The Rebel and the Thief, page 13
“Now you know,” Bagura said darkly. “There’s even a bounty on you. A hundred thousand leik.”
I collapsed onto a stool. “What do I do now?”
“Idiot,” Yuri snarled. “Pompous bastard.”
Bagura silenced him with an impatient gesture. “My wife and the boys are clearing out. They’ll be picked up in half an hour. You can go with them if you like.”
“No,” I said, without hesitation.
Bagura nodded, as if it was the answer he’d expected.
“Aren’t you going?” I asked.
“I’m staying on a bit. Got a few things to sort out.” He waved a hand, as if his plans were hardly relevant. “I’ll follow in a couple of days. But you need somewhere to hide.”
I was too confused to think straight. I couldn’t stay in the settlement. That much was clear. But before I went anywhere, I had to see Mary. She was the only person I wanted to talk to just now. I got up so abruptly that Bagura almost fell off his stool. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” he called after me. “I have something for you,” But my thoughts were already somewhere else.
* * *
—
It was dusk when I reached the Benzes’ house. I would have to wait a few hours before I could see Mary, but it felt good just to be near her. I found a parked car whose grimy windshield told me that it hadn’t been used for a long time, and crawled underneath to wait for nightfall.
Under the car it smelled of oil and moldy leaves. A millipede ran across my arm. Now and then a pair of flip-flops walked past. The longer I lay there, the clearer my mind became. Like noodle soup when the herbs and spices settle at the bottom.
My parents couldn’t help me.
I doubted that Bagura could do anything for me.
Mary might be able to hide me in the cellar for a few days, but that wasn’t a solution.
I was on my own. For the first time in my life, I was on my own.
I had taken ten thousand leik from our stash, for use in an emergency. It wouldn’t last forever, but it would keep me going for a bit.
In the Benzes’ garage was the motorcycle that my mother and I used to ride to market. I knew where to find the key.
* * *
—
When night had settled on the city, I crawled out from beneath the car, crept around the garden wall, and wriggled under to the other side.
Mary was sitting at the window as if she were expecting me.
We didn’t talk much in the cellar. Mary wanted me to go up to her room so she could show me something.
“I didn’t know you were famous,” she said with a grin, as she closed the door behind us. “There’s a big feature on your campaign in the papers. There are even photos!”
“I’m not famous, I’m infamous. The police are looking for me.”
Either Mary didn’t hear what I said, or she didn’t understand the implications. She scrolled through her phone for a moment and showed me the website with the article I had seen at Bagura’s. A photo showed Yuri, Taro, and me sitting at our tables, as long lines of people queued up for money. Another picture showed me staring earnestly into the camera.
“ ‘All people are equal before this virus,’ ” Mary read, “ ‘but only the rich have access to doctors and medicine. People are going hungry because they have nothing to eat, while others eat themselves to death. When those who have fail to help those who have not, it’s a crime.’ Did you really say that?”
“I think so.”
“Wow. Now everyone’s talking about you. Really, everyone.”
“Talking about me?”
“Yes. On Facebook, YouTube, Instagram—all over the internet.”
She sat down on the bed and flipped open her laptop. I sat down beside her. Seconds later I saw the first video of our campaign. It was blurred, but Yuri, Taro, and I were clearly recognizable, pressing bills into people’s hands as laughing men and women thronged around us. A second video showed a man in an Amita T-shirt standing next to the minivan, kissing a handful of bills.
Only a few clicks and I saw myself with Yuri and Taro in our Red Cross uniforms. “Look,” Mary said, “there you are again. Tell me all about it.”
And so I told her about Bagura’s idea for the Amita Foundation—how we’d prepared for the campaign, how it had worked, and how Bagura had tricked the police. I told her how happy people had been and how I had stood on the roof of the minivan with a megaphone. The more Mary heard, the more enthusiastic she became.
When I’d finished, she read out the comments people had posted.
Great campaign. More please!
Niri for president.
Cool guy. That’s what heroes look like.
Fuck the mayor.
3K leik!!!! When’s Niri coming to our slum?
Instead of feeling happy, I buried my face in my hands and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you pleased?”
“You don’t get it. I’m wanted. I may be a hero for some, but there’s a price on my head. A hundred thousand leik! I have to run away. And I don’t know where. I don’t know when I can see you again. What is there to be pleased about?”
“If you run away, I’m coming too,” she said.
“You’re coming too?”
She leaned over me and her features stiffened. “Why not? Because I can’t walk properly?”
“But I don’t even know—”
She interrupted me. “Do you think I’ll be a burden? Is that it?”
I sat up angrily. “Stop this. What are you talking about?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Mary, this isn’t some adventure game.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she said indignantly. “Do you think I’ve been helping you for the sake of adventure?”
“No, of course not. But once you’ve run away with me, there’s no turning back.”
“I realize that.”
“You might never be able to come back.”
“I don’t want to anyway.”
“You’d leave your family?”
She nodded.
“Your parents?”
She nodded again.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Because is reason enough.” She thought for a second. “How are we going to get away?”
“On your motorcycle.”
She nodded. “And where are we going?”
“First we’ll head south to the coast,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. “To the beach. Some island. Somewhere where no one will find us. Are you quite sure?” I asked again, and this time I was afraid she might have changed her mind.
By way of an answer, Mary hobbled to the closet and took out a duffel bag. She pulled open drawers, took out clothes, a phone charger, and a few packets of pills, and tossed everything into the bag. “We need money too, don’t we?” she said. “Wait here.”
I sat on the bed, no longer nervous and agitated, but calm. I had been wrong: I wasn’t on my own.
* * *
—
Soon afterward, Mary returned with a cloth tote and a paper packet, which she added to the things in the duffel bag. I heard something jangle in the tote. She switched off her phone, tore a sheet from a notepad, scribbled a few lines, and left the note on her bed. “All done. We can go.”
I shouldered the duffel bag, and we crept through the house into the garden and then down to the garage, staying in the lee of the bushes. The motorcycle was parked where it always was, with two helmets on the saddle, and the key hung, as usual, in the little box next to the door. I wheeled the motorcycle out into the drive; Mary opened the gate to the street. We hadn’t exchanged a word since leaving her room, communicating only with looks.
It was a little after six and already getting light. I strapped Mary’s duffel bag onto the luggage rack and swung myself onto the saddle. It was harder for Mary. I heard her curse and give a brief groan of pain.
“You all right?” I asked when she was finally on.
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“First to the settlement. I have to say goodbye.”
* * *
—
I parked the motorcycle at the fence and told Mary to wait.
Then I hurried through the alleyways. Early risers were lugging buckets of water; a few sleepy-looking children were sitting on doorsteps. Everyone greeted me cheerfully.
My mother and Thida were still asleep; my father wasn’t around. I hoped he wasn’t looking for me. There was no paper or pen to write a note, and I hesitated, wondering whether I shouldn’t wake Mom and Thida after all. Then I decided against it. What would I have said? I kneeled down between their mats and kissed them both gently on the forehead.
I was on my way to Bagura’s when I ran into my father.
“There you are,” he cried with relief. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?”
“I can’t stop now, Dad,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything later.”
“Mom and I have been so worried.”
“I’m sorry. But I’ve no time. I really have to go.”
“No time?” I saw the concern on his face morph into anger. “You come with me, please.”
“No, I have to go.”
“Niri,” he said sternly. “What a way to talk to your father.”
I wasn’t going to hang around and be told off. Not after what I’d been through. “Aren’t you ever going to get it?” I asked.
“Get what?” My father stared at me aghast, as if he were looking at a stranger.
“That I can’t stand and look on as everyone starves to death. That no one gets a full belly from meditating. That we can’t change things by putting bananas on an altar and lighting candles.”
“The Buddha says—” my father began.
“The Buddha says, the Buddha says…The Buddha doesn’t say the world has to stay the way it is. He says we must each bear the responsibility for our actions. But we’re also responsible for the things we don’t do. Holding our peace, looking away, doing nothing—all that has consequences too. If Mom had died because I hadn’t taken her to the doctor, I’d have been to blame. If Thida had starved because I hadn’t got food for her, I’d have been to blame.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” my father shouted. “It was right to help, but not the way you did.”
“How else?” I yelled. “You went to Mr. Benz to ask for help. What good did that do? Huh?”
My father ground his jaws, but said nothing.
“He wouldn’t even speak to you.” My voice was close to cracking. “I went to Mr. Benz too. I took what we needed without asking. It was the only way.”
“No, Niri, you’re wrong there.”
“I am not. Would you rather I’d done nothing—just sat around waiting for alms until Mom and Thida were both dead?”
“How can you say such a thing? You stole and you’ll end up being punished for it…One way or another…It wasn’t right.”
“I don’t care about my karma.”
We were speaking in such loud voices that doors began to open in the surrounding shanties and inquisitive heads peered at us in surprise. I didn’t care about them either.
“I’m sorry, Dad. But I really have to go now.”
He raised his arms and took a step toward me. For a moment I thought he was going to physically restrain me. I backed away and his body went limp.
“Sometime I’ll explain everything.” We looked at each other. I held his gaze, gave him a nod, and then hurried on past him and down the narrow alley to Bagura’s house.
I turned around only once. He was still standing there, motionless between the shacks, watching me go. A small knot of kids had gathered about him.
When I think back to that day now, I feel like crying. Those were the last words we spoke to each other, the last looks we exchanged. No one should ever part from a loved one midquarrel. It would mean so much to me to know that my father understood why I did what I did.
Bagura was sitting outside his shanty in the early light, as if he were expecting me. He was wearing an Amita Foundation baseball cap on his head and an Amita Foundation T-shirt stretched across his big belly.
“Where were you?” he asked dully. “I have something for you.” He rose ponderously and signaled to me to follow him into the shack. It looked sad and deserted, with its empty shelves and walls. Only the black-and-white photo of the little girl with big eyes was still there, lying on his bed.
He took two envelopes from his shoulder bag. From one he pulled a red passport and a wad of papers.
“What’s that?”
“Have a look.”
The passport bore the name of a stranger of my age. He had been born in a different place and on a different day from me, but he had my photo. I looked questioningly at Bagura.
“That’s your passport. You can leave the country with it. It’s been made by pros, so you needn’t worry about being caught. The other papers are to confirm that you’ll sign on to the MSC Hong Kong as a kitchen boy in four weeks’ time. The Hong Kong’s a container ship—travels mainly between Asia and Europe.”
A smile spread across Bagura’s face; you could tell he was proud of his coup.
I stood there speechless, holding the passport and papers in my hand.
“I think it would be best if you left the country for a while. It’s too dangerous for you here. And you’ve always wanted to go to sea, haven’t you?”
I still couldn’t speak.
“Thank you,” I stammered eventually, “but I can’t accept these.” I tried to push the papers back into his hands.
Bagura made one of his dismissive gestures. “You must accept them,” he said. “Apart from anything else, they were paid for with your money. I was owed a few favors. It was nothing.”
“No, really…”
“Think of them as an insurance policy. Put them away and take good care of them. You won’t get any more.”
Then he gave me a second envelope, neatly folded and sealed shut.
“In here are the address and phone number of a friend who might be able to help you until the ship sails. And an old phone with ten SIM cards. You mustn’t use any of the cards more than once and you must throw each one away as soon as you’ve used it. It’s possible that someone’s monitoring my phone to see if you get in touch. It isn’t hard to trace calls. Best not to get in touch until you’re about to leave a place. And keep things brief. The shorter the call, the safer it is for you. For me too. Here’s my wife’s number, in case you can’t get hold of me.”
I put everything in my backpack. “Thank you,” I said again, feeling tears prick my eyes. “Why haven’t you left yet?”
“Where would I go?”
“To that hut on the beach. You wanted to watch the fishermen going about their work.”
“All in good time.”
“What does that mean?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You didn’t take any money, did you? That’s why there was so much left over after the sale of the gold—because you went without your share.”
“You’re wrong there. How did you think I paid for my wife and the boys to leave? I’m no Good Samaritan—far from it. Also, Yuri would never have allowed it. Taro maybe, but not Yuri. Never.”
“Since when do you let Yuri boss you around?” I asked.
“Don’t you worry about me, kid. I can take care of myself. What we need to do now is find you somewhere to hide for the next few weeks. I bet the police will be here looking for you before the day is out.”
“I have a motorcycle.”
I liked the look of surprise on his face.
“Stolen?”
“Something like that.”
“Where’s it parked?”
“On the street, by the fence.”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“South, to the coast.”
“Maybe I’ve underestimated you,” he said approvingly and pushed me roughly out of the shack. “You must go now. Have you seen your parents?”
“Yes, my mom and Thida were still asleep and my dad was out.” I didn’t want to tell Bagura about the fight. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Another?” he said, with an exaggerated sigh.
“Will you go to them, please, and tell them that I—I—” I couldn’t find the right words.
“That you had to leave suddenly, that you’re thinking of them, that they mustn’t worry about you, that you love them, and that you’ll be back soon?”
I nodded, relieved. “Exactly. And that I’m sorry about all the grief I’ve caused them. Is there any money left over?”
“Not a lot. Why?”
“I’d like you to give them twenty thousand leik. Do you have that much?”
“Yes, but your father will never accept it.”
“My mom might though. Will you give it to her, please?”
He nodded. “I will. And now,” he said sadly, “I’ll see you to the street.”
* * *
—
Bagura stopped short when he saw Mary and the motorcycle in the yellow glow of the streetlamps. She hobbled a few steps toward us and then stopped too.
“Who’s that?”
“Mary.”
“Who’s Mary?”
“My source.”
He sized her up speechlessly. Mary stared back. She shifted from one leg to the other, but came no closer.
“Is she a cripple?”
“No, she just has trouble walking.”
“Then she’s a cripple,” he said. “And you’re planning to take her with you?”
“Of course. We belong together.”
