Glass Collector

by Anna Perera

  Where did she go?

  Aaron eyes the deep darkness beyond the low wall. A moonless sky envelops the distant tenements. Beams of yellow light from the glassless windows stand out like sheets of yellow paper stuck to a huge blackboard, which he stares and stares at. When, one by one, the lights go out, Aaron turns his attention to the hard earth beneath his feet, searching for a good place to hide the perfumes.

  He considers the corner where the brick wall joins the high limestone. It’s worth a try and he starts digging into the ground with his fingers. A side pit opens to reveal a concrete hole in the foundations the size of a small bowl. Thumbs firm against the bottom of the glass, intent on remembering the exact place, Aaron carefully pushes both bottles into the gap. It’s the perfect place. He covers them with cakes of soil, which he carefully pats down.

  On the way home, Aaron pictures the bottles buried underground, safe and secure like hidden jewels curled up in a secret burrow. His burrow. That night he falls into a deep, sweet sleep—a sleep that not even the smell of his moth-eaten mat or the sound of Hosi’s snoring can disturb.

  Chapter Eight

  Saharan Sandstorm

  The next days and nights pass by in much the same way until on Friday morning Aaron opens his eyes to the surprise of a film of sand on his body, hair, and hands. The wind from the Sahara has gathered up limestone from the abandoned quarry and the yellow desert sand has turned dusty white. The mat, floor, stove, walls, sink, food box, and old clothes have been brightened and look brand new. Even the empty cup and crushed cigarette packet beside Youssa’s elbow are sculpted in sand. If Aaron hadn’t gone to sleep with his face in the crook of his arm, his eyelashes would be covered in the same pale grit. Luckily, the whistling sound of the Saharan sandstorm didn’t wake Aaron and cause him to change position when it blew through in the night.

  Listening to the noises coming from next door, Aaron can make out the swoops of a bristle brush that Shareen’s using to clear the sand. The same sweep, sweep rhythm can be heard in every corner of Mokattam as women and children shake out the effects of the desert winds. Then Lijah’s and Hosi’s voices start up outside as the stink of garbage fills his nose. The memory of that wonderful feeling he shared with Rachel returns as Aaron stretches his arms. It’s enough to make his life worth living, with or without the pony and despite the fact that Shareen and her friends are trying to wreck his chances with Rachel.

  “Big John is richer than anyone in Mokattam,” Hosi grumbles. His voice outside grows louder. “Tell him we’re starving.”

  “What difference will it make? He won’t give me any more free bread or tomatoes,” Lijah says.

  “For heaven’s sake, what are we supposed to do? Get that useless idiot off his mat. Tell him to go down to the market and ask for the bad fish, the bruised bananas, and a handful of flour. Tell him to search the bins for something to eat,” Hosi shouts.

  The moment the mad activity of the lane reaches fever pitch, with the sound of ponies, rattling carts, and banging pans, Aaron forces himself to sit up. When he hears Lijah bounding up the concrete steps he jumps to his feet, quickly shakes himself free of sand, and runs to the tap to wash his face and hands and grab a few mouthfuls of water. He stifles the dread of another hopeless scrounging expedition to the city.

  Aaron smears his mouth with a damp wrist and slowly turns around, sensing Lijah waiting angrily behind him. By the look of him, it’s clear he’d love to take out his frustrations on Aaron, but Hosi is outside listening. Not that he’s concerned about his son’s bullying, but he’s impatient to eat and won’t be happy if Lijah delays that.

  They exchange cool glances.

  As Lijah reaches for the dusty, blackened saucepan on the stove, which still contains a cupful of the green juice left over from the boiled ful beans they ate last night, the danger passes. Aaron had found the beans, still in their bag, at the doorway to the souk, and they’d eaten them along with the last of the soft tomatoes. It was the worst meal they’d had since the pony died. There are still up to two days to go before the merchant comes to collect and pay for the bags of sorted trash, and after that there’s no hope of any more money coming in.

  Lijah greedily slurps the green juice, even though there’s sand floating in it. He’s pleased that Aaron will have to walk the streets without even this tiny portion of sour liquid to keep him going. At the smell of it, saliva fills Aaron’s mouth, and his stomach lurches as he watches Lijah licking his lips.

  “Tough luck,” Lijah says, before dropping the pan on the stove with a clank and swaggering off, scratching his head as if to prove he’s got better things on his mind than food. The moment he’s gone, Aaron can’t help glancing at the saucepan to make sure it’s empty. It’s pathetic, he knows. The rough, black pan contains nothing but windblown grit. There’ll be nothing there at the end of the day either if he doesn’t find more than a bag of beans today.

  Without any real hope, Aaron lifts the lid of the food box, where a corner of moldy bread that’s been there for weeks sits beside the same bunch of hibiscus leaves.

  A groaning sound from the corner of the room startles Aaron as he clicks the lid of the box shut. Stirring from a deep sleep, Youssa blinks at the whitewashed, dusty room, scarcely believing he’s awake and not dreaming. He blinks at the burst of sunshine coming through the hole in the wall and suddenly realizes where he is.

  “Yay!” Waving a dusty hand, Youssa turns over and goes back to sleep.

  The smell of his beery breath fills the room as Aaron crosses the dusty floor, stupidly trying not to tread in Lijah’s footprints. It works until he gets to the bottom of the stairs and trips, making him angry, as if he’s touched the creep.

  Unhappy at the thought of more heat and dust and unkind people who pretend not to see him when he holds out a hand for money, there’s a sharp pain growing inside him. Hunger. All the time he’s searching for an unopened packet of something to bring back for the stepfamily, the smell of hot falafel sandwiches from the street vendors will be driving him crazy. Worse still, he’ll be trying to resist the temptation to crash into the stall, grab some spicy falafel and run for it. Last time the vendor caught him, he pulled his hair, then kicked him on the backside. The day ahead holds little appeal, but there might be time to visit the perfume shop and drown in the flickering colors of the bottles in the window.

  When Aaron reaches the lane leading out of the village, he sees a familiar sight. “Hey! Wait a minute. Hey!” A flurry of dust smothers him as he shouts to the Mebaj brothers, Joseph and Luke, when their cart turns into the lane. The brothers look disturbed to see him trying to hitch a lift from them.

  “Please! We’ve got nothing left to eat,” Aaron begs. Joseph, the kindest brother with the big sticky-out ears, pulls on the reins, slowing down with a sudden creaking noise. Aaron exaggerates his begging face, emptying his dust-filled pockets to show there’s nothing else there. The brothers finally relent and nod Aaron to clamber on.

  “Thanks,” Aaron says, and grins. His luck’s in at last. Yesterday, when he shouted out, they didn’t bother to stop and he walked all the way to the main road before getting a lift with Simon, the older kid whom Abe wants as his best friend.

  Clip-clopping along the wide highway into town, Aaron watches the Mebaj brothers’ strong pony endlessly twitching sand from its ears. Aaron feels sorry for it and is sad for his pony, which died of thirst. He shoves against the edge of the cart as if to push the hurt away. With his elbow on the rough, splintered wood, he stares at the mass of seething cars ahead. Why couldn’t his mother have married ugly old Mebaj? At least he has money. And the family has goats and chickens too.

  Leaning forward, Aaron eyes the leather straps on the brothers’ big, fine watches. Their family are doing well in Mokattam thanks to the eldest sister, nicknamed Nefertiti because of her good looks. She married a wealthy Zabbaleen who owns the barber’s shop, four pigs, and a truck with huge silver wheels.

  Aaron glances at the younger
brother, Luke. His neat hair hangs straight and loose like pieces of curtain. He’s slightly better-looking than Joseph and for a second Aaron wonders if he wouldn’t be a better match for Rachel. The brothers are more respected, richer, and come from a nicer family than he does. Aaron ends up thinking he might as well give up on Rachel while Joseph and Luke live in Mokattam.

  He can’t help wondering how his life would have been if his great-uncle hadn’t left his small village and no-good farm in Upper Egypt to search for work in Cairo. The rest of the family followed soon after. Suddenly a putrid whiff of gasoline floods into the back of his nose, making Aaron suddenly angry at the unknown great-uncle who joined the Wahiya, the people who came to the city to get rid of the rubbish. In school, they said it was when the Zarraba, who bred pigs and fed them on the waste, began working with the Wahiya that they became known as the Zabbaleen.

  If only his great-uncle had stayed where he was, Aaron wouldn’t be here today. He longs to see the small mud house that his family left behind on the banks of the Nile, with mango, fig, lemon, and orange trees within hand’s reach. He longs to catch fish from the river and take a donkey to the well with two buckets on a stick balanced on its back. In his mind, there are only hills, a broad blue sky, and the smell of blossoms beyond the mud house. No plastic, cardboard, diapers, and rotting food ever meet his eyes.

  The cart hits a bump in the road and Aaron’s thrown off balance, wobbling from side to side until the wheels putter on to another stretch of smooth tarmac. He glances at a round man arranging glass pyramids on a stall outside the mirror shop. Light glitters from the sunstruck mirrors and the pyramids twinkle like stars. He once overheard Omar say that the ancient Egyptians believed human beings would eventually become gods.

  That’s the thing about Cairo, Aaron thinks. The magic’s everywhere. When the first visitors came here years ago they would kiss the ground to give thanks. Perhaps he’d miss it if he lived in a village by the banks of the Nile.

  Once they reach the new shopping center with locked metal shutters, the brothers turn to see if he’s ready to get down. It’s written all over their faces that they’ll be glad to get rid of him. Aaron barely smiles and jumps off the cart before it stops. He mutters his thanks for the ride as he takes off into the crowds.

  The first alley smells foul. He can see combs, knife handles, broken latticework, and tin cans mixed in among disgusting piles of food remains and heaps of plastic bottles. A brief scan of the mess tells Aaron there’s nothing to eat here. After a swift kick of a cracked white jug, he returns to the road and walks along, pretending he’s not interested in the stack of fat oranges a street vendor is polishing with his sleeve. But then Aaron’s practiced hand swings an orange from the stall and into his pocket.

  Once Aaron is out of sight, the juice soaks his lips and the stringy flesh catches in his teeth as he bites and sucks like a wild animal. Never did an orange taste better. Never did he steal one as fat and sweet. Now the day looks good instead of hopeless.

  Three hours later, Aaron has scoured several alleys and the Indian, Turkish, and Lebanese restaurants for something to eat, picking up a packet of spearmint chewing gum, two fresh meatballs, and a bag of brown-sugar cubes. It’s not much and he’s already eaten the meatballs and sugar cubes. Now he’s enjoying the gum as he heads toward the square, chewing and popping it with his tongue.

  Getting closer to the fizzy-drink stand at the crossing, Aaron eyes the cool box on the pavement that’s filled with ice and shiny tins. His mouth waters as he slows down to allow a group of English tourists to reach for the special coin purses they keep hidden in their pockets. There’s a perfect moment that always comes when Aaron knows how to get what he wants. This time it comes when one of the women changes her mind about the can she’s chosen and the vendor turns to smile at her friend, who also changes her mind. In the split second of laughter that follows, Aaron ducks, grabs a Pepsi from the box, and races across the road. Splinters of ice bounce from his hand like in a TV commercial. The grin on his face is wider than the length of the can by the time he reaches the other side. He can’t drink it quickly enough. But, out of breath, the first gulp fizzes up and down his nose like a million ants. He gulps, caught in a frenzy of swallowing and choking.

  His stealing session picks up when he spots a white plastic shopping bag on the ground beside two mothers with strollers chatting on the street. Scented oils smother Aaron as he sneaks up on them. To distract anyone watching, he points to a fancy white car with one hand, while using the other to quickly lift the bag from the ground and hurry away. It’s not until after he’s dashed across the main road and down another street that, heart thumping, he stops to look back and catch his breath.

  No one’s coming, so it’s safe to lean against a wall and grope inside the bag.

  There’s a heavy white cardboard box, a packet of oat biscuits, a jar of marmalade, a packet of cigarettes, and a newspaper. Not a bad haul. Sinking to his knees with the box, Aaron eagerly pulls it apart, hoping to find rubies or gold. Instead, layers of crackling pink tissue paper reveal an iced sugar cake with the name Amira written in pink swirls.

  Aaron pinches his nose with disgust, feeling a bit sick. He’s suddenly guilty at the thought of ruining a little girl’s birthday, but then decides that if the mother was rich enough to have this cake made, she can easily afford to buy another one. Along with the oat biscuits, cigarettes, and jam, he has something to show for his morning’s work. But it’s not enough and he’s out of ideas.

  The crowds are building up. The sound of tinny music from the nearby crummy café tempts him to sit for a moment and listen. Maybe look at the paper for a while? But this part of the city is dodgy and he’s scared the bag will be stolen by one of the street kids who work the area.

  A man in rough jeans and a black shirt drifts over from the café. With gray skin, dead eyes, and lanky brown hair, he looks like a smoker. It’s worth a chance. Aaron darts in front of him. Holding the plastic bag tight, he offers the man the expensive cigarettes.

  “You can have these half-price. Interested?”

  “Yeah?” The man grins with ugly tobacco-stained teeth. “Cheers, mate.” He empties coins from his pocket and exchanges them for the packet. “Got any more?”

  Aaron shakes his head. “Maybe tomorrow.” The man nods and walks away.

  Aaron sighs. He can go home. Now he has enough money to buy rice, beans, and perhaps a few slices of liver that Hosi loves. Along with the cake, biscuits, and jam, that’s more than enough. The family will be satisfied. Plus, soon the Mebaj brothers’ cart will pass by the shisha bar near the perfume shop and if he’s lucky he’ll get a ride home.

  Deciding he’s done for the day, Aaron heads to his favorite place: Omar’s shop. And with that decision, everything ugly and difficult is left behind for a while. He’s free to dream now and a globe of spiraling colors forms in his mind. Smiling to himself, Aaron doesn’t at first notice the Mebaj brothers’ cart stop at the traffic lights a few feet away. It’s only when Joseph calls out, “Aaron, hurry up!” that he sees them.

  He runs and the lights change to green the instant he swings his legs over the wooden side. White bag tucked under his arm, he carefully pushes the garbage bags to one side and sits down, feeling pleased but fed up at the same time.

  “Just had a call on my cell,” Joseph shouts over the car horns blasting away in the background. “We’re going back early.”

  “What for?” Aaron yells.

  “Shareen and old Daniel got engaged!” Luke screams.

  “He’s sixty. She’s sixteen. It’s disgusting!” Aaron says, wondering why she’s given in to her father when she swore she wouldn’t. Perhaps she got tired of arguing with him and just shut up. Or maybe she wanted to get away from him and Daniel was the only option.

  “I know it’s disgusting … But he’s got money coming out of his ears. It’ll be a real feast.” Luke turns and laughs, but his laugh is false. Too long and tight to convince Aaron i
t’s real. Maybe he’s jealous … He must be.

  “It shouldn’t be allowed!” Joseph agrees.

  “Is she taking the wheelbarrow with her?” Aaron asks.

  “Dunno. Maybe she’ll sell it.”

  A veiled woman slips through the traffic, unseen. Several cars screech to a halt. She pauses, dark eyes flashing, then rushes to the safety of the pavement. Her near-miss stops the cart in its tracks, the jolt as abrupt as Aaron’s surprise at the news of Shareen’s engagement.

  It’ll be the end of her life. Like it was for my mother, he thinks as he traces the pattern of a knife in what’s left of the sand scattered between the garbage bags. He’s been here before, in a situation where everything’s wrong but he can’t do anything about it. For some reason, Aaron quite likes the thought of rescuing her. It might impress Rachel and make him look like more of a man to everyone in Mokattam. But since when did Shareen ever listen to him? “Leave her to it,” that’s what Aaron’s mother would have said. But his thoughts are interrupted when he spots something interesting through a gap in the crowds.

  “Pull up! Wait just a minute! Stop!” he shouts as they approach the perfume shop.

  Luke is so taken aback by the sudden command that he pulls on the reins and the pony clops to a halt. Aaron leaps from the cart with the plastic bag of goodies tight against his chest and runs back a few steps to the richly lit perfume shop. There’s a small parcel in the doorway, stamped and ready for posting.

  The last time Aaron saw a parcel here he didn’t take it and he has regretted it ever since. Guilt churns his stomach for a second at the thought of Omar scratching his head and wondering where the parcel went, but he soon squashes it by reminding himself how poor he is, while Omar’s so rich. Ducking into the huge black doorway, he is briefly aware of the multilayered scents that waft over him, then he grabs the parcel, stuffs it into his plastic bag, and runs to catch up with the cart.