The Water Thief

by Claire Hajaj

  I speak to Nagode until I feel her stop shaking. I whisper that song, the one Nicholas used to sing to us. Kiss me! Smile for me! Promise me you will never let me go!

  I whisper until I hear it go quiet outside. There are no more noises, no more sounds. All is quiet. Except for our hearts. They go tock, tock, just like the grandfather clock. And I want to tell Baba – you are right. Nagode and me, and you and the clock, we became one and the same, we are joined together. When he opens the lid I will tell him. Until then, we will wait.

  A car skidded past Nick on the road, and then another – men leaning out of the windows, back wheels sliding off the dirt track.

  He ducked as they flew by, urgency battling with terror. The sky was lit; houses were burning ahead, near the village square. JoJo’s school was in flames to his right. Men stood beside it smoking cigarettes, leaning on their guns.

  Not that way. But which? Chaos sucked him into its vortex; the village was a labyrinth, its paths filled with murder. The mosque was ahead, and then behind, and the air was dense with smoke and ash.

  Suddenly he saw the gap in the wall beside Mr Kamil’s burning house. Margaret’s secret way. He squeezed inside, climbing into the garden, racing past the crackle of cindered boughs, scrambling over the wall on the other side.

  He ran on, winded – and then Miss Amina’s house was there, right in front of him. The door was open, swinging off its hinges. A shapeless bundle of cloth poked through the doorway.

  Nick’s mind went blank. Light swarmed across the body, an orange glare from Hanan’s fields up ahead. Laughter drifted down on the smoke, and cheers. His stomach heaved, bile dropping onto the dirt in small, sad drops.

  I can’t. His body swayed and his hand reached up, meeting cool brick. Dr Ahmed’s wall. Margaret’s garden.

  His hands traced the smoothness of mortar and roughness of stone. No two the same. His mind drifted; he closed his eyes, his body emptied of will. I showed JoJo how to make bricks out of pretend concrete. He remembered how the boy’s fingers had moved over the wet sand, uncertain at first, then with blossoming assurance.

  His breathing slowed, and he opened his eyes. Time to go. His hand reached the top of the wall and he pulled himself up, feet scrabbling for purchase. The garden was silent under the flickering lights, the kitchen door closed. He pushed it open and walked inside.

  A shape by the wall was Dr Ahmed. He sat upright, eyes fixed straight ahead. The grandfather clock seemed to grow from his back, its white face bearing silent witness.

  Margaret lay relaxed on the floor. ‘I’m here,’ Nick said, rushing to her side, one hand reaching for her cheek, the other for the bare curve of her shoulder, its skin flushed and reddened where her dress had been ripped away.

  Unconscious, he thought, as his mind reeled and his legs gave way. He landed beside her. Dreaming. Her lips were parted, her eyes half open, staring at the ceiling in quiet wonder.

  Her lingering warmth seeped into him, as on their New Year’s morning – when the sun had seemed to rise inside the walls of their room. His hand went to her chest, imagining he could still feel the soft movement of breath, look forward to a morning still to come where she would wake and stretch and turn to him smiling. This is what we did in another life.

  The void was still inside him, the cold rush of the pendulum on its relentless earthwards slide. He felt the warmth of her cheek as he stroked it, her skin still full to his touch. Beneath him, a terrifying wetness had soaked through the rug; he could smell its red, metal stench. I did this, Margaret, he’d boasted earlier that morning, in this very room. Despair pressed him down like a crushing stone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t leave her; as long as he stayed by her side none of this was real – no full-stop, nothing fixed or irreversible. But if he moved, if he opened the door, then Time would find them – would come surging back in an unstoppable flood to carry them finally away from each other. It would be like killing her himself.

  Or there was another choice. He could walk out into that screaming night, through the fires and deadly fury. He could feel it, waiting for him out there in the darkness, a hammer ready to fall. No one could deserve it more, the ugly voice whispered. There’d be a too-brief moment of pain, a cheap penance for his sins. And maybe she’d been right – maybe somewhere beyond it he’d still be able to find her and beg her forgiveness.

  His hand moved over the lips still breath-warm and down the soft swell of her arm – her favourite blue scarf, the one she’d worn to the well-capping ceremony, lying stained and crumpled beneath it like a blanket – to rest his hand in hers as it lay open in welcome.

  Nicholas. The word was urgent, commanding. He fought against it, wanting to rest with her longer. Nicholas, look.

  His eyelids were heavy, but he forced them open. Look. Her wrist came into focus; luminous and bare, only faint marks where Bako’s bracelet used to be.

  And then his eyes moved across the still arc of her breasts to where Dr Ahmed’s tools lay, emptied onto the floor. Beside the clock sat the large wooden toolbox, its lid closed tight.

  He lifted his dazed body. The door was in front of him – he could still walk out to the fires or stay here with Margaret and sleep until daylight.

  But the pendulum sliced downwards, relentless. It shattered the grey pane between him and the present; he crawled over to the box and flung open the lid. And JoJo leaped out, screaming, a tiny screwdriver in one clenched hand framed by Bako’s red beads, Nagode’s wrist held tight in the other.

  The light comes in, and I am ready. I hold Nagode with one hand and with the other I strike. Go for the face, Mister taught us. The eyes first. The eyes have no defence.

  I can smell him, this one. I can smell his fear. Nagode is crying. I want to tell her – I will protect you. But then I hear: ‘JoJo! JoJo, stop!’

  I have his face in my hands. His skin is white. He holds my hands back and says: ‘JoJo! It’s me. I came back.’

  This is a dream. I am dreaming that I see them both, there on the floor. Nicholas, he takes my face and he says: ‘No! Don’t look. Don’t look at them. Look at me.’

  I look at his eyes instead, his snowman eyes. He takes Nagode from me. I have no strength left.

  He says: ‘We have to go. They might come back. You have to come with me.’

  And then I remember. I say: ‘Adeya! I promised to find her.’

  He shakes his head. ‘We can’t find anyone. We have to go.’

  ‘No!’ I shout. I grab his arms and shake him. ‘I promised! I must!’

  He closes his eyes. He says: ‘I will go. You stay.’

  I cannot stay here. Not here. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Take me. Take us.’

  I see him look where I cannot. Then he says, ‘Come with me. Come fast.’

  He picks up Nagode. ‘Close your eyes,’ he says. ‘I’ll lead you.’

  I close my eyes and he takes my hand. I feel something soft under my foot. ‘Step up,’ Nicholas says. ‘Keep going.’

  When we are out of the room I open my eyes. We are at the back gate. There is light everywhere. In the garden, on my castle. On Bako’s cross.

  Nicholas gives me Nagode and climbs over the wall. I hand her to him. Then it is my turn. His arms are strong when they catch me.

  The spirits have come. They are all around us. I hear them, laughing and calling. We go round the back way, past the fields. They set a fire in the fields. The spirits are dancing there. I see them in Nagode’s eyes.

  ‘Look!’ Nicholas points to Hanan’s house. There are men outside. The fire is eating the roof.

  ‘I’m sorry, JoJo,’ Nicholas says. His face is black from smoke, like mine. He takes my shoulder.

  But I am thinking. Adeya is clever. She would know to run. She would go somewhere and wait for me.

  So I say to him: ‘One more place. Come!’

  And I start to run. I run through the dark and the spirits and the fires. Nicholas, he chases me. I shout: ‘Adeya! Adeya!’ I am not afraid, because the spirits a
re with me. They will help me. Bako and Mama and Baba – they are with me. I hold out my arm with the bracelet on it. So they will see me when I come.

  Then I hear my name: ‘JoJo!’ Now I see Adeya. I see her! There, where we buried the dog. She is hiding behind the stones.

  She runs to me, and I feel her arms go around me. She cries: ‘Mother would not come! I had to leave her.’

  Nicholas is with us now. He pulls us apart. I feel his hand on my shoulder, hard. ‘They’re coming,’ he says. He points back to the village. ‘They’re coming.’

  Adeya sees them at the same time. Cars with bright lights approaching fast. They have music playing. We are the dogs and they are the sticks.

  ‘Go,’ Nicholas says. He pushes us and we run. By the lake it is still dark. Binza’s place is close. The ground is wet and pulls at us. Adeya, she is crying. ‘I cannot,’ she says, ‘I cannot.’ She holds her side. Nicholas gives Nagode to me. He picks up Adeya and now we run again.

  My foot catches on a stone, and I stumble. Nagode falls under me. She weeps. ‘Hush, Nagode,’ I beg her. ‘Hush.’

  Nicholas, he says: ‘Wait.’ He pulls something out from his jeans. A torch. It makes a small light. He shines it around, looking and looking.

  Then Adeya, she screams. The light shines on a spirit. The spirit points to me.

  ‘Bang!’ the spirit says. Then it laughs.

  I want to run, but nothing will move. The spirit, it says: ‘Boss, you came to me. My captain.’

  He has a dark hole in his stomach.

  He says: ‘The Boys fought well. They killed Juma and Ibrahim. Are you happy, JoJo? Now there is only you.’

  I look at him. He is fading, he is joining the spirits. But in his other hand, there is the knife.

  I say to Mister: ‘Come with us.’ But he laughs and then coughs.

  ‘They cannot kill me, boss.’ He points the knife at my throat.

  Adeya, she is crying. But the knife is all I see. It is so close now. The blade is red, like the fires. It is red from the governor. From the dog and from Juma and Ibrahim and from Mama and Baba and all of us.

  ‘This is yours, my captain,’ Mister says.‘You are a soldier, JoJo. We are the only two left now.’

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  Nicholas stands in front of me, between me and the knife. The knife is in his face. But still he stands.

  Mister turns the knife. He says: ‘JoJo, come.’ His face has water on it. He cries. Mister cries.

  ‘Get back,’ Nicholas tells him. ‘Get away from us.’

  Mister does not listen to him: ‘Are you hiding, JoJo? Stay with me. Do not leave me alone. My soldier. My brother.’

  I can hear the cars coming behind us. Closer and closer. Adeya’s hands are on me. ‘They’re coming,’ she weeps. ‘They will find us!’

  Nicholas turns to see the lights. There is no way back and no way forward. I think – I will have to be the one. I will take the knife so that Nagode and Adeya can be free.

  Then Nicholas, he steps forward. He steps up to the knife. He opens his arms. And Mister, he goes inside them. Nicholas’ hand is on the knife as they fall together. His hand hits Mister’s face with the torch. The ground takes them both, and the torch, it spins away.

  I shout: ‘Nicholas!’ But I only hear a sound, a sound like the dog, when she lay in the dust. ‘Nicholas!’

  Then Binza is there. Binza, the witch, with her white hair. She comes from the dark, and the torch shines on her. I think: she has come for us. She comes to take us to the spirits.

  But she leans down to her son. She pulls Mister’s hair, pulling him back. Mister screams. Nicholas, he comes to his knees. His hand is on his side and his eyes are closed.

  Binza, she takes the knife from Mister. He is weeping now, weeping and trying to hold her hand. She slips the red knife inside her dress. Then she points north, towards the well. She says: ‘Go that way.’

  Nicholas stands. His side is red, like the knife. His eyes are bright, like fever eyes.

  Binza picks up the torch. The lights are coming, coming around the lake. They are looking for us.

  Binza shines the torch at me. She shines it onto my arm, where Bako’s bracelet is. She gives the torch into that hand. Her hand, it touches the beads. Her hand is soft, like Mama’s.

  ‘Run now,’ she says to me. Her voice sounds like beetles walking on stones. ‘Run now. I will send a spirit to guard you.’

  She leaves Mister, she leaves him to the ground. I see her running, running straight towards the lights. She holds up her hands. I cry for her to stop – but she has gone.

  And Nicholas, he takes me. He pulls me away from her and Mister, from the dog and The Boys – and together we run to where the spirits will keep us safe.

  Nick saw Binza vanish into the brilliance of the headlights. Pain pulsed through him, deadly and deep. He was light-headed; he dared not sit in case he never stood again.

  Run now. The words blazed in front of him, out to the north where the well lay.

  He grabbed Adeya’s arm and ran. The ground was uneven; JoJo stumbled under Nagode’s cumbersome weight, his knees raw from the stony ground. Nick willed himself on, feeling strength leak out of him.

  I must not fall. But tidal forces were pulling his thoughts down to a black hole of grief. They traced the edge of Dr Ahmed’s living room, the soft line of Margaret’s arm on the floor. All at once the strength left him and he collapsed.

  ‘Up, up!’ Adeya screamed.

  His mind was dark, flooded with sorrow. I made love to her here. His hands touched the hard earth. We looked at the sky and made impossible plans.

  He felt JoJo’s hands on his shoulders. ‘Nicholas.’ The boy’s face was scrunched in desperation, his breath coming in rapid gasps. ‘Where do we go?’

  Where do we go? Home, he thought, in the delirium of heat and blood loss. To the kissing gate. To a green field.

  He looked up and saw the grey hulk of the elephant tank by the well, only a hundred metres away from them. There.

  He pulled himself to his feet and saw the lights approaching again, bright cones of terror. ‘With me,’ he told the two children, hoisting Adeya into his arms. He felt the water running beneath him, pulling him on, as if his last reserves of will had been waiting there in the depths.

  The elephant tank was on its side, concrete feet smashed to fragments. Someone had ripped the pump out of the well, exposing the dark hole underneath.

  He laid Adeya down in the deep shadow of the tank, her abaya merging into the ground. ‘Stay there,’ he said to her. She nodded, laying her head on her hands, body heaving with stifled sobs.

  ‘But there is no space for us,’ JoJo said, voice cracking with panic.

  The lights were closing in, and there was nowhere left to run. Tall reeds had crept back around the well’s circumference, the lake slowly claiming back its own.

  Nick pulled JoJo towards them. He pushed the boy down onto the ground and laid Nagode beside him.

  Vehicles were coming closer; he could hear the hot scream of their engines, the angry roar of wheels accelerating on dirt. The three children lay in the dust, half-hidden by the reeds.

  Nick’s head swam; his body was growing light. He held his side in agony. I will send a spirit to guard you. He wanted to believe that Margaret was still nearby, or Madi, or even his father, some greater force sent to shield them from evil. But the night was silent and deaf to prayers. And as Nick lifted his palm from his side to see the scarlet bloom on the death-pale skin, like a red lion rampant on a white field, it struck him – an understanding so clear, so ironic, that he almost laughed. No hidden powers were rushing to save them; the only shield left now was him.

  He pulled off his shirt and threw it as far away as he could, scooping up heaps of dust to camouflage his skin. Then he laid his body down on top of the children, spreading his arms to cover them, feeling the warmth of the wind on his back.

  Around them the Land Cruisers hooted and searched. But now
he felt immune to them, invisible. His being filled up with the chaotic tumble of four hearts against each other, slowing, breath by breath, into a common rhythm.

  And then there was a warm touch on his skin. And another, and another, and another. Heavy wetness dropped from his hands to JoJo’s and Nagode’s, mixing with blood as it rolled onwards to the earth. The world exhaled, a sweet rush of sound. And at once, water was everywhere, inside and out. Rain at last, all around them, falling in its own unfathomable time.

  The Rains

  Hands lifted him off the ground amid cascades of blue light.

  They held him up against metal – a vehicle, still warm. Men in grey uniforms moved through the dawn.

  Something was pressed against his lips – water, gushing down his throat, choking him with sweetness.

  He glimpsed JoJo, a fragment through moving forms. The boy was staring ahead, mesmerised by covered white stretchers carried past him, dappled by silent rain.

  And then he was gone.

  Then there was a long road, potholed and rough, jarring his bones. He lay on a bed that rumbled and juddered. Margaret lay beside him and stroked his head, her bare wrist marked with small indentations. ‘You lost Bako’s bracelet,’ he whispered, breathing her in. ‘Where did you put it?’

  ‘I gave it to you, my love,’ she replied with a smile.

  Then another bump rocked the ambulance and her image blurred, slipping away from him.

  He laughed as they carried him in through the gentle swoosh of hospital doors, past the gleaming floors and the empty beds. He was still laughing when they put the drip in his arm, sending him to sleep.

  When he woke, he asked for JoJo. The nurse’s face was blank as her uniform. ‘JoJo,’ he said, to everyone who came in. ‘Dr Ahmed’s son. JoJo.’ They worked in silence, their eyes sliding over him but never settling. His existence was reduced to numbers; he was a mathematical expression, an equation of pulse rate, blood pressure and oxygen flow.

  J.P.’s was the first familiar face. He sat by the bed, head down, twisting his glassses in his hands. Nick watched through half-closed eyes as the lenses revolved, catching the overhead light. ‘What happened to you, Nicholas?’ His voice was faint, as though carried from another shore. ‘What did you do?’