The Wall (26 page)

Confused by the breadth of choice, I contemplate buying a selection, then remember Leila specifically asked for aspirin. There are six packets. I scoop them into my hands and carry the unwieldy pile to the till.

The shopkeeper continues writing for a few seconds after I drop the pills on to the counter, then looks up and eyes me sceptically over his frameless glasses. His bald pate is glistening in the strip lights. ‘Are these all for you?’ he says.

I nod.

A frown remains grooved into his forehead. He makes no move to pick up and scan the aspirin. I hear myself gabbling, ‘It’s for a school project. Chemistry. I was sent out to get them for an experiment.’

‘The school doesn’t buy its own materials?’

‘It . . . I don’t know . . . the teacher just asked me.’

‘I can’t sell them to you.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘I never said you were lying,’ he says, in a crowing tone which seems to imply that he’s just proved I am. ‘It’s the law.’

‘I’m old enough!’

‘Nothing to do with your age. Only one packet of aspirin to be sold at a time. To anyone. It’s the rules. People do stupid things.’

I’m not sure whether or not to believe him, but there seems to be little point in attempting to argue him round. I shove five packets aside and pay for the remaining one. He takes my money with limp, reluctant fingers and hands me the box of pills, seemingly disappointed to find the pleasure of thwarting me coming to an end.

I clatter out through the glass doors, pinging his bell as loudly as I can. Back in the fresh air, I walk briskly out of the chemist’s field of vision before pausing to calculate an alternative plan. I can think of one other chemist, three grocery stores, a petrol station and two newsagent’s. All of those probably sell aspirin. One pack from each place will make eight. With a better cover story I might be able to get two at each shop, which would push me up to a decent tally of pills.

I plot a route on my mental map of Amarias and set off, soon finding myself at a newsagent’s. I buy a chocolate bar, and as I am paying say, casually, as if it’s an afterthought, ‘Oh, Mum asked me to get a couple of packs of aspirin.’

The guy reaches behind him and hands them over without a moment’s hesitation, barely glancing at me, or the pills, or my money.

The woman at the till of the first grocery store says she isn’t allowed to sell two packs, but when I tell her my Mum has flu and I’ve taken the day off school to nurse her because my father is dead, she takes pity on me and changes her mind.

I’m up to eleven packs, with two more shops to go, when my route takes me towards the building site with the blue hoardings, round the corner from the bakery.

I already know what I’ll see. I know what my mother will have done. ‘It can be our secret. Whisper it once in my ear,’ she said, stroking me, kissing me, lying to my face.

The soldiers are exactly where I expected to find them, two bored-looking conscripts only a few years older than me, their guns slung casually over their shoulders. They’re guarding the entrance to the building site, which looks like it has been smashed open with a bulldozer or a tank. As I get close, I can make out a set of track marks on the flattened wood.

They acted fast. I approach the soldiers, wondering how quickly they searched, and if they’ve realised yet that I directed them to the wrong building site.

When I look in, I’m surprised to see only three men ambling disinterestedly around the site. Maybe they didn’t really believe Liev’s warnings. Perhaps they have alerts like this all the time.

I turn to the soldiers on guard duty and ask what’s happening.

‘Anti-terrorism operation,’ one of them mutters.

‘Did you find anything?’

‘Not here. I think they got something up the road. A tunnel.’

His words hit me with the force of a punch in the stomach. How had I been so stupid? Why had I directed my mother to the wrong building site when there were only two in the town? If they drew a blank at one, they’d of course search the other. I could have sent them way out of Amarias. I could have chosen anywhere.

I turn and run, sprinting towards the tunnel, and from the end of the block I can already hear the noise. Army trucks have closed the road at both ends, and a bulldozer is audibly crushing something. Two jeeps carrying important-looking, grey-haired soldiers turn up just as I arrive, and I watch from the taped-off end of the street as they hurry out of their vehicle and through the flattened gates into the site. The soldiers here look tense and alert, their guns pointed to the ground but gripped in both hands.

I push through the gathering of onlookers and try to get the attention of the soldier manning the roadblock, but he won’t speak to me. I shout as loudly as I can, but he alternates between ignoring the whole crowd and insisting we move on, behaving as if dealing with civilians is an embarrassingly menial chore he doesn’t want to be seen doing.

As I watch, I feel all hope drain out of me. My only way to help Leila and her father is gone. I have the aspirin, but I’m trapped on this side of The Wall. The tunnel has been found, and will be guarded, then sealed. I’ll never get through the checkpoint on my own, and there’s no other way through. Posting the aspirin might have been possible, but Leila had written no return address on the letter, probably for fear it might be intercepted. Even if I did know where to send the pills, it seems unlikely the parcel would be delivered unsearched and intact.

A further truckload of soldiers arrives, accompanied by a lorry stacked with green metal crates, as large as coffins. The soldiers unload the crates at speed and carry them over the crushed gates towards the tunnel. I gaze at the efficient swirl of activity, asking myself again and again what I should do now. Could I really just give up? Could I possibly go home and carry on with my life, pretending I’d never met Leila and her family, pretending my stepfather hadn’t almost throttled me, pretending there was even a shred of trust left between me and my mother?

The soldiers stand aside as a helicopter arrives and hovers overhead, sending up waves of dust. I turn, cowering from the flying grit, and walk. I have no plan. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m just walking away.

I stumble on, my mind empty of all thought, until I realise I’ve walked out of town, on to the forbidden road to the olive grove. My tennis racket is still in the dust beside the junction, now almost perfectly camouflaged.

As I hurry onwards along this familiar strip of tarmac, away from Amarias, towards the hills, my head begins to clear.

I examine the soil at the start of the footpath. Still no bulldozer tracks, but for how much longer? Liev was already suspicious of the olive grove, of my visits here and my relationship with the owner of the land. Using me as the link, he’s bound to have reported a connection between this place and the tunnel.

I run up the path, kick off my shoes and throw myself on to the ground, lying flat on my back with arms and legs stretched out. Above me, tiny green olives not much bigger than peanuts are hanging from the branches. I stand, reach up, and pluck one. It’s dry, hard, slightly rubbery, nothing at all like the plump, juicy globes you buy in jars. I lift it to my lips and take a nibble. Spears of bitterness spike my tongue. I spit out the shard of flesh, toss away the remainder of the olive, and hurry towards the spring. A scoop of cool, fresh water, gathered up in my cupped hands, soothes my mouth. I tip a second handful on to my bruised head. Droplets trickle deliciously down my spine as I pull myself on to the wall and sit on the rickety stones, looking back at Amarias.

What now?

The idea of returning home and simply carrying on is intolerable. I can’t go back to that house. I can’t pretend for one more day, one more meal, one more minute, that I feel anything towards Liev except hatred. As for my mother, I no longer know what to think. Everything between us feels suddenly clearer and also more confusing. Today another bond snapped, another barrier went up. I am less of a son to her, now, than I was this morning; and she is less of a mother.

I look up at a solitary puff of cloud hovering far away, one lonely wisp hanging weightless in a vast expanse of blue. A pressure in my chest seems to ease, a knot loosens, as a plan, out of nowhere, drifts into my mind.

Year after year I’ve been waiting for my mother to take me away, and it’s clear now this is never going to happen. The only way I’m ever going to leave is if I do it myself. As I gaze across the scrubland towards Amarias, I see for the first time that running away shouldn’t frighten me. There’s no reason to fear setting off on my own, because if I were to stay, if I were to go back home, I’d be no less alone. My mother has cut me loose. From now on, whatever I do, wherever I go, I’m alone. There’s nothing left tying me to my home. I’m free to run.

If I manage to get back to my village by the sea, there are people who might remember me. Perhaps someone would take me in – a family who’d been our friends when Dad was alive – or I could seek out a charity that gives protection from violent parents. I’ve seen adverts for emergency phone numbers. My mouth is cut and my head is bruised. My neck is red with strangulation marks. I won’t even have to lie. My stepfather attacked me. If I turn myself in, describe what was done to me, I’ll be given a bed somewhere. I’ll be looked after, housed, fed. All I have to do is run away.

The longer I wait, the less visible my injuries will become, and the harder it will be to prove what Liev did. I have to act fast, but one thing stops me jumping on the next bus. I can’t throw away my stack of aspirin. I can’t abandon Leila’s father without making an attempt to deliver the medicine.

With the tunnel in the hands of the army, there’s now only one way to get beyond The Wall. In normal circumstances it isn’t anything I’d even contemplate, but I can think of no other method, and I know that if I don’t try something, I won’t be able to leave with a clear conscience. I won’t be able to leave at all. It’s far riskier than anything I’ve attempted before, and can’t be tried until after dark, but it’s the only plan I have.

I decide I’ll make one attempt at the delivery, tonight, then I’ll run away to the place where I was born. I can hide out at the grove for the rest of the day, then around the time the school bell goes, I’ll head home like a good boy, eat a family meal without looking at Liev or letting him anger me, then go obediently to bed. I’ll seem chastened and placid. I’ll do my homework. Everything will be perfectly ordinary, apart from a chime in my head, reminding me each passing second that everything I do, I’m doing for the last time.

Before leaving the grove, I touch every tree, silently willing each one to survive and grow. After putting on my shoes, I walk back for a final look and pluck twenty olives, one from each tree on the lowest terrace. I slip them into my trouser pocket, turn, and hurry away, not looking back.

I nestle my fingertips among the clutch of olives as I walk down the path, around the razor wire, and on to the road.

At the fork, I glance down towards my tennis racket and decide to leave it there. I no longer feel it’s mine. The boy who used to own it – who used to play tennis against The Wall without even wondering what was on the other side – no longer exists. Besides, I can’t take it with me. I can’t take anything with me.

Approaching Amarias, I begin to hear the roar and crunch of the anti-tunnel operation. A couple of muffled explosions reverberate in the air, but it’s impossible to identify them as near by or far away, underground or overground, this side or the other side of The Wall. A clattering roar, quiet at first, grows in volume as I get close to the edge of town, but only when the source of the noise comes into view do I realise it’s moving towards me. It pulls out suddenly between the last two houses, as wide as the entire road, crunching and squeaking against the tarmac: a vast, armoured bulldozer.

The enormous machine bears down on me, shuddering the earth under my feet. Moments later we are directly in front of one another, me heading into Amarias, it driving out, towards the olive grove.

I stop walking, but don’t step aside. I can’t be certain where the bulldozer is going, but I can guess. A useless, helpless rage fizzes inside me, obliterating rational thought, freezing me to the spot as the towering vehicle, with a scornful mechanical sigh, brakes.

A soldier with a cigarette drooping from his mouth opens his fortified cabin and shouts at me to get out of the way. I look up at him, ignoring his order, not moving.

He shouts again, twice more, making threats I can barely hear, then with a casual swat of his hand he closes his door and revs the engine. The rumble of the diesel pistons seems impossibly loud yet strangely distant. For a moment, I seem to float free from myself, as if I’m not in the road, looking up at the bulldozer, but watching from one side, seeing myself block the path of this colossal machine, wondering what I’ll do next.

The bulldozer inches towards me at the speed of an idle stroll, until the scoop touches the bones of my shin. I snap to attention and step back, then back again. The bulldozer accelerates steadily.

Now I’m walking backwards as fast as I can, and the bulldozer is still increasing its speed. If I keep going, sooner or later I’ll slip and fall under the tracks.

I jump aside.

The bulldozer gives a gloating roar, exhales a black belch into the air, and accelerates away. I stare for a while, following its squeaky progress across the valley, then realise I can’t watch. I don’t want to see; I don’t want to know. If I leave immediately I’ll be able to cling to the hope that the bulldozer went elsewhere. The only image I’ll have in my head will be of the olive grove as it is now, as it was for Leila and her father, and his father, and his father before that. I don’t ever want to see it any other way. And whatever that machine does, in my pocket I have twenty olives, twenty seeds.