Diego, Run!

by Deborah Ellis

  She kept her back to him all night long, and didn’t speak.

  The Prisoners’ Disciplinary Committee didn’t waste any time. They met the very next day. When they had finished talking, they called for Diego and his family to appear.

  The committee met in the room that served as a chapel on Sundays and as an adult education room at other times. A large cross hung over one end, and there were tables and chairs that could be moved around.

  Diego had never been summoned to meet the committee before. The other times Mamá had been fined because he’d been running on the stairs or talking back to a guard, she had gone alone to hear what the fine would be. Sometimes it was money, sometimes it was extra chores.

  The committee sat at a long table, under the cross. There was a single chair in front of the table where Mamá sat with Corina. Diego stood beside his mother.

  The head of the committee spoke. ‘Being in prison is not what any of us would want. By governing ourselves, we try to make this horrible place a little more livable. This committee was elected by the inmates to keep order and settle disputes. Not for the sake of the guards or the administration, but for the sake of each other.’

  Just get on with it, Diego thought.

  They did. Their first ruling was one he expected.

  ‘You will have to pay for the pot of soup that was ruined. We are charging you to pay what Mrs Verde would have earned if she had sold the whole pot.’ There was a price per bowl, times the number of bowls in the pot. It came to a lot of Bolivianos. Diego would have to double his number of taxi runs and take on more homework. Even then, it would take him weeks.

  ‘We have no power to rule on whether your children should remain at the prison or not. That is up to the prison administration and the Department of Child Welfare.’

  Mamá stiffened and grabbed Diego tightly around the waist. He knew her grip on Corina was tight, too.

  The committee woman continued. ‘Being able to keep our children with us is the only thing that gets us through this. Prison is not a place for children, but it is better that they be here with us instead of in some government home or on the streets. Our rules of supervision are so strict because the world is so short of compassion.

  ‘However, this is the first time in the four years you have been here that anything like this has happened. We recognise your contributions to our little community, both yours and your son’s. We will recommend to the administration that your children be allowed to stay with you.’

  Diego could feel his mother sobbing with relief. He put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Diego,’ the committee head began. Diego’s head snapped up. ‘You are no longer a small child. Your inattention to your responsibility could have ended in disaster. Your sister could have been hurt, and that would have meant that none of us could keep our children here. It is wrong to have to carry such responsibility at your age, but the world is the way it is. You caused an uproar in the whole prison. If you cannot be trusted to look after your little sister, you cannot be trusted to run errands. Therefore, until further notice, you will not be able to work as a taxi.’

  Diego could feel the eyes of every prisoner on him as he left the meeting room with his family. Shame mixed with rage. How could they take away his livelihood? How was he supposed to pay back for what he did if he couldn’t earn money? Sure, he had been wrong, but this was not justice!

  He knew what it would be like, how his mother would have to hand over all the money she’d gotten from his father, and all the money she earned from knitting, just to pay for the spoiled soup.

  How would she be able to keep paying rent for a cell? They would have to go back to living on a mat in the courtyard. Corina would become even harder to manage, and Diego’s private time would disappear.

  If he was no longer a taxi, he’d have no reason to leave the prison except for school. He’d spend endless hours and days stuck behind the high stone walls, looking after his sister, in the shadow of his mother’s disapproving silence.

  SIX

  Mando was waiting for Diego when school got out the next day.

  ‘Bad luck,’ he said.

  ‘How did you know?’ Diego asked. Then he remembered he wasn’t the only kid in the women’s prison with a father in the men’s.

  ‘Are you going to stay with your father for awhile? You could stay in my father’s cell with me if there’s no room in your father’s.’

  ‘I thought about it, but that would only make things worse. The committee lets me run errands for my mother, but if I’m not there, she’ll have to pay a taxi. And if I look after Corina, she can get more knitting done.’

  ‘How deep are you in the hole?’

  Diego told him. Mando whistled.

  ‘I know a way out of the hole,’ Mando said. ‘You could solve your problem and even come out way ahead.’

  ‘My mother would be furious.’

  ‘Could she be any angrier with you than she is now?’

  Diego thought it was possible, but he wasn’t sure. His mother wasn’t yelling at him, but there was an awful lot of silence pointed in his direction. It was worse than yelling. It was like she was trying to pretend that he wasn’t there.

  ‘We’re leaving tomorrow,’ Mando said.

  Diego didn’t say anything for awhile, then, ‘How much money would we make?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but probably more than we’d make in a year of taxi jobs.’

  ‘And we’ll be gone only two weeks?’

  ‘Give or take a day or two. We’ll be back before you’ve even realised you’ve left.’

  Diego calculated in his head. He’d tell his mother he was going to stay with his father. A note would be better.

  ‘We won’t be smuggling, will we?’ he asked. ‘People get caught when they smuggle.’ This time he had to add, to drive home the point, ‘Your father got caught.’

  ‘My father was stupid,’ Mando said. ‘But, no, little boy, it’s not smuggling, just running errands for the big bosses. You think they’d trust something so valuable to a couple of kids they don’t know?’

  Running errands didn’t sound so bad. That was what he did now.

  ‘What will we tell our parents?’

  ‘Our parents are in prison,’ Mando said. ‘They can’t even tell themselves what to do. We have to decide for ourselves.’ He stopped walking. ‘Look, it’s very simple. You’re coming or you’re not. Once you decide that, the rest can get figured out. Only . . . I hope you come. I really don’t want to go alone.’

  ‘Will they have a job for me?’

  ‘Waiting and ready, with your name on it—Reserved for Tycoon Diego. I already told them you were coming. So, you see? You have to.’

  Diego grinned. A decision had been made. He felt better already.

  They made arrangements to meet up the next morning. Mando had other jobs to do, so he had to run.

  ‘Bring some money,’ he said as he headed away. ‘Just to have in your pocket, you know, for snacks and things. You’ll look like a hick if you arrive with nothing.’

  ‘If I had money to bring, I wouldn’t need to go with you,’ Diego muttered.

  ‘If it’s money you want, help me move these flour sacks,’ a shopkeeper who had heard him said. ‘My regular helper is late, and this truck needs to be unloaded and moved before the traffic police give me a ticket.’

  Diego jumped at the chance. For the next two hours, he moved sacks from the back of the truck to the back of the shop. The sacks were nearly as big as he was and almost as heavy. He had to be taught how to carry them.

  ‘Back yourself up to the truck, grab two corners of a bag, and let it fall onto your back.’

  Diego was nearly doubled over by the weight of the bag, and when the job was done, he was aching all over and covered with flour. But the shop owner was pleased, gave him fifteen Bolivianos and asked him to keep in touch.

  ‘I may have to fire my helper, even if he is my brother-in-law,’ he said.

&n
bsp; Cochabamba was starting to get dark. Diego headed back to the prison as quickly as he could. Each step was painful, and he was bone-weary. He made it back just in time.

  ‘You again,’ the new guard said. ‘One day we’ll lock up early, and you’ll be out of luck, won’t you?’

  For two whole weeks, I won’t have to see your ugly face, Diego thought. He began to look forward to leaving.

  Mamá didn’t ask where he’d been, and he didn’t tell her. She didn’t even look up from her knitting. He didn’t see Corina. Mamá must have arranged babysitting with one of the other mothers—you watch my child for two hours today, I’ll watch yours for two hours tomorrow.

  ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ he said, just to say something. He found some clean clothes and went down to the washroom. The cold water came out in a trickle, but it was enough.

  The cell was empty when he got back. Mamá was giving him his nightly private time. There was no point in doing his homework. Diego put his flour-covered clothes in his book bag, added a few other things he might need, and put the bag up on the shelf. He wrote his mother a note, saying he would be staying with his father for two weeks. He’d slip it under a pillow just before leaving in the morning.

  Getting to sleep was impossible. Diego’s mind would not shut down. Sharing a bed makes the night very long if you can’t sleep. Diego couldn’t move without waking someone up. Minutes trickled by. The morning buzzer was a relief.

  Last count for two weeks, Diego thought, as he stood in line with the prisoners and their children. The next morning he would wake up a free man, doing a free man’s labor for a free man’s wages. As the guards went down the row of women, calling out names and checking faces, Diego couldn’t even imagine what that would be like.

  The morning rush was the same as the morning rush always was. Diego hid the note, then waited in the courtyard with his mother and his little sister for the guards to open the doors to let the children out. He tightened his grip around his book bag full of clothes and felt in his pocket for the few Bolivianos he was taking with him. They were there, safe beside his handkerchief.

  He wanted to say something special to Mamá, to tell her not to worry about him, that things were going to turn out all right. But he didn’t have the right words. He wanted her to reach out and hug him, to read his mind and tell him not to go, that she wasn’t angry and had found a way to fix things, that he wasn’t a disappointment to her. But he guessed she couldn’t find the words, either.

  In the next instant, he was through the doors and outside the prison.

  Diego headed off in the direction of his school, in case his mother had developed x-ray eyes and could see through the prison walls. Then he turned down some side streets, broke into a run, and kept running until he got to the Plaza Colón.

  The plaza hummed with small businesses selling candy from cardboard boxes, biscuits from wooden stalls on wheels, and saltenas from portable ovens. Men in suits and women in business dresses hurried to their office jobs, tourists peered at maps and squinted at street signs, beggars staked out their morning territory.

  At first, Diego couldn’t see Mando among all the trees and activity. Then he spotted his friend right in the centre of the square by the big fountain. He waved and headed over.

  ‘Now what?’ Diego asked.

  ‘They’ll be along.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The men who hired us.’

  ‘Do you know where we’re going?’

  ‘Money Mountain,’ Mando said. ‘You’re such a worrier. You’re an old man already.’

  ‘I just want everything to go well. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.’

  ‘You have to live a little,’ Mando said. ‘You can be too careful.’

  ‘You can also end up like them.’ Diego nodded toward three boys lying on the grass near the fountain. He could smell them from across the pathway as they passed a plastic glue pot around, breathing deeply.

  Mando shrugged.

  Diego hopped on and off the side of the fountain, too nervous to sit still. He almost hoped the men wouldn’t show.

  ‘Afraid your Mamá is going to come out here and stop you?’ Mando teased.

  ‘Sure,’ Diego said, grinning, ‘but not as afraid as you are of your father finding out.’

  After that, they both relaxed a little, and a moment later, two men were standing in front of them.

  Mando leapt to his feet. ‘This is Paolo,’ he said, nodding at the slimmer of the two men. ‘His brother works in the prison shoe shop. And this is Rock.’

  ‘This is your friend?’ Rock asked Mando, without even saying hello.

  Diego stood up and held out his hand. ‘I’m Diego. Thank you for giving me a job.’

  ‘He’s too small,’ Paolo said, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  ‘I am not!’ Diego exclaimed, not knowing what he was not too small to do.

  ‘He’s small but he’s very strong,’ Mando said. ‘He can beat me up.’

  ‘My little sister could beat you up,’ Rock said. ‘All right, it’s your funeral. If we’re not happy with you, we’ll feed you to the alligators. Where are the others?’

  ‘What others?’ Mando asked.

  ‘I talked to three other boys from one of the other prisons. Let’s not wait. Hey, you!’ He called out to the three glue sniffers. They looked up with unfocussed eyes. ‘Come along, you’ll make some money.’

  It took the boys a long time to get the message from their brains to their feet.

  ‘We can do better than that,’ Paolo said.

  ‘We don’t need better,’ Rock said. ‘Let’s go, boys. Small boy, bring the others along.’

  The two men turned and walked away quickly, Mando keeping up. Diego tried not to breathe in the stink of the street boys as he hustled them along the path after the others. He wasn’t sure they had really agreed to come, but they looked like they could use some money, and whatever they were heading into was certainly better than what they were doing now.

  ‘It’s your lucky day,’ he told them.

  ‘Want some?’ One of the boys offered him the glue pot. He shook his head and pushed them along.

  On a small street several blocks from the square, the men stopped in front of a high steel gate. One of them unlocked the padlock, unwound the chain and opened one side of the gate to a parking lot. Diego opened the other side, securing it with a hook. He’d make himself so useful, they soon wouldn’t notice his size.

  ‘In the back,’ the man said, jerking his head at a ute. Mando and the other boys climbed in. Mando held out his hand to help Diego, but Diego shook his head.

  ‘I’ll lock the gate up after we go through,’ he said.

  The truck moved slowly out onto the narrow street. Diego secured the gate, snapped the padlock shut and hopped into the back with the others. He knocked on the roof of the cab a couple of times to signal that he was in and the truck could now move.

  ‘Big tycoon,’ Mando said, grinning. Diego grinned back.

  He looked around for his book bag with his spare clothes, and remembered he’d left it leaning against the fountain wall in the square.

  ‘I forgot my bag!’ he told Mando.

  ‘So what? With the money we make, you’ll be able to buy a dozen new ones.’

  Diego liked that thought—a new bag, new clothes, new everything, his debts paid off and money to spare.

  Oh, it felt fine to be riding like kings through the city, sun beaming down, adventure ahead. The boys knocked against the truck and each other as it turned this way and that through the streets of Cochabamba. The truck even drove within two blocks of the prison. Diego felt his chest expanding. It was wonderful to be alive, wonderful to be heading off to do a good thing, wonderful to spend the next two weeks without guards or line-ups or smelly toilets, or the clicking of knitting needles, or his mother’s angry, disappointed silence.

  They climbed up into the hills behind the city, up past clusters of tiny shacks, up higher even than the
giant white statue of Christ whose outstretched arms blessed the city. Diego could see that Cochabamba was at the bottom of a bowl made by the hills around it. He’d been brought into the bowl in a dark police truck, and hadn’t been out of it since his parents were arrested.

  Suddenly, he felt a little scared. His parents were getting farther and farther away with each roll of the truck wheels.

  ‘I’ll be back in two weeks,’ he whispered into the noise of the engine.

  Then Mando tossed a toffee at him. They chewed candy and watched the scenery, and Diego felt fine again.

  A few hours out, when the sun was straight above them, they stopped at a roadside eatery run out of the front of a small house. Plates of lamb stew appeared, along with chicha and soda. Diego wondered if the money in his pocket would be enough, but one of the men paid for everybody. He felt better about the whole trip, seeing how well they’d be taken care of. Mando and Diego and the other three boys shoveled in the stew and guzzled the chicha, although Diego opted for an orange soda instead.

  The men wanted to take a little rest after lunch, and they stretched out in the shade. Mando and the other boys slept, too, but Diego was afraid of not waking up when the men did, and being left behind. The family who ran the eatery had several small children. Diego played with the kids and talked with their mother while the others slept. It was like being back in his old life, for a short while.

  Back on the road, the scenery started to change as the red rocks and dirt began to be replaced with patches of grass and scrub trees. Diego tried to keep his eyes open, but his sleepless night, the hot sun, and the rhythm of the road put him quickly to sleep.

  He woke up when the truck stopped again. Gone were the yellow rocky hills of the Altiplano. They had been replaced by greens and trees and smoky air, and Diego realised he was in a whole other world.

  SEVEN

  ‘It’s empty.’

  A grimy, empty plastic glue pot was pushed under Diego’s nose by one of the equally grimy glue boys.

  ‘That’s not good for you, you know,’ Diego told him. ‘It destroys your brain. We learned about it in school.’