Glass Collector

by Anna Perera

  In a daze he climbs on the cart and lets Aaron guide the pony down the middle of the crazy street toward Mokattam. Looking back, Aaron sighs shakily. The main road’s crammed with speeding police cars and ambulances. If they hadn’t stopped to look in Omar’s shop window they’d have followed the road to the roundabout, then gone on to the highway lined with posh hotels. They could be dead now.

  Breathing heavily, sweating from head to toe, Aaron has a feeling that someone from among the Zabbaleen must have been caught in the blast. A hollow ache starts inside as he wipes flecks of black dirt from his forehead, racking his brains to recall which families are out on the second shift right now. Who’s clearing the cafés and restaurants on the roads leading to the museum? Might they have avoided the explosion? There are hundreds doing that shift.

  Ahmet’s confused by the chaos as the cart dawdles its way through the traffic trying to leave the city. By the time the bedraggled pony wends his way into the silent cavern of Mokattam filth, Aaron’s glad to be home for once. No bomb’s ever gone off here.

  The icon seller is asleep in his doorway. Insects have set up home on his feet. A small, half-naked boy crawls gingerly out from under the stall selling limes, bananas, and mangoes. Everyone else is at the end of the lane, arms folded, crowded around one of the few men in Mokattam who owns a cell phone.

  Aaron thuds to a stop to listen to the breathless voice on the phone, which is held palm-out for everyone to hear.

  “Yes, a hotel. I don’t … Can’t see. Yes, an explosion they think. It’s Armageddon here. Blood everywhere. There’s at least twenty dead. Even more injured. There’s a mangled pony in the road between cars smashed with concrete. Glass everywhere. The police are moving everyone on. I can’t quite see. Yes, the cart’s on its side. Rubbish all over the place. Two, you say? The guy here says two on the cart are dead. One with a blue-and-white shirt. Can you hear?”

  Simon. It’s Simon. He has a blue-and-white shirt. Simon’s dead. His brother, Mart, too. Aaron went to school with them. Simon’s the same age as him, too cocky, but he’s nice to Abe. Says he’s going to get him a jellyfish on the Internet. Abe adores Simon, like he does Aaron, as if he’s an older brother. Since day one it’s been, Simon this, Simon that. Aaron enjoys Abe waiting for him and following him around, but sometimes it’s good to get rid of him and Simon was always happy to take over when Aaron got fed up. Abe’ll miss him too. He’s been blown up by some maniac while picking up trash. Aaron’s stunned. It could have been him. Several adults are staring at Aaron and he doesn’t know how to react. What can he do to show he’s as shocked and sad as they are, when really the news has turned his heart to stone?

  Strange as it feels, all Aaron can think as he climbs off the cart is, Shareen’s wedding’s supposed to be tomorrow. He feels sick and stunned—off balance as he heads away from the old village toward the tenements. Everyone’s running the other way. Bad news travels fast in Mokattam. Already the smell of death is in the air and the bodies aren’t even here yet. But they will be—Simon and his brother will be cremated within twenty-four hours.

  Instead of turning down the lane that leads to the medical-wasters’ tenements, Aaron races to the church. Suddenly in need of peace and something nice to look at, he walks beside the high, curving limestone walls with their pale frescoes of scenes from the Bible and looks up with envy. How does Michael know how to make those figures look so real? As he gets closer to the open walkway in front of the church he sees Michael talking to Mohammed, the guy whose daughter died of kidney disease last year. Aaron hesitates and lowers his head. Father Peter is up ahead, walking his way as if he has urgent business on his mind. He must have heard about Simon. Surely he doesn’t want to speak to Aaron about the bottles now?

  Aaron turns his face to the wall to avoid being caught. Heart thumping, he can feel and hear the priest rush past in squeaky sandals. The skin on the back of Aaron’s neck prickles with heat. But Father Peter has seen him and stops in his tracks and turns back.

  “It’s good to see you, Aaron,” he calls.

  “And you, Father,” Aaron lies as he slowly turns to face him.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Fine.” Aaron takes a deep breath and meets his pale, staring eyes.

  “I have just one thing to say to you.” Father Peter nods.

  “Right.” Aaron sighs, hoping it will really be just one thing.

  “One day you will be judged for what you give, not for what you have.”

  With that, Father Peter looks past him, hitches up his black robe, and rushes on, his sandals squeaking more than ever.

  The dreaded talk is over and Aaron’s off the hook. But though he’s relieved he got off lightly, the priest’s words weigh him down as he looks around. At the front of the church, arranging a green knapsack of tools on his shoulder, Michael meets his glance with a look of understanding and half nods.

  “Aaron,” he calls.

  “Yes?” Aaron gulps. What now?

  With the sun lighting his face, Michael smiles. He looks as if he has had an idea. “Yes, a moment please.”

  Aaron’s jaw snaps tight with fear as he walks toward him. I’ve got nothing to lose if he asks about the bottles. What do I care?

  “Why do you think you are here, alive, in Mokattam?” Michael says softly.

  Aaron eyes him carefully. Apart from the dusty, knotted handkerchief on his head, Michael doesn’t look suspicious—just curious—which makes the question sound strange. He seems to want a serious reply.

  “Dunno.” Aaron shifts from foot to foot.

  “I believe we’re here on earth to learn from our mistakes and become better people.” Michael smiles again.

  Aaron tries not to sigh. Oh, no. The priest must have asked him to give me a talk. I should say I’m sorry for stealing the perfumes, but the words won’t come out.

  “We’re here to help each other.”

  Twisting the strap of the knapsack from his shoulder, Michael drops the tools on the floor with a clank.

  “Really?”

  Aaron didn’t mean to say it out loud. All he was wondering was, what would Michael do if he asked him for help right now? Asked if he could go to his house and live with him? He’d take him home? Yeah, right!

  “Yes, really. God wants us to be happy, Aaron.”

  At which Aaron laughs. How can someone as clever as Michael get things so wrong? When did God ever help him? Michael’s stupid words make him angry, so angry he shoots his mouth off.

  “Happy? Here? Simon and his brother are dead. His mom’s not happy. Loads of people aren’t happy. Shareen’s not happy and it’s her wedding tomorrow. I don’t know anyone who’s happy.”

  Michael looks thoughtful for a moment, then, “I’m happy,” he says. As he picks up his tools to go, he looks Aaron in the eye and, as a parting shot, adds, “But maybe we can learn something from their deaths?”

  Learn something? Yeah, that life stinks.

  Just as he’s about to speak, a soft padding noise interrupts Aaron’s thoughts. Abe’s running toward him, waving his arms like a baby.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Work

  As if from a place he’d forgotten, Aaron puts an arm around Abe’s skinny shoulders, hugging him awkwardly. The sudden heat of his friend’s collapsing body makes Aaron’s eyes well up. Quickly, he blinks the tears away and, embarrassed, sinks down beside Abe on to the low wall, with his arm like that for more than five minutes. For much longer than he wants—but it’s hard to let go when Abe’s crying and rubbing his face with his fist before starting all over again.

  Aaron’s trying to get Abe to calm down when he spots Shareen. Her eyes are painted so thickly with kohl, she looks as if she’s wearing sunglasses. Standing with a group of older women, she puts her hands behind her back, then, for a second, stands on tiptoe. Her toenails are varnished bright red; tacky, not that nice plum color from before.

  Aaron tries letting his arm slip down Abe’s back, but the bo
y pulls in closer still. Now Shareen’s staring at them. He doesn’t want her looking. With damp eyes, Abe glances at her curious face and quickly buries his head in Aaron’s gray T-shirt. Shareen walks over and pats Abe’s head in a poor thing kind of way and her fake gesture drags a sharp claw across Aaron’s stomach. She hardly knows Abe.

  “Simon was nicer than his brother. Shame they both got blown up, though.” Shareen shrugs.

  Abe howls and bursts into tears again. Shareen glances at Aaron, eager to make him see she didn’t mean to make Abe cry, but he turns away angrily. Shareen looks past him at the rows of tenements beyond the wall, staring hard, as if there’s something to see, then glances back at the church. She seems ready to go, but something stops her from leaving. Turning around, Aaron can see this is a far better viewpoint from which to see what’s going on than where she was before. With a little hum, she settles on the wall to the other side of Abe. Shifting slightly, Aaron pulls him away from her but, sitting on her hands, Shareen pretends not to notice and settles back to watch the comings and goings in front of the church.

  Father Peter is flapping down the path to lead the prayers. It’s obvious the deaths have already been confirmed. Someone shouts that a family who was out on the carts is bringing the bodies home, which means the church candles will be lit and left to burn all night until the sun comes up tomorrow. Incense will smother the smell of garbage until the brothers are cremated within twenty-four hours and sadness will drift over Mokattam until their deaths become another sorry fact of life for everyone here.

  Eventually Abe wipes his eyes for the last time and joins in gazing at the crowd on the concrete pews of the church that is singing prayers to the darkening sky. The shadows lengthen before Shareen, without a backward glance, rushes off to greet her friends. The deaths haven’t taken the spring from her step; she’s almost skipping. By the sound of the giggles coming from her friends, she’s chatting about her wedding tomorrow. She’s the center of attention again, despite the grief all around her. Aaron guesses that means the celebrations will be going ahead regardless.

  He stretches his arms and stands up. “Are you going home, Abe?” His voice sounds slightly forced—even to his own ears. “Your mom will be worried about you.”

  “Yeah, I’m going.” Abe nods with big, dark, sorry eyes. “You can come too, but there’s the pig and us in one room.”

  “Nah, I’m going to Jacob’s.” Aaron sighs and Abe gives him an alarmed look. “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  A piece of cellophane catches the early-evening breeze and floats above his head before fluttering to his feet. He glances at the dusty earth and another picture springs to mind: a delicious plate of oily yellow rice. He’s resigned to being a medical-waster now, even if it kills him off.

  Silence settles between the two boys before they smile and head off in different directions. A mosquito follows Aaron down the maze of alleys to the tenements. The annoying buzz forces him to blunder into the open doorway of Jacob’s home as if he’s drunk. Noha looks at him sharply before spotting the mosquito and capturing it with a single pinch. Flicking the squashed bug to the floor, she rubs away the blood on her fingers on the side of her black galabeya.

  After Aaron gratefully finishes his plate of cold stuffed grape leaves, Noha blows out the candle at her feet and lies down between the garbage bags to sleep. By the time Aaron arranges his limbs in the tight space beside Jacob, who’s flat out on the mat, Noha’s already snoring.

  Aaron’s more than tired, but the stench of bandages keeps him awake. He reaches for the perfume bottle in his pocket and holds it to his nose. “Only girls like perfume,” Shareen once said to annoy him. Well, what does she know? The sweet scent nearly persuades him to twist the stopper off for the first time and cover his face with the luscious oil, if only to send him into a deep sleep, but then Noha would smell it in the morning and question him before taking the bottle because she’ll guess it was stolen. One day he’ll open it, but for now pressing the rim of the bottle to his nose again is enough to give him wings. Wings to soar out of here, up into the sky like an eagle and along the banks of the Nile.

  Jacob’s on his feet at quarter to five but Aaron’s in a state of sleep that takes more than a few tugs to bring him around. Try as Aaron might to snuggle back down, Jacob pulls him up by the elbow and gives him a beaker of warm hibiscus tea to drink. Clearly Jacob is excited not to be alone today; he smiles at Aaron as he gulps the tea down. Aaron’s glad Jacob seems more awake than him and decides he hasn’t had anything stronger than tea this morning.

  They both duck into the shadows of the main room, where Noha’s guarding the bags, and Aaron is even more surprised to be handed a warm flatbread along with a pile of folded bags as they head out of the door and into the early-morning light. The full force of hospital smells fades for a moment when Aaron buries his nose in the bread, which flours his mouth and fingers as he hurries down the concrete stairs with the faint clatter of pans in his ears.

  Aaron doesn’t have the nerve to ask Jacob exactly where they’re going. It’s a question he dreads knowing the answer to and at the same time his thoughts turn to Rachel, wondering if she’ll be at the yard right now, looking for him and perhaps missing him. More than anything, he wishes Jacob’s family kept their pony at her yard. At least then, like before, he’d have something nice to look forward to at the start of every day. But this yard is only two minutes’ walk from Jacob’s tenement and before long the flurry of pony petting and attaching it to the cart is over and they’re on their way to the first hospital.

  As they pass a stall a news vendor flaps open a newspaper with the headline “Another Hotel Bomb Blast! Names of Victims Inside!”

  “Bet Simon’s and Mart’s names aren’t there,” Jacob says, staring dumbly ahead.

  “Yeah,” Aaron agrees.

  “Let’s not think about them today, eh?” A huge smile spreads over Jacob’s face.

  “OK.”

  Aaron leans back. The nice feeling of friendship that comes over him reminds him how awful it was to sit beside Lijah each day. This ride is so different—peaceful and calm, despite the building traffic and noise of car horns. Even the thought of the pile of diseased waste that waits for them at the end of the journey doesn’t seem so bad when Jacob grins like that.

  Jacob lifts a hand to flatten his curly hair. Today’s traffic is heading for the city faster than ever and with Aaron’s help they can be home in less than five hours. Slogging around the city hospitals on your own is never fun, but now there’s the unspoken worry between them that yesterday’s bomb may not be the last.

  “I saw Daniel yesterday evening,” Jacob says. “He was behind the butcher’s, talking to old Katerina. She was reading his cards and said the eight of swords means there could be conflict or misfortune if he doesn’t seize an opportunity.”

  There’s a long pause while Aaron takes this in. “What does that mean?”

  “Dunno, but Daniel went yellow. He caught me listening and sent me away. He must be scared. I would be. Shareen threw a pot at him when he showed her the ring he’d bought.”

  Aaron can’t help but laugh at that image.

  “It’s not funny, Aaron.”

  “Yeah, it is. I mean, he might think he will be able to control her, but nobody can control Shareen. He doesn’t know what he’s in for. He’s going to get a shock.”

  “Well, let’s go tonight and see what happens. Anyway, there’ll be tons of food. The baker was up all night, Mom said.”

  Jacob tightens his hold on the reins and the dark, skinny pony swishes his tail as he quickens to a fast trot.

  Before long the traffic clears as they turn down the main road leading to the west of the city, where the wide avenues are lined by large houses with big satellite dishes and have nice cars parked outside. They pass a school, a mosque, and a sport’s center. A feeling of ease seems to float over the area. There are trees at the edge of the pavement and patches of trimmed grass sparkl
e in the sunshine. Aaron’s never been here before and can’t help being amazed at how the cart glides over the flat, asphalted streets. Everything’s so clean.

  “Where’s all the garbage?” he asks, wide-eyed.

  “It’s kept in black bins at the back.” Jacob nods. “The Zabbaleen used to have this area, but now Cairo Corporation empties the bins in their trucks. If you live here you never think about trash. It disappears at night like magic.”

  Aaron finds this impossible to believe. “Really?”

  “Yeah, honest. They say there’s twice as much rubbish here because the rich buy what they want and then throw it away to make room for more things. Half the time things haven’t even been unwrapped. I’m telling you, there are shoes that haven’t been worn, olives left in jars, brand-new shirts, sunglasses even.”

  For a moment Aaron’s baffled. He envies the people who get to clear the trash from this place. He wants their good stuff. Reaching into the left pocket of his jeans, he transfers the perfume bottle from there to the right pocket, where it feels safer. He wonders if Omar lives somewhere like this. Aaron wants to stop and look through the bins for himself, but instead they turn sharply down another tree-lined road leading to a mansion with a sign reading “The Sadat Hospital” painted in silver.

  Halfway up the long path they turn sideways along a narrow dirt track that leads to a shabby wing of the main gray building. At the end of the track is the familiar smell of disinfectant and used bandages, together with a pungent whiff coming from a plume of smoke circling a high chimney. Soon the cart pulls swiftly inside a gap in a tall metal fence beside a yard crammed with bags of used bandages, grubby cloths, knives, beakers, scalpels, syringes.