The Garbage King

by Elizabeth Laird

  He was about to jump to his feet and run out of the compound, but caution held him back. The farmer would come after him. He’d paid out money. He wouldn’t want to lose his investment.

  He forced himself to sit and wait until the intermittent conversation in the house stopped, then he crept towards the compound gate and opened it.

  ‘Who’s there? What are you doing?’ the farmer called out sharply from inside the house.

  Mamo’s blood seemed to curdle.

  ‘Nothing. Going for a pee,’ he called back.

  He waited for a few moments, and shut the gate again. Then he went to the cowshed and opened and shut the door. The farmer would think he’d gone inside to bed.

  He stood motionless for ten long minutes, until he heard loud, regular snores coming from the house, then, much more cautiously, he opened the compound gate and slipped outside.

  And then he was off, running as if a demon was after him, down the lane and away. As he ran he tried to pick out, in the light of the rising moon, the long pale track that would take him from this hated place to the road, which in its turn would lead to Addis Ababa.

  6

  Dani was conscious, as he hurried away from the familiar gates of his home compound, that people were noticing him.

  ‘Where are you going?’ the woman in the little kiosk shop a few metres down the road called out to him. ‘Don’t you want any sweets today?’

  He’d run to her shop hundreds of times, ever since he could remember, to buy a few cents worth of sweets, while Negussie stood by the compound gates watching out for him.

  ‘Not today. In a hurry,’ he called back, breaking into an awkward trot.

  A group of shoe-shine boys were sitting on the corner where his street joined the main road.

  ‘Hey!’ one of the shouted. ‘Let’s do your shoes.’

  ‘You can’t polish these,’ Dani called back, smiling nervously. ‘They’re trainers.’

  ‘Then give us a birr.’

  They started coming towards him. He hadn’t thought out which way he should go, left or right, but to get rid of them he turned left.

  Dani had never been out alone in the city before. Ibrahim had always taken him to school in his taxi, and when he’d gone out with his parents, to visit relatives or family friends, or gone with Mamma, when she was well enough, to the pool, or to the cafés and shops in the centre of town, they’d been in the family car. He hadn’t realized how long it would take to walk to the next busy road junction. He’d never noticed before how rough the verges of the road were, with sharp stones and potholes to trip him up. He wished he hadn’t stuffed so many useless clothes in his bag. The weight was making his back ache.

  It’s only till I get to Giorgis’s house, he told himself.

  Three huge worries were nagging at him. The first was the fear that his father would see him, would suddenly appear out of nowhere, emerge from a building and snatch at his arm, or sweep up alongside him in the car, and drag him into it. He kept a lookout all the time, his eyes scanning the road ahead, turning his head constantly to look over his shoulder.

  The second thing was that he couldn’t quite remember the way to Giorgis’s place. He’d only been there a couple of times, ages ago, and the area where Giorgis lived was a maze of back alleys and side turnings.

  He shut his mind to the third thing. He wouldn’t think about what he’d actually say to Giorgis and his uncle until he got there. He wouldn’t worry, either, about Giorgis not remembering him, after so long.

  At last he reached the road junction. He put his bag down and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He was hot and very, very thirsty.

  He turned into a busy shopping street, walking more slowly now. He and Mamma had often come here. Their favourite café was just past the next tall building. Mamma would usually order coffee, and he’d have a Coke and a big piece of vanilla cake.

  He pulled the brim of his cap down over his face. It was risky here. He might easily bump into someone from school, or one of Father’s colleagues or Mamma’s friends, but it was the only route towards Giorgis’s part of town that he knew. He would just have to keep a sharp lookout, and dive in through a doorway if he recognized anyone.

  He passed the pastry shop where he and Mamma had often stopped for a drink and a snack on one of their shopping expeditions. He couldn’t help pausing for a moment and looking in at the laden counter, covered with his favourite cakes and biscuits. His mouth watered, but he knew it would be madness to go inside. All the waiters knew him.

  The thought of food made his mouth water. He was really hungry. They must have had lunch at home hours ago. Come to think of it, they must have noticed by now that he’d gone. Zeni would have hunted for him everywhere. She’d probably phoned Father at work. They’d have found that his clothes and his bag were missing. They’d have realized he’d run away.

  A small gleam of pleasure, shining through his worry, made him almost smile. They’d be really anxious. Father might even be feeling sorry. Perhaps, if he went home, Father would realize he’d been cruel, change his mind, and send Feisal back to Jigjiga on his own.

  The gleam faded. Father wouldn’t be sorry. He’d be furious, in a terrible rage. There was no going back now.

  He hurried on.

  At the end of the street he stood uncertainly, not sure which way to go. He didn’t see the car slowing down on the other side of the street, but he suddenly heard a familiar woman’s voice.

  ‘Hey, aren’t you Dani? How’s your mother? Is it true she’s gone to England?’

  It was Mrs Sara, one of Mamma’s friends.

  Panic struck him. Without looking round, he took off into the nearest narrow alley, that ran steeply down the hill away from the road. He was running as fast as his plump legs and heavy bag would let him.

  A stitch in his side slowed him down and he stopped, panting for breath. He looked back up the alley, half expecting to see a crowd of angry people pursuing him, but the alley was empty except for a small child, who was holding a string attached at the other end to a goat, and who hadn’t seemed to notice him.

  What now? What next? he thought, taking off his cap to wipe away the sweat that was sprouting from his forehead.

  He turned round and began to plod up the hill again, but stopped after a few steps.

  It would be crazy to go back up there. He’d been lucky to get away from Mrs Sara, but he’d be bound to run into someone else he knew. His best option was to keep going on down the hill, and hope that the alley came out somewhere recognizable.

  It was much further down the hill than he’d expected, and the alley took so many twists and turns that he was soon hopelessly confused, but he stepped out at last on to a big main road and knew, after looking up and down it a couple of times, more or less where he was.

  His heart sank. He was still miles and miles from the area where he thought Giorgis lived, and not very far from home. And he was exhausted already. He’d never walked so far or carried anything so heavy in his whole life. He was famished too, and terribly thirsty.

  I must eat something, he thought. I’ve got to keep my strength up.

  There was a little bar on the other side of the road. It was quite unlike the smart pastry shop up the hill, with its mirrored walls and Formica-topped tables, its smiling waiters and bubbling coffee machine. This was no more than a shack, a dark, dingy little place, with a slatternly woman standing outside.

  Hesitantly, feeling horribly out of place, Dani crossed the road and went inside. There were a few rough stools set about on an uneven mud floor around a couple of rickety tables. A man was eating some coarse-looking injera, taking swigs of some cloudy liquid from a grimy glass. A couple of ragged children stood watching him, flies clustering round their eyes.

  Dani’s stomach rose. He muttered something to the woman and hurried outside, then walked away fast, ignoring his developing blisters.

  The road was wider here. He saw familiar buildings ahead – the big c
entral bank building, the national theatre, some old hotels. He’d passed through here often, in the car.

  He was walking along the front of the Ethiopia Hotel, and his footsteps began to drag. What had Mamma always said?

  ‘The old Ethiopia? But it’s so dowdy. No one goes there any more, not since the new Sheraton opened.’

  He’d be safe in here, then, from meeting any of her friends. There’d be a restaurant, or a bar at least, where he could get a nice drink and something to eat. He could say his mother had told him to meet her here, but to order something and start eating if she was late.

  The thought of sitting down to a decent meal and drinking some ice-cold Coke drove everything else out of his mind as he walked up the shallow steps into the dim interior.

  No one seemed to notice him. He saw the bar area and turned into it, chose a seat in the far corner where his back would be to the door, and sat down gratefully against the comfortable padded upholstery.

  A waiter appeared beside him at once.

  ‘Yeah, I’m waiting for my mum,’ Dani said, as casually as he could. ‘She said to go ahead and eat.’ He was eagerly scanning the menu as he spoke. ‘I’ll have a club sandwich, and French fries and a big Coke. And some ice cream afterwards.’

  The food was delicious. He relished every mouthful, feeling almost cheerful as he ate it. He’d never done anything like this before, never gone to a hotel and bought himself a meal. It made him feel grown-up.

  But when the bill came, he had a nasty shock. It used up almost half his supply of money. He pulled the notes out of his pocket and put them down reluctantly on the little tray the waiter was holding out.

  ‘What’s happened to your mother, then?’ the waiter said. ‘She didn’t come.’

  Dani nearly said, ‘No, she’s in England,’ but he stopped himself just in time.

  He sat slumped back in the chair for a long time, not wanting to go outside and face the streets again, resting his tired legs and sore feet, and as the minutes passed, a horrible realization crept up on him.

  He couldn’t possibly go to Giorgis’s house and ask to be taken in. However had he imagined, for one moment, that he could? He hadn’t seen Giorgis for years and years. Giorgis might not even recognize him. And even if he found the house again, which most probably he wouldn’t, why on earth would Giorgis’s uncle welcome him and let him stay? He’d do what every other grown-up would do – phone Ato Paulos, and get him to come and take Dani home.

  What am I going to do then? Dani thought. What on earth am I going to do?

  The waiters were beginning to give him funny looks. They were talking to the maitre d’, who was looking over towards him. There was nothing for it. He’d have to go.

  He stood up, his heart beating fast, suddenly desperate to stay in the comfortable, orderly shelter of the hotel, but a moment later the glass doors had swished shut behind him, and he was outside on the pavement.

  He looked up and down the street, standing irresolutely, not knowing which way to turn.

  It was good luck for Mamo that the moon was nearly full. It shone with such clear brilliance that it cast deep shadows on the ground and hurt his eyes when he looked at it. By its light he could pick out the track ahead quite easily.

  He ran for a long time, until his legs ached and his head began to spin, then he slowed down to a fast walk, breaking into a trot whenever he had gathered enough breath.

  His great fear was that he wouldn’t find the way.

  It was easy at first. There was only one path, which was clearly marked, the earth beaten bare and hard by the constant passage of human feet and animal hooves, and he began to feel confident. He allowed himself to daydream.

  He’d find his way home easily, once he was back in Addis. If Tiggist had given up the house, she’d probably be at Mrs Faridah’s shop, and if she wasn’t there, Mrs Hannah would know where she’d gone. Even if she’d got a live-in job somewhere, she’d still make sure he had a place to stay and help him to get started on something.

  Everything would be just fine, as soon as he was back there, in Addis. He’d be able to listen to music outside the shop again, and see some of the boys he’d known on the street corner. He grinned as he thought of the noise and life he’d missed so much, the passing cars and trucks, the buses full of people, the glimpses of TV through the windows of bars, the constant buzz and news and hum.

  He pulled himself up with a start. The track had dwindled to almost nothing. And straight ahead, looming up out of the hillside, was a cluster of thatched houses. A sudden furious barking made him jump with fright. He must have wandered off the path, towards a homestead, and the dogs had got wind of him.

  Angry with himself for being careless, he ran back down the way he’d come but a cloud had come over the moon, and he couldn’t pick out the path more than a few metres ahead.

  He shivered. How long had he been gone? How many hours were left till dawn, when he would be missed? The farmer would set out after him at once. He’d ride the donkey, whipping it mercilessly to make it trot. He’d travel fast, and catch up with Mamo before he could reach the road.

  Blindly, Mamo began to run. Several times he came to a dead end and had to double back, feeling his way, his bare feet instinctively seeking out the worn smoothness of the path.

  He had a horrible feeling, a nightmarish feeling, that he was trapped in a kind of maze, doomed to run around in circles while the night wore away, and that when the day came he’d be dead with exhaustion, or out in the open, easily caught, and hauled back to misery.

  He was almost ready to give up and flop down to the ground when the moon came out again. Floating serene and impersonal across the sky, it lit the whole vast landscape. And there, far away but still visible, sliding across the countryside like a bright white stream, was the tarmac road.

  A sob of gratitude rose in Mamo’s throat and he began to run again, blundering wildly through fields of standing grain, forcing his way, oblivious to the scratches, through thorn hedges, skirting round farmsteads, jumping over gulleys and ditches, frantic with worry in case the moon should go in again and leave him in the dark.

  He was no more than half a kilometre away from the road’s silver ribbon when he heard the terrifying whoop! whoop! of a hyena. His body shrivelled with fright. The hyena sounded as if it was straight ahead, between him and his goal.

  Instinct made him want to turn and run back away from danger, but he made himself go on. He hadn’t come this far, he hadn’t dared everything, only to turn back now. He pulled a thick stick out of a nearby hedge, then bent down and picked up some heavy stones. If the hyenas came for him he’d be ready to fight them off.

  All the horrible stories he’d ever heard about hyenas rushed into his mind. They’d snatch a limb off you, biting it clean through. They’d go for your belly, disembowelling you with one snap of their massive jaws. They’d follow and follow you, wearing you down, till you were too weak to fight them off.

  But they’re cowards, too, Hailu had said boastfully. I know how to scare a hyena. My uncle told me. You wave a stick at them and throw stones. They just run away.

  The road was nearer now, but so was the whooping sound. Mamo could even fancy he saw their ugly, limping forms, slipping from shadow to shadow, waiting for him.

  He took a firmer grip on his stick, and whirling it round his head, he ran on with all his might. The hyenas seemed to melt away and their howling stopped.

  When eventually he stumbled out of the last field, felt the smooth cold tarmac under his feet and breathed in the half-forgotten smell of oily tar, an intense feeling of joy exploded in Mamo’s mind.

  It lasted no more than a few minutes. The road stretched ahead, endlessly long and completely empty. It was still the dead of night, and only the rustling of leaves in the cold wind disturbed the silence. No vehicles would venture out until just before dawn, and even when they did, who would stop for him, a ragged boy?

  What would happen if he couldn’t get a lift? By
mid-morning the farmer would have reached the road and started alerting people. They’d be on the lookout for him.

  No one can force me to go back, he told himself. He’s got no rights over me, not really. But he wasn’t sure if that was true. He felt the malign influence of the farmer spreading across the countryside like a net. It would trap him, as sure as anything, if he didn’t get away soon.

  I’ll have to start walking, he thought. I’ll have to walk all the way to Addis.

  He set off along the road, but after a few paces he stopped. Which direction was Addis anyway? And which side of him was the small town where Merga and he had got off the bus? If he ran slap into that he’d be done for.

  Anyway, his strength, still not fully recovered, was giving out. He’d eaten virtually nothing yesterday and had been running and walking all night.

  Discouraged, he squatted down on the the grass verge and dropped his head on to his knees.

  It was all for nothing, he thought. I’ll never get away. They’ll take me back, I know they will.

  He remembered the poisonous bush.

  I’ll eat it again if I end up back there, he told himself, only I’ll make sure it works next time.

  But he knew he wouldn’t. He’d been given a new life last time and he wouldn’t be able to throw it away again.

  He lifted his head and listened. At least the hyenas seemed to have given up on him. Their blood curdling-calls were fading into the distance.

  He sat for a long time, feeling worse and worse. Hunger, thirst and exhaustion were making him weak, and the cold wind was biting into him through his thin rags. Strange thoughts flitted through his mind, confusing him. The moon had set now and it was completely dark.

  He almost didn’t notice the sound of a truck approaching. Its roar merged with the strange half dream playing in his head. He was looking at a great rushing river, and if he could just step into the boat bobbing around in the middle of it, it would carry him somewhere beautiful where his own forgotten father, who looked strangely like Yohannes’s, was waiting for him with his arms held open.