s saying that over in Alpha. I bet anything that he is.
But it’s not just the food poisoning that’s making the air smell sick. There’s something else too. A kind of sad-angry that’s floating all over.
Queeny is sick as well, but she’s still sneaking photos with that camera. Photos of us, and the puddles of sick. I wonder if those photos will be able to show the sad-angry too. I reckon you can see it when you look at people’s faces, but maybe that’s just because I know what all these people can look like when they’re happy.
Queeny comes up and sits with me, and even though her hands are holding tight on to her stomach and she looks like all her energy has been sucked out of her, she’s smiling. “Eli reckons some of our photos might make the newspaper,” she says quietly.
I’m not sure why that’s a good thing.
Queeny looks like she might vomit again. But then she breathes in nice and deep through her nose. “I’m sick of being a dead rat, Subhi. I’m sick of being invisible. I’ve had enough. And now, even if only a few people see, it will mean I’m not invisible anymore. D’you get it?”
Queeny and I used to watch the new boatloads come through the fence. They were all excited and buzzy going into Delta. Even when they moved into Family, they were still all full of happy, running around like the beetles that fly about the tents. But then something happened, and that happiness whispered up into the air like water on a hot day. Queeny says that’s when they understood that no one could see them anymore, that this here is just one big cage of invisible people who no one believes are even real.
Sometimes those kids go quiet for a while, then get some happy and some chat back. But some of them go qui
et and never get anything back at all. And every time that happens I wonder if someday those kids will find their voices out there somewhere, or if the red dirt in here has sucked dry their throats for good.
I never used to know what Queeny meant when she said that, about being invisible. But then I think of Eli and I think of Nasir, and I think of the difference I feel when Jimmie is here. Like someone is really seeing me, really listening. I haven’t felt like that before. So when Queeny asks me if I understand, I do. And I wonder if maybe that’s how everyone is feeling. I wonder if maybe that’s the sad-angry sick that’s all over the place and funking up the air.
And I wish I didn’t understand, because understanding doesn’t fix it. Understanding just makes it worse.
It’s a good thing the rain came before Jimmie did. That rain washed right through the camp and cleared away all the puddles of vomit. I reckon if everyone had gone out in the rain, it might just have washed away their sad-angry sick as well.
But no one went out in that rain except me, and the sad-angry around here is just getting worse, filling up the sky with a heavy fog that won’t lift.
I’m still thinking on what Queeny said about not being invisible anymore when Jimmie flashes me from the fence. I flash her back, a happy tingling my fingers on the flashlight.
“Hiya,” she says and flops down in the dirt next to me, her shoes in her hand and her bare feet pushing in under the bush. “I love feeling the wet dirt in my toes, don’t you?”
“Not really,” I say. “It clays up and sticks my toes together.”
“Hm. Must just be your toes,” she says, then pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Here, draw a spiral on the paper. I’m gonna tell your future.”
As I’m spiraling, Jimmie pours us each a hot chocolate and says, “I don’t eat octopus, because they can tell the future. And it would be pretty bad to tell the future and know you were gonna get eaten, don’t you reckon? Do you eat octopus?”
The Bone Sparrow Page 9