My Friend Matt and Hena The Whore

by Adam Zameenzad

  He squats beside her, shaggy balls scratching the shaggy carpet.

  ‘I can see,’ says the fat man. ‘I can see she’s a child.’ He passes his hands over Hena’s stomach.

  ‘Watch it,’ says Jimmy the Boy. ‘She’s half dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ says the fat man, tenderly, ‘she does look half dead, doesn’t she.’ He’s rubbing his hands on Hena’s thighs.

  ‘She probably is dead,’ says Jimmy the Boy. ‘And even if she isn’t she won’t last your…’

  ‘I’ll bring her to life,’ says the fat man. ‘Stop fussing.’

  ‘You’re not doing anything here,’ says Jimmy the Boy, ‘not with her.’

  ‘Stop fussing,’ says the fat man. ‘Stop fussing.’

  His hands go on working on Hena.

  Jimmy the Boy goes back into the other room.

  While he’s gone Fatso picks up a camera from the shelf and makes some ‘instant photos’ of us.

  Jimmy the Boy soon returns wearing clothes and carrying some food. He tells Golam and me to put our robes back on, then wraps a shawl round Hena and gives her a drink which he gets from a large cabinet.

  She moves a little, comes to life.

  Jimmy the Boy – he says to call him JB – goes back to the cabinet, which opens out in all different ways, and takes out of it many coloured drinks. He calls them orange and Coke and Pepsi and goodness knows what-all. I like mango juice best.

  He then gives us fruit bread and cakes and biscuits. And chocolates.

  We’ve never seen so much to eat and drink in all our lives.

  He says, ‘Never mind about the crumbs on the carpet,’ and gives us a smile. He has a good smile.

  Once we’ve finished eating and drinking and Hena can sit up straight and I can see straight, JB says, ‘I’ll show you some magic you’ve never seen before.’ He looks serious. ‘Well I think you’ve never seen it. Have you seen TV?’

  We say ‘No, sir.’ We still don’t know him enough to call him JB.

  He’s pleased to learn we haven’t seen TV before.

  He ‘switches on’ this ‘magic box’ as he calls it.

  It’s all sort of black and grey on a shiny plate.

  A man in uniform is talking of all the trouble in the city. He is saying how the Government is doing such wonderful things and how troublemakers are making it difficult for all the decent people everywhere.

  JB says, ‘Fucking shit. I’ll show you something more interesting. I’ve got video films, but most of them – ’ as he is saying this he is looking through a whole stack of packets of some sort – ‘are not for kiddies.

  ‘Wait a minute, here’s something you might like, A Fistful of Dollars. Most people like that. A fistful of dollars.’ He laughs, looks at us, then says, ‘Never mind. The Guns of Navarone, Gone With the Wind… Can’t make up my mind. Here, that’s it. Mary Poppins.’ He takes it out. ‘Or,’ he laughs again, ‘Dallas.’

  He is making as if to show us Mary Poppins when Golam stops him.

  ‘Please, sir, can we see Dallas?’

  ‘Yes, sir, can we?’ I say. We remember our old friend Kofi and his friends Jon and Donna.

  ‘Call me JB,’ says JB, looking puzzled. ‘Why would you like to see Dallas?’

  We say nothing. It would take too long to explain.

  He puts it on for us. He says it is not a proper video film, but taped from TV back home.

  We’re not sure what he means.

  He says: ‘It will have ads in it. You know, advertisements. Things to buy. You understand?’

  But we don’t. Not that it matters.

  Fatso has taken Hena in his arms. He is cuddling her and stroking her hair.

  Golam and I sit with our back against the sofa.

  We watch Dallas with open eyes and even more open mouths. It is in such beautiful colour. With such strange people doing such strange things.

  And the ‘ads’! We can’t believe the things we see.

  When Dallas finishes the local TV comes on by itself.

  This time there is another man talking.

  He is saying there is a new group of troublemakers starting up. A real dangerous group. They look like they sit around and do nothing. But, he says, they are more dangerous than the other lot.

  They show a picture of this new dangerous group.

  They are standing on the roadside in front of a Government building.

  Behind them is a very large crowd.

  In the centre of the group is young Mobu.

  With him is my friend Matt.

  I don’t remember nothing after that on account I fall asleep.

  When I wake up I’m in this strange room on this beautiful soft bed.

  Golam is next to me, fast asleep.

  I can’t see Hena anywhere.

  I get up from the bed.

  I am worried about Hena.

  I am dying for a shit. My first in a long time.

  My mind and stomach are both in a boil.

  There are many doors in the room, some with mirrors. I open one of these. It is full of fancy clothes for women.

  I open another door.

  I see a large room, with a glass floor and mirrored walls.

  There is a blue stone sink, matching the blue glass floor, with blue stone magic taps.

  Part of the floor is sunk in the shape of a flower. There is a blue stone seat with a large hole in it.

  Could it be… I wonder.

  It is a bathroom, I can tell. So the seat must be for… I wonder.

  Daisy’s little room had a little hole in the floor.

  This is a hole too, even if it is half way up in the air, even if it is fit for a queen to sit on.

  I don’t care if it is or isn’t.

  I sit on it and let myself go. You could’ve heard me back in my village.

  There is paper here which I use like stones and sand back there.

  The relief is true happiness.

  Everything is sort of floating in there but I don’t know how to get rid of it. I try pulling whatever I can pull, push whatever I can push and turn whatever I can turn. Nothing.

  Well, not exactly nothing. I get a fountain coming out of the sunken floor, I have all sorts of music come on. But nothing that moves the shit.

  Then, suddenly, without any warning, whoosh. Water starts pouring out of the sides of the seat like streams down the hills. Water circles in it like an eddy. Water winds round my shit, whirls and swirls till all is sucked down with the music of the rapids.

  I think it all happens when I step on a small grey circle on the floor.

  I wash myself in joy.

  But then I remember Hena.

  I come out of the room more worried than before. Now that my stomach is at ease, my mind can worry better.

  Golam is still sleeping.

  I open another door. It leads to a long wide corridor with a red floor.

  I walk along it.

  ‘You’ve been sleeping for more than a day and a night,’ says a voice.

  I nearly jump and hit the hanging lights above my head.

  It is Fatso.

  I ask him about Hena.

  He tells me not to worry. That she’s fine. He says if I go back to the room and bring Golam with me, he’ll take us to the eating room. He says Hena will be there.

  I wake Golam up and show him the shit trap. He needs it too. Then we go to the eating room. It is like something out of Dallas.

  Hena is there.

  But she don’t look like our Hena.

  She has this red and white silk dress on. She has gold on her fingers, gold round her wrists, gold round her neck and gold in her hair.

  And shining stones – red and white. With red and white shoes which make her a hand taller.

  We look at her. Her face seems hard and cold and old. She says, ‘You took your time coming.’ She’s still our Hena, no matter what.

  Fatso says Hena is going to stay with him now, on account he’s sort of adopted her, like a niece
.

  He says both he and Hena feel we should go back to our village now. He says we should go back so that we can take food and gifts and money for our families which he will give us.

  ‘What shall we tell our folks?’ I say.

  ‘Tell them Hena sends you gifts.’ Hena speaks in a hard voice.

  ‘Yes, tell them Hena sends you gifts and money. Gifts and money which she’s not stolen nor begged.

  ‘Tell them she’ll send more, and keep sending. Tell it specially to my Mam.’ For the first time I feel like her voice is going to crack, but it don’t.

  ‘But we’ve yet to find Joti, and meet up with Matt before we can go,’ says Golam.

  ‘I don’t know of Matt,’ says Fatso. ‘But I know Joti well. Hena’s told me about him. I’ll see if I can help you find him. The last I saw him he was trying to hide from the police. I’ll ask my chauffeur if he knows something.’

  ‘Surely you can do more than that,’ Hena snaps at him, all angry.

  ‘Sorry, love. I’ll try.’ He turns to us. ‘I’ll take you to the Regent and ask around for you. There are some waiters there who might know. If not, I’ll ask a couple of police inspectors. Is that better?’ he looks at Hena again.

  ‘We’ll see how it works out,’ she says.

  When we’ve finished eating, Fatso claps his hands and a servant girl comes to clear the table.

  ‘Don’t throw any of the food away,’ Hena tells her.

  The servant girl looks at Hena in surprise and what could be hate. Fatso looks at Hena in surprise and what could be love.

  ‘What’ll you do with it?’ he says. ‘You’re not still hungry, are you? And if…’

  ‘Not me. Not any more,’ she goes, looking through him. ‘But I know many that are.’

  ‘How will you find them? And how will you get it to them?’ says Fatso with a weak laugh. ‘Surely you’re being…’

  Hena stops him with a look. ‘How will I find them?’ she goes. ‘How will I find them! How can you not find them? As to how will I get it to them. Simple. I’ll take it to them.’

  Fatso says nothing.

  The servant girl changes her look, but she don’t seem too sure what to change it to.

  *

  That evening Fatso takes us in this mile long car to the Regent, to enquire about Joti.

  He asks the chauffeur to park in a sidestreet.

  We stay in the car as he walks to the Hotel. The chauffeur goes away for a quiet smoke.

  While we wait we see Beauty and Brain standing by a lamp post, not far away, looking at us.

  We could drive our car, huge though it is, through their mouths if we could drive.

  Slowly they come towards us. They look around to make sure that we’re alone. They come right to the window. They look at me in my new black robe. They look at Golam in his new white robe. They look at Hena in all her finery and gold and stones.

  Brain says, ‘Wow, look at her. Just look at Hena.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. The little whore.’ Beauty speaks so softly we hardly hear him.

  They start going round the car. First slow; then fast, then faster and faster still, chanting, ‘Hena the whore. Hena the whore. Hena the whore. Hena the whore. Hena the whore…’

  Hena opens the car door and steps out.

  Beauty and Brain stop, like hit by a bullet.

  ‘I’m sure you know many hungry city kids,’ says Hena, a little to my surprise. Beauty and Brain are a little surprised too.

  ‘We what?’ says Brain.

  Beauty just looks at her.

  Hena repeats herself.

  ‘We sure do,’ says Beauty, still puzzled and very wary.

  ‘Gather them tomorrow in the shed where you first took us and tell them Hena the Whore will bring them food. Six in the morning. And six in the morning every day from now on.’

  ‘Six in the morning!’ says Brain.

  ‘You heard,’ says Hena, ‘six in the morning. Every morning. I have other things to do as well. But do warn them – they might have some work to do.

  ‘And by the by, I know you don’t need food, but there will be something in it for you, too.’

  Beauty is about to speak, but stops, turns and runs. So does Brain.

  The chauffeur is walking towards us with quick long strides.

  Hena gets back into the car.

  ‘Why the city kids?’ I ask her. ‘They were horrible to us.’

  ‘Maybe because they were hungry,’ says Golam.

  Hena don’t say nothing on account she’s crying.

  I look at her face. I have never ever seen her cry before. She don’t hide her face or hang her head down.

  Soon Jak is back. Jak is Fatso’s name.

  There is no sure news of Joti; but one waiter says the last time he met Joti he was planning to go back to his village. Partly to escape the ‘city heat’, but also he was worried about his folks at home, what with the news of famine and raids. He was even hoping to bring his Dada down to the city, if possible.

  When we make the unhappy chauffeur take us to the warehouse shed at six the next morning, with our baskets of food, there, among the hungry city kids, is Matt.

  Part IV

  SPIRITS OF SHIT

  (the journey back)

  One

  Tunnel Trouble

  We are in this blue and yellow jeep specially painted for our trip home.

  It is painted blue and yellow so as to look different from the dirty green of the Army jeeps. So no one attacks it thinking it is an Army jeep. It is also painted blue and yellow on account Jak’s chauffeur likes it painted blue and yellow.

  Jak’s chauffeur – he’s called Reza – is so fed up with taking Hena to the warehouse shed at six every morning he’d rather drive us back to our village.

  He says – under his breath but we hear it – that Hena’ll have to find some other mug to do her running around at that hour of the day.

  In the village we’re used to starting our day even earlier, but I reckon these city people are soft.

  Anyway, here we are, Matt, Golam and me, all loaded with food and gifts to take home. As much food and gifts as our blue and yellow jeep can hold. And it sure can hold a lot.

  It is some weeks later since our meeting up with Matt. Hena and Jak made us stay on and put some meat on us before starting our journey back.

  I don’t recognise myself any more. I am beginning to look almost as big as I was at nine, three years ago. Golam is getting his smile back, his hair is starting to bounce again and his shoulders are stronger and fuller than a wire hanger.

  We’re sorry to leave Hena behind. Hena don’t say much about how she feels. She does look pretty, though, in her new clothes; even if she is mostly bones. She don’t seem to be putting on flesh like we are.

  Jak adores her. He calls her his favourite niece, his long-lost cousin, his nearest and dearest little relative.

  Some believe what he says, many don’t; but they don’t say nothing except to say she’s a dear little girl and remarkably clever. The way they say it I’m not sure what they mean. The words are nice but somehow they don’t sound nice.

  Hena don’t seem to bother. Or if she does, she don’t show it.

  We are told to say we’re friends of the family, from a far-off village fallen on hard times.

  Although we’ll miss watching TV and seeing our shit whirl and swirl down the shit trap, and other such luxuries, we’re truly looking forward to getting back home.

  We don’t take the road used by the bus company, but go on the road through the hills of Bader.

  We are allowed to use it on account Jak is some ‘high-ranking official connected with the Defence Department’ of the Government.

  I am very happy about it. I know that in the end we’ll have to come out in the plains, but in the meantime it is lovely to be here.

  We are going at a slow speed, partly because the road is bumpy but mainly to enjoy the scenery as we go along.

  Reza is acting st
range. He’s friendly and kind one minute, and shouting down our ears the next. We don’t know what to make of it. But then you never know with him. There are many things he always does but always complains about doing. There are many things he never does but always says he’d like doing. But then again most grown-ups are like that.

  Reza had a nice face and a good body. Best of all, he has a thick sleepy voice that wakes you up when he sings sad songs that make you happy.

  We loved to hear him sing while he waited when Hena gave out food to the hungry children.

  I won’t mind being friends with him, but it’s not easy. There’s no telling what he’ll say or do.

  We pass many groups of soldiers on the way, some of whom stop us. Reza shows them something called a ‘Military Pass’, and they wave us on. One or two ask us a few questions, but mostly they do nothing except stare at us rather oddly. I expect we still don’t look too good. Or perhaps they’re just surprised to see poor country boys going about in Jak’s jeep.

  I wonder if that’s why Reza is acting strange. Even stranger than usual.

  It is nearly night now. There haven’t been any soldiers for some time. Leastwise no one has stopped us. I am just saying this to myself, almost in my sleep, when the jeep suddenly stops with a hard jolt.

  I look up, half awake, and I see this tall man in a sharp uniform, khaki instead of spotty green, with a few stripes and ribbons added on.

  He is standing in front of the jeep.

  He has this big gun hanging down by his side, and a revolver in his hand.

  He asks to see our papers, same as the others.

  He looks at them, then goes and talks to two other soldiers waiting in a jeep nearby.

  He comes back to us and tells us to follow the other jeep.

  Reza asks him if there’s any problem; he’s all polite, but we can tell he’s nervous and afraid.

  The officer says not to worry. He says there’s some trouble on the road ahead so he’s leading strangers to the outside road. Not the bus route which runs to the right of us down by the plains, but another road which goes round the hills from the upper end.

  Reza asks if there is some explosion or a terrorist attack, but the officer don’t answer, just tells us to follow the other jeep.

  To my surprise, and to Reza’s surprise as well, the officer jumps on to our jeep instead of going on his own jeep.