by Dean Hughes
Hadi felt good about the idea. He could start passing some of his money on to Malek and satisfy Kamal each day. It didn’t seem so wrong to take money from Rashid if he used it to help other people. Maybe that was “giving of himself.”
As Hadi approached the cabstand, he saw Rashid glaring at him. “Come here,” Rashid said. “Where have you been?”
He didn’t want to explain about the free shawarma, so he only said, “I walked over to say hello to Malek—the boy who works across the street.”
“That boy is working for Kamal. Don’t have anything to do with those people.”
So Rashid thought he owned Hadi now. But Hadi didn’t care if he did. The more he thought about it, Hadi was the one taking advantage of Rashid. He was finding a way out of his mess while he was letting Rashid think that he was scared of him.
“How is your family doing?” Rashid asked. “A little better since I’ve helped you out lately?”
“My mother has a bad tooth. Baba finally got her to a dentist yesterday. But she still needs medicine.” Hadi knew exactly what he was saying: that he did need Rashid’s help and he was willing to accept it—but he wasn’t about to thank him for it.
Rashid was standing with his feet set wide apart, his arms crossed over his chest. He waited for Hadi to look at him again. “So you need the money. I understand that. But here’s what you have to understand. You delivered my packages and I paid you; you’re my partner now. If anything should go wrong, remember, the police don’t like you little Syrian pests who run loose on our streets. If I ever got in trouble, so would you.”
“Why would you get in trouble?”
“Don’t act stupid. You know what we’re doing.”
“I only handed over the—”
“That’s not what the police would say. And I’ll tell you something else. The police are not your biggest worry. The people who give me those packages don’t put up with snitches of any kind. They don’t worry about slitting a few throats if that’s what they have to do to protect themselves. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Hadi didn’t respond at first, but Rashid kept watching him. So Hadi nodded.
“I’m going to have more friends coming by, and when they do, I will be gone and you will hand over the packages. I’ll pay you—but I won’t always be so generous with my money. I feel now that I’ve paid you more than you deserve. So don’t start thinking that you can stop being my partner. Try it and see what happens to you. Or even what might happen to that mother you’re so worried about. Your whole family. You work for me now, and the only way to be safe—and keep your family safe—is to stay partners with me.”
Hadi nodded again. But all his justifications seemed empty now. The only thing left was fear.
“But, Hadi, let’s not talk about slitting throats. We’re friends, right? And your family is doing better now that we’re working together. They’ll do better and better so long as we continue this way. I’m Allah, as far as you’re concerned, and I’m blessing you every day. You need to thank me.”
Hadi didn’t say anything.
“Let’s hear it. Thank me. Bless me.”
Hadi didn’t want to do it.
“Bless me, Hadi. Right now. Either that or take a walk with me. There are some alleys around here we may want to visit.”
Hadi took his time, but finally he said, “Allah ysallmak.”
“Thank you, Hadi. Peace is exactly what I want. You chose the right words. Let there be peace between us.” He patted Hadi on the shoulder. “I know we can work together in love and peace.”
10
Hadi went back to the cabstand every morning, and most days Rashid had packages for him to deliver. Some days he had two or three. But he wasn’t paying Hadi as much as he had at first. He would pay him at the end of the day, and it was never the same rate. One day he would give him ten thousand lira after he passed along three packages, but another day it would be only five thousand. Once he paid him nothing and told Hadi that he didn’t like his attitude, that he wasn’t as friendly as he had been.
Hadi was starting to recognize the people who passed by him south to north each day, and more of them were buying gum from him. The better weather also helped. So if he picked up an extra five thousand or more from Rashid, along with a good tip from the person who accepted the package, he was reporting more good days to Baba, and Baba showed no signs that he suspected what he was doing. On days when Hadi took in too much money, he tucked some in his shoe, then brought it out on slower days. Bringing home a similar amount each day made the whole family more comfortable.
But Hadi was more on edge than ever. He was afraid he would be caught, afraid what that would mean for his family, and afraid that if he made a mistake with Rashid, his family’s lives would be in danger. He also worried that Malek would see what was going on and think less of him. Samir was nearby all the time too, and Hadi feared that the man had seen him hand packages to people.
Each time he worried about his risk, though, he thought of the medicine he had been able to buy for Mama. She had recovered from her infection, and with improved weather she was taking the children outside now and then. Most important, Hadi was bringing home enough money to buy more groceries than the family had had for a long time, and that relieved Mama’s biggest concern. He could see new light in her eyes these days. She talked more, laughed at times, and she was dealing better with Aliya. But Aliya was happier, too, and so were all the kids. So much of the tension everyone had felt all winter was letting up. Baba was more changed than anyone, with so much burden lifted off him.
In spite of all this, Hadi wished that he had never crossed the street, that he was still working with Malek, laughing with him, talking about the things they wanted to do someday. He still sneaked across the street to Malek long enough to get help with a few words he couldn’t figure out himself, but he could never stay more than a minute or two. Hadi’s reading skills were improving fast, and he was getting additional help from his father. The electricity was going off quite often, but the sun was up longer. That made reading at home easier. And he was still thinking that if circumstances continued to improve, maybe he and Malek could start going to school, the way they had talked about.
One morning in late March, when Rashid had driven off with a fare, Hadi hurried across the street and stood next to Malek on his corner. “I wrote down some words I want you to help me with,” he said, “but first I want to talk to you about something in my book.”
“Okay. What’s that?”
He held his book out to Malek and said, “Read this part right here. It’s the part we read a long time ago. But I’ve been thinking more about what it might mean.”
Hadi had wanted to tell Malek all the things that had been going through his head. Each night, after the electricity went off, Hadi had lots of time to think, and he often found himself wondering about the ideas he had come across. The more he read, the more he understood, and he felt that something was right about what the author was saying. Gibran thought people should live in peace and treat others with kindness. The world Hadi saw every day was hectic, the drivers at the intersection all fighting a kind of battle. And the shouting and honking he heard sounded like hatred. Hadi didn’t want to live in a world like that. He didn’t want anyone to hate him, and he didn’t want to hate. He had found a friend in Malek, and now they rarely talked. He didn’t want to give up the promises they had made to each other.
Lately, when he arrived at the intersection, if Rashid was not there yet, Hadi walked up the hill and said hello to Amir, who was usually at the garbage pile first thing in the morning. But after he greeted Amir, he walked a few paces beyond the garbage. A flower tree like one he had known in Syria was in full blossom now, brilliant pink. He just liked to look at it as often as he could. It was his best memory of Syria. He wished at times that he could go back and see if the one in Aleppo was still alive, but Hadi knew what the neighborhood would look like. It was all rubble now, and everyone wa
s gone. Little Marwa was buried somewhere, and Mohammad and his other friends had all moved away. He liked to think that Mohammad was all right now, that he didn’t think about Marwa too much. And the tree, too, that he and Baba had tried to save—he hoped it was blossoming in the spring.
Malek read the sentences Hadi was pointing to: “ ‘You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.’ ” Then he said, “Sure I remember that. What are you thinking about it?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t really have any possessions.”
“Sure you do. Clothes. Shoes. Your book.”
“Well, yes. And I have big ears. They’ll be mine forever.”
“Just don’t put them down somewhere and forget where you left them.”
Hadi rolled his eyes, but he was glad Malek was making dumb jokes again. And with the good weather, he was making more money on his side of the street. He had told Hadi that Kamal hadn’t been so harsh with him lately.
“Here’s what I was thinking about last night,” Hadi said. He pointed up the street. “See Amir up there sorting the garbage?”
“Sure.”
“I walk up there and say hello to him almost every day. And when he sees me, he says hello, and he calls me Hadi. I shake hands with him no matter how dirty he is.”
“That’s good,” Malek said.
“I know. But I never thought of doing that until you did it. You changed me. You gave me ‘yourself.’ ” Hadi was embarrassed now that he had said the words, but in the dark, the night before, he had wanted to tell Malek that he appreciated him. He had watched Malek become less sure of himself and his future, and he wanted him to know that he should be satisfied with the kind of person he was.
Malek shrugged. And then he laughed. “Be careful,” he said, “or you’ll also pick up my bad habits. My mother says I brag too much.” He pushed his hands into his pants pockets, stood still for a time, and watched the moving traffic. “Hadi, you’re getting to be like the guy who wrote that book: a philosopher. I think I’m the one who can learn from you now.”
“Not really,” Hadi said. “It just seems like that’s why people need friends: to give some of themselves to each other.”
“But that’s what you did when you told me we might be able to figure out a way to go to school,” Malek said. “I don’t know if we can do it, but it’s given me something to hope for again.”
Hadi knew he had to get back to his side of the street, but he hesitated. His few minutes with Malek were the best of his day, every day. He gave Malek his list of words and told him they could study them together later. And then he said, “So let’s keep thinking that we can start school—maybe in the fall.”
“Okay. But I still don’t think my father will let me do it. Our savings are almost gone. He’s at least started trying harder to find work, but everyone turns him down. My brothers and I are doing better, but we still don’t bring in as much as we need. I don’t see how I can ask to leave my corner, even if it’s just a couple of hours earlier.”
“So what are you going to do? Move to a different apartment somewhere?”
“Yes. I think so.” But then he lifted his head. “My father brought some of his engineering books with him. I’ve been reading them at night. I probably only understand them about as well as you do your book, but at least I feel like I’m doing something.”
The cars had stopped now, but still Malek didn’t step off the curb. It was such a nice morning, with only a few bumpy clouds in a bright sky, and somewhere, not too far away, a rooster was crowing. The bird didn’t seem to understand about crowing when the sun came up. Hadi, for a long time, had heard it setting up a racket in spurts all day. But he had always liked hearing it. He could shut his eyes and think he was in the country somewhere, maybe on a farm. He knew very little about farms, but he liked to imagine a peaceful place where there were no car horns and nothing to sell, nothing to worry about.
“Maybe your father can sell things on the street, like my father,” Hadi said. “That would mean four of you bringing in money, not just three.”
“He won’t do it, Hadi. He says it would be a shame to him to do what we do. My mother is disgusted with him. They started yelling at each other last night.” Malek looked at the cars, but he had waited too long; the traffic would soon start to move again.
“My mother is feeling better,” Hadi said. “But I doubt she’ll ever be like she was when we were home and she had her family nearby. But she keeps going, doing what she has to do, and she’s trying harder now to make things as good as she can.”
But Hadi had come across the street to lift Malek, help him feel a little better. He didn’t want to leave with the mood so somber again. “Malek, I’ve been earning some extra money lately. I could share some of it with you, and you could start taking more home. Your father might feel better if that happened.”
“What do you mean, ‘extra’ money?”
“I do things for the cabbies sometimes. I get cigarettes or food for them. Or I deliver things for them. It’s because I’m on that side of the street.”
Malek took a long look at Hadi, but the cars had stopped again, so he walked back onto the street. Hadi knew he should cross over now, but instead he waited for Malek’s answer about the money.
When Malek came back, Hadi said, “When I have a good day, I keep some of the money, so I can maybe make up for a bad day later. That way my mother isn’t disappointed with what I bring home. Come with me for a minute.” He walked behind the wall, and Malek followed. Hadi leaned against the wall and took off one of his shoes. He pulled out the bills that he had stuck there, and he held out ten thousand lira. “Here,” he said. “Take this much for today.”
Malek looked shocked. He stared at Hadi and didn’t take the money. “It’s what I’ve worried about,” he finally said.
“What?”
“Drugs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I see guys stop sometimes, and you give them little boxes. Rashid has you selling drugs.”
“No. I don’t sell drugs. Rashid asks me to hand over those boxes to friends of his who stop by. That’s all.”
“Don’t be stupid, Hadi. It’s drugs. You know it is.”
Hadi looked past Malek. He could see Samir in the street, waving his arms, directing people who had driven into the intersection after the light had changed. The honking had suddenly gone crazy. Sometimes Hadi wished he could run—just set out running and get as far away from this corner as possible. He hadn’t known that it could ever be such a trap to him. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s drugs. But I don’t sell them. I never see them. Rashid just has me pass the boxes to people.”
“You can’t do that, Hadi. Do you know what drugs do to people? My brother had a friend who—”
“I know, Malek. I know drugs are bad for people. But what else am I supposed to do? I don’t get people started on drugs. I just hand them over—and those people are going to buy them anyway, no matter who delivers them. This world with its bombs and hatred and unfairness decided to make every day of our lives miserable. All I’m doing is fighting back.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious. And I’ll tell you what else. Rashid might know someone who needs a boy to make deliveries. You should find out if you can do the same thing. If we’re ever going to get back into school, we need money—and this is a way we can get what we need.”
“That makes me sick, Hadi. I’m lowering myself to stand on this corner every day and beg people to buy my tissues, but I won’t ever sell drugs. You call it ‘delivering,’ not selling, but you help the sale happen. You’re part of the drug deal. That’s wrong and you know it.”
“Fine. You’re better than I am. But don’t ever ask me for money again.”
“I didn’t ask you for money.”
Hadi hardly knew what he was saying. But he didn’t want to be accused. And strangely, he was abou
t to cry, which above all, he didn’t want to do. Without saying goodbye, he strode into the traffic, set off a blast of horns, and hurried to his side of the street.
When he reached the cabstand, he saw the cabbies looking at him, so he walked to his curb and began going from car to car. And he mumbled to himself, “I saved my mother with that money. And I’m feeding my family. Malek can act like he’s better than me, but he’ll be out in the street one of these days.”
Tears had begun to run down Hadi’s face. He wiped them away and kept going, stopping at each car, holding out the boxes. And then suddenly, when a man told him to leave him alone, Hadi threw all four boxes in the man’s face and walked away.
He was sick of all this, tired beyond belief, ashamed that he was now a drug dealer, and more than anything, alone. He no longer had a friend.
11
Rashid was angry when Hadi left the cars and walked back to the corner by the cabstand. “You were across the street again,” he yelled at Hadi. “What were you doing over there?”
Hadi was in no mood to talk to Rashid, and he didn’t want him to see that he had been shedding tears. He looked down, didn’t say anything.
“I told you not to go over there. That boy is not your friend. He took your corner.” He waited, but Hadi still didn’t respond. Rashid lowered his voice, but it remained full of anger. “I have a package for you to deliver today. But I’m paying you nothing for doing it. If my friend gives you something, you can keep that, but I’m tired of you wandering off.”
Hadi really didn’t care. He was in a trap he couldn’t pull himself out of, and now he had lost his hope of teaming with Malek to make things better. It seemed nothing but foolishness that he had convinced himself anything would change.
The next couple of days were agonizing for Hadi. He watched Malek, but Malek was careful not to look back at him. Hadi thought of walking over and saying he was sorry, but then what? Could he promise that he would stop delivering the boxes? He could only do that if he tried to escape to some other part of town, away from Rashid. But that meant all the problems his family had faced would return, and he couldn’t let that happen. But now, with Rashid paying him less, he would soon run out of the money he had been hiding away. The results might end up the same.
