Boys without Names (11 page)

Tears start to flood my eyes.

Baba might be home by now and looking for me. I imagine him crying just like he did the day we lost our land. I can't imagine what Aai must be feeling. Naren and Sita must be staring at the street waiting for me, and Jama must be blaming himself. Oh, I wish I hadn't been
so anxious to find work. I wish I had listened to Aai and Jama!

From the corner of my eye I see the boy with gray eyes watching me. I lower my head more, wipe my cheeks, and concentrate on my work.

When Thick Fingers gets up to fill our bead tray I get a break, so I turn around and look at the tree outside. It reminds me of my favorite spot by the pond at home. When I sat there I dreamed of being a king and riding horses. If I was able to build air palaces there, I can build them now. In my imagination I can visit the pond and see the sunsets in Matheran and the hills that surround our village. Scar and Thick Fingers can't stop me from doing that—or from planning my escape.

F
rom where I sit, I can't see the street, but I can hear the sound of traffic. I wonder how far away I am from Jama's house.

The sun is sliding in the west behind the tree and makes light and dark stripes on the floor with a moving leafy pattern over it. It reminds me of the leaf-filtered light by the pond. If I am still in Mumbai, the ocean is somewhere beyond the western edge of the land and my family is close by. My heart aches.

Scar comes up. His forehead looks larger because his hair is glued with perspiration to his scalp, exposing his bald temples. A pencil sticks out from behind one ear. He and Thick Fingers gently put all the frames we have made in a cardboard box before carrying them down. Now there're just the five of us and I whisper, “Who has
been here the longest?”

No one answers.

“Can't we talk?” I ask.

Rocking Boy shakes his head covered with dark curls. “Talk and get in trouble,” he whispers. His voice is husky because he hasn't spoken for a long time.

“Trouble? What do—”

“Shh…someone is on the steps.”

A hush falls. Thick Fingers's head pops up. He flicks on the light. It is a naked bulb like the one in the Deepak Food Store. Thick Fingers sits right under the bulb so he has the most light. I am lucky I am sharing stuff with him because across from us there is hardly any light. Rocking Boy squints.

“If we rearrange how we're sitting all of us can have some light,” I say.

Everyone looks up. Their mouths hang wide open, as if a fish has leaped out of the river and landed on the shore. Thick Fingers puts his bead picker down and stares at me, and I stare right back at him. Not a single finger moves. “All of you. Get back to work.” Thick Fingers points at me. “You just wait. I'll show you.”

Show me what? I don't want to ask and I don't want to be shown, especially by Thick Fingers. I apply glue. Then I pick up a bead and stick it, pick up a bead and stick it. It is more boring than memorizing the times tables. Compared to this, carrying luggage in Matheran was like going on a hike. There, I met new people and was free to
move around. Some tourists were generous and gave me good tips or shared their food.

I have to somehow flee from this place. I have to. I have to.

 

When Scar claps, Thick Fingers says, “Time for dinner.” We can all hear Scar's clap, so I don't know why Thick Fingers has to announce it. Rocking Boy is the first one to get on his feet, straighten up, and start climbing down. How come he is not stiff?

My legs have fallen asleep and I can hardly go down the ladder. “Move,” Thick Fingers says when there are only two of us left. He follows me. “Hurry!” he shouts.

I stumble down the last two steps.

Thick Fingers washes his hands first, even though all of us came down before he did. He is the
chota
, small, boss, so he gets special treatment. When I sit down to eat, I can't fold my legs, so I draw my knees up. It is a strange way to sit down to eat but I have no choice. Thick Fingers whispers something to Scar. I don't know what, but they are looking at me.

Scar only gives me half the food he gives everyone else. “If you can't control your mouth, you get punished.”

“But—”

“Don't argue. You're lucky I'm not starving you. Other bosses would,” he says over his shoulder.

How many other bosses are there in this world, and how many children are working like this? They can't all
be making frames. I think of the
chai
boy at Kalyan Station delivering tea. If we hadn't left the village I might be working for the moneyman who wanted me to split stones in his quarry. Sometimes big farms hire children to harvest cotton and other crops. I remember Mr. Advale telling us that he didn't like fireworks because sometimes children work in fireworks factories and get killed. Maybe other children are sewing things, picking rags, cleaning dishes. If they have a boss like Scar, their bosses might feed them little. My head starts to spin with all the thoughts that pour into my brain.

“Finish as fast as you can and get back to work,” Scar barks.

My mouth drops open. We still have to work after dinner? Everyone else is concentrating on eating. Thick Fingers picks up a lump of rice and shoves it in his mouth and then picks up another lump. He must gulp it down without chewing, because he is done before the rest of us and he had the biggest serving. I have barely started mine.

I take a bite of rice and
dal
. The mixture tastes exactly like the one we had this morning. Then something grinds against my back tooth and I spit it out on my palm. It is a tiny stone.

Scar hits my back. “If you ever spit out food again you will not get meals for two days. Put that back in your mouth.”

I slip the tiny stone back in my mouth and swallow it with the last spoonfuls of gravelly
dal
.

“I will leave soon. Close the shutters before you sleep,” Scar says when we go back up. I let out a silent sigh because it will be easier to get away without him.

The door slams shut and keys jingle. Scar has locked the front door.

 

The clock strikes ten times. Thick Fingers whistles, and everyone finishes what they are doing. Then we move our wooden stools against the wall. Thick Fingers hands me a jute sack and I follow his example, laying the sack on the floor where I was sitting.

Thick Fingers picks up my blue raincoat. “Is this yours?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Let me see if it will fit me.” Not only has Jatin tricked me and Scar imprisoned me, but now Thick Fingers wants to steal my raincoat. Thug.

He wiggles his body in. The sleeves are short and he can't button it. I don't want him to give it to someone else. “Too tight for me,” he says, wrinkling his small nose. I hold my breath until he hands it back to me. I fold the raincoat into a small rectangle and use it as a pillow.

Thick Fingers closes the shutters. All the kids lie down with their heads next to the wall and feet in the middle. The Rocking Boy's feet touch mine.

If I want to escape, I will have to wait for everyone to fall asleep, especially Thick Fingers. But as much as I want to run away, I can't stay awake.

 

I wake up in the middle of the night. The rain pounds on the metal roof with all its might. The wind hisses like an injured snake. The thunder follows lightning immediately. The storm is right above our heads.

Where is Aai? I look around for her and touch someone's feet. I sit up. Oh. The workroom. Jatin, Scar, Thick Fingers, and being locked up was not a bad dream. It is real. Everyone lies still. The racket of the pounding rain doesn't seem to bother them.

Time to leave. The door is locked, but maybe I can find a way to wiggle out of a window. It will be dangerous to be out in the pouring rain because the streets might have flooded. But what choice do I have? Lightning flashes through the cracks in the shutters again. Thunder follows.

Once I am out of here and standing on the street I will worry about the rain.

I get up. The room is packed with five other boys, so there are twenty arms and legs to step around. I point the beam of my flashlight in the center and slowly get to the other side and switch off my flashlight. Suddenly, I realize I forgot my raincoat, but if I walk back I might wake up someone. It is better to get wet than get caught.

I turn around to climb down the ladder. My foot hangs in the air. When I switch the flashlight back on for a second, I see that the ladder is gone. There's no way I can jump down without a huge thud—and I might injure myself.

In the flash of lightning, I see one of the boys sitting up. “What are you doing?” he whispers. Even in the dark I can tell he is hunched over. It is the boy with gray eyes.

I panic. “I…I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“You can't. You have to wait until Boss returns in the morning. Get back here.”

I walk slowly without turning my flashlight on. I don't think he has seen it, and for that I am thankful. No one has much here, and if Scar finds out I have a flashlight he might take it away.

My jute bed is scratchy, but what I feel on my skin is nothing compared to what I feel in my heart. It is as if someone has rubbed this rough sack on my heart over and over again and made it bleed. Tears roll down my cheeks as I think of Aai. What she must be going through! First, she lost Baba and now she's lost me. How quiet Naren and Sita were after Baba disappeared. They would sit on the footpath, staring at the road. Now they must be looking out the window, waiting for me. With Jama's help, I was supposed to go to school, work, and make sure Naren and Sita get an education.

Oh, why did I listen to Jatin? I was impatient and stupid to rely on a stranger.

The boy with fringy eyelashes next to me talks in his sleep. He stutters and speaks a different language. Maybe he comes from far away. But even though I don't under
stand what he is saying, I recognize his tone. It is sad and begging, as if he has done something wrong and is pleading for forgiveness. I reach out and pat him on the head. He quiets down. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and turn over.

The wind gusts and the whole place shudders. I tremble with it.

If my impatience and stupidity have brought me here, then the only way out is to have patience and cunning. I have to understand how things work here and plan carefully before I try to run away. As long as I am alive, I have a chance to escape—to escape for Aai, Naren, Sita, Jama, and Baba—especially for Baba. Because if he is alive, he will be devastated when he finds out I have vanished. And if he is dead, then I have to take his place and take care of my family.

Yes, I have to, and I will flee. It is only a matter of a few days.

I fall asleep thinking about all I have to do.

T
he day starts with a quick trip to the bathroom and work. Today, Thick Fingers gives me my own desk and tray of beads but makes me sit next to him so he can keep an eye on me. It also gives me a chance to watch him. His fingers are not as nimble as mine, so he is not as swift in picking up the beads with the blunt needle. But he is experienced and organized. He picks up a bead with his right hand, places it on the frame, and then presses it in with his left hand while he lifts up another bead. He works fast. I try to copy him, but I find it too hard to do things with my left hand.

Scar comes after we have been working for a while.
Tarrer, tarrer, tarrer
, the sound of the clock winding floats up. After a few minutes Scar claps us down for tea. As I sip the weak liquid I look around. The windows
are closed and so are the front and back doors. I wonder if Scar keeps them open during the day when we are upstairs. I must come down and check. “Drink quickly unless you want
kanpatti
,” he says.

Kanpatti
sounds like some kind of punishment. Everyone gulps their tea as fast as he can before going back up again.

 

After an hour or so, a song bursts out. Scar must have turned on the TV downstairs. I can hear every word. I try to follow the story, but that slows me down. So I concentrate on my work again.

But it is hard to focus—I can't stop thinking about how I am going to escape. I decide that I need to go down and check out the doors and windows. Maybe one of the doors is open and I can bolt. As I stand up, I put my hands on my back and bend backward. It feels good after being hunched over the desk for many hours.

Thick Fingers points at me with his blunt needle. “What are you doing?”

“I have to pee.”

“You can't just get up and wander out. You must ask for permission.”

“
Accha
. May I go?”

His nostrils puff up. “Sit down.”

I look around. Everyone has his head down. “But I have to go.”

“Start working. Now!” If his needle were sharper he
would've stabbed me with it.

My first thought is to sit back down, but if I want to escape I must stand up to Thick Fingers. I think of the statue of Annasaheb Kotwal that I used to see in Matheran in the park across from the Richie Rich Resort. In 1942 he fought in India's freedom fight against Britain. When the British Army came to capture him, he hid in the surrounding hilly jungles of Matheran. He never surrendered and was killed. I used to read his name and the plaque under his statue every time I went to the main street in Matheran. If I have learned anything from his story, it is that I must not back down.

I don't move.

“Didn't you hear me?” Thick Fingers asks.

“I will sit down after I go to bathroom,” I say. The other kids have stopped working. The boy with fringy lashes lift up his fear-filled eyes, the Rocking Boy puts his wooden needle down but keeps on rocking, the gray-eyed one smirks as if he is enjoying this.

The youngest one with a dimpled chin says, “
Yaar
, let him go.”

“Don't wag your tongue! And don't call me
yaar
, I'm not your friend.”

Dimpled Chin starts working again. He looks down and I can't see the dimple anymore.

I shuffle my feet as if I might wet my shorts.

“Go,” Thick Fingers says. “But get back right away.”

I cross the room as slowly as I can.

“Hurry up!”

I don't change my pace. I am not going to be bullied by Scar's
chamcha
, sidekick. I like how I have not allowed Thick Fingers to squash me.

 

“
Oai ladka
, are you still in the bathroom?” Scar shouts above the noise of TV.

“I am.”

“Hurry up.”

I come out of the bathroom. The back door is locked from the outside. Scar must keep it permanently locked. The wooden shutters are open, but the windows are fitted with metal grilles, so I can't climb out of there. I walk toward the ladder and glance at the front door. It is closed and locked. There is no hope of escape. Suddenly, my mouth tastes like it is filled with dust and my feet turn into mushy
bajra
porridge.

Scar is watching the TV and eating. I don't know what it is, but the smell of onions and garlic fill the air. My mouth begins to water. My eyes fix on Scar.

A large piece drops from his hand, hits the side of his wooden bench, and plops on the floor. His face twists when he sees me. “Look what you did! You made my
roti
slip. Don't stare at me,” he says. “Pick up the piece and eat it or else I will have a bellyache from your evil eyes.”

Before he changes his mind, I grab the onion-and-garlic-stuffed
roti
. I know people always share their food, even with strangers when they are traveling together, like
Aai shared with Card-Man. It is polite, and sharing the food makes it better. It gets blessed. I can't think Scar believes that, but maybe he feels that I hold some kind of evil power, and just by looking at his food I can make him drop it or make him sick. I smile at his superstition and turn to go.

“Stay and eat here. I don't have enough for everyone.”

I think of Rocking Boy, who held out his hand to steady me, and Dimpled Chin, who tried to take my side with Thick Fingers. I wish I could share with them.

Scar clears his throat. He is watching me.

As I stuff the piece in my mouth and chew, the moist, sautéed pieces of onion fill my mouth. It reminds me of Aai's
bajra roti
stuffed with onion.

I climb the ladder slowly. By the time I am up, I am finished chewing. Thick Fingers takes in a big breath. “I smell onions. Did you steal food?” Even with his small nose he can smell just fine.

“No.” I am afraid he will check my pockets and find my flashlight. “Boss gave me a piece of
roti
,” I say as I sit down.

“Show me your hands.”

I open my sweaty palms. He looks at my shorts. Before he asks me to empty the pockets, I say, “Onion breath,” and blow on him. His nose crinkles at the pungent smell.

There is muffled laughter. Thick Fingers looks around, but everyone's head is bent.

“Enough! Start working,” he barks.

I follow his order, but not before I glance at Dimpled Chin and Rocking Boy. They don't look up.

 

I went down with a hope of running away and all I got was a piece of
roti
. There is no way to escape from here. I wonder if anyone has ever tried to flee. Maybe someone did and that is why Scar keeps the door locked all the time. How did the other boys end up here? Where are their families? Do they get paid? I have questions, but who should I talk to? None of the boys is friendly, and they seem to mistrust each other.

Thick Fingers is the leader,
chota
boss, but I can't ask him anything. Dimpled Chin reminds me of Naren—maybe that is why I feel like I know him. Night Chatterer with fringy eyelashes never looks up. He is shy or scared, or maybe both. I notice how precisely he presses each bead, how his shirt is tucked in evenly, and his hair is perfectly combed, too. He must have a comb tucked in his pocket. I don't know anything about the gray-eyed boy, except he is a light sleeper. Rocking Boy is kind, and maybe he is the only one I can speak to.

It is difficult to work in the silence. Time walks by on its hands, slowly and painfully. Fumes from the glue sting my eyes. Relief comes only when the
nimba
leaves flutter and the light scent wafts through the room, temporarily masking the stink.

Scar pokes his head from halfway up the ladder and
motions for Thick Fingers to follow him.

After they leave, I whisper to Rocking Boy, “What's your name?” He gives me a blank look that is filled with sadness before he lowers his gaze.

I sigh. “You do have a name, don't you?”

Rocking Boy looks in the direction of the ladder. He nods.

“Tell me, or else I will call you Rocking Boy.”

Dimpled Chin giggles.

I put a finger to my mouth.

He whispers, “I like the name Rocking Boy. Can I have it?”

“You already have a nice name. I have named you Dimpled Chin.”

“Is it better than Rocking Boy?”

“It is for you. Because you are the only one with a dimple.”

Rocking Boy has not answered my question. I give him an encouraging smile. He stays quiet. “Just call him Rocking Boy,” Dimpled Chin says.

The boy with gray eyes leans over and slaps Dimpled Chin. “You have the biggest mouth on this side of the moon.” He is missing two front teeth, exposing his yellow gums.

Since he is the last in line and closest to the ladder, I ask, “Is someone coming up?”

He stares at me.

“What's your name?” I whisper.

“No names,” he hisses.

“Here we're
anamik
, without names,” I say.

“You are so good at giving names. Why don't you give me one?”

I think about it. He has stooped shoulders, gray eyes that are filled with anger, missing teeth, and yellow gums. “How about if I call you Gray Cloud? GC for short?”

“Just never talk to me.”

“Sure. You've made a mistake in your pattern, but I will stay quiet.”

He picks up his frame. “Where?”

The others snicker, including Night Chatterer. GC is mad. I can tell because the gray of his eyes gets darker. “I will tell Leader and he will complain to Boss, and then you will be in trouble.”

“Why do you call him Leader instead of his name? You want me to name him, too?” I ask.

“Chote muh, badi baat mat ker.”

“I may have a small mouth and talk big, but what about you? Why are you afraid to talk to Boss yourself?”

“You'll pay for this. Just wait and see.”

Rocking Boy starts tapping on his desk. I ignore him and tell GC, “Why should I worry? I've nothing anyone can take.”

“I've been in your place and one thing is
pakka
, you have something to pay with. Until it is gone you won't know you had it. And then it is too late.” His lips tighten as if some painful memory has pulled a string.

It's not only what he says but the sadness of his voice that shocks me.

 

When Scar bangs the door shut and locks it, Thick Fingers thumps back up the ladder. He plops down between GC and me. GC lifts up his chin slightly and nods in my direction. He is subtle, but Thick Fingers turns toward me. I smile at him. Then I grin widely at GC to let him know I'm aware that he tried to pass Thick Fingers a message about me. Thick Fingers looks confused, and GC looks frustrated.

“Tea se jyada nai kitali garam hai,”
GC finally says to Thick Fingers. What does “the new kettle is hotter than tea” mean? Is he saying that the new boy is behaving badly?

Rocking Boy sits across from Thick Fingers. He keeps his face down, but nothing has escaped him. He taps his right fingers on the side of his wooden table.

Maybe he is telling me, “Be careful” or “Danger.”

I pick up a frame and coat one side with a layer of glue. As I stick the beads on the frame, I think of how to trick Thick Fingers. One thing about him is that, even though he is Scar's favorite, he is not the reddest chili—the smartest one—of the bunch. He is like Naren when he plays cards and gets aces, kings, and queens, or low cards. He can't hide his joy or frustration. It is to my advantage that I can see right through Thick Fingers.

It is past noon and Scar has not returned. When the
clock strikes once, Thick Fingers says, “Time to eat.”

I throw my head back and rotate it to get the kinks out. When I try to get up, Thick Fingers pushes me back down. “You stay here. You don't get food today.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don't.” Rocking Boy is standing on the ladder, so his head peeks above the floor, like a little animal looking out of a hole. His concerned look reminds me of Aai. Night Chatterer is frozen with terror. Dimpled Chin looks from Thick Fingers to GC to me. I gulp down my fear. “What have I done?”

Thick Fingers glances at GC, who stands with his hands folded against his chest. “When Boss is not here, I rule, and I can do as I please.”

“So you can punish me if you don't like the way I smile or the way I look?”

GC smirks. “Or the way you talk and the way you walk.”

I want to tell him to stay out of it, but I don't. If he can convince Thick Fingers to starve me without saying a word, he is more dangerous than I thought. I have already done and said enough to hurt myself.

“Are you stuck on the ladder? Move!” Thick Fingers shouts at Rocking Boy.

Thick Fingers is the last one to leave. When he turns around to go down the ladder, he says, “Don't waste time. Keep on working.”

This place is bad even without Thick Fingers and GC pushing me to the ground and kicking me. I must somehow break them up. It won't help me get out of here, but at least I won't miss meals and be so weak that I can't escape when I get a chance.

By three in the afternoon, my bottom hurts. My stomach rumbles often and pain fills my neck, shoulders, and arms. I need to get up and walk. There is no way I am going to be stupid enough to ask for permission or argue with Thick Fingers to let me go to the bathroom. I did that before and had to pay for it.

Before long I must find a way to get up. What would Birbal do if he were in my place? But he was too smart to end up here. I go through some of Birbal's stories. When I remember the one I told Naren and Sita a few days ago, I realize that Birbal was asked to go to heaven. He had to die first. Die! But he fooled everyone. I must somehow trick these kids.

A breeze picks up and I hear a muffled sound,
kreech, kreech, kreech, kreech
. One of the overgrown
nimba
branches must be rubbing against the roof or the wall.