The Water Thief

by Claire Hajaj

  Mister, he says to them: ‘You are fools. JoJo knows. Yes, Jalloh must pay in meat.’

  ‘We will do it after Mr Kamil’s iftar feast,’ Mister says, ‘the one to honour Nicholas and his well. The food is from Danjuma’s men. Danjuma himself, he cannot come. They watch him,’ Mister says. ‘The governor watches Danjuma. He knows his time is coming. But even the governor cannot watch every man.’ That is what Mister tells us, as we smoke. We are the secret that Danjuma keeps.

  I must go to the feast with Nicholas and Baba. These days he sleeps all the time. Even when he wakes, he is still sleeping.

  But today he woke up. He woke because the clock, it stopped.

  I notice it first. I am standing by the door, ready to leave for the iftar. But then I hear the silence. And I say: ‘Baba, the clock.’

  He goes to the clock and puts his hand against the wood. He is feeling for the heart, the way he does with people. He is listening with his hands.

  Mama comes into the room with her best clothes on. A long dress, blue with many colours. She is like a sky with birds flying all over her. Today I think she is beautiful. She smiles at me and takes my hand. She is a fool, like Juma. She sees nothing. But I take her hand anyway.

  Then Baba puts his back to the clock. And he says: ‘I do not want you there, Margaret.’

  Mama, she is surprised. She takes her hand from me. She says: ‘What is wrong?’

  Baba says: ‘I do not trust these men. It is my duty to go. But you must stay safe here, with Nagode. That is my wish.’

  Mama feels anger, I can tell. She says: ‘Aisha will go. I gave Nagode to Hanan already. I am here all day. I speak to no one.’

  Baba, he hits the clock. Bang! Not with a fist. His hand is open. He is standing in front of the clock and he hits it behind him, like he is hitting the wall. He shouts: ‘Obey my wish, Margaret. For God’s sake!’

  I never hear him shout. Not since Bako died. Mama, she takes a step back. She looks at Nicholas. He is silent.

  I want to scream at Baba: Look at them! Look at them! Can you not see? But I will keep my silence. He does not deserve to know. They are all the same as each other.

  Now Mama is very angry. But she will obey Baba. She turns around and goes into her room. Nicholas and me, we follow Baba out of the door. The clock, it says nothing.

  There is meat at the feast. Lamb, not goat. Danjuma’s gift. There is yellow rice and yams and buttermilk and flat bread to soak it. Men bring it to the mosque on trays from a van. They eat like dogs, Mr Kamil and Imam Abdi and all of them. They bend their heads over the food and it falls from their mouths.

  I want to eat, but I am not hungry. I smell the lamb. It smells alive still. It is the same size as that dog. The meat from our bones and the blood from our skin. This is all I can see. I want to leave this table. Leave this place. But I have nowhere to go.

  ‘Eat, Yahya.’ Baba is talking to me. ‘Eat. We may not see another meal like this one.’

  Nicholas, he says: ‘There is enough water in our well to irrigate all these fields for years to come. This meal is the first of many more, I promise.’

  Baba, he does not reply. But Mr Kamil, he hears, and he stands up. Everyone goes quiet. Tuesday, and Jalloh. Miss Amina. Everyone.

  Mr Kamil is still wearing his peacock clothes. He is smiling. He smiles like Akim. He says: ‘Nicholas. You came to us a stranger. But today you are part of our council and our family.’

  He says: ‘Allah knows best. The Qur’an teaches us that water belongs to Allah. Allah alone chooses where it flows, and Allah alone owns its supply. The drought has caused much suffering here. But adversity is Allah’s gift to the sinner, to make him humble. But when we return to Allah’s path, He rewards us. He sent Nicholas by His goodness, to restore His gift to us. So we thank you, Nicholas. Please.’

  Mr Kamil wants Nicholas to stand up and speak. Nicholas’ face is white. His snowman face. Today he looks like he is melting. He stands up and holds the table. His legs look weak.

  He speaks in a quiet voice: ‘I’m honoured to be here with you. I was a stranger once, but I don’t feel like one any more. I feel . . .’ Nicholas stops. He looks down. His voice sounds strange. I think of Adeya when the smoke took her voice, how she tried to cry but could not.

  Nicholas is speaking again: ‘I feel like I had to come a very long way from my birth home to find my real home. My own father – he was a local doctor, like . . . like Dr Ahmed. If something was wrong – with a person or with a system – he would always try to fix that. He was a good man who tried to teach me how to be like him. I was a bad student.’

  He stops again. He looks at Baba. Baba, he is staring at his plate. He stares like gold is there, not rice.

  Nicholas says: ‘I hope that no matter what else comes we have fixed something wrong here and made it right. I hope that some of our sorrows can now be forgotten and never repeated.’

  Nicholas looks as if he would say more. But now Mr Kamil is clapping, and Tuesday is following him. They clap their hands like birds beating the air when a cat comes near.

  Nicholas, he sits down. He looks at Baba, and his face is sad. I do not think Baba wants to see him. But Baba turns his head to Nicholas. He raises his can of Fanta. He says: ‘To your well, Nicholas.’

  Nicholas takes a can and touches it to Baba’s. He says, his voice very quiet: ‘To you.’

  The men who brought the food go home after dark, in their vans. I go home with Baba and Nicholas. They are talking now. They talk about nonsense. Nicholas is asking about Miss Amina and her foot. Baba is explaining to him why diabetes is bad for walking. They are not talking to each other. These are just words that mean nothing.

  At the house, all is silent. Mama must be sleeping.

  I say to Baba: ‘Will you fix the clock now?’

  He looks into the room, the silent room. I cross my fingers. If he goes to bed now, I can leave to join Mister. Then Baba drops his head. He says: ‘In the morning, Yahya.’

  When the house is quiet, I go.

  The darkness is full of shadows. Out by the well, there is one light alone. The shadows follow the light. I do not want to go there. The dog is there, with Bako and the thirsty spirits.

  We meet behind Tuesday’s shop, to smoke some bang cigarettes. The smoke makes me live again. I feel my heart. Before it was dead, like Baba’s clock. Now it beats so fast I cannot breathe.

  Then Mister gives Akim and Juma a big metal bar from the garage. The ones they use to tighten the wheels. I saw Juma using them many times. He puts four bottles on the bucket. The bottles are empty. They say Sun Beer on the label. But they smell of the spirits he uses for cleaning.

  Mister takes a can of oil from the floor. Juma holds a lighter above us, so we can see more clearly. Mister slaps his hand down. He says: ‘Take that away.’

  He pours oil into the bottles. It looks black, and smells like the bang cigarettes. I breathe it in until I feel dizzy.

  When he is done, he puts a small piece of cloth inside each bottle. He will have two and Juma another. Then he gives one to me. Akim, he looks at me. I know what he thinks. He does not want the metal bar any more. He wants the fire in his hands, like me.

  But Mister does not see Akim. He only looks at me. ‘Aim well, boss,’ he says.

  The night is different as we run. I am different. I do not fear the spirits. I feel the fire in my hand. Now I am one of them. I am the most dangerous one.

  There is Jalloh’s place. He has no goats left to warn him. There is only one dog. But when he sees us, he whines. ‘Run,’ I whisper, with the spirits. ‘Do not come back.’

  Jalloh sleeps above the shop. Baba has bought nothing from him for one month now. His shop is closed. But Jalloh is still fat. He still eats meat. So it is true what Mister says. He gives our secrets to the governor.

  There is no one to see us. Only one light, from the mosque. It makes us white, like Mister. Like we have all become spirits.

  ‘Go,’ says Mister. And so we go.
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  Juma breaks the window of the shop with his stick. The glass falls on the ground. Juma hits and hits until the hole is big. I see the hole swallow him. Then he is inside.

  ‘Come,’ Juma says.

  I am dizzy from the bang cigarettes. My heart is jumping inside me. It makes me laugh. The bottle in my hand shakes. Mister, he grabs my wrist. In the light, his skin looks like mine.

  ‘Be steady,’ he says to me.

  I try to stop my laughter. I look at him, at his white face. Like Nicholas.

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. He says: ‘Are you ready, boss?’ I nod.

  And so we go in. First Mister. Then Akim. Then it is my turn. Juma, he pulls me through the hole. Then we are inside.

  The room smells of old blood. There are two chairs and a table. The tiles are white. On the wall there are pictures of Jalloh and some old man and woman. He laughs in the picture. In the corner there is a television. It is new. The box lies beside it. Behind the television is a door.

  This is where the blood smell comes from. This is where Jalloh kills the goats and cuts them into pieces.

  The smell of blood makes me sick. But Juma and Mister have already started work. They take their sticks and break the pictures on the walls. They break the television. Juma opens the door to the blood room. Whatever is there, he will break it too.

  My heart is beating fast, too fast. Akim is beside me. His eyes are big. He holds the metal bar in his hand. But his face is tight, like it burns him.

  Then I hear it. Something is roaring, roaring – something hungry coming for us. Jalloh – he comes down the stairs, with his hands out. Like a bull, he comes for me.

  I throw my bottle. It misses him. He screams and kicks me. Akim, he is screaming too. The floor is slippery. I am falling.

  Then Mister is on Jalloh and Juma too. He is so strong – but the metal bars are stronger. His hands go over his head, and he screams. I cover my ears. Something comes up inside me. It comes into my mouth and I vomit on the floor.

  Jalloh is standing. I can see his feet. His arms reach towards Juma. Like he wants to eat him. I see white, white in his eyes. Juma is in the corner, with blood on his lip.

  Jalloh says: ‘I will kill you!’ His voice is like the horn from those trucks on the highway.

  But Juma, he shouts back. ‘We will burn you, traitor. Allah’s fire is coming!’

  Then he lights the cloth on his bottle. He throws it at Jalloh. Jalloh moves, and it misses. The floor, it starts to burn.

  ‘Get out, JoJo!’ I try to move. My leg hurts. There is smoke, and I cannot breathe. I get up and try to run. I do not know which way is out. I do not know.

  But Mister he pulls me, and there is the door. Someone has kicked it open. I run out – but still I am lost in the smoke. I cannot see Mister or Juma or Akim. I am alone. And maybe Jalloh is inside becoming a spirit. He saw my face. He knows me.

  My fingers pull me along the wall. I am coughing from the smoke. My heart beats so fast that I think it must stop. My leg is hurting. I want to rest.

  And then I see them – the boxes Jalloh used to keep his chickens. They have straw inside. It is dry and dark.

  I climb in and pull my legs up. Close your eyes, JoJo. I close them, tight. I will stay here until the spirits go. Until the light comes and they return home to wait again.

  When I wake the light hurts my eyes. I can taste smoke on my tongue. It tastes of ashes. Inside I feel cold, where the bang cigarettes have left me.

  I am so tired. I want my own bed. I can smell Jalloh’s chickens, the dead chickens that used to live here. It makes the sickness come again. In England, Nicholas says, the chickens are fat and their eggs are brown. The children cut bread and call it soldiers. Their soldiers are made from bread and their knives are just for the eggs.

  Then an arm comes in. It grabs me by my shoulder. There is a face then, black with smoke and with one eye closing. There is something on it. White and red – a bandage, fresh.

  Jalloh sounds like a dog snarling. He pulls me from the coop and I fall onto the ground. His arms are thick, like the trees. I cry to him: ‘Stop! My leg hurts.’

  He kicks me again. ‘Walk, you piece of shit!’ He curses me and pushes me with those hands, the killing hands. I have to get up and walk. Jalloh is pushing and pushing. If I stop once, I feel his hands.

  Tuesday and other men from the village are standing by Jalloh’s house. Their eyes, they follow me, past the square, past Miss Amina’s house. The sun is up, and it stings my eyes. There is my gate. I want to lie on my bed and close my door. I want Baba and Mama. But I do not want to go inside there.

  ‘Ahmed!’ Jalloh is yelling now. ‘Ahmed! Come get this piece of shit son of yours.’

  The door, it opens. Mama is there. She looks still asleep. Her scarf is not even on her head. She is wearing her blue sleeping gown. Dark blue. Like the water under the ground.

  She says: ‘Hush, Jalloh. Ahmed is sleeping. He just slept now.’

  Then she sees me. Her hand goes to her mouth, and she comes running. She runs to me and opens the gate. But Jalloh pulls me to him. I feel his heart, his angry heart. His arm is around my throat.

  He said: ‘He was with those robbers.’

  Mama shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’ He shakes me. He says: ‘Tell her.’

  I say nothing. I feel water in my eyes. I cannot move.

  ‘What are you doing, JoJo?’ She is crying now. ‘You are just a boy. He is just a boy.’

  She is speaking to Jalloh, pleading with him, her hands on his arm. She weeps so well, I can almost believe her myself.

  Jalloh says to her: ‘I should call the police. Call the governor’s men. He will go to jail. Better now than later.’

  ‘No,’ says Mama. ‘I beg you, Jalloh. We will pay for everything. I promise.’

  He lets me go and pushes me towards her.

  ‘Your father is the only good man in this place,’ he says to me. He points to his eye, to the bandage there. ‘You shame him.’

  And then his finger is pointing at me. Fat and black, like a hole in the air. He points it in my face. And he says: ‘Next time.’

  He goes.

  Mama and I, we are still. She is holding me. But I cannot feel her hands. I cannot feel anything.

  She takes my face and kneels down.

  ‘JoJo,’ she says. ‘Why?’

  I want to go inside. I want to lie down. I want her and Baba. But I can have none of those things.

  ‘I saw you,’ I say.

  She goes still.

  ‘I saw you with Nicholas. I saw you.’

  She drops her hands, kneels on the ground. I could kick her and she would fall.

  She says: ‘My God.’ Now her face is in her hands. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me.’

  Now I am angry. ‘You lied!’ I am shouting. ‘You betrayed us!’

  She looks up at me. Her face is like Binza’s. It is old.

  ‘I did,’ she says. ‘I betrayed you.’

  I do not want to hear her voice. I put my hands on her shoulders. I squeeze them until I hurt her. I want to break them. But they are strong, too strong.

  ‘It was him,’ I tell her. ‘He made you.’

  She shakes her head. No. But I shake her too and shout: ‘It was him!’

  ‘No, JoJo.’

  Her hands come up again to try and touch my face. I move my head, but she will not stop trying.

  ‘It was me,’ she says. ‘I loved him. I did not want you and Nagode to grow up here. I thought he could rescue us.’

  ‘You loved him more than me,’ I say. I do not want to cry. There is water on my face, black from the smoke.

  ‘Never,’ she says.

  ‘Stop lying!’ I scream at her. She deserves the spirits. She loved Bako best. And then she let him die.

  ‘You would leave us,’ I say. ‘You would go with him!’

  Her hand finds my cheek. The touch hurts my skin. But I cannot break away.


  ‘A lifetime of my happiness is not worth one second of yours,’ she says.

  Her face is turned up. The sun is on it. There are no tears in her eyes. She is calm, calm like water.

  ‘You stole him from me,’ I say. Now I am crying. I cry for the books, our drawings and the castle. ‘He was my friend and you stole him.’

  The door opens. Nicholas steps out in a shirt and his jeans. He rubs his eyes to try and see us. The light is in his hair. He says: ‘What’s going on? JoJo? Margaret?’

  I turn and run.

  ‘JoJo!’ I hear Mama scream. I feel the pain in my leg. Like broken glass. But I run.

  I run towards the well. I run past Adeya’s house and her goats. Behind me, I hear Nicholas calling: ‘JoJo! Wait!’

  The air over the well is white. It blinds me. I am coughing black water. My heart is bursting. But he will not catch me.

  And then I hear them. Screams. But not from me. Voices are calling. I stop.

  Behind the well, trucks are coming. They are driving out of the desert – one, two, three, four. I cannot see how many. Inside are the soldiers.

  Now Nicholas comes running beside me. But he is not looking for me any more. He is looking ahead, to where the soldiers are coming. The governor’s men.

  Hanan comes and Adeya and Mr Kamil – they all come. I hear shouts from everywhere, and curses.

  But the governor’s soldiers do not look at us. We are ants, the insects of the field. And they are the bulls here to stamp us out.

  The soldiers make a ring around the well, with their trucks. Dust rises from under the wheels – it comes to cover us all. And then they jump down, one and then another and another and another. And in every hand there is a gun.

  April

  The first death knocked on their door in the middle of a suffocating night. Frantic banging penetrated Nick’s dreams, waking him into darkness.

  The inside of his mouth was dry and itching. Nameless wings rattled against the windows. Sweat-stung bites scratched to bloody holes. They itched, little legs crawling over him.