by Dean Hughes
All Hadi could think was that he had finally found a good friend, had promised to be friends forever, and then he had let his friend down. But when Hadi’s life had been in danger, Malek had taken on Kamal and sacrificed his own safety. Now Hadi was hiding out, staying away, doing nothing to keep his promise. It was hard to imagine how he could do anything worse, and yet he had no idea what he could do to intercede for Malek.
The day seemed unusually long with such fears and thoughts running through Hadi’s head. When he looked across the street, he could see how dejected Khaled was—no longer as frightened as before, but tired and sad. Hadi nodded to him now and then, and when the traffic let up, he would call to him, “You’re doing a good job, Khaled!” Baba also came by a couple of times, and Hadi saw him talking to Khaled, probably encouraging him and no doubt telling him to keep stopping people, no matter how tired he was.
“When can we go home?” Khaled eventually yelled to Hadi.
“A little while yet,” Hadi called back, but then, feeling sorry for his brother, “but not too long.”
Finally, when the sun was angling low, Hadi walked across the street and asked Khaled how he had done. When they added up Khaled’s coins, they found that he had taken in 5,750 pounds, but that included the 3,000 the nice woman had given him. Hadi had received more, but that counted the 10,000 the other young woman had given them. So the two together had done all right. The only trouble was, those two women had provided more than half their money, and Hadi and Khaled weren’t likely to run into very many like them in the coming days.
When Baba arrived, he said that he had not done well at all. “I spent quite a while trying to find a source for items to sell,” he said. “But when I asked people on the street where they got their sale items, some of them told me there were too many vendors on the street already. One man told me to stay away from him or he would report me.”
“Who would he report you to?” Khaled asked. “The police?”
“No. There are men here who think they’re in charge of everything.” But he didn’t explain beyond that. Maybe it was all he wanted Khaled to know, for now.
It was on the bus, on the way home, when Khaled had fallen asleep sitting in the middle but leaning against Hadi’s shoulder, that Baba whispered to Hadi, “That man on the street told me I was pushing into territory where I don’t belong. He said I was taking the chance of getting myself cut to pieces. Those were his words: ‘cut to pieces.’ ”
“What about begging?” Hadi asked. “Do you think they care about that?”
“Probably. But if we stay off Hamra Street, I don’t think they pay as much attention. The problem for me is, when I tried asking people for money, I got called more dirty names than I’ve ever heard before. I’ve got to find something I can sell.”
“I’m sorry,” Hadi said.
“Sorry for what?”
The gloom he had felt all day darkened as he heard what Baba was dealing with. The sun was going down, and Hadi felt as though he was sinking, too, that he had dug a hole he and his family could never climb from. “Sorry that I got us into trouble,” he said, “and we had to leave our corners.”
“We can’t think about that now. We just have to figure out how we can get by from now on.”
Hadi looked out the window. The sea was blue and beautiful, and people were strolling on the sidewalk by the seawall. They were living their lives. Maybe some were on vacation and others were on their way home from work. All Hadi knew was that they looked satisfied. He wondered if any of them ever appreciated what they had, knew how badly he wanted to feel the way they did.
15
When Hadi, Baba, and Khaled arrived home, Hadi could see that Mama was upset. She was kneeling on the floor when they came in, but she stood immediately. “Rabia is sick,” she said. “We have to do something.” Rabia, wearing only underwear, was lying on a blanket. “She’s been vomiting all day, and she has a fever—a high fever. I’m trying to keep her cool, but she’s very hot. She needs a doctor. She needs medicine.”
Hadi could see that Baba wasn’t sure what to say. This was one more thing he hadn’t needed. “Children get sick sometimes,” he said. “We can’t go to a doctor every time. She’ll be better by tomorrow—or the next day.”
“Come here. Touch her head,” Mama said. “She’s very sick.”
Baba walked to her, knelt by Rabia, and touched the back of his hand to her forehead. Then he bowed his head, seemed to think things over. “We didn’t come home with very much money tonight. Things didn’t go as well as we hoped they would.”
“Why did you try Hamra? Why change when you were doing so well?” Hadi heard frustration, even anger, in Mama’s voice.
“I’m sorry. We hope to do better. But it’s the right thing for now.” He touched Rabia’s head again. “I don’t think she’s in any danger,” he said. “Let’s see how she’s doing in the morning.”
Hadi heard his father’s sorrow. His words sounded reasonable, but Hadi knew he would rather have sought help for Rabia. He was surely saying to himself, My daughter needs to see a doctor and I can’t help her. But every day he had to measure what he had against the need for food. He didn’t make decisions; his decisions were made for him.
* * *
Over the next two days, things got worse. Hadi and Khaled met no nice students who wanted to help them. They received coins, for the most part, and not nearly enough of them. Baba did even worse. Hadi took five thousand pounds from his shoe each day, and that made things seem a little better than they really were, but he knew at this rate his money would be gone before long, and now they had no fruit or vegetables from Garo.
Rabia was getting worse, not better. Hadi hoped the fever would soon be gone, but she wasn’t herself. She merely lay on her blankets, her eyes looking distant.
“How are you feeling?” Baba asked her when they got home on the second night.
Rabia didn’t answer for a time, but she finally said, “Sick.”
“Did you eat anything today?”
It was Mama who answered. “She tried. But everything came back up. I’m worried what will happen if she can’t start eating—or at least holding some water down. And she’s burning up. Feel her.”
Baba touched her head again, and Hadi saw his reaction. He shut his eyes, looked grieved. “She’s worse,” he said.
Hadi watched Baba’s eyes go shut and knew he was trying to think what to do. “We don’t have money for a doctor—or for medicine—but I’ll go see the woman at the charity office and find out if she knows someone who can help us.”
Mama said, “Take Rabia with you and—”
“Not yet. I don’t want to carry her down there and find out there’s no one willing do anything for us. But I’ll hurry back. Just give me a few minutes.”
When Baba stepped into the hallway and shut the door, the room was silent except for Rabia’s heavy, ragged breathing. And by then Mama had begun to cry, just softly.
Baba returned in ten minutes or so, although it seemed much longer. He walked quickly to Rabia, at the same time saying, “The woman at the charity office told me about a hospital that doesn’t turn sick people down—even refugees. It’s not too far from Cola.”
“But how can you get her there?”
Baba knelt by Rabia again. “I don’t know. It’s too far to carry her.”
“Is there a bus that goes that way?” Mama asked.
“Yes, I think so. But I don’t see how—”
“Baba,” Hadi said, “I still have some money in my shoe. It’s enough to pay for a taxi.”
“Money in your shoe?” Mama asked. “What do you mean?”
Hadi didn’t explain, nor did Baba. “We’ll have to use your money,” Baba said. “We can’t take her on a bus.” He didn’t dress Rabia; he merely wrapped her in the blanket she was lying on, then picked her up.
“The blanket’s too hot,” Mama said.
“I know,” Baba said. “I’ll open it on the way.” An
d then he looked at Hadi. “Run to the corner, find a taxi.”
“All right,” Hadi said. He hurried to the door and hopped down the stairs two at a time even in the dark. When he got to the street below, he turned and ran to a busier street to the north, where taxis often stopped on the corner. He spotted one, ran to it, and pulled open the back door. “My father is coming,” he told the driver. “Wait for him.”
“But have you any money?”
“Yes, I have money.”
“Let me see it.”
Hadi raised his foot and jerked his shoe off, then pulled his money out. He showed the taxi driver the folded bills. But he didn’t know the name of the hospital or how far away it was. “Just wait.”
By then Baba was there. “Do you know the Makassed General Hospital?” he called out when he was still several steps away.
“Yes. Of course. But let me see how much money that is.”
Hadi fanned out the bills. “Just get in, Hadi,” Baba was saying, and he nudged Hadi toward the back door.
The driver nodded, mumbled that it was enough, and then he took off fast and wove through the traffic. Hadi didn’t think he was hurrying because of Rabia, but only because that was how cabbies drove. All the same, Hadi was glad to be moving at a good pace. Rabia was moaning.
Baba opened the blanket to give her air, and then he touched her cheek. “We’re getting you some help, little one,” he told her.
It didn’t take long—maybe fifteen minutes—to reach the hospital, even in the busy traffic. Baba told the driver to stop at the emergency entrance and he got out quickly, leaving Hadi to pay the fare. Hadi paid the man, even though the price seemed much too high: fifteen thousand pounds.
Hadi hurried inside, but what he saw was a throng of people filling up the waiting room, most of them standing because there were not enough chairs. “Hold her for a minute,” Baba told Hadi. He handed Rabia to Hadi and then got in a line with four or five people in front of him.
Hadi held his sister, looked into her face. “It’s all right,” he told her. “You’ll get some medicine. You’ll feel better.” He wasn’t sure she was aware of the things going on around her, or whether she was awake enough to understand his words, but her eyes were now focused on Hadi’s face, and what he saw in those eyes was desperation. She was a pretty little girl, but she looked pale now, the skin around her eyes yellow, her lips almost blue. Her breathing had turned into a gurgle.
Hadi stood with her twenty minutes or so before Baba made it to the front of the line, and then, it seemed, almost as long talking to the woman at the window. When he finally came back to Hadi, he said, “They’ll look at her, maybe admit her if they have to, but they’ve run out of funding to treat her for free. I had some of my rent savings in my pocket, so I gave the woman ten thousand, but I had to promise to pay more later.”
“How can you do that?”
“I don’t know, Hadi. But her lungs sound terrible. We have to get help for her.”
“What about medicine? Do we have to pay for that?”
“They’ll give her what she needs, but they expect us to pay when we can. And I want to do that.”
“We have to get some money. Somehow.”
“I know. But let’s worry about Rabia for now. We’ll think about the rest later.”
Baba took Rabia back from Hadi into his own arms, and he held her and talked to her. “I love you, little one,” Hadi heard him say. “You’ll be better soon.”
But the words hurt Hadi. He was scared for his sister, but he also felt sorry for his father. Baba tried so hard, but nothing ever seemed to work out. The truth was, this illness, this expense, could put the whole family in the streets.
After a few minutes a nurse called out Baba’s name, and he followed the sturdy little woman to a curtained area with a bed inside. As Hadi stepped inside the curtain, the nurse told him, “You can’t be here. Sit down out there.” She pointed to the waiting area Hadi had just come from. She didn’t seem to realize that there were no seats. Hadi knew that she was way too busy, and probably tired, but he also noticed that she hadn’t spoken to other patients with the same impatience.
So Hadi stood in the waiting room, and after a time Baba walked out and said, “A doctor finally came in and listened to her lungs, but I’m not sure what he’s going to do. You might as well go out to the main lobby of the hospital and see if there’s a place to sit down. I’ll come out there when I know something.” So Hadi wandered out to a hallway and walked around until he found the lobby. There were a few soft seats, and he was relieved to drop into one. He needed to rest, but more than anything, he needed to shut out all the worry.
He leaned back and stared across the room. He could hear two people—a young couple—talking, discussing the payments they would have to make. He tried not to listen.
Hadi didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until he heard someone speak his name. He opened his eyes, saw a face he knew, but didn’t believe his own eyes for a moment. “Malek,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Here’s a better question. What are you doing here?”
“My little sister is sick. They told us this is the hospital that will take refugees.”
“That’s what the ambulance driver told me. That’s why I’m here.”
“What ambulance driver? What happened to you?”
A woman had been sitting in the big chair next to Hadi when he had first sat down, but she was gone now. Malek moved slowly to the empty chair and sat down carefully, not sliding back. His arm was in a sling, his head bandaged, and he was wearing hospital clothes: a bathrobe and slippers. “I’ve been here since the day Kamal beat up on you. Once you made it across the street, he didn’t try to run after you. He came back for me. He didn’t like that I helped you.”
“What did he do to you?”
“He knocked me down, but I jumped up and ran from him. I tried to do the same thing you did—run across the street—but I wasn’t so lucky as you were. I ran in front of a car, and I got hit.”
Hadi gasped. “Hit by a car? Where are you hurt?”
“Almost everywhere. I broke my arm and some of my ribs. I’m bruised all over.”
“What about your head?”
“It was cut open, and I had a concussion. I couldn’t think straight for a few days.”
“When are you going to go home?”
“Soon. The hospital doesn’t like to keep people very long. I can walk around on my own now, so I think they’ll kick me out tomorrow.”
Hadi didn’t like what he heard in Malek’s voice. He was trying to sound light and easy about everything, but pain, and maybe disappointment, was in his eyes. It seemed to Hadi that the car had broken more than his bones.
“How did you know I was out here?” Hadi asked.
“I didn’t. The nurse makes me walk, but I usually just stroll down the hallway. Tonight I decided to see what this hospital looks like. And then there you were. I didn’t believe it at first. I had to walk up close to you and have a good look.”
“Allah blessed us, Malek. I thought I would never see you again.”
“Yes. I believe that.” He looked more solemn than he ever had before. “I’ve wondered about you, Hadi. Did you have to go to a hospital?”
“No. Garo tied up the cut on my head and it healed pretty fast.”
“What about your back—where he kicked you?”
“It hurts, but not too bad. You’re a lot worse off than I am.”
“I’ll be all right.”
But Hadi was seeing something in Malek’s face. He had changed so much since he had first shown up on Hadi’s corner. His cheeks were drawn in, and his eyes seemed darker against his pale skin. But the real change was that he hadn’t smiled, not once.
“I’m sorry, Malek. You helped me get away, and then you paid for doing it.”
“I couldn’t let him keep kicking you, Hadi. I couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.”
“But I thought
you hated me—because of the drugs.”
“I didn’t like that you did that,” Malek said, and then he seemed to think for a time. “But it’s what you thought you had to do. I understand that.”
“It was wrong, though. You wouldn’t have done it.”
“We never know what we’ll do until we’re pushed to make a choice.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Last night I was trying to read my book. I read the part about crime and punishment. I don’t think I understood everything it was saying, but the idea was that when one guy does something wrong, we all do. I think he means that the whole world gets worse when even one person does a bad thing.”
Malek looked confused. “Do you believe that?”
“You said to me, ‘That’s wrong and you know it.’ And that was true. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. People can’t do that. The whole world turns into a mess if we do.”
Malek was looking carefully into Hadi’s eyes. “That’s right,” he finally said. “We can think of all kinds of reasons to do what’s wrong, but that never makes it right.”
“What’s going to happen now, Malek?” Hadi asked. “Will Kamal come after you again?”
“No. My father talked to him, and he said I could come back to the corner when I’m ready—as long as I work hard. I never told Baba that Kamal was chasing me when I got hit, but Samir knows what happened. He came to visit me, here at the hospital. He told me that he warned Kamal that he better leave me alone from now on.”
“I don’t think Kamal is afraid of Samir. If he gets his chance, he’ll come after both of us.”
“Maybe. But my father told Kamal that he was sure you would never come back—because of Rashid—and that I won’t cause him trouble again. Baba said that Kamal probably doesn’t want to lose my brothers. They’ve been bringing in more money since the weather got better, and they don’t cause him any trouble.”
Hadi didn’t know. Kamal could surely find other people to sell tissues, and he wouldn’t forget that Malek had shoved him away from Hadi and let him get away.
