‘Buried treasure, boy. Two thousand, three hundred and twenty-six pesos. My going-away fund.’
Sure enough, he showed it to me, counting it out. I think the amazement must have shown in my face, because he started laughing again, and rocking on his heels. ‘I got one more box for just day-to-day stuff,’ he said. ‘One more tin box, that is, so the rats don’t eat it. Two hundred and sixty in that one. I figure, today we’re on a kind of holiday – so I’m gonna borrow out of this one, the travelling box.’
‘But how do you get so much?’ I said. I was totally amazed. Two thousand was a fortune for boys like us.
‘I get it slow, and I keep it. Everyone gives me a little. The little piles up, and I don’t eat much, or I get given food. Sister Olivia, for instance – she gave me fifty just yesterday, and then I went back for a sandwich.’
‘And what are you saving for?’
Rat put his head down and seemed to be thinking hard. Then he crept to the steps and took a long look up them, like he really thought there might be someone listening. He came back and squatted – put a banknote in his pocket and closed the lid of the box. Then he put his hands up on my shoulders and looked right in my eyes.
‘You and me are friends now,’ he said, ‘right?’
I nodded.
‘Real friends?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘OK, I’m going to tell you something I never told any other boy. I told Olivia, made her promise to tell no one, just because I was so tired of never telling.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. A rat ran over his foot in the darkness, right between us; I had to force myself to keep still. ‘I’m not from round here,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you? Like, most of you are Behala boys, but I come from the south. I was at Central Station for nearly a year, and I heard about the Mission School, so this is where I came.’
I nodded again, and he was quiet. Like the secret inside was so big he couldn’t say it.
‘I want to go home, Raphael,’ he said. He was so quiet I could hardly hear. ‘I came off the islands when I had to. I want to go back.’
‘Where’s your home?’
‘Sampalo. That’s where I was born.’
‘Go home then,’ I said. ‘You can go home with two thousand, can’t you? The ferries cost … I don’t know—’
He snorted, and I shut up.
‘I can go home on the ferry, sure – go tomorrow if I want. And then what, when I get there? It’s cost a thou just for the ticket. What happens then? You think people in Sampalo live on sand? That’s why everybody comes here, man – that’s why I came here. That’s why I got sent here! I’ve gotta make a stake. Fifty thousand is what I need. Then I buy a boat, and I go home and fish for ever.’
‘You can fish?’ I said.
‘Course I can fish! I was fishing before I could talk! I could swim before I could crawl! I will buy a boat, and I’m going to fish and fish and fish.’
I looked at Rat then, because he sounded so fierce – and that wide-eyed, old little face looked back at me. I tried to imagine him back on his island, Sampalo, steering his fishing boat, throwing out the lines. I’d heard of the place, of course – and never known it was Rat’s home. It was a place people talked about, and I knew it was a long, long way away. Tourists went there, and it was supposed to be beautiful as paradise. You cried when you got there, you cried when you left – that’s what people said.
‘With a boat I can fish,’ he said. ‘That’s got to be better than what we do here, hasn’t it? Huh? Little house on the beach?’ He was looking at me hard. ‘Fishing boat out on the sand? None of this stink – none of this … crazy way to make a living. You, me. Gardo too – all of us maybe. Sun comes up, we’re already out. Been out all night, maybe – you think about it.’
‘I can’t fish,’ I said.
‘So what?’ he said. ‘I teach you. Cook what you need, sell the rest at the market – grow flowers. I had a sister grew flowers right out of the sand. You like the thought of that?’
‘We’d need more money,’ I said. ‘We’d need to buy three boats, not one.’
‘Yes,’ said Rat. ‘Maybe so. But …’
He was quiet a moment, thinking hard. ‘Whatever happens, we can’t stay here much longer, can we?’
I felt him touch my face very softly.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I guess we’ve got to wait and see what happens.’
‘You can’t stay here, Raphael. You’ll always be thinking they’re coming back for you.’
I was still swollen up and bruised, but the cuts were healing. My ribs were aching from when they hauled me in back through the window, and every time I touched them I felt sick again. So, yes – I did know what he meant, but how he knew it I don’t know. That time with the police had changed everything, and people seemed different now too – people were looking at me strangely, like I’d brought bad luck. They’d all been pleased to see me back safe – but … my auntie was scared, and I was scared. There was something else too that I never told Rat, because I was ashamed.
It was sleep.
I was finding sleeping hard. I was having nightmares and waking up crying. I’ll tell the truth – I said I would – I was wetting myself too. I would wake up with Gardo holding me like I was a baby and the cousins waking up scared, crying out, and the neighbours banging the walls because I was screaming so loud.
I think Auntie wanted me out, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
9
This is Rat, also known as Jun-Jun – I tell my story and it’s written down!
We took a bus from the dumpsite, took it right into the city to the big crazy bus station, Raphael going first and doing the talking. OK, he was bruised up, so he still looked a state – but when you look like me, you can’t even get a ride very often, not when you’re alone: you get kicked off like you’re a curse. So he led the way but I was steering, hiding my ugly face till we were squeezed on up the back.
Of course, when we got to the stand we found out that buses to Zapanta’s land went from a different place, so we jogged a couple of miles and caught a big red one. Under bridges, over bridges, me by the window looking out over the freeway past some shopping mall the size of a town with a great big sports stadium where they were going to have some great big boxing match, pictures of the fighters on scaffolds, grinning down like giants. People getting up and people getting down, running for the bus, and the ticket boy banging the side, screaming – then in two hours we were free and running out into the fruit fields in the sun. We went high up a hill and then came down into a valley, and it felt good to be getting so far away, and I could feel Raphael relaxing too, and we were humming to the music and playing with some sweet little kid on the seat in front of us. We even got a nice view of the sea, because Green Hills is right by a very pretty stretch. The rich all love a bit of the sea, don’t they? – and it sure smells nicer than the sludge and stupp we call Behala.
Then the driver stopped by a huge set of gates and whistled to us.
People watched us getting down, and I said goodbye to them all, shaking hands for fun – them thinking I was a mad kid being taken out by a friend so smiling back. I was laughing when we hit the ground, and I took care that we moved on straight away, though I took a big look at the gatehouse – I wasn’t going to let Raphael keep still, because I knew he was scared of everything, and if I let anything happen, Gardo would probably just cut my head off with his hook.
Two guards by the gate looked right at us, and I felt him tense up, but we were gone, me first, him right behind, holding my hand. I saw a guard with a dog just inside, and there were two with machine guns. There was a big pole to stop traffic getting through up the drive, and spikes up off the road in case anyone tried it. The road stretched off into the distance, and all the trees and grass were like a park – like paradise, like Mr Vice-President had bought up paradise and got his boys on the door in case anyone came wanting a piece of it. We ran, me laughing like
we were just kids out having fun – little kids that nobody gets suspicious of – and we kept going, following the walls. We came to another gatehouse soon, just as grand, with big metal gates tight shut – and we kept on going. I guessed there’d be cameras somewhere, but the only ones I’d seen so far were at those gates, so I was more hopeful. I was pretty sure we could get into the grounds if we wanted to, just by hopping up a tree. How close we’d get to the house was another thing.
And why would our souls be singing? Maybe it was on fire, and the fat man’s ass was roasting like a pig? That would be a thing to see. Anyway, that’s when Raphael stopped, out of breath and sick suddenly. He pulled me back and said: ‘Is this such a good idea?’
‘What?’ I just pretended not to understand, trying to get him on again.
‘Is this a good idea? Rat, if anyone sees me …’
I put my arm right round him and pushed him to the side. ‘Who’s going to see you?’ I said. ‘You’re asking this now? Spending my money, and all you want to do is go home?’
‘I’m just thinking …’ He was trying to be calm, but he was sweating bad. ‘What are we going to find out? All we’re gonna do is get ourselves chased and maybe even thrashed—’
‘We’ve been chased before, Raphael. They don’t catch us.’
‘This is someone big, though. You saw the size of that dog!’
‘They’re for show. They’re all lazy as hell—’
‘We’ve seen the place,’ he said. ‘We can see what kind of place it is!’
I trotted on to a tree. I felt I had to keep him moving, so I pulled him towards it.
‘Just follow,’ I said. ‘You’re braver than me. We can do this!’
I got up the trunk and hauled myself higher. Raphael followed, thank goodness, and soon we were up in the leaves looking way over the fence into the promised land – I did Bible study at the Mission School and it was helping me now: I felt like little Moses. We eased out onto the thinnest, longest stem that could take our weight, and dropped easily onto the grass, rolling up onto our feet. Then we were running again, towards a little cluster of trees. Coming through them, past a little pond, we found ourselves on what I knew was a golf course, with nice little lawns and a flag, and a little sandpit for the kids. There was nobody around, but water sprinklers sprinkling, to keep the grass looking so fresh and green you wanted to roll in it. We kept low, and we tried always to be in the cover of rising ground if we could – but we saw nobody.
Soon we got to a line of huge trees, whose branches came down low. They were brushing the grass, and it was a good place to be – it was cool, and we were hidden. We were squeezing through to the other side and looking out – that’s when we saw it.
Raphael said, ‘Boy.’
I just looked at it, lost for words.
‘How many people live there?’ he said.
I laughed. I laughed for some time, and finally said, ‘Do you know, I bet it’s just him! I bet it’s just one big man, walking around all day, looking at his money, scared to death someone’s coming to get it.’
‘How rich do you have to be?’ said Raphael. ‘Just look at it …’
‘Look at the towers, man – it thinks it’s a castle. It thinks it’s in a fairy tale.’
I was drinking it in, too amazed, because I had never seen anything like it. The man had chosen his spot, I’ll say that for him. He’d bought up the prettiest bit of woods in the land, and just where the grass ran down nice and flat, he’d built himself a palace, for the king he thought he was. It was all black and white wood, like stripes and crosses, with so many windows you wouldn’t want to count them, let alone clean them. It was all stacked up in layers, and there was a golden dome in the middle, catching the sun – like halfway through, the builders had said they ought to try making a cathedral, just for the fun of it. At each end stood a tower with battlements, and our country’s flags were waving proudly, and everywhere else were fussy little spires and statues. There was a great big fountain too, jetting up right in the front, shooting up even now, in the dry season, with nobody to look at it except us.
As we watched, coming up the drive we saw a police car. Then, just behind us – just as we drank it in and wondered – a low voice very close said: ‘What are you wanting, boys?’
I cried out and swung round – but poor old Raphael was just running. He ran straight out onto the grass, then stood, not knowing what to do, like some kind of stranded cat. I held my ground and shouted: ‘Stop! It’s OK!’ Sometimes you just know there’s no danger, in a split second, and I knew the main danger was Raphael getting seen in the open.
The man’s voice was calm.
The man who’d spoken wasn’t angry with us. He was under a nearby tree, just back from ours, and we simply hadn’t seen him – he hadn’t even meant to scare us, I was sure of that. He was crouching so low and still that we’d gone right past. I could see a pair of grass-cutters in his hands, and a wide hat to keep off the sun, and it was obvious he was just a lowly old gardener, one of the hundreds they must need to keep the place so neat.
Raphael sidled back and got behind me, shaking and panting.
‘You looking for anything in particular?’ said the man.
‘No, sir,’ I said.
‘Oh, just passing through. Maybe you just came to laugh?’
‘What’s there to laugh about?’ I said.
The man smiled at us both. He could see Raph was in a state. ‘I thought you must have heard, and that’s why you’re here. Sit a moment,’ he said. ‘Have a smoke. The boys at the gatehouse say we’re getting a lot of people coming by, asking if the papers are true.’
‘We’re just roaming,’ I said. ‘What’s in the papers?’
The man smiled again, and took off his hat. His face was so creased it looked like an old fruit – he was totally sunburned, and all I knew was, he was old as hell. A laugh came from deep down in his guts and rattled on until he was coughing, so he pulled a cigarette from somewhere and lit up, offering the pack.
‘It’s only been in some of the papers,’ he said. ‘But no one knows for sure. They don’t want to admit it, that’s what I think – but what are all the police cars for? That’s what we’re asking.’
‘What are they for?’ I said, taking a cigarette.
‘You counted them? How many today?’
‘Seven,’ I said, shading my eyes. There were seven cars round the fountain.
‘Yesterday there were twelve. Day before that … sixteen, and the president was here. Dropped in by helicopter.’
He started to laugh again. I passed a cigarette to Raphael, and we huddled back in the shade.
‘Those police down there, fooling about. Walking in the big man’s house, I don’t know why. It’s all over, as far as I can see – the show’s over, so what’s there to do? I guess they’re standing around, all asking the same questions. You know who lives here, don’t you? You know who you’re visiting?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The senator.’
The gardener was smiling at us wider than ever, with his head on one side. ‘I worked here twenty-two years,’ he said. ‘Spoken to him twice. First time I said, “Yes, sir,” and the second time I said, “Thank you, sir.” He’s the fattest man I ever saw too – they had to get a car sent back and made bigger for him. I’d get sick on the food he throws away!’ He coughed, and smoked deeper. ‘You know, I wish I could go inside. I want to go in there and hear what they’re saying. I can guess, though! It’s not hard to guess, maybe.’
‘About what?’ I said again. ‘What happened there, sir?’
‘He must be working hard, covering it all up, trying to save his face. He’ll spend anything not to look a fool.’
I said nothing then. Let him tell it, I thought – he’s getting to it. Raphael was right behind me, listening close, and the smoke was calming him.
The old man closed his eyes and sucked on his cigarette. ‘It does me good,’ he said, ‘just to think about it. I think all those p
olicemen are standing around, all very polite, and saying, “Sir? Tell us again. How did you let your houseboy walk out of the door with six million dollars?” ’ He laughed loud and long, and Raphael started to smile too. So did I.
‘Six million dollars,’ the man said at last. ‘Picked them up and took them out of the door. You know how he did it?’
We both shook our heads, smiling wider. It felt good just to see the old man having such a fine time, remembering it.
‘Everyone here knows,’ he said, ‘but the papers don’t have everything – they don’t have the whole story yet. It was the boy they trusted.’
‘What did he do?’ I said. I could feel Raphael holding onto me tight, because it sounded like the pieces were fitting together. Once again, we knew we were close to whatever it was we were chasing.
‘The word is, he did it with a fridge.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘Did what with a fridge? You saying six million dollars … what—’
‘It’s what the guards say,’ he said. ‘One of the maids as well. The name’s in the papers, but they won’t say what he did. They won’t say why they killed him, either.’ The old man spat on the grass. ‘Well – he was the houseboy here. Worked here – I don’t know – not as long as me, but long. I knew him to talk to, smoke away with, and he was a nice enough boy. What I hear is that a little while back he gets told to buy a new fridge. The old one’s dead, and the man needs a fridge for all that food! So – the boy orders one, and men deliver it. The boy says, “Take the old one with you, please?” Fair enough, it’s got to go, it’s just junk to the senator. These delivery men, they have no objections – there’ll be parts they can sell. So they load it up, and our boy rides with them in the truck, with the gate pass. Chats with the guards, laughs – cool as cool. All on camera, so they say – the fridge, all roped up in sheets. But he doesn’t get down. He stays on the truck to show them a short cut. Then he stays all the way. Says he wants the fridge for himself, because he knows he can make something on it. So he gives them two thousand pesos to set it down just where he wants it – and that’s good money: nobody’s making problems with that kind of money. Some graveyard, they say – not even a house. And that’s the end of the trail. He’s never seen again.’