Glass Collector (28 page)

“You think the price I get for this stuff stays the same? The companies who buy the recycled material lower their prices every day. The more factories there are, the less everyone will earn from the goods we make.”

Faisal reaches forward to wind up the window but the charity worker rests an elbow on the filthy glass, forcing him to lean back.

“You can afford to pay more,” the charity worker says, nodding. “And you know it. All they’re asking for is a share of your profits.”

For the first time in Aaron’s life he wonders what it would be like to be paid a fair amount for the garbage he collects and recycles.

“That’s all workers ever ask for, less work and more money,” Faisal complains.

“We’ll build recycling factories in Mokattam,” the man says, and Aaron’s heart flickers with hope. If they have their own factories here, they can sell the recycled material for five times what the merchant’s paying. “We’ll build them—one day. I promise,” he adds.

The merchant’s eyes glaze over. He isn’t troubled by the warning. Instead, he looks bored. “Good luck!” is all he says.

Aaron wishes the charity man hadn’t added “one day.” Now it’s obvious to everyone that they don’t have the money to build the factories. They might never have the money. The crowd slowly breaks away. The charity man was trying to help, but nothing has changed.

With that sad thought in his mind, Aaron picks a path toward the pony yard. Once back collecting glass, he’ll be here every morning and hopefully Rachel will be too. The one person Aaron wasn’t expecting to see when he reaches the end of the last alley is Michael.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his warm eyes smiling. “What are you doing?”

“Now?” Aaron hesitates. “I have to stay here now. I can’t go back to your apartment again, but thanks for everything you did for me.” Michael’s expression of acceptance and understanding throws him for a second, then he says, “I’m going to the pony yard.”

Every day before work, Aaron races to the yard, hoping to run into Rachel. She’s never there. Someone said she’s scared to leave the house after the accident and won’t be at the pony yard for another few weeks, so he waters the ponies for her and looks after the place as best as he can.

Life feels so different now, and he commands a respect from his stepbrothers that he can barely comprehend. After returning from collecting glass in the city with a strangely calm Lijah, Aaron’s welcomed by Suzan, who hands him a rag to wipe his hands on. Soon a plate of food is pushed in front of him and they eat silently before sorting the garbage. Their hovel has become a place of peace, order, and routine. Everyone says that’s because there’s a woman in the family again. Even Youssa’s happy to do what he’s told, emptying the buckets and fetching the bread from the baker, which he never did before.

The sound of neighbors chatting wakes Aaron the next morning. He turns over on the floor in the open room and breathes in a smell of dead flowers drifting from the nearest rubbish bag. He stretches his arms and blinks at Youssa, curled up in a ball next to him, then watches as Suzan and Lijah hurry down the concrete steps ready for a brand-new day. When Lijah tries to hoick wax from his ear with a finger, Suzan shakes her head and, when he grins, smacks his hand.

Lijah seems to like being bossed about. Suzan’s given him a reason to behave and his eyes don’t leave her side as she kicks Youssa and Aaron to get up. She’s desperate to fling their mats in the alley so she can sweep her beloved floor. There’s hardly any sticky slop here anymore, or any noises coming from the two-room hovel next door, which is still empty.

Quick as a flash, Aaron’s on his feet and off through the alleys to fetch the pony. He picks up a discarded computer cable in his way and throws it at the sky. It whizzes to life for a moment before landing on the top of a garbage heap.

The last person he’s expecting to bump into is Rachel. Aaron pinches himself at the sight of her standing with her back to him. Her bare foot isn’t in a cast and, by the looseness of her galabeya, neither is her leg. She’s filling the water trough with the leaking green hose. Struck by the amazement of seeing her, Aaron forgets who he is—where he is.

Time stops. The world stops. His heart stops.

The flood of sunshine on her coppery hair makes him feel in and out of his body. At first she doesn’t see him because she’s humming along to the trickling water, but then she senses someone watching and turns round sharply.

“Aaron?” She drops the hose and limps a few steps.

“I wanted to see you. I was looking for you,” he blurts out.

She smiles and all awareness of the trough, hose, yard, ponies, sunshine—everything but her smile—fades from Aaron’s eyes. He sees nothing but her. Her heart-shaped face, perfect mouth and long neck.

“You looked after the ponies,” Rachel says, and grins. “In hospital I had a dream you came to see me. When I woke up I couldn’t open my eyes or move. I tried to say something but nothing came out. It was so weird.”

The vision from the hospital of her half-submerged body floating in clouds flashes through Aaron’s mind. “Once I dreamed I saw my mother in heaven,” he said. “I knew she was dead but we just talked like she was alive.”

Rachel nods. “That happened to me with Fatima. Only she was with all these people who were smiling, like they were expecting me. Do you think you know when you’re dead?”

“I hope I don’t,” Aaron says. “Did you hear Lijah’s married now?”

“Yeah, to Suzan.” She looks serious for a moment. “I’m getting married.”

Aaron freezes. “Why?”

“Because if I die it’s better to have a husband around to bury you. It’s more romantic than your father,” she says.

Aaron’s heart sinks. All of a sudden it feels as if an angry, yelling mob is charging through his body. He can hardly breathe, let alone look at her.

Her eyelashes flicker as if she’s teasing him, but he knows she isn’t.

A pony whinnies suddenly, as if to remind Aaron to attach the cart and hurry back to collect Lijah. He glances at the spot where the reject perfume bottles are buried and the earth blazes as if it’s on fire. In a daze, he fixes his eyes on the pony, determined to walk past Rachel without looking sad, roll out the cart, and get going.

Rachel shakes hair around her shoulders as he works and fidgets, watching his every move.

“Jacob told me you like me,” she says at last. “Do you?”

“What?” Aaron starts, his cheeks flushing hot.

Thanks, Jacob.

He’s not going to answer that. Now, when she marries Sami, everyone will stare at Aaron to see how he’s taking it. A jarring ache in his chest makes him tremble as he brings the cart to the track, swiftly attaches it to the pony, and loops the reins over its neck. As he’s about to climb up, he becomes aware of an intense sensation that Rachel’s close by. Full sunlight on her glittering face—she’s only an inch away. The soul of her eyes sink into him and the silence overpowers them both until she eventually blinks.

“I was thinking of marrying …
you
,” she says softly.

Every emotion explodes in Aaron. “You … were?”

Happiness, shock, and disbelief rise in a dangerous current that speeds through his body. At last it slowly dawns on him that she actually likes him.

“I was thinking … hoping … the same!” he gulps. “What about Sami? I thought you …”

The pony nudges Aaron’s back impatiently. Eternity is a long time and that’s how long Rachel’s smile seems to last before she replies.

“Nah. He’s ten years older than me. You and me are the same age—nearly. We understand each other. Don’t we?”

Aaron nods. There’s fire in his belly. A feeling he can’t control. There’s the small chance of a kiss hovering on Rachel’s lips and he wants to tell her about the empty house that’s next door to Lijah’s, but the sound of footsteps forces them to glance at the track, where someone’s hurrying to collect his cart.

“I better go,” Aaron says.

Rachel squeezes their secret into his hand as he tugs the reins. With an indescribable feeling of liberation, bliss, joy, peace, perfect everything, Aaron stares dumbly ahead as he rides the cart at a gentle pace to collect Lijah. However it happened—it happened. Rachel is his. But then … the worrying thought occurs to him that if Rachel discovers the buried perfume bottles she might change her mind. What if it rains and the bottles are revealed? Aaron pushes the picture out of his mind. It’s too terrifying to think about.

An hour later Aaron and Lijah approach the first alley in Cairo and, from the way Aaron leaps off the cart to begin work, Lijah notices a new, charged electricity in him. No longer prepared to haul the rest of the gluey filth home before separating the glass, he does two jobs at the same time, flinging glass into one bag and food slop, rags, plastic, cans, and packets into the other as fast as he can.

Instead of taking the pony around the roundabout twice and then returning to fetch him, Lijah leans forward on the hard wooden bench to watch Aaron pick out sharp pieces of broken glass as if they’re feathers. Tossing them into the bag as if he’s on a mission to create a tinkling, crashing, musical racket. For the first time Lijah realizes how expert Aaron is at fishing out cracked vases, mirrors, wine glasses, beer, and soda bottles. Watching him reminds Lijah of something he’d forgotten: how he always hated Aaron and his mother for the loving bond they had. The way she looked at him. The memory stirs sympathy for Aaron. Stirs sympathy for himself and his own mother, who died when he was nine, and a surprising flicker of shame lodges in him for the way he’s treated his stepbrother.

By the time Aaron’s on the cart, with traffic beeping and echoing around him, he’s out of breath.

“Here,” Lijah says—the first word he’s spoken all morning.

In his hand is a plastic bottle of iced water. Aaron spots the street hawker with his cool bag nearby and with complete shock takes the much-needed drink from Lijah’s clammy hand.

“Thanks.”

Swiftly Aaron bites off the blue lid and glugs the icy water, which bubbles in his throat, forcing him to slow down while he gazes at the calm face of the stepbrother he once dreamed of poisoning. It’s the first act of kindness that Lijah’s ever shown him, but by the look of him it won’t be the last. Then Lijah mutters something so surprising, Aaron almost drops the bottle.

“The first love is the greatest love of all.”

It sounds as if Lijah’s talking to himself. Aaron doesn’t want to chance his luck by saying the wrong thing, so all he does is smile and nod as if Lijah’s right. Maybe the priest had a word with him after he lost control of the bike and nearly killed Rachel. Or perhaps he’s so in love with Suzan, she’s all he thinks about. Either way, it’s good news for Aaron, though he knows Lijah might be different tomorrow.

Aaron swigs the last of the water and throws the bottle at the bags behind him. With a flash of inspiration he decides to leave the reject perfume bottles hidden in their burial chamber. No amount of rain and mud will uncover them, he stacked them too deep. From now on, he’ll try hard to tell the truth and never steal again.

A bright moon blinks when, later that day, crazy in love, Aaron sits back to watch the sky sprinkled with stars. He gazes at Rachel and it seems as if the whole world is smiling. Now he knows, sometimes the person you love loves you back. For now that huge, warm feeling is enough to give him the courage to face whatever comes next.

His fingers clasp the final perfume bottle, the one he’s kept back that’s been his secret medicine—the remedy to all his problems.

“I meant to give this back to the shop,” he says.

Rachel takes the rose-colored bottle and immediately twists the stopper off to sniff before dabbing her wrists and neck.

“Let’s smell it.” Abe is suddenly beside them.

Rachel hands him the perfume bottle, then digs in her pocket for the crumpled picture she tore from a magazine in the hospital.

“I’ve got something for you, Abe,” she says.

Abe pulls a face at the sickly smell and passes the bottle to Aaron, before rubbing the creases from the magazine page with his knuckles. “Wow! It’s a see-through moon jellyfish!”

He wanders off, eyes down, while Aaron holds the glass up to catch the real moon above.

“Look,” Aaron says. “You can see things differently whenever you want.”

Rachel squints through the glass and a door opens to her imagination, which changes the blurry moon to a bird with a thousand pearly wings.

After the wedding, Farah, an elderly neighbor, gave the first gift: a wooden food box with two shiny metal hinges and a lid sprayed by Jacob with a red heart. Shareen’s old home now belongs to Aaron and Rachel and the stepfamily’s rubbish bags fill the open downstairs room. Upstairs, the mats, the green dividing curtain, the pillowcase with the curvy belly dancer, and the poster of the Cairo International Stadium have disappeared. Instead, the food box takes pride of place next to the sink. Along with a new gray mat, striped mattress, cotton sheets, and fluffy pillows, for which Rachel’s father somehow managed to pay.

All day long people came with arms full of gifts. Harun, the laundry man, arrived with a cotton tablecloth with lace edges. Next Fatima with the Filthy Mouth rushed in with a bag of hibiscus tea that she could ill afford to give away. Leya, Rachel’s aunt, brought dried tamarinds, salt, and sugar. Father Peter blessed the house and Noha gave them a box of pistachio nuts. Michael and Inga brought a blue glass vase and placed it on the ledge of the glassless window.

“To catch your sunlit dreams every morning and hold them there forever,” Michael said.

Habi, the greengrocer, filled the food box with bananas, oranges, pomegranates, mangoes, and lemons—enough to feed the whole of Mokattam. Sami gave them a second- hand broom. Abe and his mother handed over a thick bundle of cinnamon sticks and the Mebaj brothers gave them two brand-new matching saucepans with lids. Ahmet offered them a car magazine he’d loved and kept for many years, which they refused to take. People Aaron and Rachel hardly know turned up with nuts, flour, and butter.