Yiza Page 6

  Arian, Yiza whispered. She shook his leg.

  Arian propped himself up on his elbows and used the palettes to pull himself upright. Yiza, he said.

  Arian. Nothing, she said.

  They pulled their legs in even further and leaned forward so their faces were close together.

  With one hand, Arian unzipped Yiza’s coat, touched her stomach gently with his forefinger. Good? he asked. Good? He undid his coat, touched his forefinger to his own stomach and said firmly, in a deep voice: Good! Good! Then hers again: Good? His own, firmly: Good! Hers, gently: Good?

  Good, said Yiza in Arian’s language. She rubbed her belly. Good. Once more, she said: Good. This time in her language. And Arian copied her in her language. It was another word they had in common. Nothing. Good.

  Their thirst made them unhappy and anxious and fidgety. Arian knew how he could open the jar of peaches. If he’d had a nail, for instance, he would have hammered it into the lid, with a stone, if he’d had a stone. Then the lid would have been easy to twist off. But he didn’t have a stone, or a nail. And he didn’t have a knife, either. He would have liked a knife. He had seen some very beautiful knives. He dreamed of owning his own knife.

  Knife, he said. His tongue was sticky. His lips were sticky. Knife, he said, articulating each letter.

  But Yiza was too thirsty to want to learn a new word. And Arian was too thirsty to teach her a new word. And how was he supposed to explain what the word meant when there was no knife there for him to point at? He tried to twist the lid off the jar again. He couldn’t do it. The peaches wouldn’t quench their thirst, anyway. The thirst had arrived suddenly. They were warm. But it wasn’t a good warmth. It had come with the thirst. He reached for Yiza’s hands. She slapped him away. She thrust out her lower lip. She wanted to be even smaller than she was.

  I want a drink, she said. She knew Arian didn’t understand her.

  There’s nothing I can do about that, he told her. It was easy to guess what she had said.

  Then the lorry stopped. They heard voices again. This time there was laughter as well. The cover was thrown back. Light shone in, all the way to the back. The children wriggled back under the tarpaulin. The palettes were dragged across the floor of the lorry, and a forklift truck picked them up and took them away and came back for the next ones. Arian grabbed what he could, two jars, two tins. Eventually the tarpaulins by the back wall were all that was left. No one had any interest in them.

  Arian rolled up one of the tarpaulins. It was almost two metres long and unwieldy – he wouldn’t be able to carry it alone. He dragged it across the back of the lorry. Yiza followed him. She was whimpering again. Arian couldn’t bear it. But there was no time to explain that to her without putting his hand over her mouth, and he didn’t want to do that. He peeked through the cover and jumped off the lorry. He lifted Yiza down. He tucked one end of the tarpaulin under her arm, and held onto the other. They walked across the yard like that.

  They didn’t know where they were. They saw people standing by a wide gate and smoking. The people looked over at them. That was dangerous. They saw other lorries, and the forklift moving back and forth between them. The people all glanced over, but they seemed to have no interest in them. Arian thought that was because of the tarpaulin. It looked good, the way they were walking across the yard with the tarpaulin. It looked like they had a job to do. And so Arian slowed down. He had the jars and tins in his pockets. They were weighing his jacket down. Yiza wasn’t whining any more.

  On one side of the yard was a building, and looking along its concrete wall they could see lots of parked cars. The building was topped with huge words in lights. Now Arian knew they were behind a supermarket. He knew there was a lot of food there. And toilets with taps you could drink from. And he might find a nail. He could find a stone anywhere.

  Good? he asked.

  Yiza didn’t answer.

  After they had drunk, Yiza was happy. Arian had never seen such a happy face in his life. He could have seen his own face in the toilet mirror. It didn’t interest him.

  The tarpaulin was yellow. It was made of woven material coated in plastic. There were black letters on it. Arian couldn’t read them. But he knew what letters were. Along the side of the tarpaulin were eyelets as big as coins. The tarpaulin protected them. With it, they looked like an adult had given them an errand to run. They carried the tarpaulin and people thought, these children have been asked to carry a tarpaulin, we mustn’t stop them. Arian could see it in the faces that turned towards them.

  They carried the tarpaulin through the supermarket, up and down the escalators. They strolled along the grocery aisles with it. Once, Arian stopped and looked at Yiza. She was solemn and weary. He shook his head. He put his face close to hers. And smiled. His eyes didn’t smile, but his mouth did.

  Do this, he said. This!

  Do this, she said in her language.

  This, he said and pointed to his smile. Do this!

  Do this, she said. But she didn’t smile.

  He lifted the corners of her mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

  This, he said, do this!

  Then Yiza smiled. Her mouth smiled and her eyes smiled. Do this, she said in Arian’s language. Do this.

  Do this, he said.

  Then they carried on down the grocery aisles, doing this and carrying their tarpaulin.

  The rolled-up tarpaulin could hold a lot of things. First Arian slid in the tins and jars that had been making his coat so heavy. The tarpaulin sagged in the middle, but that didn’t matter. When he and Yiza moved closer together, it was straight again.

  The children marched as if they were going somewhere. Now and then Arian put something into the tarpaulin. An apple. Another apple. A banana. Another banana. Some bread rolls wrapped in plastic which were meant to be baked at home. A plastic bottle of water. Because he wanted to see Yiza’s happy face again when she drank. They marched past the checkout and left the supermarket and walked across the carpark in the cold sunlight, as if someone was waiting for them and their tarpaulin. Someone important. Someone who had some clout. Who had sent them to bring him this tarpaulin. And nobody was allowed to stop them.

  Perhaps this man who had sent them lived in one of the villas lining the hill that led up from the other side of the street. Perhaps he had a garage they could stay in. Some garages had radiators. Or a shed. Or a basement. Basements sometimes had radiators, too. Or heating pipes you could lean against.

  They were looking forward to the food so much that the tarpaulin felt only half as heavy as it was. Arian held it so that Yiza was carrying the lighter part. The road with the villas on it was steep and paved. Snow was still lying in the shade. There was a danger they might slip over. Then the good things would fall out of the tarpaulin and roll into the street, and maybe someone would be watching from a window and call the police. The sun shone on the back of Arian’s neck, he felt its warmth, he couldn’t see a cloud in the sky. He looked forward to the food and imagined what it would be like, and couldn’t remember all the things he had put in the tarpaulin, and he felt like he was about to get a surprise, as if they were hurrying to be somewhere and people were waiting there to give them presents.

  As the road became steeper Yiza walked in front and Arian pushed her from behind, and she let him push her. She asked him something – he didn’t understand, but he thought she was asking if they were nearly there, and he replied: It won’t be long now, Yiza, we’ll be there soon. I can see the house already, Yiza – and Yiza didn’t understand him, but she thought he knew the way, and thought he’d said they would be there soon. Her name was the only thing she had understood, Arian had said it twice.

  The villas lay behind low walls topped by cast iron railings. The villas’ gates were tall and forbidding, like hinged walls, without handles. They didn’t meet a soul. There were very few cars parked on the steep road. The trees were leafless. The last villa was on the edge of a wood. Its garden sloped steeply upwards, an
d had sets of steps and little walls running across it. The rose bushes were wrapped in jute sacks. It was the grandest villa on the hill. This was the end of the road.

  Where the garden finished and the woodland began, there was an old greenhouse. They could see it from the end of the road. Its panes glinted in the sunlight. The side walls were made of bricks, with ivy growing up over them. The front and the roof were glass.

  Arian couldn’t see what was inside the little house, the panes were clouded.

  That’s good, he said. He was talking to himself, but Yiza nodded. He pushed her forward.

  The tarpaulin was getting heavy. They walked on, side by side, and climbed up the slope at the end of the road. Their feet slipped on the slick, black, frozen weeds. Yiza held one side of the tarpaulin with both hands, and Arian held the other with both hands. The belly of the tarpaulin, where the good things were, dragged behind them. They dragged it into the woods.

  The garden was separated from the woodland by a wire fence. It was two metres high, and topped with barbed wire. The ground beneath the fence was soft and uneven. In one place you could wriggle under it. If you were small. And if you were thin. They were. And if you shovelled the leaves and soil aside with your hands. They did.

  The children unrolled their tarpaulin and threw the food over the fence. Yiza managed to get things over, too. She threw the tins and looked to see where they fell. She was the first to crawl under the fence. Arian rolled up the tarpaulin and pushed it after her, and Yiza pulled it through. Then Arian followed. They packed up their things again and dragged the tarpaulin behind the greenhouse, where it was shady and damp and cold. They couldn’t be seen there. From the street, or from the villa.

  They waited.

  Yiza was waiting for Arian to do something. Arian didn’t know what he was waiting for. He felt sick with hunger and exertion. He would have liked to eat a piece of the good bread that they had packed back into the tarpaulin. Or the apple. His apple. Or his banana. But he wanted them to be comfortable when they ate. As if they were at home.

  He signalled to Yiza that she should wait and not move. Then he edged forward along the side wall. From the villa there was a clear view of the greenhouse. If anyone saw them, they would call the police. The police would come without making a sound, they’d grab Yiza first, then him. But they had no choice. It was going to be a cold night. In winter, when the sun shone in the daytime the night was icy. They had to get into the greenhouse. They would freeze to death outside. Arian hoped the door wasn’t locked. He darted out from behind the wall, pressed the latch down, disappeared inside, closed the door. He caught his breath. Waited for his heart to stop hammering so hard against his ribs. Didn’t dare look around. Then he crept back to Yiza. She was crouching there just as he had left her, sitting on her heels, her hands inside her coat sleeves. The tarpaulin in front of her. She coughed. The sun had just reached the greenhouse, like a spotlight shining on it. Arian pushed one end of the tarpaulin into Yiza’s hands and held onto the other.

  In a minute, he said. Let’s wait one more minute.

  Rich people live here, she said.

  When I say: Now!

  Rich people have horses, said Yiza.

  Don’t cough, he said.

  We have to make sure we don’t get sick, Arian whispered.

  Once I saw a horse that didn’t belong to anyone, Yiza whispered back. It was light and dark, light and dark.

  Shamhan said we should get hold of some aspirin. Just in case.

  It had a mother and a father, but no people.

  Those are tablets.

  No people.

  Tablets.

  No people.

  One day you’re going to understand what I’m saying, Yiza. I won’t have to teach you. That’s how it works. Suddenly you’ll be able to talk like me. And I’ll talk like you.

  It was standing in a field. I was in the car and I saw it. It didn’t move.

  Don’t talk any more now, Yiza.

  I was looking out of the window.

  I don’t understand you.

  Arian.

  Stop talking now, Yiza.

  Then I couldn’t see it any more.

  Now!

  They crept along the side wall past the ivy, dragging the tarpaulin, hunched over as if that would make them invisible. They disappeared through the door like two shadows. As if a pair of buzzards had flown over the garden, casting their shadows.

  Old frosted glass, the panes held in with lead. Some had been smashed and replaced. The new ones were plain. Arian pointed his finger at them. He showed Yiza what she mustn’t do: move so that she could be seen from the villa through the clear glass. If she did that, she would die. He jerked his thumb across his throat. That meant die. She understood. But then they sat together by one of the clear panes after all, and watched the sun go down. They ate peas from the can and their apples and bananas and their rolls. And drank water and lemonade. Yiza coughed again. Arian pressed her face into the sleeve of his jacket.

  Shh!

  They closed their eyes to stop themselves being blinded by the sun. They listened to the crackling sound around them. Yiza put her hand into one of the flowerpots. She did it cautiously so Arian wouldn’t hear, because she thought she was doing something naughty. The pot was full of dry soil. The soil was warm. A withered stalk stuck out from the middle of the pot. A leaf, light as wasp-paper, hung from a strand of cobweb. It was turning in the heat rising from the soil. Yiza dug her fingers into the soil and felt the cold where the sun hadn’t reached. She quickly pulled her hand out of the flowerpot and hid it in her coat.

  Arian’s eyes were still closed. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, feel his skin tightening. He thought of nothing.

  The sun’s globe touched the horizon. It spread out. Turned white. Trembled in the mist. The children watched. Now their eyes could bear it.

  The greenhouse was no longer in use. Forgotten things had withered there. The concrete floor was cracked, stained, yellow and rusty. One side of the little house – and that was lucky, that was really lucky – was fitted with a sturdy, raised wooden deck. There were earthenware pots on it, stacked one inside another, along with the watering can, work tools, shovels, hoes, spades, rakes, a paper sack full of gravel, half a bag of garden peat.

  Help me, said Arian.

  He showed Yiza what to do: she had to take the empty flowerpots to the other side of the greenhouse. She could carry two medium-sized pots at once. He took the other things. She kept coughing. They worked in silence, without a glance at each other. Soon it was too dark to find space on the other side. They spread the tarpaulin out on the wooden deck. They wrapped it around themselves twice. Soon they were asleep.

  Yiza coughed. She sat up and coughed, and it sounded as if she was about to be sick. She stayed upright and slept sitting up. The coughing fit hadn’t woken her. She had pulled the cover off Arian, and the cold woke him. He pulled Yiza back down. She was stiff and shivering a little. The moon shone on her face. Her eyes were shut, and she was asleep.

  Put that there, he said softly to himself. Like that, yes, that there. And then that over there. And that. Like that, now. One there, one there.

  He lifted the coughing Yiza and laid her on his chest. He turned his neck so that her mouth was in the hollow of his collarbone. Because the air is warmest there. It’s the cold air that makes someone cough. And lying on a cold surface. Are you asleep? She didn’t reply. And what could she have said, since she didn’t speak his language? He clamped her hands under his armpits. Her hands were cold, but her head was hot.

  The moon turned everything white. The window panes, which were already white. The flowerpots on the other side of the greenhouse. Arian was frightened of them. Particularly the big pot he had dragged over there himself. Three wispy hairs grew out of its head.

  He wished Shamhan was there. He wished he could talk and have someone answer him. And he longed for his five Euro note.

  He dreamed that
the five Euro note called out for coins, and coins came, and it called out for notes, and notes came.

  They woke when it was still dark. Arian wriggled his head out from under the tarpaulin. Belly and chest and face and the air between him and Yiza were warm. His back and legs and the nape of his neck were cold. When he took a breath, he could feel its iciness all the way down into his lungs. Yiza’s head was burning. She had a fever. Her hands were still cold. She was shivering. Her teeth chattered. Arian had to uncover her in order to get out from under the tarpaulin. She pulled her knees right up to her chin. A little light shimmered through the white panes. He put his face close to hers. She looked at him. But there was no expectation in her eyes.

  He took the thimble off her thumb and pulled off the plaster. He thought the cut looked better. He took her hand and put the thumb in her mouth. He placed the thimble in her other hand. She closed her fingers round it and shoved her fist into her pocket.

  He explained what was going to happen. He pointed to himself, knocked his knuckles against his chest. I, he said. Knocked on her chest. You, he said. I, he said. I. Then he pretended his index and middle fingers were legs, marching across her chest, from one collarbone to the other. I, he said, I go. You see, that’s me going. I go. I go soon. He moved his index and middle fingers away from Yiza’s chest and onto the tarpaulin. I go away. Then the fingers came back, leaping from the tarpaulin onto her chest and marching from one collarbone to the other again. I come back. I go away. And come back. Away and back. You, he said, you. He folded his hands and placed them against his cheek and closed his eyes and smiled and rested his head on them, as if he were blissfully happy, and moved his head close to hers and made snoring noises. You. You sleep. I go, you sleep, I come back. He showed her that he wanted to go and fetch things to eat and drink. Put his thumb in his mouth and made drinking noises, pretended to eat with bulging cheeks. And that he wanted to fetch aspirin. That was difficult and not obvious, and he didn’t know if she had understood him.