The Garbage King

by Elizabeth Laird

  Mamo gave a crow of laughter as Million’s plan suddenly became beautifully clear. Million took more nails from the bag and began to work round the two front wheels. Five minutes later, they strolled away from the car, Million stowing the empty bag in his pocket as he went.

  An agonizing hour passed. Mamo’s hands were clammy and his skin prickled with anticipation. Every time the door of the restaurant swung opened, his heart lurched.

  ‘Keep out of sight,’ Million kept hissing at him. ‘He mustn’t see you.’

  Merga came out of the restaurant at last. He was smiling and relaxed, as if he’d had a bit too much to drink and eaten very well.

  He stood by the car for a moment, fumbling for his keys, not noticing the boys who were standing nearby watching him, and over whom a strange stillness had fallen.

  Finally Merga opened the car door and started the engine. He put the car into gear and let out the brake. As he drove off, Mamo watched with glory in his heart as the nails, biting into the rubber, did their work and a sweet, soft, hissing noise came from the collapsing tyres, all four of them together. The car stopped before it had even reached the road.

  The driver’s door opened and Merga got out. He looked down at the front nearside wheel, muttered angrily, then walked unsteadily towards the back of the car. He was lifting the lid of the boot in search of his spare tyre when he noticed the back nearside wheel. He cursed aloud, walked round to look at the far side, and saw that both offside wheels were flat too.

  Furiously, he kicked out at the nearest tyre, then began hammering his fists furiously on the roof, his face suffused with anger.

  Mamo, who had been watching from behind a nearby Land Cruiser, felt such rage he could hold himself back no longer. He darted under Million’s restraining arm, ran up to Merga and came to a halt right in front of him. Then, saying nothing, he stood still, crossed his arms, drew himself up to his full height and tried to stare into Merga’s eyes, waiting for the man to recognize him.

  Merga didn’t look at him. He didn’t even seem to notice him. He pushed past Mamo, working his way round the car, checking on one wheel after another as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.

  Mamo put out his hand towards the nearest object within reach, which happened to be the car’s wing mirror, and began to tug at it.

  ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’ Merga yelled, noticing him at last.

  Mamo didn’t answer. Using both hands now, he wrenched at the mirror with all his strength, twisted it right off and dangled it in front of Merga’s outraged face.

  Merga took a step towards him, his arm raised as if he was about to strike, but suddenly he seemed to recognize Mamo, and he faltered and stepped back.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? You . . .’

  Before Mamo could answer, he was shouldered aside. Million and the gang were all around him, edging Mamo back away from Merga and the car.

  ‘Oh sir,’ Million was saying to Merga in a honeyed voice. ‘Whatever’s happened? Is this guy giving you grief? Don’t worry about him. He’s a proper little troublemaker. We’ll deal with him for you. What’s happened to your car? Won’t it go?’

  Merga, shaken, pointed down to the nearest wheel.

  ‘You’ve got a puncture?’ Million said, his voice dripping with sympathy. ‘Where’s your spare wheel? We’ll help you to fix it, if you like.’

  The others were circling round the car.

  ‘Hey!’ said Getachew, trying to sound concerned, though Dani could hear that he could hardly stop himself laughing. ‘This tyre’s down too, and the other front one.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Million was bending down, looking solicitously at a wheel. ‘What was it? Broken glass? No, look, there’s a nail in this tyre. And another. Look at this one. How careless of somebody. I tell you what, sir, there’s a tyre place just round the corner from here. Come with us. We’ll help you bring back some new ones.’ He dragged Dani forwards. ‘Just give my friend here a birr, to guard the car, and the rest of us will go to the tyre place with you. I know the owner. He’ll give you a good price. You can trust me.’

  Merga shook himself, trying to object and assert his authority, but it seemed to Mamo, watching from a distance, as if Million was weaving some kind of spell around him. Half fuddled as he was, and feeling vaguely intimidated, Merga obediently pulled a birr out of his pocket, gave it to Dani, then stumbled off down the road with Million, Buffalo, Getachew and Shoes circling round him like malevolent young sprites.

  Mamo, who was still trembling with the shock of being face to face with the man, turned to look at Dani, who was staring down at the birr in his hand, a grin breaking out across his face.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, and he darted across the road and disappeared into a shop on the other side.

  Seconds later he returned with a thick stubby pen in his hand.

  ‘A magic marker,’ he said to Mamo, unscrewing the top. ‘Very difficult to wash it off.’

  He stood back for a moment, studying the car with his head on one side, like an artist surveying an empty canvas, then he began to scrawl words across the hood in big sprawling letters.

  A deep, pure joy was welling up in Mamo’s chest.

  ‘What are you writing? What does it say?’

  ‘This – man – is – a – slaver,’ Dani said, enunciating each word as he wrote it. ‘He – steals – boys – and – sells – them.’

  He finished, stood back, and looked at his work with satisfaction.

  ‘Write something else,’ Mamo said. ‘Here, on the side. ‘Write, “God will punish this man. He will run but he will never escape from justice.” ’

  Dani bent down and wrote again. By the time he’d finished, the car doors on both sides, the roof, the back and the windscreen were covered with thick, black, accusing words.

  ‘Quick, they’re coming,’ Mamo said, as he put the finishing touches to the back window.

  They scampered off and hid behind the nearby Land Cruiser again, peeping out round the side to watch.

  The boys, each one carrying a tyre, were walking too close to Merga, crowding him. He was smiling uneasily and even from a distance Mamo could see that beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

  They reached the car. Merga saw the scribbles all over his car, broke free of the others and gave a howl of outrage. Dani could see that Million and the others were hesitating, unable to read the words, and, afraid that the momentum would be lost, he came out from the shelter of the Land Cruiser and sauntered, as casually as he could, across the car park towards them.

  ‘Look at that!’ he said, affecting the light, ironic voice that Million had used. ‘I only turned my back for a second. Someone must have slipped in here and written – well I never. Look at what it says! “This man is a slaver. He steals boys and sells them.” ’

  The others were drawing in their breath and staring at Merga accusingly. The man had turned a strange grey, dusty colour. He was trying to edge away from the car but the boys, obeying a signal from Million’s lifted eyebrows, were closing in on him in an ever tighter circle.

  ‘Now what does it say here?’ Dani said, who had discovered that he was hugely enjoying himself. He walked slowly round the car, reciting the words with his eyes on Merga’s face. ‘God will punish this man. He will run but he will never escape from justice.’

  A strangled sound came from Merga’s throat as he tried to break away but he was brought up again and again by Buffalo’s massive chest, as the boy dodged in front of him.

  ‘You haven’t paid us,’ Million said, his voice suddenly flinty hard. ‘We took you to the garage. We carried the tyres back for you. Pay us.’

  Merga fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a handful of notes. Without looking at them he pushed them into Million’s hand. Then he broke free at last and began to run, looking back over his shoulder with fear and fury in his eyes.

  Million looked down at the money in his hand. The others crowded
forward to watch as he counted it.

  ‘Twenty-three birr!’ whistled Getachew. ‘What are we going to do with it?’

  Million looked round at them and opened his crooked mouth in a grin, showing his broken front teeth.

  ‘We’re going to have a party,’ he said.

  It was, thought Dani, hours later, as he sat with the others round the embers of the fire they’d lit, the best party he’d ever been to. In fact, now he came to think of it, it was the only party he’d ever really enjoyed.

  The euphoria that had swept them all up in a huge happy wave when Merga had run away had made them want to shout and dance about, right there and then, but Million, with an eye on the restaurant, where the doorman in his long khaki greatcoat was already beginning to look too closely towards them, had herded them quickly away, and they’d flitted off, stopping at their pitch only to collect Suri and their blankets before heading down the hill through the back lanes to the open ground where they always took refuge when danger seemed to threaten them in the streets above.

  The money had all gone in a glorious burst of extravagance. They’d lashed out on a feast of injera and spicy meat, bottles of heady tej and a packet of cigarettes. Million had sent them off to scour the ground for twigs, sticks and discarded rubber tyres and when night fell they’d lit a bonfire and danced round it, singing and whooping with triumph.

  They’d subsided at last, replete, and in varying degrees of intoxication. Dani, unused to alcohol, had sipped at the tej when it was passed to him but had stopped when his head started feeling muzzy. Mamo, who seemed to have grown a whole metre taller since the afternoon, had swigged at the stuff more carelessly. He sat against Dani now, one arm flung affectionately round Dani’s shoulders, crooning his favourite songs, oozing a dreamy contentment that lapped round Dani too.

  He looked across the fire at the others. The tyres were still burning, though less fiercely now, and the light flickered on the boys’ coppery faces, casting shadows on their features which seemed tonight as familiar to Dani as his own.

  They’re my brothers, he thought, surprising himself. They’re more my family than my real one ever was.

  The depression that had numbed him since he’d heard that his mother had died had lifted tonight.

  We did something today, he thought. It was fantastic.

  Million and Buffalo had drunk more than the others. Million had become livelier while Buffalo was sinking further and further into a sullen silence.

  ‘Did you see him? His face?’ Million said, reliving for the tenth time the events of the afternoon. He was letting out gasps of laughter, rocking from side to side and slapping Buffalo on the shoulder as he spoke. ‘And then he . . . you . . .’ He pointed the nearly empty bottle of tej across the fire at Dani. ‘You got that pen and wrote all that stuff. What was it again? What did you write? Tell us.’

  Enjoying the admiration, Dani recited the words he’d written on the car again.

  ‘It was Mamo who thought of some of it,’ he said, ‘the bit about God and justice.’

  ‘He will never escape from justice!’ crowed Million, tipping his head back as he drained the bottle. He straightened himself and wiped his mouth. ‘Eh, I wish I could write like you. An educated man, that’s something, isn’t it, Buffalo? Takes an education to think of a thing like that.’

  He pounded Buffalo on the back harder than he’d intended, knocking him forward. Buffalo lifted his head again and stared at Dani. His eyes were hot and red.

  Dani’s heart jumped. Suddenly, he knew what was going to happen next. He shook Mamo’s arm off his shoulders and tensed himself, ready to leap to his feet.

  The mood of the group shifted. The exhilaration of triumph had evaporated, and so too had the relaxed comradeship that had followed it. Now the boys were watchful and excited.

  ‘No, Dani,’ Mamo said quietly. ‘You can’t. I’ll take him. Leave him to me.’

  But Dani was already on his feet, watching Buffalo, who had stood up first and was glaring at him, fists bunched. Dani took a deep shuddering breath. He’d always known, since that very first day, that sooner or later it would come to this. In the past he’d ducked away from Buffalo every time a fight seemed to be brewing, slipping expertly sideways, effacing himself, taking refuge behind Mamo, or manoeuvring Million into intervening.

  Tonight, though, he wouldn’t run away. At last he’d stand his ground and fight.

  The alcohol he’d drunk made Buffalo stagger a little as he circled round the fire to where Dani was waiting for him.

  Mamo had jumped up too.

  ‘Leave it,’ Dani said to him. ‘Just give me some space.’

  Mamo looked across at Million, expecting him to say something, but Million, seemingly unaware of what was going on, was staring dreamily into the fire, a smile hovering round his mouth.

  ‘Give me space,’ Dani said again, shoving Mamo with his elbow.

  Reluctantly, Mamo stepped aside and went to stand behind Getachew and Shoes, who were watching with wary eagerness as Buffalo and Dani squared up to each other.

  Buffalo came in first, his head low, his powerful arms punching forward. Dani, who had never fought anyone before in his life, instinctively dodged aside, then swung his own right arm inexpertly round, giving Buffalo, more by luck than by design, a buffet on the jaw. Buffalo rocked sideways, roared and came in again, trying to grab Dani round the waist and pull him off his feet, but Dani, whose every muscle was powered with an uprush of energy that he had never felt before, twisted sideways and caught Buffalo’s flailing arm in both hands, wrenching it painfully round.

  The watching boys were silent, except for Mamo, who was muttering encouragement to Dani under his breath, and the only other sound was the shifting of their feet on the dusty ground and their grunts as they wrestled backwards and forwards.

  It was luck that finished it. Dani hooked his foot round Buffalo’s knee at the very moment that Buffalo, turning in an effort to pin Dani’s head in an armlock, had half lost his balance. Buffalo’s grip loosened and he began to fall slowly over on to his side. Horrified, Dani realized that he was going straight down into the fire.

  ‘Watch out!’ he shouted, and lunging forwards he yanked with all his might at Buffalo’s shoulders, twisting him round at the last so that he would fall away from the smouldering tyres.

  Buffalo crashed heavily on to the ground. He lay as if stunned for a moment, then looked up at Dani, who was swaying on his feet, weak with exhaustion and astonishment.

  The hot redness had left Buffalo’s eyes.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, as if nothing had happened since Million had last spoken. ‘It was good, thinking of writing on the car like that.’

  Dani laughed shakily, put down his hand and hauled Buffalo to his feet. They stood awkwardly for a moment, then Buffalo patted Dani on the shoulder and went back to his place beside Million, who had barely seemed to notice that he had moved at all.

  A strong, beautiful peace entered Dani’s soul as he stood, gazing down into the glowing heart of the fire. All his life he’d imagined moments like these, casting himself in impossible roles as the victor, the champion, the hero. How sad all those fantasies seemed, set against the glorious reality of the way he felt right now!

  He lifted his eyes from the fire and turned to move back toward Mamo, who had sat down again in his old place, but then he saw, at the edge of the circle of light, that two people were walking towards him.

  ‘Look out,’ he said warningly to the others. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  The boys, afraid as always of the police, gathered themselves, poised for rapid flight, but the two men who stepped out of the shadows weren’t wearing uniforms. The sight of the first one, a short, stout, crumpled figure with a bush of greying hair round his shiny bald head, made Dani yelp with surprise as he recognized Ato Mesfin. But now he was looking beyond him. Behind the old schoolteacher was someone else, someone rigid and sombre, with a face almost unrecognizably haggard with anxiety and sleepl
essness.

  ‘Father,’ whispered Dani.

  For a long moment Ato Paulos and Dani stared at each other, both too shocked to move. Dani saw a man who had inexplicably shrunk and aged and in whose face, instead of the fury he had dreaded, was a painful uncertainty. Ato Paulos saw a thin, taut, wild-eyed boy dressed in stained worn clothes, about whom clung an air of reckless triumph. He strained forward, screwing up his eyes, barely able to recognize his son.

  ‘Daniel, is it really you?’ he said, breaking the silence first.

  Dani took a step backwards. He felt almost breathless.

  ‘I’m not going to Jigjiga,’ was all he could think of saying, and then he stopped. All that business seemed absurd now, as if it had happened a long, long time ago, in an inconceivably distant past.

  Ato Paulos didn’t seem to have heard him.

  ‘Where have you been all this time? Why did you do this? Don’t you realize how anxious I’ve been? What on earth have you been getting up to?’

  The moment of weakness that Dani had sensed in his father seemed to have passed and the old anger was creeping back into Ato Paulos’s voice. It sent a thrill of remembered terror through Dani. He took another step backwards. He’d always been paralysed in the presence of his father, and he was beginning to feel numb again now. In a minute he’d be meekly saying, ‘Yes, Father. I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know, Father,’ like he always had done.

  Then he sensed a movement behind him. Million and Buffalo, miraculously sobered, were moving up to stand beside him.

  ‘Is this your father then?’ Million said to Dani.

  Dani nodded once.

  Million lifted his chin questioningly towards Ato Mesfin.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘My old Amharic teacher.’

  ‘Guy who taught you to write stories?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Million smiled, leaned forward and put his hand out to Ato Mesfin. Gravely, Ato Mesfin bent over from the hips and shook it.