My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

  ‘Matt is right, whoever he is,’ goes the woman.

  It seems like she is trying to make up her mind about something.

  She looks at her watch. On her wrist. Just by flicking it.

  Matt never did get to wear a watch on his wrist. I don’t think he’s spoken of it in the last many months, but I know he did so want it, once.

  This memory and Golam speaking of him makes me remember him and miss him. All of a sudden.

  My heart is squeezed, splurting blood out of my eyes as water.

  ‘Dear, dear, dear,’ goes the woman. She thinks I’m crying on account I’m hungry for food. She don’t know I’m crying on account I am hungry for Matt.

  ‘Come home with me,’ she says, ‘and tell me your story while I get some food into your bellies.’ She looks at Golam. ‘And water. Some milk even.’

  Golam’s eyes shine with happiness. He smiles and his teeth show. For one moment he looks almost as pretty as he used to.

  ‘And you, young lady,’ she turns to Hena, ‘don’t you dare refuse any food I give you. Or you haven’t seen trouble yet.’

  ‘Now hurry,’ she carries on, ‘I’ve never been late for work in thirty years.’

  She turns round to look at us. ‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘Take your time. There’s always a first time for everything. Or so Mama always said. So I’ll be late today.’

  I don’t see anything funny in this but she starts to laugh again. Her huge eyes flashing her huge teeth flashing her huge mouth open so wide you could see right into her stomach.

  *

  We eat only a little bit and our stomach says: ‘Thank you very much but I don’t think I can have any more of it. I appreciate your concern but thank you. That’s all I can handle for the moment.’

  I am truly surprised. So is the big woman. Her name is Daisy.

  ‘Is that all you can eat?’ she says, dragging the ‘all’ again for a day and a half’s journey. ‘I thought you’d finish my week’s ration for me.’

  Golam drinks a gallon of water. So do we, even though we all feel sick after it. I thought we’d feel great after eating and drinking but we don’t. We feel sick. Leastwise for the time being. Daisy says we’ll start feeling good pretty soon.

  She’s right as well. After we’ve rested a while, and had a cup each of her ‘special’ tea, with about a whole bag of herbs in every cup, we start to relax and don’t want to die that instant, as we did not too long ago.

  The woman, Daisy, says we ought to have a bath as well, but there isn’t enough water just yet. She has the magic tap, but she says the water runs for only an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. Unless you have a storage tank ‘up top’, which she hasn’t. She says we’re in no position to go looking for our cousin Joti today. She says we’d better stay here and rest while she goes to work. She says she’ll take us with her when she goes to work tomorrow and explain to us how to get to the Regent. She says that’ll be best.

  We say that’s very kind of you Daisy – she don’t like to be called ‘madam’ – and accept the offer.

  Daisy rushes off to her work while we bundle up on her bed to rest, and before we know it are fast asleep. Leastwise I am.

  When Daisy comes home in the evening she gives us all a good scrub down. We store all the water we can in buckets and cooking pots and even cups and glasses, so we can have some extra in the morning when the tap stops. It’s great fun. I don’t remember enjoying myself so much in years. I am a bit sad as I miss my Mam and Dada, and Matt, but I still enjoy myself. We all love Daisy. At night Daisy sleeps on the floor while we all get into the bed, sleeping sideways. My feet stick out a lot, on account I am taller than the others, but that don’t matter. Especially if I roll myself into a ball.

  Daisy lives in this little room, where she sleeps and cooks and everything. There is a little tap in a corner behind a little screen for washing up. Across the corridor is a tiny room for ‘you know what’ – that’s what Daisy says about going for a s-h-i-t etcetera. She don’t like us to say it straight out. Like the missionary bloke, though she’s not the least bit like the missionary bloke in any other way.

  She does believe in Jesus though. Which makes me think of Matt again.

  Daisy don’t quite understand about Matt, but she don’t argue much about it when we say he’ll be all right as he knows what he’s doing.

  Daisy’s children are all grown up and live in the country next to us. She says they wanted her to go over there and live with them but she wanted to stay here.

  However she’s planning to go to them forever next month, when she’s done full thirty years of service where she’s working. She says she’ll get a ‘pension’ then – not too much but enough to help her son out for looking after her in her old age.

  Her eyes shine with happiness when she talks of her plans.

  The next morning Daisy takes the money from us – all except a small note. She says it is best otherwise someone else might think we’ve stolen it. Or worse, steal it from us. She says some people kill for less. She says she’ll leave us in front of the Regent Hotel before going off to work – it’s the same general direction – and then meet us there at four o’clock in the afternoon. If we haven’t found Joti, she’ll bring us back with her and we can try again the next day. If we have found him she’ll give us our money back and wish us luck and pray for us.

  We stand in front of the Regent Hotel, full of wonder and worry and hope.

  Two hours later we stand in front of the Regent Hotel full of nothing.

  We don’t quite know what to think, which is not unusual. Leastwise not for me. What is unusual is that we aren’t even sure what to feel.

  Leastwise I am not.

  I am sort of numb.

  I don’t understand much of what I hear.

  *

  First we are not allowed inside the place or anywhere near the door even, which is not a very good beginning, I’m sure you’ll agree.

  When we, well, Hena kicks up a lot of fuss and I wave Joti’s photo and address about, one of the men in hotel suits takes us to one side of the building and tells us to wait.

  We wait, and wait, and wait, and wait, and wait…

  Then comes this man, quite young, about Joti’s age.

  He looks at us and is not pleased at what he sees. But he comes to us and talks to us which is something we are grateful for.

  He says Joti worked here once but does not any more. The way he says ‘worked here’ is strange and don’t sound too nice.

  By now we have come to accept that Joti most likely won’t be living in such a grand place. Only working. But though it brings our pride down a bit, we don’t think any harm in it. To speak the truth, once the first surprise is over, we are quite proud of Joti working there even.

  But this man makes it like there is something bad in it.

  We ask him what the numbers 317 in the address mean.

  He says that is the number of the room in which lived a rich white man from some place called England. He says Joti was his ‘fancy boy’ for some time. But when the problems in the country became a bit bad, the white man left for his own country. Most other white men also left the hotel, and the country, so Joti wasn’t left with much work.

  He says Joti ‘sold himself’ to those who wanted boys, and arranged girls for those who wanted girls. He says the new Police Chief is very hard on such boys. And girls. He says the new Police Chief takes them to the Police Station and there they are ‘shared out’ among the police for free fun, and fines. So most of the boys and girls are running scared. Joti among them. There is no telling where he may be.

  We stand in front of the Regent Hotel, full of nothing.

  The sun is high in the sky. We’ve eaten the food Daisy put in a little tin box for us. We weren’t too hungry but we ate it for it was there. Now we feel guilty about it. We could’ve saved it for the evening. That would’ve saved Daisy from making some more for us. We decide we won’t eat tonight. We’ll tell Da
isy we’re not hungry. Like Grandma Toughtits used to say when there wasn’t enough.

  It is still a long time before Daisy is to come. We are not allowed to stay in front of the hotel so we’ve moved away to one side. Far enough away to be allowed, but near enough to be able to see Daisy when she comes and to get to her before she starts wondering where we are. Behind a big old tree next to a lovely red drum for the rich people’s rubbish. The men at the hotel can’t see us here, but we can see them by moving our necks a little to one side.

  We’re wondering what to do with our time. I feel like walking around to see the city a bit, but we’re afraid of losing our way.

  Golam says we’ll ask someone if we get lost but I’m not too sure. I say look what happened when we asked the man at the bus stop. He says look what happened when we asked Daisy. We can’t make up our minds.

  Two boys, about our age but twice our size – more than twice our size – come walking towards us with heavy steps. They are wearing dirty brown shorts; no shirts. They look poor but they’ve got shoes on their feet. And they are properly formed like rich boys. Their bodies are nicely shaped and covered with meat. Their faces are full, their hair shines. It is good to look at them.

  I remember seeing them when the young man in the hotel suit was talking to us about Joti. They were sort of circling round; not too close, but not far either.

  They come and stand right on top of us as we sit resting our backs against the tree.

  They say nothing, just stand there. Then they start circling round the tree – and round us.

  They keep on going round and round till our heads swim just thinking of it. But we say nothing.

  They finally come to a stop, again in front of us, legs wide apart, hands on hips.

  Both looking down upon us.

  After a while one of them raises his arms, spreads them out, bends his elbows, brings his hands to the back of his head and joins his fingers. At the same time he raises his head and starts looking far away into the distance. He moves one leg in front of the other, bends a knee and starts tapping a foot.

  He has hair under his arms.

  I don’t have any.

  Actually I had started growing some, many months ago. Under my arms, and on my balls, and round my dingus. They were spreading too. Then they stopped spreading. Then they stopped growing.

  Then they disappeared. Nothing. I am left with smooth underarms and a bald dingus hanging over bald balls.

  Golam never even started growing hair. Not properly.

  I look, feeling real jealous, at the hairs under the big boy’s arms.

  They are soft and curly. They shine in the sun and move ever so gently in the wind. They are alive.

  Now that I’m looking for them I can even see hair under the arms of the other boy, standing hands on hips, glaring down at us.

  I bet they have hairy balls too.

  I feel a strange feeling rise in me and I’m ashamed. I hang my head down and try not to look at their hairy underarms or think of their hairy balls.

  ‘Well well well,’ says the one staring down at us, ‘look what’s crawled out of the rubbish bin!’

  The one looking far into the sun slowly moves his hips up and down, saying nothing.

  ‘Shall we put them back in?’ says the first. ‘My boss always says, “If you see litter lying about, always put it away in a bin.”’ He says this in a funny sort of a voice.

  ‘It’s lucky then,’ the other now speaks, still looking far away, ‘that there is a bin so close by.’

  He has a beautiful voice. But it is also frightening.

  I try to shrink into a ball. But then I think of Hena and Golam.

  I am still the biggest of us. I want to protect them but don’t know what to do or say.

  The first boy moves forward and lifts the lid of the red tin drum, looks at us and says, ‘Crawl back in, litter.’

  We huddle together.

  ‘Wait!’ the other goes suddenly, bringing his arms down and looking at us directly. ‘Wait,’ he says. ‘This bin is much too clean for them lot. We must take these creatures to the backstreet where the real rubbish lies.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ goes the first, smacking his lips. ‘And I always thought you was the beauty and me the brain.’ They move closer, taking one long slow step.

  I freeze, ready to fight if necessary but afraid to start it. I think perhaps I should at least stand up, but don’t.

  Hena stands up, all quiet and mysterious. ‘Well all right then,’ she says.

  Golam and I stand up after her, without thinking.

  The two boys look very surprised, but try to hide their surprise.

  ‘All right then what?’ says the Beauty.

  ‘Yeah, all right then what?’ says the Brain.

  ‘All right then, let’s go to the backstreet where the real rubbish is. If that’s where you’re more at home,’ Hena says, cool as the desert sand at dawn.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ say I.

  ‘Yeah, let’s,’ says Golam.

  By now the boys have sorted themselves out a bit.

  ‘OK then,’ says the Beauty, ‘if that’s what you really want.’

  ‘Don’t blame us afterwards,’ says the Brain.

  ‘That is what we really want. And no we won’t blame you. But you may blame us. Afterwards.’

  We think Hena’s pushing her luck too much.

  ‘Go on then, what are we waiting for? Surely you know the way to your home.’

  ‘Who says we’re taking you to our home?’ Brain pushes his big chest forward.

  ‘Isn’t that where all the rubbish is?’ goes Hena, looking all innocent.

  I say to myself, Oh boy, that’s done it. We’re in for big trouble now.

  I say to the boys, ‘Yeah, that’s where the rubbish is, isn’t it?’

  Beauty and Brain look at one another. I can tell they are having a conference with their eyes.

  Beauty speaks: ‘We’d better be careful man.’ He winks at Brain.

  Brain looks like he don’t know what’s going on. I am beginning to think it is Beauty who has the brains as well.

  ‘You know the film we last saw,’ Beauty speaks quickly, before Brain can say anything stupid. ‘Sinbad, I think it was called.’

  ‘Yeah?’ says Brain, slowly.

  ‘Did you see how the wicked skeletons fought in that? I think we’ve got three of them here.’

  I see Hena flinch for the first time. She always likes to look pretty. I don’t think she likes being called a skeleton. Particularly as it happens to be a little true.

  ‘Yeah. Them skeletons were ugly, weren’t they?’ Brain gets in on the act, pleased with himself.

  ‘Not half as ugly as this lot,’ Beauty carries on.

  I don’t think we like this line of attack. It seems to’ve put even Hena out of joint.

  But not for long.

  ‘At least we’ll look all right once we’ve got some meat on us. There’s no hope for you lot. Is there?’

  Which isn’t exactly true, for they look fine as it is. But that don’t stop them from feeling foolish at what Hena says.

  I think they are going to hit us.

  I see their eyes go to the hotel entrance. I realise they will not start a fight here where they can be seen by men in hotel suits.

  It makes me bolder, but I’m still not taking any foolish risks. So I say nothing. I feel a lot better though. I think they can tell the change in me.

  ‘We don’t hit girls,’ says Brain at last, pleased with himself for finding a good excuse not to start a punch-up.

  ‘Can’t you come up with a better reason? Or is your think-box jammed with gristle? This girl can take care of herself.’

  Both Golam and I look at each other. We wish Hena would give it a rest.

  ‘So you want a better reason?’ says Beauty with a new anger in his voice. I’ll give you one. We don’t kill those who are going to die anyway. How’s that, crumbling bones?’

  ‘And y
ou think you’ll go on forever, like the smell of shit?’

  The silence is so hot you could bake your bread in it.

  ‘Come come,’ I hear Golam’s voice, ‘this is not getting anywhere.

  ‘If you want to hit us, then hit us. If you want to go away, then go away. If you want to stay and make friends, then stay and make friends. I think we’ll like that on account we’ve no friends here. That is except Daisy, but she goes to work.’

  ‘And who is this Daisy bird? Is she like you lot or is she normal?’ says Beauty, then adds with a mix of comedy and sorrow: ‘I mean, is she likely to remain among the living for another day or so, or has she got her quick getaway ticket from this plain of pain ready and stamped for the next flight out, like someone we see before us now?’

  I don’t think it’s funny, what I understand of it. I get angry.

  ‘She is tall as a tree and big as a buffalo,’ I say. ‘She could arrange your instant burial in the hole you creep into at night.’ I move a little to one side where the hotel men can see us clearly.

  ‘My Pa was right,’ says Beauty, ‘when he said, “They have nothing to fear who are ready for death.”’

  ‘Better to die without fear,’ says Hena, ‘than of fear.’

  ‘What does she mean?’ Brain goes, looking both pale and angry, ‘I’m not sure I like what she means.’ He makes fists of his hands and bends forward as if to attack.

  My short spell of bravery seems in danger of wearing off.

  ‘Don’t get your fists ready to fight,’ says Beauty to Brain, all cool and calm, ‘get your hands ready to pray. And don’t crouch, kneel.’

  ‘What’ya talking about?’ Brain has a worried look on his face. ‘Why should I kneel before these skellies?’

  ‘To say prayers over their bodies, why else? Don’t your Mama teach you to show your respect to the dead?’ Beauty is enjoying himself.

  I’m getting a bit fed up with him treating us like we are ready for the bone soup.

  ‘I wish Matt were here,’ I sigh to myself.

  I must’ve sighed louder than I thought I’d sighed.

  ‘And who is Matt?’ Beauty sounds a bit wary.