The Ghosts & Jamal

by Bridget Blankley

  ‘The soldiers will come and beat you if they think you have stolen this thing from them. Do you understand?’

  Ahmed nodded and Jamal nodded too. But he didn’t really understand at all. Why would the soldiers have thrown the cylinder away if they wanted it? And if they wanted it then surely they would be glad if you told them you had found it?

  ‘So neither of you boys should mention this thing to anyone. No one but us should know about it. Do you understand?’

  Ahmed nodded his head but Jamal did not.

  ‘But my friend, he has seen it. He helped me carry it, sir.’

  The man put his hands together and looked over them at the boys.

  ‘But your friend does not know what this thing is, does he?’ Jamal shook his head. ‘And your friend is only a dirty scavenger so no one will believe what he says.’

  Jamal didn’t think that was true but he didn’t think that the man from the market would listen to anyone.

  ‘What about my grandfather?’ Jamal asked. ‘He saw the one I found by the mountain. He saw it and he threw it at me, sir.’

  The man shook his head again.

  ‘No, it was not the same. It was another sort of thing, not the same at all.’

  Jamal was about to explain but Ahmed kicked him hard so he just nodded.

  The man from the market looked pleased. He handed the boys a bottle of Sprite and opened another for himself.

  ‘You must be thirsty after all this excitement. You can share that, but finish it before you get to the dormitory or all the boys will want to find dangerous things.’

  The man took a drink from the bottle and then laughed, dribbles of Sprite and spit sticking to his beard. Jamal didn’t like the way he laughed. It wasn’t the sort of laugh that followed a joke, more the sort that came before rotten fruit was thrown at a beggar. Jamal nodded to himself; this man was definitely the sort of person who would throw things at beggars, or at boys who were troubled by spirits.

  ‘Good, good. I’m pleased you understand. Now go to the dormitory, boys. It’s time for your beds.’ The boys got up to go. As they reached the door the man said: ‘Goodnight, boys. Now remember, don’t talk about this. Don’t talk about this at all.’

  A Bed in the Dormitory

  Jamal followed Ahmed as he raced outside and then sat down on the steps outside a long, low building. Ahmed had opened the Sprite and had already taken three or four gulps before Jamal reached him. Ahmed passed the bottle to his new friend but Jamal shook his head. He didn’t trust the man from the market.

  There was another reason why Jamal didn’t want a drink. While Ahmed was drinking he finally stopped talking. Jamal still missed his hut at home, where the only sounds had been the animals outside and his uncles telling stories in the compound. He was not used to so much noise. Even Mham didn’t talk as much as Ahmed did, and Jamal had thought that Mham talked too much.

  ‘What happened there?’ Ahmed asked. ‘We usually drink water, now we’ve got this.’ He waved the half-empty bottle towards Jamal. ‘We haven’t got to share it with the other boys. Here, have a turn – I can’t drink it all. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be fair. You got it really – you found the cylinder.’

  Ahmed stopped talking while he had another drink.

  ‘You got him worried. Where did you really find it? What is it for?’

  Ahmed went on and on. Question after question, only stopping when he drank Sprite from the bottle. Jamal wanted to shut out the noise but Ahmed just kept talking. Eventually the drink was finished and Ahmed got up.

  ‘C’mon, let’s get to bed. Got to be up early.’

  They went into a room where a dozen boys jeered and shouted, complaining about being disturbed and calling Ahmed names. Jamal waited for someone to throw fruit at them, or worse, but nothing came their way. Ahmed pointed to a bed at the end of the room.

  ‘Better take that one. It used to be Joseph’s but he left – not sure where he went.’

  There were a few shouted comments about Joseph and why his bed was empty until Ahmed threw the empty Sprite bottle at one of the boys and they all forgot about Joseph. They all wanted to know how Ahmed had got the drink. Some thought that he’d just picked up an empty bottle; others thought he’d stolen it. Ahmed was happy to be the centre of attention.

  Jamal crawled into the bed. It was not very comfortable. It was too springy and it rocked and squeaked with every movement. At home, Jamal slept on old blankets piled on the floor. At the dump he slept next to Mham on a mattress that they had dragged into their hut. Jamal wondered if he could pull the mattress off the squeaky frame and onto the floor, but there were too many people in the room. Someone would notice and then everyone would laugh at him. Jamal decided that it was better to lie awake, trying not to move, and work out how to get back to the dump and to Mham.

  He wanted to stay awake. He tried to stay awake. But eventually he fell asleep. He was sound asleep when Ahmed pushed him out of bed.

  ‘C’mon, we’ll be late.’

  The room seemed to be full of boys and it took Jamal a while to remember where he was and what was going on.

  ‘Why is everyone rushing?’ he asked. ‘Is it time for breakfast?’

  Ahmed laughed.

  ‘Breakfast? Where have you been? It’s time for prayers. Get a move on.’

  It wasn’t even light. Jamal couldn’t believe that anyone would want to get up before dawn unless they had to. And why weren’t they starting the day with breakfast? Jamal was used to getting up at dawn. He was used to waking up when the birds started singing and when the daytime insects started to move in the morning heat. But he was not used to getting up before dawn and he really wanted to go back to sleep. The day definitely ought to start with eating, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

  Ahmed took Jamal to a room with benches that faced taps on the wall.

  ‘We wash here,’ said Ahmed.

  Jamal looked around for soap and towels but couldn’t see either.

  Other boys were sitting on the benches and washing themselves in what Jamal thought was a very odd way.

  Ahmed looked at Jamal. ‘Don’t you know how to wash before prayers?’

  Jamal didn’t say anything; he’d never been taught how to pray. He knew that his uncles said their prayers. He had seen the watchman at the hospital take his mat and go to pray, but he’d never actually seen anyone pray. He couldn’t remember how often his uncles prayed – he thought it was three or maybe five times a day, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t even know that he was meant to wash before praying. And he certainly didn’t know that he had to wash in a special way. Jamal was sure that everyone would notice and that they would chase him away with sticks.

  ‘It’s not fair. I haven’t even had breakfast.’

  Ahmed looked at Jamal and shook his head.

  ‘The Imam was right; you are very odd. Just do what I do and you’ll get breakfast later. It’ll be OK, Jamal. Don’t worry.’

  So that’s what Jamal did. He sat next to Ahmed and washed himself just like his new friend. Then he followed Ahmed as they went to pray with the other boys.

  Ghosts and Honey Cakes

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ said Jamal. ‘Something feels wrong.’

  Ahmed put his hand on Jamal’s shoulder. ‘I said don’t worry. Just do the same as me. I’ll teach you properly later.’

  Jamal wanted to tell his new friend that he wasn’t worried about the prayers, that he could feel something was wrong. He wanted to tell Ahmed that he could feel something bad in the air, something heading towards them. He didn’t get the chance. Ahmed still had his arm around Jamal when the spirits discovered Jamal’s new hiding place.

  Jamal woke up in a very small room. It was cool and dark – somewhere Jamal hadn’t been before. He could hear people talking outside the room. They were talking about him and not even whispering.

  ‘He’s possessed. We should beat it out of him.’

  ‘No, he’s ill. We shou
ld take him to a doctor.’

  ‘That will be expensive. Let’s beat it out of him.’

  ‘No, it’s our duty to take him to a doctor.’

  ‘It’s our duty to see he’s cured. Let’s beat it out of him.’

  ‘No, he’s ill. I will deal with it.’

  ‘I’ll fetch you a stick.’

  Jamal recognised the voice of the man from the market. He remembered where he was and why he wanted to get back to the dump. He didn’t like the man from the market and he didn’t want anyone to beat him with a stick. Jamal wondered if now would be a good time to leave.

  Ahmed came into the room and put his fingers to his lips.

  ‘What happened? You just fell down, and then you were shaking. I’ve never seen anything like it. Has it happened before? They said it’s “A Pill At Sea”, but I didn’t see you take any pills. Can you do it when you want to? And does it hurt? Oh, yes, and do you want some tea?’

  Jamal started to laugh.

  ‘Why did you tell me to be quiet, Ahmed? You never stop talking even for a minute.’

  Ahmed started to laugh as well. He kept laughing until there were tears in his eyes.

  When the Imam came into Jamal’s room, Ahmed was sitting on Jamal’s bed and laughing out loud.

  They tried to stop when they saw the Imam, but that just made them laugh more.

  ‘I see you’ve woken up and that you feel well enough for visitors.’ The Imam looked at Ahmed. ‘Maybe your visitor could go and get us all some tea while you and I talk.’

  Ahmed got off the bed.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, not meeting the Imam’s eyes.

  ‘And Ahmed, maybe you could ask Cook for a few honey cakes too. I’m sure Jamal is hungry.’

  The Imam didn’t say anything else until they heard Ahmed slam through the screen door on his way to the kitchen, but he looked at Jamal very carefully. Jamal wondered if he was deciding whether to wait for the stick or to just beat him with his fists. But eventually he smiled at Jamal.

  ‘You look as if you’ve had a rough time. Have you always lived on the dump?’

  Jamal didn’t really want to say anything – not till he knew why he was being asked these questions. He thought about the questions the judge had asked and what the soldier had said about letting people think that he was simple. He had liked the soldier and trusted her, so he decided to pretend to be just a little bit simple now.

  ‘So what about your parents? Do your mum or dad live on the dump?’

  Jamal shook his head, hoping that there wouldn’t be any more questions.

  ‘Brothers? Sisters? Any other relatives? I hear there was a boy with you in the market. Was he your cousin?’

  Jamal thought about his grandfather. Did he have to tell this man about Grandfather? It would be a lie to say that he had no relatives, but the old man might not have actually been his grandfather. Jamal wasn’t sure and the old man hadn’t seemed that sure either.

  ‘Everyone died when the ghosts came.’ Jamal thought that was a safe answer. It was very nearly true and the man hadn’t actually asked about grandparents.

  ‘Ghosts, eh? Do you want to tell me about them?’

  Jamal felt happier with that question. No need to lie even a little bit. He didn’t want to talk about the ghosts at all.

  ‘Maybe later then. We need to get you to a doctor, to sort out your skin – it looks infected. And while we are there we’ll see if we can find out about these fits.’

  Jamal was surprised; he had expected more questions and more difficult questions. The man was being nice and Jamal didn’t expect someone to be nice to him if he was going to beat him.

  ‘So is this the first time you’ve had a fit?’

  Jamal was silent.

  ‘Not answering that, eh? How about this: did you know you were sick before you came here?’

  Jamal nodded very slightly. He remembered the people by the factory calling him a witch. And the people in the dump had avoided him unless they had problems with spirits. Jamal didn’t want this man to call him a witch.

  ‘And did you have any medicine to stop you being sick?’

  Another nod.

  ‘I see. But you didn’t bring any medicine with you. Why was that?’

  Jamal nodded again. He was trying not to say too much but suddenly he wanted to tell this man about everything that had happened. He wanted to tell him about the ghosts and the people who had died and the soldiers and the nurse and the boys who slept on the street and about Mham and about the boy who stole his medicine. All the words that Jamal had been keeping hidden came tumbling out and he told the Imam everything, even about his grandfather.

  Then Jamal cried. He was still crying when Ahmed brought the tea.

  The Imam took the tea and the cakes and sent Ahmed back to the kitchens and let Jamal cry until he’d run out of tears. He didn’t speak until Jamal had quite finished.

  ‘Tea first, then cakes, and then a visit to the doctor. Everything else can wait till the morning.’

  The Imam put his hand on Jamal’s head, then pulled it away again, looking at his hand in surprise.

  ‘A haircut before the doctor’s, I think. Just so you’re a bit more presentable. We don’t want people thinking that we neglect you.’ He took a white cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands before throwing the cloth in the bin.

  ‘I’d like a haircut,’ Jamal said. ‘And I’d like another honey cake.’

  A New Start

  Jamal sat on a stool in the middle of the compound. One of the older boys was standing over him holding a pair of electric clippers and looking at Jamal’s almost bald head.

  Jamal wanted him to finish because the noise of the clippers was stopping him listening to the two men talking by the gate. The Imam was arguing with the man from the market again. Jamal thought they were arguing about him.

  ‘He’s a troublemaker, believe me. I won’t say why but I happen to know that he’ll bring trouble.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t look as if he could be that much trouble. There’s hardly anything of him.’

  ‘I’m not talking about him getting into fights; I’m talking about real trouble.’

  They looked over to where the boy was rubbing some very smelly cream into Jamal’s scalp.

  ‘What sort of real trouble? The poor kid hasn’t even been to school, so when do you think he’s learnt to be trouble?’

  ‘I could tell you things.’

  ‘Fine! Tell me things, if there’s anything to tell, but I don’t think he’ll be a problem. In fact, I think he could be quite bright. Poor kid just needs a chance.’

  The man from the market threw an empty can at the wall. It bounced off and hit one of the smaller boys on the back of the head.

  ‘Pick up the rubbish,’ the man shouted.

  Just like him not to say sorry, thought Jamal.

  The Imam came over to Jamal.

  ‘Phew, that smells bad. Still, it will keep your little friends away.’ He nodded his head at the boy with the clippers. ‘Good job. Make sure you use alcohol to clean the blades and put the clippings in the boiler.’

  He held out his hand to Jamal.

  ‘Come on, young man. We’ve got an appointment to keep.’

  The Imam and Jamal left the compound and went into town. They visited the doctor, who asked Jamal about the medicine he had taken and how often he took it. Then he asked about the hospital with the soldiers. He looked at the scabs and cuts on Jamal’s head and arms. Jamal was weighed and measured and poked and prodded then sent to sit outside while the doctor and the Imam were talking.

  They came away with a bag full of medicines and creams. Then they went into town, to the market and a book shop, and to a shop that didn’t seem to sell anything, and which the Imam called a bank. Jamal thought that banks were there to keep the water in the river but he couldn’t see any water. It just looked like an ordinary building to him.

  Jamal enjoyed his trip – and he particularly enjoyed the ice cre
am that the Imam bought when they left the doctor’s house.

  It wasn’t a perfect day out, though, because Jamal felt as if he was being watched. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw the man from the market talking to one of the nurses outside the doctor’s house. And he wondered if the same man was sitting in a coffee shop close to where the Imam bought the ice cream. Finally, Jamal was almost sure he was talking to a man in dark clothes outside the bank. He asked the Imam if the man from the market had come to town too.

  ‘Maybe. He’s a busy man. Now, have you ever had a ride on a bus?’

  Jamal didn’t think they needed to go on the bus; they had walked into town and he thought they could have easily walked back again. But the Imam led Jamal to a crowd of people who were pushing to get on an old yellow bus. He’d never been on a bus before and he liked to do new things. He liked looking out of the window and he liked how the bus rattled and bumped as it went around corners. He even liked the way more and more people crowded on board, with two or sometimes three people on each seat. But he was pleased when they got back to the compound. He wanted to tell Ahmed about everything he’d done. But when he got back he didn’t see Ahmed.

  ‘The doctor said you must rest today,’ the Imam told him. ‘So stay in your room. After prayers we’ll talk and I think I’ll get Ahmed to sleep in your room in case you are ill in the night.’

  Jamal lay down in the cool, quiet room and listened to the noises of the boys getting ready for prayers.

  He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up he saw a jug of water by his bed that hadn’t been there before. When he looked around he was surprised to see the man from the market standing by the door. Jamal decided not to drink any of the water, just in case the man from the market had put it there.

  ‘I know you’re a spy from the military,’ the man said. ‘I know where you came from and how you got the gas canister. I’m watching you and I’ll make you pay.’