Displaced

by Dean Hughes

  “No. That’s too much,” Hadi said. “Just give me two, like before.”

  “Hadi, don’t worry about it. I know your family needs the money. I like to help my friends when I can. And besides, you had to run to the store in the rain. You deserve more today.”

  Hadi almost shoved all the money back at him. He had heard a false tone in Rashid’s voice. He didn’t know why he had started claiming that they were friends. But five thousand, so early, meant the start of a good day, when he had seen only a bad one ahead. He couldn’t turn the money down.

  “Chokran,” Hadi said, and he bowed his head just a little.

  “What about a blessing from Allah? That’s what you tell those people in the cars?”

  “Allah yehmik,” Hadi said automatically.

  “No question. I’m sure he will,” Rashid said, and he laughed. “I hope he looks after you, too.”

  Hadi knew that Rashid was making fun of his religion, and he hated that. He was tempted to give the money back, but he couldn’t get himself to do it.

  Fawzi was sitting on the bench, leaning back, his big stomach pushing over his belt, his shirt showing beneath his jacket. He laughed. “Allah needs to help Rashid,” he said. “He’s a terrible driver. Look at his taxi. It’s full of dents.”

  “Allah needs to bless all the crazy drivers in this city,” Rashid said. “They keep running into me.”

  “Hadi, save your blessings,” Fawzi said, and he was still laughing. “Allah looks out for polite boys—not for guys like Rashid.”

  Hadi had heard enough. They had no right to talk that way. He went back to the street, but things did not get better. He got one sale, for one thousand, but six thousand, with the middle of the day coming on, was not good enough. He was not likely to do as well as he had the day before.

  It was close to noon when Rashid walked over to Hadi. “I have a fare,” he said. “I’ve got to be on my way. Will you do something for me while I’m gone?”

  Hadi didn’t like the sound of this, but he turned from the curb. “I need to keep working. I haven’t made—”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. You can keep working. But a man is coming by. He’ll stop right there at the curb. I told him to tell you, ‘I hope this rain stops before we have a flood.’ That’s how you’ll know it’s him. When he says that, just hand him this.” Rashid held out a small box wrapped in brown paper.

  “I’d rather not. I want to—”

  “It’s just a simple thing. The guy who will stop here is a friend of mine, and I have something for him. I told him to stop by here and pick it up. But now I have to leave, so I called him and told him what to say so you would know he’s the right man.”

  Hadi could only wonder why the man in the car couldn’t just say that he was Rashid’s friend. It sounded like something bad was going on if they had to use secret words to make their connection. Hadi knew what his father had told him—and what Samir had said. But it was just a package, and Rashid was pushing it into his hands. It wasn’t much to do, and maybe Rashid would give him a thousand or two for his trouble.

  So he took it.

  Rashid got into his taxi and drove away. Maybe ten minutes later, a man stopped in the line of cars, three back from the corner, and he waved for Hadi to come to his car. When Hadi approached, he rolled down the window and said, “I hope the rain stops before we have a flood.”

  Hadi nodded, then handed him the package. The man thanked him and handed him two thousand pounds. Hadi hadn’t expected that. But the bigger surprise occurred when Rashid came back. He asked Hadi whether the man had come, and Hadi said that he had and he had delivered the package. “Allah yehmik,” Rashid said, laughing, and then he stuffed some money into Hadi’s jacket pocket. It was only after Hadi had worked his way down the line of cars that he looked to see how much money Rashid had given him.

  Ten thousand pounds!

  Now Hadi knew that something wasn’t right. Baba had told him that cabbies were known for selling drugs. And what else, in a small package, could be worth ten thousand lira just to hand to someone? He had to give the money back.

  But as he walked to the cabstand, he thought about the problems this money would solve. Hadi now had almost twenty thousand pounds in his pocket. It was the kind of day he had needed to have. And Hadi hadn’t sold the package to the man; he had only passed it along to him. He didn’t even know for certain what was in the package.

  So he kept the money, and with a few more sales that afternoon, he had twenty-three thousand pounds.

  When he stopped at Garo’s stand that night, he said, “I need some vegetables, if you have them, and some fruit, too. I can pay.”

  “It sounds as though you had a good day,” Garo said. He leaned back, smiled, his mustache bending.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “So what’s the matter? You don’t look very satisfied.”

  “It’s nothing,” Hadi said. He was looking about, trying to see what vegetables he might like to take home—and trying not to look at Garo. “My mother has a bad toothache. I’m worried about her, but she’ll be going to a dentist one of these days.”

  “Then I won’t charge you anything, and I’ll fill up some good bags for you.”

  “No. Baba says I should always pay.”

  “And you always do. But friends can help friends. It’s what they ought to do.”

  Rashid had said almost the same thing. But Hadi heard the difference. Garo meant what he said.

  Hadi nodded, thanked Garo, and meant the blessing that he offered him.

  When he reached the Dora intersection that night, he had twenty-three thousand lira to give Baba—and three bags of vegetables and fruit.

  “What happened?” Baba asked.

  “It was a good day,” Hadi said, “one of my best days ever.”

  “Even in the rain?”

  “Yes, even in the rain.” But he couldn’t look at his father. He worried that Baba could look into his eyes and know that he was lying.

  9

  Hadi didn’t think he should hand over any more packages for Rashid. The only problem was, Baba told him while they were on their way home that with Hadi’s twenty-three thousand pounds, he had enough money to pay the rent and to take Mama to the dentist, but there wouldn’t be anything left to buy the medicine Mama would need. He was sure her tooth was infected. She would need pills for the pain, but also antibiotics for the infection, and he had no idea what that would cost. “Is there any chance you’ll do as well tomorrow?” Baba asked him.

  “I doubt it,” Hadi said. “I’ll try.”

  “I don’t mean to expect too much,” Baba said. “I just wondered if this new corner will be better for you all the time now.”

  Hadi thought of saying that it would probably be worse. After all, most of the money had come from Rashid. But he was also thinking that he knew what it would probably take to have another good day.

  When they reached home, Baba told Hadi to take five thousand lira and buy food to add to what Garo had given him. Baba would take Mama to the dentist. Hadi was relieved that he was taking her, but when they came back, Mama looked worse than before. Baba said that the tooth had broken and the dentist had had to “dig out” the root. Mama’s jaw—the whole side of her face—was swollen worse than ever. She looked as though she had been beaten up. All the color was gone from her face, except around her eyes, which looked bruised. Hadi knew she had to be in worse pain than before.

  Hadi felt sick to look at her. “Did you get any pills for her?” he asked.

  “Yes. Enough to last two days—but she’ll need more.”

  “I’ll have a good day again tomorrow,” Hadi said. “I’ll make sure I do.”

  Baba gave him a quick glance, as though he was understanding something for the first time. “How will you do that, Hadi? What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He looked away.

  Baba was watching him, looking concerned, and Hadi knew he was trying to decide whether he believe
d him. But finally he said, “Let’s hope so. At least let’s hope for one more good day.” And Hadi thought he understood. Baba was terrified of the things Hadi could get himself involved in, but he also knew how serious Mama’s condition was.

  In the morning, when Hadi went back to the cabstand, he didn’t ask Rashid for another package to deliver. But if Rashid asked him to hand over another box, he had already decided he’d do it one more time.

  But Hadi had another reason for concern. Not long after he had arrived that morning, a man wearing a black jacket—a man Hadi had seen before—appeared on the corner to the west, stopped and smoked a cigarette. He seemed to be scanning the intersection. He could certainly see that Hadi had left his usual corner and wasn’t working with Malek, but Hadi had to wonder, was that good enough? If this man worked for Kamal, as Hadi suspected he did, Kamal might decide to force Hadi away from the intersection entirely, and Hadi might not make much money at all in the coming days. He had to do as well as he could today.

  A storm moved in during the morning and turned into a downpour at about ten o’clock. Hadi had taken in only three thousand pounds at that point, and the cabbies had not asked him to run any errands. All morning Hadi had been watching Malek across the street. He noticed that Malek had made some sales, but the ones who were buying from Malek were mostly people who had always bought from Hadi. It was Malek’s corner now. Hadi told himself to be glad his friend was doing well, not to feel any resentment. But he was beginning to feel desperate. He had to have a good day.

  When the hard rain had begun, Hadi had gone to the bench where the cabbies sat. There was a narrow roof over the seating area, enough to provide a little protection, and five men had gathered there to stay dry. Hadi stayed at the end of the bench, didn’t sit down next to the cabbies. He simply didn’t want to get drenched.

  Hadi watched the furious blast of rain fill up the streets in only a few minutes. The water was running off the hill, carrying garbage and refuse of all kinds. The rain let up in twenty minutes or so, and Hadi walked back toward the street. But every car that passed now sent up a wave of water. Hadi knew he had to get back to work, but he stayed away from the curb when the cars were moving, and that made it easy for Rashid to approach him without calling attention to himself. When he did, his words didn’t surprise Hadi. “I have another friend coming by today,” he said. “Would it be too much trouble for you to hand him a little package—the way you did yesterday?”

  Rashid ran his fingers over his short hair, as if to wipe away raindrops, but Hadi saw that he was trying to act natural. He also saw Rashid take a look to the middle of the intersection. Was that to see whether Samir was watching? Hadi thought of the danger he was putting himself in if Samir saw him pass the package to a driver, but he had to say yes just one more time. “I could do that,” he said.

  “Good. And you understand. I’ll pay you the same each time.”

  Hadi felt his breath catch. Now Rashid was saying that they were entering into business together, that they were striking a deal. “Okay,” he said, “I can do it again today—as a favor.”

  “It’s not a favor, Hadi. I’m paying you. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Hadi knew he had to say no, not agree to some sort of arrangement, but he also had to have another good day. For his mother. “Yes,” Hadi said. “I understand.”

  Hadi took the package and Rashid drove away in his taxi. In a few minutes, a man in a fancy black BMW stopped at the curb, leaned across the front seat, and said, “I hope this rain stops before we have a flood.”

  “I think we have one already,” Hadi said. He smiled, but he was feeling the wet and the cold. The flood.

  The man laughed, but he glanced toward the intersection, as though checking to see if he was being watched. When he reached out, Hadi saw a huge ring on his finger—gold with stones, maybe diamonds. He took the package and said, “Wait. Let me give you this.” And this time it was ten thousand pounds. Hadi was stunned.

  When Rashid returned, Hadi got his other ten thousand. He felt great relief, even appreciation, but as he returned to selling gum, he also felt deeply ashamed. He was sure he had enough money now to pay for the pills his mother needed, but he hated to imagine what she would think of him if she knew how he had earned it. Still, he told himself he wasn’t a drug dealer. If he hadn’t passed the boxes along, Rashid would have found someone else to do it.

  Not long after that, Fawzi asked Hadi to walk to the garlic chicken restaurant and bring back shawarma sandwiches for himself and for Hadi. Hadi was glad for the food, but he was even happier when the man at the shop told him that it was three-for-the-price-of-two day. So Hadi took a sandwich back to Fawzi, accepted a tip for doing so, and then walked across the street. He smiled at Malek. “It’s your lucky day,” he said. “I have a shawarma for you. A whole one.”

  Malek grinned. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m hungry today.”

  “I’ll eat mine here with you, Malek,” Hadi said. “Let’s go behind the wall.” He felt fairly safe since the man in the black jacket was gone now.

  The boys stepped through the opening in the wall and each sat down on a concrete block. The rain had started up again, not heavy yet, but the empty lot behind the wall was muddy, and trash had gathered in piles against the wall.

  “I was doing well this morning, before the rain came,” Malek said. “That slowed everything down.”

  “But you sell more than you used to, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Kamal even complimented me for doing better. But then he said I should do even better.”

  “Has he mentioned me?”

  “No. Maybe he won’t care now that you’ve crossed the street. And, Hadi, I’ll pay you back the five thousand. Maybe I can give you a thousand at a time, when I have better days.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Malek. Just do well and keep Kamal happy. I’m managing all right on the other side of the street, and I should do even better as more drivers get to know me.”

  “All right. But I will pay you back.” Malek bit into his sandwich, chewed for a time, and then said, “This is good. Thanks for getting it for me.” He slapped Hadi on the shoulder. “Hadi, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Hadi heard in Malek’s voice that he meant it; he wasn’t just joking the way he had when he first showed up. So Hadi told the truth: “You’re the only friend I’ve had since I came to Beirut.”

  “We need to stay friends, always.”

  Hadi wanted that. More than anything. He needed a friend he could depend on. “Malek,” he said, and he took a long breath, “did some of your friends die in Syria?”

  Malek looked over at him, and Hadi thought he saw in his eyes that he was hesitant to say anything. He finally said, “When the bombs hit my town, lots of people died.”

  “But any close friends?”

  “Two girls from my school. Sisters. I always joked with them. But I liked the older one, Yara. She was a year older than me, and she was very pretty. She didn’t know I liked her.”

  “Do you think about her now?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “But at night, do you have dreams about the bombs? And wake up scared?”

  “No. But all our bombs came on one night. You had to hear them for a long time.”

  “Yes,” Hadi said, “but I’m sorry she was killed.” He decided not to say anything more, but he was relieved to let Malek know about his dreams. He had never told his parents.

  “We have to figure things out,” Malek said. “So we can stay friends, and not always… be stuck at this intersection.”

  “We will figure it out, Malek.”

  Malek nodded, but he was changing. He had sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, not Hadi.

  Hadi knew that feeling, knew how terrible it was to admit to yourself that you have no choice, that what you’re doing is what you have to keep doing. “I have an idea,” he told Malek. “The foreign couple—their name is Riser—told me
once that they could help get me into a school. The trouble was, it started at three o’clock. I couldn’t leave that early. But what if we took turns leaving early? One of us could go to school for a while and then the other. And we could help each other, the way we talked about, and make sure the one who left early still took home enough money.”

  Malek took a long look at Hadi, as if he were considering the possibility, but then he said, “We’re not making enough as it is, Hadi. How could we do that?”

  Hadi didn’t dare say what he was thinking: that he could keep delivering the packages for Rashid. He could finish making things right for Mama, and then he could make things right for Malek—and for himself. “We need to think about it” was what he said to Malek. “If we both start doing better in the spring, it might work.”

  Hadi could see that Malek was caught in between two ways of thinking. He wanted to believe in a future, but he was also beginning to see the reality that Hadi had been looking at for a long time. “I guess we can hope for something like that,” Malek said. “But my father won’t hear of it for now.”

  “Maybe, if you start to bring home—”

  “We need to get back to work,” Malek said. He started eating faster, taking big bites.

  “We have to have a plan,” Hadi said. “Getting back into school would be a start. Maybe things will change and we can find a country that will let us in, or we’ll… I don’t know. We just can’t give up.” It was what Malek had told him a few weeks back, and it was what Hadi wanted him to start saying again.

  “All right. We’ll keep hoping.” But the words sounded weak.

  “We can share our money. If you have bad days, let me know.” But he worried how that might sound, so he added, “And I’ll tell you if I need a little more at times.”

  “Okay,” Malek said, but he didn’t sound convinced.