Breakdown, page 6
‘The girl,’ Careem says.
‘That’s you,’ whispers Lenny, giving me a little shove. ‘Don’t argue with him. Please don’t, Miss. Do what he says then he won’t hurt you.’
I stumble forward. Kaylem and Nailey punch me to the ground near the swag. I slip, land on slime, kneel near the offal. I can’t take my eyes off it. The smell. The ground is slick with it.
‘Wanna see what she’s paid already?’ says Careem.
The crowd draw in tighter. Shouts of approval run through them. ‘Yeah,’ says one voice above the other, ‘and it better be good.’
‘Oh, it’s good all right,’ says Careem.
And with another nod he indicates that Kaylem and Nailey can show the people what they swapped their dinner for.
Nailey steps forward, rips the end of the swag open. Out tumble the shoes.
I can’t quite believe it. I can’t quite believe there’s that many. Those boat people must’ve been rolling in it. How on earth did Tarquin carry all that? But he must have – there they are just lying in front of me.
The grumbling takes on a less threatening tone. Someone even whoops. I try to get my heart to subside a little, but it doesn’t listen to me. Hands reach forward.
‘Don’t touch,’ says Careem very silkily.
One of them makes a mistake. Either it’s that or he didn’t hear Careem or he doesn’t care and thinks it worth it. He jumps right forward, straight at a pair of lace-up trainers, and grabs them.
Kaylem flicks up a hand. The blade arcs and sweeps down through the soft skin of the boy’s throat. The kid drops. Blood sprays out across the shoes.
12
There’s a huge intake of breath. Nobody moves.
I crouch there, my heart crashing against my ribs.
‘Now look what you done,’ says Careem mildly. ‘You messed my haul.’ He stands up, steps forwards and prods the dying kid with his foot. The kid’s eyes roll up. He claws at his throat, jerks. A low gurgle.
Careem shakes his head, sits back down. ‘What a waste,’ he says, nodding at his two guys. They step forward and pull the kid off the pile of shoes and away to one side. ‘Put him out for the dogs,’ says Careem. And as an afterthought, ‘Set some of Shukri’s boys to trap any that come. Put him to some use.’
Kaylem hauls the dying boy off like he’s already dog bait. I kneel there. In shock. One of their own. It’s just like Nan said. ‘Kill or be killed. Think. Stay alive. Do whatever you must. Or you won’t stand a chance.’
‘Make a line,’ shouts Nailey.
People are scared. They’re scared to disobey. And they’re scared to come near the shoes. ‘Hurry up,’ yells Nailey. A few straggly lines start to form on the far side of the fire.
Careem turns to the guys quietly waiting round him. ‘Each of you take a pair,’ he says. They don’t stop to match them up much, or check sizes. They just bend down and take whatever’s nearest.
‘They’ll swap later,’ whispers Lenny. I glance over my shoulder. He’s crept up right behind me, all big eyes and scrawny neck. And suddenly I’m afraid for him. I want him to go back, stay away from those shoes. But he creeps up alongside me, puts his hand in mine. And I can see he’s looking at something in the pile.
Near the centre is a little cache of kids’ shoes. They’re tied together by their laces. Nobody’s taken them yet. I look at them and think of the kids that once wore those shoes.
The gangers are just taking the nearest ones. My heart’s still hammering. I look at Lenny’s feet, so raw and scarred. I look at the blood splattered over everything.
After most of the gang’s chosen, Careem calls Tarquin forwards.
‘OK,’ he says, ‘you got them, though they cost us in dogs. Now you choose.’
And as I’m kneeling there I see the way Careem does it. How he keeps his power over this stinking ghetto. Tarquin didn’t cost them anything. What was one more ganger going to do that twenty of them couldn’t? If they only got three dogs that was all they were going to get. Saving me didn’t cost anyone anything. But Careem doesn’t want Tarquin to get any kind of thanks for getting the shoes. So he makes out he’s a dead weight, keeps him waiting till last.
And he kills the boy who tried first.
Tarquin heads straight into the pile – right towards the kids’ shoes. Swiftly he reaches for them, unlaces a pair, stout boys’ boots. He holds them up for Careem to approve. Lenny draws in his breath. Nobody draws a knife. Careem flickers one eye. Tarquin steps out of the pile and backs away.
‘Don’t want none for yourself?’ says Careem.
Tarquin shrugs. ‘Don’t mind.’
‘But?’ says Careem.
‘If you think I did good then let me keep the girl,’ says Tarquin.
Everything suddenly goes quiet. The silence is terrible. I can even hear the slight patter of rain on the shoes.
Immediately Tarquin knows he’s said the wrong thing.
‘Please,’ he adds.
Nobody moves.
‘Since Ma died,’ Tarquin quickly defends, ‘Lenny ain’t got no one to stay with when we’re out. I take him along on account of this. I need someone to leave him with. Someone who’ll treat him right. So I can stay out longer. Get more swag. And he likes the girl.’
Lenny’s face lights up.
But Careem’s doesn’t. Nailey leaps forwards.
‘No,’ I scream. I can’t help myself.
There’s a terrific whack and a baseball bat cracks clean across Tarquin’s ribs. The blow sends him toppling backwards.
‘I don’t think you was listening,’ says Careem. ‘I said you can have a pair of shoes.’
Lenny’s hand slips out of mine. He’s trembling. He’s gone whiter than a ghost.
‘You put your foot out of line once more and I’ll sort Lenny out for you. Forever,’ says Careem very softly.
13
Lenny starts crying. Kaylem moves closer. Lenny shuts his mouth. But it’s me that Kaylem comes for. His hand descends on my coat and I’m hauled up in front of Careem.
‘Girly,’ Careem drawls. ‘Looks like you’ve been making friends already.’
‘And enemies,’ adds Kaylem.
‘Well?’ Careem’s eyes hold a question.
I don’t answer. I’ve got a feeling it’s best not to be too sparky.
‘You were right about the shoe boat – I don’t want no one saying I ain’t a reasonable man, so you can keep your shoes and your coat. Fair enough?’
From the corner of my eye I can see Lenny. Keep Careem’s attention. Maybe he’ll forget about Lenny for now. So I focus back on Careem. He seems to be waiting for an answer. And I think I’ve got just the right one for him.
I’ve figured it out. My card.
He won’t kill me. He won’t even touch me. He wants to trade me to the General, doesn’t he?
It’s an ace.
‘Well.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Seems you’re pretty handy at flouncing around in a long coat and dealing with dead dogs.’
There’s a collective intake of breath. I take full advantage. I step up closer to him and daintily wipe my hands on the side of his armchair. I tilt my face to its best angle and look at him. Then I drop my voice. ‘As for me, I like my men a lot more –’ I flick my eyes up, gaze deep into his – ‘potent.’
He knows what I mean. You’re no match for me. I’m for the General.
Kaylem steps up, ready to execute me on the spot. But Careem’s floored. He can’t execute me without what I said getting back to the people. If he executes me he’ll lose a lucrative deal with the General. Both things will undermine him. He motions Kaylem away. Struggles to reassert control.
‘Don’t think you can weave your magic on anyone else round here.’ He waves his hand at the crowd. ‘You got to save it up. You get me?’
‘No, I don’t get you,’ I say.
‘You got to save it up for someone special.’ He says the ‘someone special’ all low and sexy.
Kaylem lets out a long guffaw. ‘And you thought I was rough.’
Tarquin makes to stand up. I don’t know if he was going to do something, but before he’s even on his knees Nailey’s got hold of him.
Careem calls one of his women over. You can tell he wants to be rid of me as quickly as possible. ‘You and Dena get her cleaned up. Check in the haul. We got a few clothes that’ll do. Choose something revealing. She’s going to the Governor General as soon as she’s ready.’
The Governor General. Aristaeus.
Nan told me the whole story.
‘Nobody reads the Greek myths any more. If they did they’d know that the death of the bees was a punishment because Aristaeus desired Eurydice – and she belonged to another. She belonged to Orpheus.
‘To understand the story you must understand the symbols.
‘Aristaeus is mankind – greedy, ready to take what is not his own – and Eurydice is nature, bounteous, beautiful beyond compare.
‘The bees died because of mankind’s greed. It was a penalty for our misuse of the natural world. Man’s excesses upset the balance of nature, brought death, brought starvation.
‘Wasted populations.’
I am transported back to my childhood, Nan and me and Dad’s books and the mythical beauty of Greek islands, where vines clung to sunny walls and turquoise seas lapped on golden beaches …
Not wasted wilderness outside the door.
And I remember her warnings.
‘Eurydice was beautiful beyond the dreams of mortal men. None could see her and not desire her.
‘She was beautiful, Melissa. But not more beautiful than you.
‘And Aristaeus caused her death. Caused her to dwell forever in the underworld.
‘Do not let the General see you, Melissa. He is an abomination. He is an Aristaeus. He uses all his power to scour the country for young girls. And he will drag you down into the dark.
‘Old tales tell old truths.
‘Only Orpheus can lead you back from the underworld, only he can save you once the General has seen you. You must find your Orpheus, Melissa, before the General finds you.
‘To be so beautiful is a blessing and a curse.’
14
I grit my teeth as Dena, a woman with pock marks and greasy hair, douses me in icy water. Two others take rags and gritty soap. They scrub me raw.
I cower, shiver. ‘I can do it myself.’
Kaylem is standing there, watching, laughing. ‘Careem’s orders.’
‘Let me do it,’ I hiss at Dena.
‘Or-ders,’ reminds Kaylem. He leers at me, enjoys my nakedness.
There’s no way I can cover myself. You’ll pay for this, I think.
‘Please,’ I say to Dena. I think even she finds Kaylem revolting. She motions for the others to stop. ‘Dry yourself,’ she says.
She throws me a cloth. I shiver. I cover up, rub myself quickly. My skin tingles as I try to get some warmth into me.
‘Could I drink some water?’ I ask, my teeth chattering.
I stand there, shivering, the towel barely stretching round me.
Dena steps back and looks at me. ‘Get the clothes.’ She scoops water from one of the buckets and passes it to me.
As I sip the water, they sort through the clothes. It seems they have a supply of dresses reserved for those to be sent to the General.
Dena’s not satisfied. ‘The dark green dress.’
One of them goes out and returns with a dress. It’s very flimsy, with crossed straps at the back and cut low at the front. The skirt clings to my legs. It’s beautiful in a way, but I hate it. It makes me feel young and vulnerable and powerless.
Kaylem leans up against the wall, laughing, twitching his crotch, making rude gestures.
‘You’re too thin,’ remarks Dena and pulls the dress tighter around my waist to show my shape. She fastens it with a safety pin. ‘Eat this,’ she says and thrusts a cold cooked potato into my hand.
I glance up at her. She doesn’t look back. There’s something sorry in the angle of her shoulders. That’s all.
I eat the potato.
Careem arrives. He strolls in, his long black coat swishing as he walks.
‘Think she’ll do?’ he says to Kaylem.
The two of them exchange a knowing look.
Careem examines me. He looks for skin damage. I realise Kaylem was very clever in the way he slapped me. Bruises don’t show up around the back of the head and, except for a thinning of hair on my left side, a cut on my inside lip and a few blue shadows on my neck, there’s nothing to show.
Careem sees the bruises on my neck, though. ‘Not happy about that,’ he says.
Dena finds a scarf – wispy, pale. She drapes it round my neck.
‘Speak to Tarquin,’ Careem orders Kaylem.
‘It wasn’t Tarquin,’ I say.
The blow lands on the side of my head just behind my ear. I reel, nearly fall. Dena steadies me.
‘I said, speak to Tarquin. She was in his care and he knows better.’
‘Delighted to,’ says Kaylem.
‘Get Nailey and get her out.’
I’m marched out, dizzy, my eyes watering. Through the arena, across one of the footbridges. A chill wind blows. In this skimpy dress I have nothing to shield me.
‘Keep moving,’ orders Careem. ‘We don’t want her looking like a dried dog when we get there.’
I think: Get where? How far? Can I break free? Run? I can scarcely walk in these stupid shoes they’ve squeezed on me. I see a car, an army jeep. It comes gliding out, stops right by us.
‘Get in,’ orders Careem.
He yanks open a door and gets in the front. Nailey and Kaylem bundle me into the back. One on either side. The car moves off. It slowly negotiates the bumps in the road and heads through the ruined streets of the east. We pass a few straggling gangers carrying heavy loads of broken furnishings. Firewood. One woman with a tin basin full of bits and pieces.
‘Grow tough and stay tough.’ That’s what Nan would say. ‘And when the going gets tough – get tougher.’
Maybe I can’t run, but I can stay and fight. And that gives me an idea.
I let my shoulders fall slack and a blank mask settle across my face. Even the tiniest pinprick can pop a bubble.
Make your pinprick count, I tell myself.
Make sure you burst Careem’s little bubble.
At the barracks, through the swing barrier, at a manned outpost, the jeep stops. We’re outside a large stately building. A squad of soldiers, six, come at the double to the jeep. Careem casually steps down from the front seat. He nods at me. ‘Brought a little treat for the General.’
The soldiers hold their guns at the ready.
‘You and you, step out. Stand by the car,’ they order Kaylem and Nailey. ‘You and the girl this way.’
Careem laughs, flicks his wrist at the two gangers. ‘Amuse yourselves, boys,’ he says.
And then we walk. Careem takes my arm. He twists it. ‘Walk nicely,’ he says. ‘If you fail to fetch me a good price, I’ll let Kaylem have you – with no conditions about spoiling the goods.’
So he knows.
When the going gets tough, I think, I’ll put my plan into action.
We’re ushered into a wide hall. Instantly I can see where all the country’s wealth has gone. It has the grandest interior. The furnishings are all in red. The ceiling is divided into panelled compartments, each showing ancient emblems. Light filters in through stained-glass windows. Coats of arms, paintings, frescoes, statues. Solid brass gates bar an entrance to some kind of chamber. At the far end on a dais is a throne, ornate, gilded.
I think of Nan and her tales of the Gods. I stare. Was Olympia like this? Did Zeus sit on such a throne?
Careem sits down on a carved seat near the dais. ‘Walk,’ he says, ‘there.’ He points into the centre of the room. I obey, totter over, stand there, faint, hungry. ‘Where’s all the sass now?’ jeers Careem. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
Get tougher.
I try not to teeter in the impossible shoes. Instead I feel for the safety pin Dena used on the dress. I loosen it. I twist the sharp end out. Look for his weak points. Just one careless moment. I’ll take his eye out. That’s all I need. Bastard. A few minutes of chaos. I’m outside the ghetto. I could kick these heels off and get clean away.
I hear the click of boots on stone. I hear the ornate brass gates squeal open. Something creeps out, staggers to a nearby table.
A silky voice says, ‘Take it away. Give it to the troops. It’s got no use left.’
I look up, focus my attention.
It’s a girl. A long-legged, striking girl. Once a beautiful girl. Her face is bruised. One eye black and swollen. She staggers, holds on to a picture. Her thick golden hair falls in waves onto her thin shoulders. Everywhere, she’s covered in black bruising. Around her delicate ankles and wrists, raw wheals, like she’s been tied down by wires too tight.
Two soldiers march up, take her by the arms, lift her almost bodily. She seems to have no energy left. They support her and half carry, half drag her out.
Careem laughs.
The gates creak open again. The same click of leather on stone.
They open. Through them marches the General. He’s much shorter than I imagined. Short and old. And there’s something about his eyes. They slide over the floor and over me. He smiles. His teeth – broken, stubby – slope backwards into his mouth.
I tighten my grip on the safety pin.
He seems to be drying his hands. As if he’s just washed something off them. He marches straight up to me. Grabs my chin, forces it up. Then he looks.
He likes what he sees. I can see his pupils widen. I can see his lower lip fall slack. He lets out a long, low whistle. He rips my dress down. This is it. I respond. My arm comes round fast. My knee comes up. I smack the side of his head. I drive the pin in until it hits bone. I find a use for the stupid shoes. Stiletto heel right on his foot. He jumps back. I knee up again, but miss.
‘And spirited too,’ he says, slamming his hand to his head. It comes away tinged in blood.
