Glass Collector

by Anna Perera

  Wiping fatty kebab juices from his lips, Aaron takes the other rose-colored bottle from his pocket. He sniffs the rich scent, which is now mixed with the strong smell of onions on his fingers. To get rid of the onion smell, he rubs his hand on his dusty jeans and thrusts the bottle at a veiled woman with beautiful eyes.

  “Very cheap price.”

  She shakes her head and hurries past. An hour later Aaron’s still leaning against the prickly wall, offering the same bottle to everyone in his path, but by now the rose bottle is covered in grease stains from his filthy hands and looks cheap and nasty, despite the gold netting.

  Clutching the plastic bag of kebabs, Aaron’s relieved to get a lift home to Mokattam on the Mebaj brothers’ cart. As he gazes at the dozens of desperate families clearing and sorting garbage, even the foul smell of rotting vegetables and rat-infested hovels is a tonic after the stress of trying to sell perfume on the hot, noisy streets of Cairo. Seeing all those people rushing everywhere has given him a headache. At least it’s quiet in Mokattam. Quiet until Shareen starts screaming. “Stop it. Go away!” Slumped on a pile of paper, she’s yelling at Lijah, who’s leaning over her with a cheeky grin on his face.

  “Come off it. Everyone knows you’d rather be with me than with Daniel.”

  Lijah presses his face closer to Shareen and cracks up laughing when she elbows him in the stomach.

  “Try again,” he squeaks, doubled up. “That didn’t hurt.”

  “Tell him to leave me alone,” Shareen calls to Joseph as Aaron jumps from the cart, swinging the bag of kebabs. But Joseph grins at his brother and they look at Lijah with an eerie respect as the pony clops past them.

  “I’ve got the best kebabs,” Aaron says, hoping the food will tempt Lijah to stop tormenting Shareen.

  “Have you got a spare one for me?” Abe appears from behind, kicking his ball in the air.

  “You can have half of mine,” Aaron whispers. “I’ve already had a whole one.” He rips a meat-dripping pita in two and hands the larger half to Abe, who grabs it with both hands.

  “Get your mother to kill that pig and you’ll have plenty to eat. Why does she keep it?” Lijah asks, turning to Abe.

  Suddenly someone shouts, “He’s here,” and a feeling of expectation flashes across Aaron’s face. A few seconds later the lane’s crammed with desperate men, women, and children, gathering to watch the merchant rumble his huge truck over the unmade path like a minesweeper. The owner of two factories, Faisal makes a fortune from selling recycled material.

  Aaron doesn’t stay to watch the haggling that’s about to take place as the merchant moans and groans his fat way into paying the smallest amount he can for the paper, metal, and glass they’ve sweated to collect and sort. The sound of arguing follows Aaron as he slips away from Abe and the stepfamily and dashes through the crowd, down the lane toward the church. Everyone he meets is heading the other way to see what the merchant’s paying out, so by the time he reaches the wide walkway it’s empty.

  The faint smell of flowers takes over as Aaron sits on the brick wall to rest under the wide sky and blasting sunshine, happy to watch the pigeons. Happy to be near the blossoming bushes, clean paths, and high frescoes on the limestone walls. Away from the chaos, filth, and decay of the nearby hovels. It’s so quiet, it feels as if the world has ended. He’d like to curl up and fall asleep here, but before too long people will start walking this way after selling their trash to go to church and give thanks, and he must decide what to do with the stolen bottles. He could dig another hole, several holes, but in time someone’s bound to notice.

  Scooping out the pale earth quickly with his fingers, Aaron rescues all the bottles but one from their small grave and tucks them inside the elastic waist of his jeans. He leaves one of the small rose-colored bottles behind because he likes the idea of someone discovering it in the future and wondering how it got there. The bottles next to his skin are warm and smooth, apart from a few scratchy crumbs of soil, and as he hurries past the church he’s glad that Hosi’s old shirt hangs almost to his knees. There’s one other safe place to bury them—the pigpens.

  Struggling up from a long sleep, the smallest pig is curious enough to trot over and nose him, while the rest grunt, blinking flies from their eyes. Aaron resists the urge to jump over the makeshift fence and pet each one, telling them what he’s got. With a loud snort, the smallest pig thrusts his wet nose at the sky and drools.

  Aaron moves the bottles from the waist of his jeans to his pockets, then fills the water trough and watches the little one drink from it greedily. “A bit of rose oil on your ears is what you need.” He whips out a bottle and waves it in the air. “Not that you don’t already smell nice, if you know what I mean.” Although he is tempted to sprinkle a few drops on the prickly skin and sniff the difference it makes, Aaron realizes that it would be a waste of perfume, considering the place stinks to high heaven of steaming dung. And anyway, time’s running out.

  Behind the rickety shelter is an upside-down, moldy white plastic tub that’s been there for years. There’s no reason for anyone to come around here, so it’s the perfect place to hide the bottles and easy to lift out chunks of earth and pack the bottles in tightly. Feeling pleased with himself for choosing this spot, he stamps the earth flat, then manages to pops the plastic tub on top before hearing a flapping sound coming from the fence in front. Aaron peers through a gap in the shelter and his eyes narrow in fear at the sight of Shareen running away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reputation

  Aaron bites his lip. Was Shareen there all the time, watching him? That’s what he thought at the church and she hadn’t seen a thing. But this feels different. He hesitates. Should he dig up the bottles and take them somewhere else? Then run the risk of being caught red-handed? He could hide and hope she won’t grass him up? But he knows she will. She’s bound to. Shareen loves drama and telling on him will put her at the center of another good story. Now even the pigs have gone quiet and the sun has dimmed.

  Before Aaron has time to decide what to do, Shareen and the priest are upon him. Father Peter is the youngest member of the church and his pale, nervous face is a good cover for his strong-willed nature. Dressed in black robes with a white collar, he’s so eager to do what’s right that he tends to overdo everything. When he spots Aaron, he crosses himself as if looking at the devil. Meanwhile, Shareen, who’s hovering in the background, has a satisfied grin on her face.

  “Stealing isn’t something we do in Mokattam,” Father Peter says. “You must take the bottles back.”

  “What bottles?” It was worth a try.

  “You think no one knows about you, Aaron?” Shareen says.

  It’s an empty question but one that changes his life for a long time to come. Within minutes the priest and Shareen have dug up all the bottles and a small crowd of people are rushing over to watch the action. At the front are Hosi, Lijah, and Youssa, their faces bursting with fury. Rachel’s standing to one side, looking disappointed.

  While the priest takes in the situation, Aaron gazes at Rachel. Gazes so hard she turns away, embarrassed.

  “They’re from Omar’s perfume shop,” Lijah tells Father Peter, who nods and pockets them in the folds of his black robe.

  “I want to talk to you tomorrow,” the priest says to Aaron. “Let your conscience be your guide until then.”

  Conscience? What conscience? Aaron nods but there’s a part of him that doesn’t care one bit what the priest or almost anyone thinks. It’s Rachel’s sad, then disappointed glance that’s carving a hole in his heart. When Aaron finally looks up, one of the elders catches his gaze. The man’s stern eyes are filled with disgust and the same eerie hate is visible in everyone surrounding him. It’s then that the seriousness of the situation sinks in and a bubble of fear wells up inside Aaron.

  They’re waiting for him to react.

  In addition to remaining silent, braving their contempt, and trying to hold his ground, an itch breaks out o
n the back of Aaron’s neck that he dares not scratch. It distracts him as he stares into the distance with his hands in his pockets. Not moving is a way of not really being here and though at least twenty people are standing close by and staring at him, it feels as if there’s an empty, throbbing space the size of an ocean between him and them.

  Not until one of the women shakes her head, as if to say he’s a lost cause, does their interest in him finally fade. People begin to mutter and turn away. Aaron quietly sighs, but when the crowd thins to just his stepfamily and Shareen, even he’s shocked by what happens next.

  “You’ve cost me my reputation. Stay away from my family,” Hosi says. “You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

  The word family falls on Aaron like a heavy weight as he watches Hosi walk away, followed by Youssa, who is sneering at him as if he’s a worm. Aaron’s heart sinks. They were happy to eat the cake that was obviously stolen. The liver, rice, and kebabs he bought were paid for with stolen goods. Hosi didn’t ask how he managed to buy the food. He’s only angry because everyone knows about the stolen bottles and he’s pretending to be more honest than he actually is. Today is supposed to be a good day. Faisal the merchant has paid for the sorted trash.

  Everyone has money for food. Aaron took the rug and lamp he stole back to the shop and meant to leave the perfumes there too, and this is his reward. Thanks, God!

  He’s homeless. Despised. Finished. Doomed. All thanks to Shareen.

  And Lijah isn’t done with him yet. In one sharp move, he turns and spits in Aaron’s face.

  Aaron crouches as Lijah begins to bust him apart, until Shareen drags Lijah off, hauling him backwards down the path by his shirt, which he enjoys. She’s yelling and screaming as if this is all Lijah’s fault, not hers, and he’s twisting, jumping, ducking, and diving. Still finding time to blow her kisses with his mean lips.

  When the sound of her high voice eventually disappears, Aaron uncurls from his crumpled heap on the stinking, hard ground. There’s a pain in his shoulder blade, another in his belly, and as he opens his eyes to the state he’s in, the same rickety shelter greets him. Instantly, a black hole of self-hatred and bitterness opens up inside. Why didn’t he just leave the perfumes where they were—under the wall? Why did he take more? Brushing dirt from his arms and knees, Aaron looks up to see Abe watching him from the pigpen fence, his gray football tucked under his arm.

  “You could stay on my floor, but the pig takes up most of the room,” Abe jokes.

  “It’s OK.”

  A familiar thought flicks through Aaron’s mind: He doesn’t fit here. Why should he not have a home or somewhere to go like everyone else? He’s seen the way real families talk, with the same expressions and instant understanding. People who share blood have a kind of secret language. A language that’s been missing since his mother died.

  A panting slope of pig appears and begins nuzzling the fence. Aaron’s aching all over but if the pigs can grow fat and strong eating congealed crud while living in their own dung, so can he. There’s a sharp edge to this thought, but as Aaron heads to the tap to wash his face and hands and soak his feet in the cool water, the nasty pain in his stomach returns. With it the confidence of being able to survive on his own disappears as quickly as it came. He’s had it now and he knows it.

  Abe points to the oldest pig with the dirtiest snout. “This morning I saw its friend being roasted for Shareen’s party tonight.”

  “Yeah?”

  Aaron stares at the old pig with sympathy. The thought of its friend roasting on a spit over a charcoal fire squeezes his heart. The horror of life comes home to him as he imagines the pig’s bones picked clean of meat. All that will be left of it in a few hours’ time.

  In his heart Aaron knows he deserves to be shunned and humiliated. He’s broken the basic moral code of their community: “Strive to do your best even in the worst conditions. Don’t steal. Don’t harm. Don’t lie.” That’s why Rachel hates him now.

  As Aaron sinks his head back under the tap, the lack of anywhere to sleep or any idea of what to do now that he can’t go glass collecting almost makes his heart stop. He’s lost his place in the community. His stepfamily wants nothing to do with him and, though he doesn’t like any of them, they’re all the family he has. Aaron’s fears are so many and so awesome, he laughs—a short, sharp, silly laugh—but after that a deep feeling of shame spreads over him, followed by a shattering hopelessness. Now there’s nothing else to lose. He’ll never again have to answer to anyone.

  With the sound of Abe slapping the soccer ball from hand to hand and water trickling down the short sleeves of his tattered shirt, Aaron lifts his head from the tap, shakes his hair, and steps out of the puddle of water to look at the darkening sky. When he glances back toward Abe he’s amazed to see the glowing figure of Rachel in a blue galabeya with a folded warm bread in her hand.

  She came back!

  Aaron splutters the first thing that comes to mind. “I didn’t kill the pony.” He can’t face mentioning the stolen perfumes.

  “Who said you did?” Rachel frowns.

  Like a book that keeps falling open on the wrong page, Aaron is suddenly dumbstruck when she hands him the warm bread smelling of cumin and coriander.

  “Thanks,” he manages to say, aware that on one of the worst days of his life, he’s eaten one and a half massive kebabs and now this, and will be filling up with more food at the party—if he’s allowed to go.

  Aaron’s so touched by Rachel’s thoughtfulness, his eyes start to water and he turns away to put his face back together. “I’ve got to help my father,” Rachel says, then walks off as Aaron squints again to look at her. He’s missed his moment once more.

  “You can have this.” Aaron says to Abe.

  With nothing to do but wait for the dreaded party to begin, Aaron knows he’s in a two-way bind. If he doesn’t go it will prove he’s not willing to make the effort to change and take part in the community, but if he does he’ll be treated as an outcast and ignored by everyone, though he will get the chance to see Rachel again. An hour later Aaron still doesn’t know what to do. Sitting on the wall by the church with Abe, he watches the sun slide from the horizon, leaving a blaze of orange streaks behind. Soon a gloomy twilight sets in. Once upon a time Aaron didn’t have a clue about twilight, but then he’d overheard Omar tell a customer it’s when a door opens up between day and night. When the veil between this world and the other is at its thinnest and spirits are most easily seen. It could be a joke, but even the priest said it was a good time to pray. Perhaps he should pray for an answer to the party question.

  Aaron stares into the fading light for a moment, but no spirit appears to talk to him. Perhaps he should just go to the party and try to keep out of everyone’s way, then see what happens. Didn’t Omar once say that what you intend to do is as important as what you actually do?

  Before the darkness takes over, Aaron watches the lengthening shadows and makes up his mind to face the music. He’s going to have to one day, so it might as well be tonight, when everyone will be wondering if he’s got the guts to come. As a shiver runs down his spine at the thought of the disappointed stares he’s going to have to suffer, the overpowering twilight closes in like a thousand demons who are determined to spook him. But instead of strange spirits, it’s Abe who surprises him.

  “It must be weird being see-through,” Abe suddenly pipes up.

  “What?”

  “Those clear moon jellyfish, how do they feel?” Abe says.

  “They’re blobs—nothing. They just blob around,” Aaron says, sighing.

  “But they swim and eat and lock their tentacles together. That’s not blobbing. Pretending to be a blob is kind of good anyway, because then tuna and sharks swim right past instead of eating you up.”

  Aaron nods, standing up to stretch his legs and cock an ear to the sound of music starting in the distance. It’s almost night, he’s covered in bruises, has nowhere to sleep, no means of earni
ng a living, and they’re chatting about jellyfish.

  “Fish eat fish eat fish. Can’t be tasty, can it?” Abe pipes up.

  “No,” Aaron agrees, if only to shut him up, although he smiles in the darkness.

  The ball bounces from Abe’s lap and rolls down the walkway to the wide-open space in front of the church, coming to a stop by the concrete table and benches where two families are chatting. One of the kids has a dragging foot, but he rushes to grab the ball and throw it into the air. The church lights flicker to life as he passes the ball back to Abe, and Aaron can’t hide his irritation as he waits for the boys to stop throwing it around. He doesn’t want to arrive at the party on his own, so he has to hang around until Abe’s finished playing. With sad eyes, the disabled kid’s mother is someone he recognizes. Her daughter was given up at birth; sold to make ends meet. Her black galabeya is as wide as a tent and she sits nervously on the edge of the bench, watching her son try to kick the ball with one working foot and the other lagging behind him.

  Nearby, a few of the elders are huddled together, talking quietly. One of them looks at Aaron and frowns. The others dismiss him with a brief glance.

  Aaron turns away, embarrassed, and hears one of them say, “If they cull our pigs because of swine flu the heaps of garbage will finish Cairo off before that virus.”

  “Why kill all the pigs when nobody here has had swine flu?” another man mutters.

  They’re talking about the pigs, not Aaron, but their anger feels directed at him.

  “Come on, Abe,” Aaron says, walking off down the dusty path heading toward the community room where the party’s taking place.