Trash

  One of the other policemen walked over to me, quite a young man. Gardo was right next to me then, and the policeman put his hand under my chin and tilted my head up. I looked into his eyes, trying so hard not to look scared. He was smiling, but I was glad to feel Gardo right up against me, and I smiled back as best I could.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he said.

  I told him.

  ‘Brothers? Sisters? This your brother?’

  ‘My best friend, sir. This is Gardo.’

  ‘Where do you live, son?’

  I told him everything, fast and happy, smiling hard – and I watched him fix our house in his mind, and then fix my face. He rubbed my ear gently, like I was a kid. He said: ‘You gonna help us tomorrow, Raphael? How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen, sir.’ I know I look younger.

  ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘No father, sir.’

  ‘That was your ma?’

  ‘Auntie.’

  ‘You want work, Raphael? You gonna help?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘How much are you paying? I’ll work for ever!’ I made my smile bigger and my eyes wider, trying just to be an excited, harmless, cute little trash boy.

  ‘One hundred,’ he said. ‘One hundred for the day, but if you find that bag …’

  ‘I wanna help too,’ said Gardo, pretending to be eight years old and showing his teeth. ‘What’s in the bag, sir? More money?’

  ‘Bits and pieces. Nothing valuable, but—’

  ‘What kind of crime?’ I said. ‘How’s it gonna help you solve a crime? Is it a murder?’

  The policeman smiled at me some more. He looked at Gardo too. ‘I don’t even think it will,’ he said. ‘But we got to give it our best shot.’ He was looking at me hard again, and Gardo’s arm was right round me. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Then the policemen climbed back into their car and drove on, and we made sure we stood right up close to show we weren’t afraid, and we made sure we ran with the car and waved. Now, Behala’s full of little neighbourhoods just like ours. The shacks we live in grow up out of the trash piles, bamboo and string, piled upwards – it’s like little villages in amongst the hills. We watched the car, rocking over the ruts and holes, the lights going up and down. If they wanted to talk to everyone, they’d have to make the same speech ten times.

  Later on, my auntie came close and said, ‘Why are you telling lies, Raphael Fernández?’

  ‘I found a wallet,’ I said. ‘I gave you what I found – why did you say that to them?’

  She came close and she spoke quietly. ‘You found the bag, didn’t you? You tell me now.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I found money.’

  ‘Why did you say a shoe? Why did you not tell the truth?’

  I shrugged, and tried to be sly. ‘Ma, I thought they might want the wallet back,’ I said.

  ‘Money in a wallet? Where’s the wallet now?’

  ‘I’m going to get it! I just didn’t want to speak up in front of everyone, everyone looking right at me, and—’

  ‘You found the wallet in a bag? You can’t lie to me.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘No.’

  She looked at me hard again, and shook her head. ‘You gonna get us into a lot of trouble, I think. Whose wallet was it? People always have a name, and if you—’

  ‘I just took the money,’ I said. ‘I’ll throw the damn thing away right now.’

  ‘You give it to the police.’

  ‘Why? It’s not what they’re looking for, Ma. I didn’t find a bag.’

  ‘Oh, boy,’ she said. ‘Raphael. What I’m thinking is, if they’re throwing money around to get that something back, you don’t want to be caught messing about with it. I am serious, Raphael. If you found anything like the thing they’re wanting, you need to give it up – first thing in the morning, when they’re back.’

  Gardo ate with us. He often did, just as I often ate with him and his uncle. I spent the night at his, just as he spent the night at ours – I’d wake up forgetting which place I was in and who was under the blanket with me. Anyway, just as we finished, the police car came back, big and black, and drove right out of the gates.

  We watched it go.

  I couldn’t believe Auntie had said what she said. I knew she’d had problems with the police before, on account of my father, and I guess she had some feeling, even then, that things were going to get complicated. I think she wanted to stop it all there, all at once – but I still say she was wrong. It was one of the things that made leaving easier.

  I went up to my house, Gardo following. We live high, compared to many. Two rooms built out of truck pallets, with plastic and canvas holding it fast, and it’s stacked over three families below. You go up three stepladders to get to it. First, the bit where Auntie and my half-sister sleep, and beyond that’s another little box, about the size of a sheet. That’s where me and my cousins go, and Gardo too when he’s with us. My cousins were in there now, snoring away, and all around was the noise of neighbours’ chatter and laughter, and radios, and someone calling.

  I moved one of the cousins along, and we got close in to the side, where I store my things. It’s a crate that beer came in, and it’s up on one side. I’ve got a spare pair of shorts, another two T-shirts and a pair of slippers. I’ve also got my little spread of treasures, like all the boys do. With me it’s a penknife I found, with a broken blade – still a good little tool. I’ve got a cup with a picture of the Virgin Mary. I’ve got a watch that doesn’t go. I’ve got a little plastic duck, which the cousins play with, and I’ve got one pair of jeans. The jeans were wrapping up the precious bag, and it felt dangerous just to be unwrapping it.

  Gardo held a candle close and sat hunched, watching me. We were both bending over it. When I glanced up at him, his lips were thin. The whites of his eyes stood out like a pair of eggs.

  ‘We gotta move it,’ he said. ‘You can’t leave it here, boy.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘Where to?’

  He paused.

  I pulled out the ID and looked at the man. José Angelico, looking back at me sadly. And his little girl, more serious. ‘What do you think he’s done?’ I said.

  ‘Something bad,’ said Gardo. ‘And when they come back, I think they going to talk to you again … You see the way that guy was looking at you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You see the way he was touching you? He’s got you fixed.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘You too, maybe.’ I laughed. ‘You think he wants to be our special friend?’

  ‘This isn’t funny,’ said Gardo. ‘We need Rat.’

  ‘Why Rat?’

  ‘I’m thinking it’s about the only place they’re not gonna look.’

  ‘You think he’ll take it, though? Rat’s not stupid.’

  ‘Give him ten, he’ll take it. Break his arms if he doesn’t.’ Gardo took the ID and put it away. ‘They won’t go down there, the police – they won’t even see him.’

  I knew it was a good plan. I knew it was the only plan as well, because we had to get it out of the house.

  ‘Do it now?’ I said.

  Gardo nodded.

  ‘Don’t threaten him, though,’ I said. ‘He’ll do it for me.’

  4

  Still Raphael.

  So sorry, but I want to tell about Rat, and then I will hand over.

  Rat is a boy – three or four years younger than me. His real name is Jun-Jun. Nobody called him that, though, because he lived with the rats and had come to look like one. He was the only kid in Behala that I knew of who had no family at all, and at that time I didn’t know too much about his past. There were plenty of boys without fathers, and a lot like me without mothers either. But if you had no parents, you had aunties or uncles, or older brothers, or cousins, and so there was always somebody who would take care of you and give you a bit of the mat to sleep on, and a plate of rice. The thing about Rat was, he had nobody, because he’d come from some place
way out of the city – and if it hadn’t been for the Mission School he’d have been dead.

  Gardo and I went back down the ladders with the candles. I’d put the bag under my T-shirt, and tried to hold my arms so it wasn’t too obvious – but it was as if people didn’t want to see me anyway. Auntie especially was looking away, and shifted so she had her back to us both. We crossed the roadway and were soon deep in amongst the trash.

  I better say, the trash is alive at night: that’s when the rats come out strong. During the day you don’t see so many, and they stay out of your path. You get a surprise now and then when one jumps up, and sometimes you get a good kick and send one spinning. Not often, though. They’re quick, and they can dive, jump, fly and squirm their way out of anywhere.

  I followed Gardo, and on either side I was aware of the little grey movements. There is light over Behala, because some of the trucks come at night – they’ve rigged up big floodlights, and they’re usually on. We’d gone left, right, over the little canal that just about gets through, stinking of the dead – and then off we went into a lane only the trash people use – no trucks, and not even many people. It was dead trash underfoot, and it was damp – you were up to your knees. Soon we came to one of the old belt-machines, but this one was disused and rotting. The belt itself had been stripped out, and the wooden panels had been taken. It was just a huge metal frame, rusting away. The arm that held the belt pointed up into the sky like a big finger, and now and then kids would climb it and sit in the breeze. At ground level, its legs were sunk into concrete piles, and underneath the legs was a hole.

  I suppose machinery must have been down there at one time, because there were steps down, and they were slimy. Trash is often wet, and the juices are always running. Maybe the ground here was a bit lower, I don’t know – but it was always muddy.

  We stopped at the top of the steps, and I called out: ‘Rat!’

  I called quite soft – I didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing, or where we were. The problem was, the kid couldn’t hear me if he was down there, and I was pretty sure he would be. Where else would he be?

  ‘Hey, Rat!’ I called again. I could hear the little cheeps and squeaks. Gardo was following me now, because even though he’s braver than me and stronger, he’s not easy with rats. I’ll kill one with my foot, but Gardo got bitten badly a while ago, and his whole hand went bad. He’ll kill them, but he’d rather stay away from them. I was halfway down the steps, and a little one streaked up past me, then another.

  ‘Rat!’ I called, and my voice echoed in the machine-chamber. I got down low with the candle, trying not to breathe too deep because of the stink – and I heard him turn in his bed.

  ‘What?’ he said. He’s got a high little voice. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Raphael and Gardo. We got a favour to ask you. Can we come in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It might seem crazy asking a kid if you can come into his hole, but this hole was about the only thing Rat had, apart from what he wore. I would not have lived there – anywhere would have been better. For a start it was damp and dark. For another thing, I would have been scared that the trash above would fall and pile up down the stairs, trapping me, like it did on Smoky Mountain. These mountains do move. It’s not us climbing about on them that makes them fall, it’s usually just their own weight as the belts pile more and more stuff on. You can get caught in a fall, and it’s heavy stuff. I’ve never known anyone killed, but one kid broke bones, falling badly. When Smoky went down, there were nearly a hundred killed, and everyone knows some of those poor souls are still down there, down with the trash, turned into trash, rotting with the trash.

  Anyway, I got to the last step, trying not to think of all that, and put my candle low. There was a sudden flicker of black, and another rat – this one big as they come – shot past me, right over my shoulder.

  The kid was sitting up, just in his shorts, gazing at me with frightened eyes and his big broken teeth sticking out of his mouth.

  ‘Raphael?’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

  I thought, I should have brought him a bit of food. He goes hungrier than most, and his face is pinched. Kids used to call him Monkey Boy before Rat, because his face does have that wide-eyed, staring look that little monkeys have. He was sitting on some layers of cardboard, and around him there were piles of rubbish that he must have been sorting. The walls and ceiling were damp brick, and there were cracks everywhere. That was where the rats came in and out, and I guessed there were nests just the other side. He had arms skinny as pencils, and Gardo’s crack about breaking them had made me smile. You could break Jun’s arms with your finger and thumb. He was a spider, not a rat.

  ‘We need your help,’ I said.

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘You don’t know what we want,’ said Gardo. ‘How’s it OK already?’

  ‘It’s OK.’ The boy smiled, and his teeth gleamed out crookedly. He blinked. He has a twitch, and when he’s scared, his whole head starts to shake. He wasn’t scared right now, though – he was more interested. Also, I know he liked me. I wouldn’t say he and I were friends, not at all. But I didn’t mind working next to him, which meant we’d talk a bit, and I’d listen to his chit-chat-singing. A lot of kids would just throw things at him and laugh.

  I sat down, but Gardo stayed on the step, squatting. ‘You gotta hide something,’ I said. I put the bag on the cardboard, and put my candle next to it. He found another and lit it, and all three of us sat in silence.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘What’s in it? Who’s it belong to?’ He had a thin, breathy little voice like he was six years old.

  I opened the flap and unzipped it. I took out the items and laid them down. The wallet. The key. The map.

  ‘You happy to hide it? You didn’t hear the police come, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t see any police,’ said Rat. ‘But I can hide it if you want. See that brick? That comes right out, and the next one too. Won’t last long, though – it’s gonna get eaten, OK?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Gardo. ‘I’m thinking about this. It’s not the bag they want, is it? It’s what’s in the bag.’

  ‘We’ve still got to hide it,’ I said.

  ‘Why don’t we just sling it?’

  ‘If we sling it,’ I said, ‘and they find it … then they’ll know someone’s got what’s inside, maybe. If they know what they’re looking for.’

  ‘Who’s looking?’ said Rat. ‘What did the police want?’

  I told him quickly, and his eyes widened. ‘Ten thousand, Raphael!’ he said. ‘You’re crazy! Give it in and get the cash.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Gardo, sneering. ‘You really think they’ll give it? You taken in by that? And if they do, boy – you think he’ll hold onto ten thousand?’

  Rat looked from me to Gardo and back again.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to hide it. They come back tomorrow – they say they’re going to pay everyone to work. We all get a few days’ work, maybe – give it up next week.’

  ‘Everyone’s happy,’ said Rat. ‘That’s a good idea, maybe. But you got to ask, why do they want it so bad, OK? How much was in this?’ His thin fingers opened the wallet and pulled out the ID card.

  ‘Eleven hundred,’ I said.

  He smiled right at me. ‘Anything for using my house?’

  ‘I’ll give you fifty,’ I said, and he grinned even wider and touched my arm.

  ‘You promise, OK? That’s a promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  His hands went to the map. ‘We ought to find out what they want,’ he said. ‘What is this – buried treasure?’

  ‘There’s nothing on it,’ I said. ‘It’s just a city map.’

  He looked harder at the ID then, staring at the photograph. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘José Angelico,’ I said.

  I knew Rat couldn’t read. He turned the paper over and over, looking at the face.

  ‘José Angelico,’ he said slowly. ‘You think th
e police want him? You think he’s a wanted man? He looks nice enough. This his little girl?’

  He was looking at the child, putting the faces next to each other.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s rich enough to send her to school,’ said Rat. ‘That’s a school dress.’

  ‘What if he’s been murdered?’ said Gardo. ‘Maybe they’re looking for his body – looking for the murderers too. This could be part of something bad.’

  ‘Who lost the bag, though?’ I said. ‘How do you lose a bag in the trash?’

  ‘Not by accident,’ said Rat. He was staring at the photos again. ‘We ought to find out who he is, OK? He might give more than the police.’

  ‘And what’s the key?’ said Gardo, pointing to it. ‘That’s his house key, maybe. Maybe he’s locked out of his house? Find out where he lives—’

  ‘Oh no, that’s not a house key,’ said Rat, staring. He hadn’t noticed the key in the darkness. Now he picked it up and put it next to my candle. He looked up at me again. ‘Oh my. You don’t know what that is, do you?’

  ‘Could be to a safe,’ I said. ‘What is it, a padlock key? What’s the one-oh-one?’

  ‘You don’t know what that is!’ said Rat slowly. He was teasing us. ‘I do. I’ll raise you to a hundred.’

  ‘What?’

  He was smiling wider than I’d ever seen him smile, and his broken teeth stuck out like straws. ‘I’ve seen these so many times, OK – I can tell you exactly what it is and where it is. You give me that fifty? Now? Make it a hundred, or you get no further.’

  ‘You know what it is? Really?’

  Rat nodded.

  I pulled out some notes, and counted them out on the cardboard. There was a skittering of feet behind the wall, and I heard something running right round the little room, surrounding us. There were squeakings again: the place was alive. Gardo and I sat on, looking at Rat, waiting for his great piece of information.

  ‘Central Station,’ he said softly. ‘I lived there nearly a year, when I came in first of all. I can tell you for sure: this is a locker key for the left luggage. Just outside platform four, last block on the right. One-oh-one’s small, up at the top – the cheapest they do. This man’s left something there.’