My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

  He tells us where his things are and what to do.

  I can’t stop marvelling. First the magic of the tap. Now the magic of the fire burner. Mobu said how poor Peter is. I think he’s rich. The thought of Mobu takes my excitement away.

  Peter asks what we are doing in the big city, all alone by ourselves.

  ‘We’re not alone by ourselves,’ says Golam, ‘we’re with Matt.’

  ‘Is Matt your brother, father or uncle?’ asks Peter.

  We nearly laugh.

  ‘Oh no, he’s hardly a year older than I am,’ I say. ‘But he knows everything,’ I add, to make him understand better.

  I don’t think he does, but he don’t argue.

  ‘Where is this Matt of yours?’ he asks.

  ‘He’s in the other room,’ says Hena, ‘saying his farewell to Mobu.’

  ‘I think I’d better go and meet him,’ says Peter, ‘this Matt who knows everything. Maybe he can teach me something. I’ve never met anyone before who knows everything.’

  ‘Well, it’s not like he knows everything,’ I say, ‘it’s just that…’ I don’t know how to carry on.

  ‘It’s just that he learns everything if he don’t know it,’ says Hena.

  ‘Ah,’ says Peter, ‘now that I can understand a little better.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ says Golam. ‘He knows all that is useless and don’t bother with it.’

  Peter is looking more and more interested.

  ‘And what is useless?’ he asks.

  ‘Well…’ says Golam, his unlikely sureness cracking a bit.

  ‘Well… sort of everything really.’

  Peter smiles a sad smile. ‘So that’s what he knows about everything, that it is useless. He may be right, you know.’

  ‘It’s not like that. Not quite like that. He knows what’s useful too,’ I say, trying to defend him. To make him sound important.

  ‘And what is useful, er, according to Matt?’

  ‘Food,’ says Golam, before I can say anything.

  Peter waits but Golam says nothing more. I wait but Golam says nothing more.

  ‘You mean all he thinks important is food?’ Peter says, in such surprise and so loud that his lips crack and his head throbs and he winces in pain and holds his head in his hands.

  ‘All kinds of food,’ says Golam. ‘Some for eating, some not.’

  ‘I see,’ says Peter slowly, as if seeing. ‘And who taught Matt that?’

  ‘The missionary bloke, I think,’ say I.

  ‘Not him,’ says Hena.

  Golam’s arms are down by his side. His shoulders hang low. ‘Why are you all looking at me like that?’ he says. ‘Have I said something stupid?’

  Peter says, ‘I must go meet Matt.’

  He makes a strong effort to get up, stretching his arms out to support himself against the wall and setting his face hard to guard against showing too much pain.

  To his surprise he can get up quite easily and his face shows no pain.

  We all go to the first room. Something we’d all been trying to put off with our minds.

  We are now in the room.

  There is no Matt there. And no Mobu.

  Only blood on the floor.

  Peter cries in pain and falls on the floor. His blood mixes with Mobu’s blood.

  ‘The police must have come and taken them away,’ says Hena.

  ‘Maybe they took Mobu away, to hide their killing. But why would they take Matt?’ I feel truly alone for the first time.

  Golam says nothing. It looks like he can’t, even though he’s trying.

  By now Peter’s managed to raise himself on his elbow and is half sitting up.

  ‘Go out and see if Matt has gone out for some reason. Maybe he’s following the police to see where they take the body. Don’t go too far or you may get lost. Come back soon if you can’t find him. Then I’ll see what I can do. I have a friend who is a doctor. I’ll probably have to see him anyway. He might be able to help. He has a friend in the police.

  ‘Go now. But remember, not too far.’

  We rush out, leaving the door open behind us in our hurry.

  We go as far as we dare, in all directions, but no sign of Matt.

  Feeling nothing as we all come back. It is like nothing is happening. Leastwise not to us.

  When we get back to the flat the door is shut. We try to push it open but it is locked.

  We knock.

  There is no answer.

  We knock again and again and again.

  There is still no answer.

  The door at the top of the corridor opens a fraction. A face peers out.

  It is a woman’s face. It is the face of one who is afraid.

  I think she is about to say something but she don’t. I think she is about to shut the door but she don’t.

  We are still not feeling but we think maybe Peter’s worse and unable to open the door.

  Hena walks up to the woman and asks if there’s any other way we can get into Peter’s flat.

  The woman speaks in the language of the south. I don’t speak it but I can understand a little. Enough to know what she says. She says we can’t be right for nobody by that name lives here. In fact no one’s lived in the flat for over a month.

  We can’t believe our ears. We tell her our story. About Mobu’s death, about Peter’s beating, about Mobu and Matt missing.

  From her looks we can tell she understands, although we are speaking in the language of the valley.

  From what I make of her reply she says we have a great imagination, but it’s not a happy imagination. She says she’s sorry for us.

  She shuts the door.

  We stand like statues.

  The city has stolen Matt.

  The city is stealing our mind.

  Four

  Black Balls Pink Balls

  I have a dream.

  I’m not asleep, but I still have a dream.

  We’re back in the hills of Bader, Hena, Golam and me, walking home.

  It is more beautiful than I remember. There are rippling streams of blue water coming down the cracks in shiny black rocks. The breeze is cool and scented. The trees are green with leaves and monkeys dance on their branches.

  Parrots of many colours fly and squawk all around us. A blue rhino offers me a ride.

  Wild buffaloes play with the white spotted deer. The black cat raises its nose, sniffs, and goes back to sleep with a smile on its magic face.

  Matt comes running from behind a tree. With him is a smart young man wearing a pearl-white robe and a blood-red sash. The man lifts me off the rhino’s back and puts me down on the dewy grass.

  I immediately know the man is Mobu.

  I also know why Matt had to go.

  Most of all I know we have to do what we have to do, no matter what. Just as Matt has to do what he has to do, no matter what. And that he will be back when it is done.

  And we’ll meet when we are to meet.

  All my worry is gone. There is peace in my heart.

  But when I find myself in an empty box, hungry, with a dry mouth, and cold in spite of the heat, I am not so sure any more.

  There is no grass no water no rhino.

  No Mobu no Matt.

  Just a few empty and not so empty boxes. I’m in one of them.

  Golam is in another. Hena in another.

  Golam is looking very pleased.

  ‘It was so nice to see Matt,’ he says, ‘and Mobu.’

  I look at him in surprise. He is surprised at my surprise.

  ‘You should know,’ he says with his large eyes going straight into mine, ‘you were there. So was Hena.’

  I listen to him in silence. He speaks like in a dream, ‘It was in this endless desert with golden sand and diamond stones.

  ‘The sun was hot and the wind was hot and tall prickly trees with green bodies and green arms stood guard over us.

  ‘There was milk in the trees and peace in my heart.

  ‘I kn
ow now that Matt has to meet his fate and we have to meet ours. What will be, will be. But he’ll be there to help us. I’m not afraid any more.’

  Hena speaks. ‘I saw Matt. And Mobu. You were both with me. But it wasn’t in no barren desert.

  ‘It was in this beautiful house with many rooms, each more wonderful than the other. There was even a television in one room, and magic cookers; and cupboards full of food; and trunks full of shawls and silk scarves and sandals, and gold beads and silver anklets.

  ‘And I was happy. Happy to see Matt. Happy to see Mobu. And… just… happy…

  I had everything.’

  But she don’t sound too sure.

  The sun is out but it is dark on our side of the street. A man on a bicycle passes by, looking at us in our boxes, but not really seeing.

  In a way I’m glad we haven’t eaten since the last sunrise. At least I’m not wanting a shit. I wouldn’t know where to go. The thought worries me even though I don’t want to go at present. Not much chance in the future either. No input, no output – Leku used to say. Matt, on the other hand, says if you don’t eat for long enough you start shitting anyway. More than usual even.

  And he’s right too, as ever. We smelt enough proof in the camp at Gonta.

  The thought worries me. You bet.

  Our food bags are in Peter’s flat, as are our thick shawls.

  Joti’s photo and address are in my pocket. We are glad about that and decide to look for him today.

  Hena says before we go we should make another try to see if we can get into Peter’s flat. She says maybe he was sleeping yesterday, or fainted from pain or something. She says maybe he needs help. We need help.

  We walk up the stairs. It is hard work. When I was little I could’ve run up like the wind that is flying past us. Growing old is not easy. Take my word for it.

  We are up there. At last.

  We get in front of the door. We try to push the door. We try to turn the handle. Nothing. On both counts. And nothing again.

  We’re afraid to knock as we’re afraid of the lady behind the door opposite.

  But we knock.

  We shut our eyes and pray to the Spirits. Hard. We shut our eyes hard. We pray hard. We pray that the door opens. We pray that Peter opens it.

  We knock again.

  Half our prayer is answered.

  The door opens. But it is not Peter who opens it.

  It is a young woman.

  She looks at us wondering who we are and what we want.

  Suddenly her face shows like she knows; but she don’t seem too pleased about it.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she says, shuts the door, and goes away.

  At least she don’t tell us to push off.

  We wait.

  She takes a long time to get back, but she gets back. She opens the door, holds out her hand, shoves a piece of old flat bread in our hands and shuts the door again, saying, ‘What next, can’t even have a bit of peace in one’s own home.’

  Hena looks like she’s going to cry, but she don’t. Golam does. I don’t know what to do. But I’m happy about the bread. I’ve always been the first to crack when it comes to hunger.

  When we’re back out, I divide the bread into three equal parts, but Hena says she won’t have it. Knowing her we know she won’t if she’s said she won’t. We still try make her but, you’ve guessed, she won’t! She’s stubborn that girl.

  Golam and I eat. It makes us more hungry. And thirsty. How I long to get near that magic tap. But, if wishes were horses beggars would ride, Grandma Toughtits always said.

  Beggars. I’m suddenly struck with the word. That’s what we just become. Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. Leastwise that’s what I tell Hena.

  ‘Oh yes we can,’ she says, her eyes lighting up with some new knowledge.

  I wonder what it is. So does Golam.

  She smiles in her old mysterious way, like she used to when she was a little girl – only she looked bigger then – and puts her hand in her blouse, like she used to put her hand in her bag when she was a little girl, and brings out some rotten old coloured paper.

  Our faces fall, till we realise it is the money that the white doctor gave us to keep.

  I’m still not sure, not knowing much about money, but Hena says it should solve all our problems. Golam is not sure either. But we all know Hena, even if we don’t know about money. So we believe that money will solve all our problems. At least for as long as it lasts.

  We’ve no idea how long that will be. Even Hena don’t know that.

  Anyway, it makes us happy for now. We start our search for Joti in good spirits.

  By now many people are walking on the footpath where we are.

  Shops are opening. There are quite a few bicycles on the road, and even some cars. We’ve seen two buses go by, one in each direction. We walk up to the place where the bus stops. On the way we see more boarded-up shops with empty boxes and tin drums full of rubbish outside.

  When we get to the bus stop there is a large group of people all crowding there.

  I go near some men hoping to speak to them but they don’t pay no attention. I tug at one man’s sleeve and show him the piece of paper with Joti’s address.

  ‘My cousin Joti lives there, sir,’ I say. ‘We will be much thankful if you tell us where it is.’

  ‘And how to get there,’ adds Hena.

  The man looks at us in a strange way.

  When he says nothing I speak again. ‘We are come from our village to look for my cousin Joti. We will thank you very much and pray to the Spirits for your good health if you help us find him.’

  ‘Your cousin works there?’ he says at last.

  Everyone in Gonta asked that. So did Mobu.

  ‘He lives there,’ I say, adding, ‘I think,’ when I see his face. ‘Here is his photo.’

  I take out Joti’s photo, standing by his car I don’t believe outside this house I don’t believe.

  I can understand when the man looks like he don’t believe it. Or us.

  ‘The Regent,’ he says, ‘is the largest and most expensive hotel in Bader. In the whole country. Only white people or the very rich live there. They come and go. ‘

  ‘Our cousin is very rich,’ says Hena, ‘and he comes and goes.’

  The man don’t argue.

  He says, ‘It is miles from here.’

  ‘We can take the bus,’ says Hena. ‘We’ve got the money.’ She takes our notes and shows them to the man.

  The man’s face changes. It becomes worse.

  ‘Where did you get all that money from? Have you been stealing?’

  The man has a long pointed nose which gets longer as he brings it down towards us. His deep round eyes look at us like pebble holes in the dry river bed, without water or kindness.

  The man stretches a long arm towards us.

  Golam moves back shaking. I try not to move back and stop myself from shaking by thinking of Matt. He wouldn’t shake in front of any man.

  ‘No sir,’ says Golam, ‘we don’t steal, truly…’

  ‘The white doctor gave it to us,’ says Hena. ‘We helped her with the sick.’

  ‘She gave us vitamins as well,’ I say, ‘but they are with our food bags in Peter’s flat.’

  ‘And who is Peter?’ says the man. ‘And why doesn’t he take you to your cousin Joti?’

  ‘We don’t know where Peter is any more,’ says Golam. ‘He wasn’t well. All beaten up and covered in blood he was. We…’

  ‘So you beat up Peter and took his money. Maybe even killed him.’

  The man moves towards us. One slow long step after another slow long step.

  ‘No sir, we don’t…’ Golam is saying through tears, but we don’t let him say any more, Hena and me. We pull him away and run.

  The man is going to run after us; but just then the bus comes.

  Golam turns his head to look; trips and falls on his face.

  The man is still trying to get to us but he ca
n’t. He is being pushed from all sides by people rushing to get into the bus. He is being carried forward, long nose, holey eyes and all.

  We help Golam to stand up. Just then a big fat woman comes running from nowhere and bumps into Golam. He’s flat again, this time on his back.

  The woman stops, looking very sorry. She stops to pick Golam up. She also stops on account the bus leaves, leaving quite a few people behind.

  Luckily the man with the long nose and holey eyes is gone.

  The fat woman picks Golam up by the arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket.

  Golam goes, ‘Ouch.’

  The woman goes, ‘Dear, dear, dear. You’re just a wire hanger.’

  I know what a wire hanger is. Grandma Toughtits had one. She always kept her black silk scarf folded neatly over it. I don’t know how she got one, but she had a wire hanger. Not many people do. I think the woman is right in calling Golam a wire hanger.

  I smile. The woman bursts out in loud gusts of windy laughter. It wasn’t that funny, but never mind.

  Her big breasts jump up and down, her huge waist shakes. Her round stomach rolls out as she bends forward to clap her hands before slapping Hena and me on the shoulder, nearly flattening us on the footpath.

  I splurt and cough. Hena shoots out her hand and grabs the woman’s skirt to keep herself from folding and falling.

  The woman stops laughing. She puts her arm round Hena. Hena lets go of the woman’s skirt, but then holds on to it again as her head takes a circle in the air.

  ‘Dear, dear, dear,’ goes the woman with a worry note in her voice and a worry frown on her face. ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘Only this minute,’ I say truthfully.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asks like she don’t believe me.

  ‘Well, Hena don’t eat,’ I say, bringing her share of bread out of my pocket. ‘She don’t want to eat like a beggar,’ I explain. ‘I’ve kept her share. Just in case she gets bad with hunger.’

  The woman shakes her head sideways, cluck-clicking all the while.

  ‘Is that all?’ she says, dragging the all out for longer than I’ve ever heard a word dragged out. ‘And when did you eat before that?’

  Before I can think up an answer for that Golam says, ‘Can I have some water, madam? We haven’t had any for…’ I kick him in the shin; Hena looks at him with eyes of fire.

  ‘Why do you stop me asking?’ says Golam. ‘How can you get what you need if you don’t ask, Matt says.’