The Garbage King

by Elizabeth Laird

  Tears prickled behind his eyes.

  ‘I’m totally alone,’ he thought.

  Without realizing it, he had stopped walking. There was an old tree stump at the side of the road under the wall, and he dropped his bag and sank down on to it. He shivered. The cold wind was getting stronger. He unzipped his bag, pulled out a sweater and slipped it on.

  At home, he thought, Zeni’ll be calling Meseret to come and eat her supper, and Father will be on his way back from work. Negussie will be waiting by the gates, ready to open them.

  He was overcome with an intense longing to be there, and leaped to his feet.

  That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go home. I’ll go to a main road where there are taxis, and find one. I’ve got enough money for that. And when I get home I’ll stand up to Father. I’ll refuse to go to Jigjiga. I’ll just say I won’t. I’ll make him understand.

  He could see his father’s face, stern and unyielding, and Feisal, looking over Father’s shoulder, a triumphant grin on his face. Slowly, he sank back down on to the tree stump again.

  The sun had gone down now, dropping quickly away below the horizon, and the light was fading rapidly.

  I can’t stay here all night! Dani thought incredulously. I’ll go to one of those houses over there and ask if they’ll take me in. Someone will. Someone will help me.

  But he felt numb, and couldn’t move.

  The last home-bound worker had passed a while ago and the street had been empty for a some time. Now, though, someone was coming. Dani could hear running footsteps and a strange high-pitched voice. The footsteps stopped some way away then started again, now quick, now slow, coming closer all the time. The man was singing snatches of an unfamiliar song, then stopping to laugh uncontrollably, then mumbling and singing again.

  Dani’s hair lifted on his scalp.

  A madman, he thought. What if he sees me? What will he do?

  There was nowhere to hide. Dani was about to pick up his bag and run away when the man appeared out of the darkness, a few metres away.

  ‘Hey ho hey, my brother,’ he said, stopping to peer through the dark at Dani. ‘His Majesty the Emperor’s returned. Didn’t you know? Why are you sitting there? Everyone’s gone to the palace. Come with me.’

  He shot out a long arm to take hold of Dani’s and Dani jumped up and cowered away from him. The man’s eyes were bright in his dark face and Dani could see that his hair, uncut and uncombed, stood out in rough corkscrews all over his head.

  ‘No thanks,’ Dani managed to say. ‘I’ve been to the palace. There’s no one there.’

  ‘What?’ the man stared at him, astonished. ‘Where’ve they all gone?’

  ‘I don’t know. Home,’ said Dani, his voice shaking.

  ‘Home? Home sweet home, home and off, off we go,’ the man said, dancing a few steps, then he began to run on up the road.

  Dani had hardly had time to let out a breath of relief when he was back again.

  ‘Was His Majesty there? At the palace?’ the man said, sounding bewildered. ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘I – no,’ stammered Dani. ‘He’s gone to Jigjiga.’

  He said the first place that came into his mind, hoping it would satisfy the man. It did.

  ‘Jigjiga,’ he said. ‘Jigga jigga jagga jig,’ and he ran off with a burst of new energy.

  Dani found that he was trembling all over and his knees felt weak.

  He might come back and turn nasty, he told himself. I’ve got to find a place for the night.

  He walked slowly on up the street, looking across at the small lights burning in the windows, trying to screw up his courage to knock on a door.

  But they’ll think I’m crazy. They’ll tell me to go home.

  Someone else was coming up the road now. He could hear brisk footsteps drawing closer and closer. Who could it be this time? Another wild man? A policeman? Feisal? His father?

  Blindly, Dani snatched up his bag and began to run, keeping close to the wall. The person behind him was coming up fast, calling out something, he couldn’t hear what. An unreasoning panic was gripping Dani, a desperation to get away.

  The wall on his left was whitewashed and clearly visible even in the dark, and so was the black gap that suddenly appeared in it. Without thinking, Dani dived through it and crept behind the wall.

  The footsteps went past. The man called out again and Dani, listening properly this time, realized that he was only shouting goodnight to someone in one of the houses. He felt foolish for a moment and nearly went back out into the road, but instead he stepped further into the enclosure, through the thicket of trees near the wall.

  He was in a cemetery. White marble tombs climbed up the hill above him. It was obviously a place where the rich were buried, because there were no simple headstones here. Each grave had a marble box the size of a coffin standing above the ground, with various kinds of sculptures and stone monuments above them.

  Dani felt a shiver sweep right through him, starting from somewhere deep inside. Ever since he was little, Zeni had chilled his blood with tales from the graveyard, stories of ghosts and hauntings and restless spirits. She wouldn’t have stayed here for a single minute, whatever the danger outside. She’d have grabbed hold of him and yanked him back out through the wall.

  But Dani took another step further in. He felt curiously unafraid. There was something peaceful here, a kind of gentleness. Instinctively he knew that no one else was in this place and that he was quite alone. There was no living soul that he needed to fear, no grasping beggars or wild men or questioning policemen or angry fathers.

  If Mamma’s died on the journey, he thought, she’ll soon be in a place like this. There are probably mothers of other people in here.

  The thought comforted him. For the first time since she’d gone away he could almost feel her presence, not anxious, as it had so often been in real life, but loving and teasing.

  ‘Oh, Dani,’ he could hear her say. ‘What have you got up to this time? Darling, silly Dani.’

  He began to wander backwards and forwards through the lines of tombs and as he did so the safe feeling began to fade. The trees at the edge of the cemetery cast odd shadows which moved as the wind stirred their branches. Zeni’s spooky stories came back uncomfortably clearly and in spite of himself he felt his skin creep.

  He moved back towards the gap in the wall where the trees were thicker. For some reason it felt better here. The darkness was denser, but more friendly. There was more of a feeling of Mamma.

  The dim light caught on a big old tomb house nearby. He went up to it and saw that it was made of white marble. It must have been put up for a grand person. Above it was a cross, and all round it Amharic words were engraved.

  The slab of marble closing off the foot end had fallen down. Dani peered inside and could see nothing but old leaves and dusty grit. The tomb was empty. No one seemed to have been laid to rest here. He bent down for a closer look. There was nothing sinister, no bones or anything like that.

  He hesitated. It would be really, really weird sleeping in a tomb. It might actually be wrong, as if it was tempting the devil, or it might be terribly unlucky, or there might be a sickness in there that he could catch. On the other hand, there was no doubt that it would be warmer inside the little marble house than it was out here, where the wind was getting right in through his sweater. He wouldn’t go inside yet, though. He’d stick it outside for as long as he could.

  He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a sweatshirt and his new, green, silky bomber jacket. It was an expensive one with a designer label sewn on the front. He didn’t like the idea of wearing it in a place like this where it would get dirty. Zeni would scold him for that.

  No, she won’t, he told himself. I won’t be there to be scolded.

  He sniffed, and then felt unstoppable sobs rise in his chest. He let them come and cried for a long time. Then, worn out, he lay down along the side of the tomb, as far out of the wind as possible, pillowed his head o
n his bag and shut his eyes.

  Dani had been right about his father’s reaction. Ato Paulos came home from the office just after night had fallen, as he usually did, to find the whole household in a twitch of anxiety. He extracted from Zeni the news that Dani hadn’t been seen since that morning, and that no one knew where he’d gone, and his expression terrified her so much that she nearly dropped the pile of clean laundry she was carrying.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ he barked at her. ‘Where? Who to? Come on. You must know.’

  Zeni felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead.

  ‘I don’t, sir,’ she said. ‘None of us saw him. He didn’t say anything to any of us. I was busy with Meseret, plaiting her hair, and Negussie was watering the plants behind the house. Dani must have slipped off when no one was around.’

  ‘Slipped off? What rubbish! He’s gone to say goodbye to a friend, that’s all, before he goes to Jigjiga. I won’t have any secrets in this house. Tell me at once where he’s gone.’

  Zeni took a step backwards.

  ‘Honestly, sir, I don’t know. He was in his room this morning. I heard him opening and shutting his cupboard door once or twice. Then Meseret called me and . . .’

  Ato Paulos pushed past her and thrust open the door of Dani’s room. Its untidiness offended him as usual and he was about to close the door again when he hesitated. Dani had been packing clothes into a sports bag this morning. Where was it now?

  He made a quick search. The bag had gone. He went towards the door, about to call Zeni back and ask her if she’d seen it, but stopped. If, as he was beginning to suppose, the little idiot had run away, he would have to handle things carefully. Feisal was due to arrive at any moment. He didn’t want to appear a fool in front of his own old sergeant.

  He picked up a plastic ruler that had been lying on Dani’s desk and rapped it angrily on the surface. His hands were so tight with tension that the ruler snapped in two. He flung the pieces down.

  Where would Dani have gone? What friends did he have? None had ever come to the house, as far as he knew. Dani’s lack of popularity was one of the many things about his son that had always offended him.

  Tsehai! He’ll have gone to her! he thought, his relief mixed with exasperation as he thought of Ruth’s younger sister, who lived on the far side of Addis Ababa with her feckless husband, and whose giggling inanities never failed to drive him wild with irritation.

  He strode out of Dani’s room and crossed the hallway to the sitting room. The telephone was on a glass-fronted cabinet full of china ornaments, near the window. He dialled Tsehai’s number.

  ‘Abet?’ said a slow, unfamiliar voice.

  ‘Woizero Tsehai,’ said Ato Paulos. ‘Is she at home? Can I speak to her?’

  ‘Not at home!’ the voice shouted. It clearly belonged to someone unused to speaking on the telephone. ‘They have gone out of town. I am the caretaker.’

  It was the first of many fruitless calls. Ato Paulos began confidently, expecting every time to hear that Dani was there, but as he worked his way through the list of relatives and family friends, his certainty began to wane, and by the time he’d spoken to the tenth puzzled, curious person he was rigid with frustration and embarrassment.

  ‘Wait till I get my hands on you, young man,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You’ll see what happens when you try to make a monkey out of me.’

  He was sitting on the carved stool by the telephone, leafing through Ruth’s phone book and trying to think who else he could call, when the phone rang, making him jump.

  He picked it up quickly, convinced it was bringing news of Dani. Instead there was a faint crackle and a moment of silence, then Ruth’s voice, as clear as if she was in the next room, came floating through the airwaves.

  ‘Paulos? Hello? It’s me, Ruth,’ she said.

  He swallowed, momentarily unable to speak.

  ‘Ruth!’ he said at last. ‘Are you all right? Where are you?’ He knew his voice was harsh with anxiety and he stopped.

  She gave a little laugh.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m in the clinic, in a nice room. Nurse Watson’s still with me. I’m seeing the surgeon tomorrow. It’s so strange to be in London without you.’

  ‘How was the journey?’ he said quickly, anxious to stop her asking questions. ‘Did you manage all right? Are you totally exhausted?’

  ‘A bit tired, yes. I felt a little faint after we took off, but Nurse Watson gave me a couple of injections and then I was better. I slept most of the way. Everyone was very kind. How is—’

  ‘You’re not to worry about a thing,’ he said quickly, trying to sound breezy. ‘We’re all OK. Meseret’s had her supper and is going to bed. Dani’s somewhere around.’

  ‘Is he . . . ?’

  ‘I told you. Everything’s fine. Now you must rest, my dear. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’ve called your cousins over in Hendon. They’re both coming to see you in the afternoon. I’ll try and call you again then. Goodnight. Sleep well now.’

  ‘Goodnight? It’s only four o’clock here,’ she said, but he was already replacing the handset.

  He stood up. Talking to his wife had unsettled him even more. An unaccustomed fear was clouding his mind, making him uncertain of what to do.

  I’ll have to contact the school in the morning, I suppose, he thought, letting his anger warm him again, and ask them where he’s staying. They’ll get it out of him. He’ll be with one of the boys in his class. He’s got to be. There’s no other explanation.

  Outside, the compound gates were squeaking as Negussie opened them on their rusty hinges.

  Feisal. That must be him arriving, Ato Paulos thought, his heart sinking. What on earth am I going to say to the fellow?

  8

  Mamo stood on the corner of the street, breathing in the remembered wafts of the city, the cloying sharpness of exhaust from old trucks, dust kicked up from the road verges, woodsmoke from a million cooking fires. He had forgotten how busy Addis Ababa was, how many people crowded the streets and how much noise they made. He’d forgotten the music, too, radios crackling out songs and dance tunes from the bars and from loudspeakers fixed to the roofs of buses. For the past months he’d lived in a world of quietness where the cry of a buzzard miles away would make you turn your head and a stranger was an objected of fascinated speculation.

  He had felt euphoric when the driver had set him down near Mercato, the city’s teeming market place.

  ‘Going back to your sister, are you?’ the man had said, leaning out of his cab window and smiling down at Mamo to say goodbye.

  ‘Yes,’ Mamo had replied sunnily. ‘She’ll be amazed. She probably thinks I’m dead or something.’

  The driver had fished into his pocket, pulled out a ten-birr note and put it into Mamo’s hands.

  ‘Good luck,’ he’d said, and before Mamo had had time to stammer out more thanks, he’d put the heavy truck into gear and had driven away.

  Mamo had watched the truck till it was out of sight. He’d had only one idea in his head – to find Tiggist – but saying goodbye to the driver had made him feel as if he’d lost his only friend in the world and he was suddenly uncertain about everything.

  What if he couldn’t find Tiggist? What if he did and she couldn’t help him, anyway? Perhaps he should have asked the driver to take him on, to take him on the road with him, and teach him to be a mechanic or something.

  He shook himself. It was too late for that now.

  It was quite a long way from Mercato to Mrs Faridah’s shop and by the time Mamo arrived there his magnificent breakfast was only a distant memory. He was hungry again. He was growing more anxious too. His pace quickened as he came near the shop, and he ran the last few metres.

  The boy with the withered leg was leaning against the vegetable stand under the shady awning.

  ‘Hello,’ Mamo said shyly, awed by the boy’s green overall and horribly aware of his own ragged clothes. ‘Is Tiggist here?’

  The boy shook
his head.

  ‘Gone to Awassa,’ he said succinctly. ‘With Mrs Faridah. Husband’s sick.’

  Mamo felt his stomach tighten.

  ‘When’s she coming back?’

  ‘Dunno. Been gone for months. He’s managing the place now.’

  He jerked his head sideways, and Mamo saw that a smartly dressed man was standing in the doorway, frowning at him.

  ‘But Tiggist’s my sister,’ Mamo said stupidly. ‘She can’t be in Awassa. I need her.’

  The boy shrugged.

  ‘Can’t tell you any more.’

  ‘What if – do you think he’d take me on?’ said Mamo, looking over to the doorway. ‘I’d do anything. Does he need someone?’

  The boy scented competition and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘How should I know? Ask him yourself.’

  But the man was waving his arms at Mamo as if he was shooing away a fly.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he called out. ‘Scram.’

  ‘I only wanted . . .’ Mamo began, but the man was advancing towards him now. Mamo backed away.

  The shock made him unsteady as he walked back along the uneven pavement. He couldn’t take it in. He couldn’t believe that Tiggist wasn’t there!

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder, about to go back and ask again, but the sight of the manager, still watching him, stopped him. It must be true, what the boy had said. Tiggist had gone. A horrible mixture of fear and loneliness was making his chest feel tight. It had never crossed his mind that Tiggist would have left Addis. He’d thought she might not be at Mrs Faridah’s. He’d told himself he might have to look for her. He wouldn’t have minded that. He’d have spent days doing that. But Awassa! Awassa was miles away, way down south past the lakes! He’d never be able to get as far as Awassa.

  He wouldn’t want to, anyway. He was an Addis boy. This was where he wanted to be.

  He thought for a moment of going to visit Mrs Hannah. She might be able to get a message to Tiggist, send her a letter or something. But he shook his head at once. Mrs Hannah couldn’t write, and even if she’d been able to, where would she write to? He didn’t know Mrs Faridah’s address. And supposing he did get a message to Tiggist? What could she do? She was there and he was here. He’d just have to accept that she’d gone. He’d just have to manage on his own.