Boys without Names (13 page)

“Yes, it is. Will you tell us yours?”

“I don't remember much.” His voice sounds distant and cold as if the ghost of the Rocking Boy I know uttered those words. “But I do—”

“No more stories,” Thick Fingers says. “We have slowed down and that will not do. I don't want to starve.”

“Yes, especially for some dumb stories,” GC says.

“It is almost eight. Let's eat,” Thick Fingers says.

“In peace,” GC snorts.

We eat leftover
rotis
without banana or pickles in silence. Then we work and go to bed. When I used to share stories with Naren and Sita or Mohan and Shiva, they listened with such delight! Sometimes Naren used to annoy me with his constant questioning, but he loved my stories and after I told them I felt happy. Tonight, after I shared my story with these boys, there is a tiny hole in
my chest where the story used to stay. It hurts. Except for Dimpled Chin none of them deserves my stories and I will never tell them one again.

Instead of wasting my time with these boys, if I work faster and make better frames than the rest of them, Scar might make me the leader. He might ask me to help him pack the frames and then someday, when I get a chance, I can bolt.

D
uring the next few days I put all my energy into my work and try to ignore the mosquito bites, Thick Fingers's barks, GC's taunts, Rocking Boy's warnings, Night Chatterer's shyness, Scar's gravelly
dal,
and even Dimpled Chin's smile. I don't have time for anything or anyone.

Slowly, I have worked up a plan that allows me to work faster. Instead of finishing one flower with several colors and then going on to the next thing, I pick up the main bead color in the design and glue it first, then the second color, and then the third. The price I pay for working so speedily is that, when I get done, my neck is boulder-stiff.

One day when Thick Fingers gather up the frames to take downstairs, I am excited because I have two more
than anyone else. His eyes narrow. “How did you do so many?” he demands.

I shrug my shoulders. “This was a simple design.”

“Doesn't look easy to me,” GC says.

Rocking Boy stops rocking and looks at my pile. His lips flutter as he counts the frames I have made and then starts to tap on the side of his desk. Night Chatterer's eyes are wide with surprise or fear—I can't tell.

Scar claps, Thick Fingers hurries down, and I wait anxiously. So far Scar has not noticed how well I have done my work, but maybe today he will be happy since I have finished two more frames. I hear Scar's and Thick Fingers's voices, but I don't know what they are saying.

When Thick Fingers comes up there is a beaming smile on his face and I wonder what he talked to Scar about. He looks at GC and winks. I am so anxious that I perspire more than usual. I have to calm down and wait for Scar to call me. He doesn't—not before lunch, when he calls all of us.

When we go down I am sure Scar will give me more food or ask me how I did extra work, but he doesn't even notice me. Instead he gives Thick Fingers and GC twice the serving he gives the rest of us.

It puzzles me. All afternoon while I work I try to figure out what happened. Scar must know that it was my design, so why wasn't he pleased with me? It must be that Thick Fingers lied, split the credit for my work between GC and himself, and fooled Scar and me. If I tell Scar that
I made those frames, would he believe me?

“What did Boss say when he saw the frames I made?” I ask Thick Fingers that night as we put in the last two hours of work.

He lifts up his eyebrow. “Nothing.”

“That can't be true. He must have—”

“Are you calling me a liar? Do you know what happens when you do that?”

“He wants your place and to become the leader. Don't let him,” GC says to Thick Fingers.

“I don't want any such thing. I want the credit for the work I did.”

“You think that you can stomp your way up by making us look lazy and slow? Stop your demands. Or else I will twist your fingers so bad that you won't be able to work at all,” Thick Fingers says.

Dimpled Chin puts his hands on his ears. “Don't fight, please, don't fight.”

“Shut up, you little bug!” GC shouts.

Thick Fingers looks at Dimpled Chin. “Nothing is going to happen. Don't cry and whine like you did when you were a baby.”

“How do you know what he did when he was a baby?” I ask.

Thick Fingers looks at GC, at me, and then at Dimpled Chin. “I meant all the babies cry. Don't they? And stop bothering me. All of you.”

 

That week when we take a bath Rocking Boy whispers to me, “Please don't work fast, because Boss will expect it all the time, and from all of us. If we can't do it he will beat us up.
Sacch na
?”

“
Sacch
, true,” I whisper back.

Dimpled Chin is with us in the bathroom. He shrinks in a corner. “I don't want
kanpatti
.”

I realize how foolish I have been. “But if I slow down now won't Boss be mad at me?”

Rocking Boy stops wiping himself and shakes his head. “No. You never got the credit, so you will never get the blame.
Sacch na
?”

“Yes, yes,” Dimpled Chin says in a normal voice as he rinses his shirt. I cover his mouth so Scar doesn't hear.

“Let's get out before Boss yells at us,” I say.

I take Rocking Boy's advice and slow down. It gives me a chance to glance at the tree, clouds, sky, and give my neck a break.

 

When Thick Fingers takes the next batch of frames down he looks at me quizzically. “You did the same number as we did. What happened?”

I shrug my shoulders and don't answer. Scar is downstairs so Thick Fingers can't ask me too many questions.

Soon after Thick Fingers goes down, Scar's raised voice floats up. “No excuses. Work like you did before
and get the extra work done.”

I hide my smile by bending down on my desk because I know GC is watching me. When Thick Fingers returns his face is grim. I avoid meeting his gaze.

At lunch Scar is in a sour mood because he yells at us to eat as fast as we can and get back up. He gives us all the same amount of food. I look at Rocking Boy triumphantly, but his face is expressionless as if he has no idea what is going on. Maybe that is how he survives—by looking clueless and keeping his mouth shut.

All day I dread the time when Scar leaves because GC and Thick Fingers will be so mad at me. They surprise me by not saying a word, which scares me more because it means they will wait like a patient tiger and strike when the time is right.

 

After being anxious about GC and Thick Fingers for a few days I stop worrying. On the next bath day Rocking Boy tells me that GC and Thick Fingers always stay together. They never bother Night Chatterer because he cuts their hair and they know how easy it is to “accidentally” hurt them.

“What about you?” I ask.

Rocking Boy dumps a tumbler of water over his head. “I was their favorite
bakra
, goat, until—”

“Until I came.”

“No. They stopped before you arrived. One day when
they needed glue I mixed it wrong, and so their beads kept coming off. Boss got angry with them and beat them up. From that day on they have stopped bothering me.” He looks at Dimpled Chin and adds,
“Sacch na?”

“Sacch.”
Dimpled Chin stops wiping his back. “Leader is not mean to me,” he adds proudly.

I scrub my toes with a sliver of soap. “Even before I came?”

“Never ever.”

“He came a few months ago, but Leader has been nice to him. Maybe because he is so young,” Rocking Boy says. He is almost ready and I must hurry up before Scar screams.

“Maybe,” I reply, and get ready.

As I work our conversation goes on and on in my head like a merry-go-round at a fair. It seems strange that Thick Fingers treats Dimpled Chin so differently. But I know he does. I have seen it too. I just don't know why.

Like Rocking Boy, I have gotten GC and Thick Fingers in trouble and it seems that just like they left Rocking Boy alone after he made up a bad batch of glue, they have stopped bothering me when I stopped making extra frames and made them look bad. They may stay quiet if I don't do anything else, but if I try to get on Scar's good side they won't tolerate it. I know they won't, because I would be threatening Thick Fingers's position.

Somehow I have to divide GC and Thick Fingers.

Like Aai used to say, it is easy to ride a horse but
impossible to carry one. I know it is true. It is easy to ride this thought of splitting them but I don't know how is it possible.

The rest of the day goes just like other days, but tonight as I lie on the sack I realize it is a full-moon night like the last night at the village. That means I have been here for almost one moon month. How many more moon cycles will I have to endure before I am free?

It would be easier to escape on a night when the moon is bright. Then the silvery light could help. But there is not much moonlight in the city, so maybe it doesn't make any difference if the moon is round, half round, a sliver, or completely invisible. The only important thing is to be out of here.

My fingers hurt, my back is stiff, my knees ache. I need to sleep but the thought of escape doesn't leave me alone.

O
ne night I have a brilliant idea. If somehow I can get a piece of paper and pencil, write a note and float it out the window, then someone might read it and rescue me.

I know Scar has a pencil because sometimes he sticks it behind his ear and sometimes he writes down something in his notebook. It will be easy to get a piece of newspaper with white space to write on, but how can I ever steal his pencil? I will just have to be patient and look out for it. If Scar forgets to take it, I must grab it.

Usually, Scar leaves at eight in the evening, but today he pokes his head up around five. “I heard on the TV that a storm is moving up, so I am going to leave now. Make sure you close the shutters before you go to bed. If a single frame gets wet, I'll turn you into
murga
.”

I don't know how he can turn us into chickens, but from the faces of other workers, I don't want to find out.

It would be nice to get some rain, because the heat has been building up and up like a roaring fire that someone has kept feeding with dried brush.

In the evening, the dark clouds tumble in from the west. The sky is menacing and reminds me of the day Aai, Naren, Sita, and I ran from under the bridge. It isn't just the curls of thick clouds that scare me. It is the wind. All six of us glance at the window often, and then the sky turns inky dark, and a whip of lightning strikes the sky. The thunder follows with a boom, and it sounds like both our shack and the sky above have crashed.

Thick Fingers closes the shutters and turns on the naked bulb.

Dimpled Chin covers his ears and huddles in a corner. Thick Fingers scoots closer to Dimpled Chin, hugs his knees, and rests his head on them. He can't stop shaking. Night Chatterer's lips are fluttering and his eyes are shut tight. Maybe he is praying. Even GC's gray eyes dart with concern. Only Rocking Boy is rocking and working, rocking and working. Then I realize my nails have dug into my palms.

We can't see out the window, but we can hear the water's force as it drowns the world. Thick Fingers lifts up his head. “Let's go eat early.” He has to talk loudly, so his voice doesn't get buried under the storm's noise.

Today, Dimpled Chin is the first one on his feet.
“Where's the ladder?” he yells.

Scar must have put it away. I wonder if he forgot that we hadn't eaten yet and needed to come down. Maybe he didn't care if we ate or not.

Thick Fingers looks down the hole. “What do we do now?”

We are all silent, trying to come up with an answer.

“If two of you hold one end of a jute bag, I can slide down,” I say. I twist a sack to form a rope. Thick Fingers and GC hold one end. I slide down and then jump the last few feet to the floor below. The first thing I do is check if Scar has left his pencil, but there is nothing on his wooden bench or underneath it.

“What're you doing? Bring the ladder!” GC shouts.

The ladder looks rickety, but when I try to pick it up it doesn't budge. It is too long, clumsy, and heavy for me to move it alone. “We need two people,” I say.

Rocking Boy peeks his head through the opening. “I'll help.” A few curls spill over his forehead. He slides down the same way I did. The two of us manage to move the ladder, and the rest of them climb down.

Everyone is talking, but Night Chatterer is silent. All this time I have not heard him say a word except in his sleep. He reminds me of Naren. Shutting up has been Naren's way of dealing with fear ever since he began talking, which was late, when he was about three years old.

My eyes rest on the TV, and suddenly panic grips me.
Scar has not unplugged it. I remember Aai telling me that Jama doesn't like to keep the TV plugged in during monsoon, because the roof and walls of the shacks are leaky. It can cause sparks and maybe even fire. It is only a matter of pulling the plug out of the socket, but I know telling Thick Fingers is useless. He will only ask me to do it, so I creep close to it and look around the TV. The floor and the ceiling are dry, but what about outside? What if something that is connected to the TV is soggy? Will pulling the plug give me an electrical shock? Wood doesn't conduct electricity, so I grab the wooden rolling pin from the kitchen and get one end between the two prongs of plug and pull on it. It doesn't move.

“What are you doing?” Thick Fingers asks.

“Trying to pull this plug out.”

Before I can try again he is next to me, reaching to stop me. “Don't!” I shout. He stumbles back, knocks me down, and lands on my lap.

He manages to crawl away and I get up.

“Stand away from me,” I say. My voice is commanding, and Thick Fingers doesn't argue. I take a deep breath and explain to him the wire might be live. I stick the wooden pin between the prongs again and move it back and forth, loosening the plug. Then I give it a big pull. It comes out.

“Now we don't have to worry about sparks or shocks,” I say.

There is a loud crack and a big thud, as if a tree branch
has fallen down. The rain intensifies.

“Thank you, Gopal. Can we eat now?” Dimpled Chin asks me.

I don't answer him. Night Chatterer lifts up his fringy lashes and looks at Dimpled Chin, then at me, and back to Dimpled Chin. Rocking Boy gives me a quick smile. GC rolls his eyes at Thick Fingers. Not only has Dimpled Chin said my name, but he has also asked me if we can eat, instead of asking Thick Fingers.

After a long, awkward silence, Thick Fingers shrugs and turns away. I let out a deep sigh.

Dimpled Chin must have remembered my name when I first mentioned it. He must have been afraid to say it before. He is a smart one, but he shouldn't have insulted Thick Fingers by asking my permission to eat. Now GC will turn and twist things around, make Thick Fingers mad, and get Dimpled Chin and me in trouble.

 

Scar has left half a loaf of bread for supper. There is a small pan with milk in it that he must have forgotten about. “What if I make some tea for everyone?” I ask Thick Fingers.

“Boss won't be happy.”

“The milk will spoil by the morning, so why not use it up?”

“Yes! Why not use it up?” GC mimics me. “Are you ready to take a thrashing and kicking from Boss?”

“We drink, we take the blame,
na
?” Rocking Boy says.

“Are you challenging me?” GC asks.

“I'm just saying that Gopal alone doesn't have to—”

“Why are you speaking against me? Have you forgotten the beating you got? Are you ready for some more?” GC's gray eyes flicker with rage.

Rocking Boy presses his lips tight together as if he is trying to contain his anger.

I don't care if we have tea or not. “Forget it. It is not worth the fight or beating.”

Rocking Boy turns to Thick Fingers. “I'm sorry that Gopal found a way for all of us to come down and to unplug the TV. That day when everyone was worried about a rat he checked it out. Next time we're in trouble he won't help you, and I won't either.”

Thick Fingers is quiet. GC shoves Rocking Boy against the wall. “You think we need your friend? We were fine before he came, and you behaved better too.”

Rocking Boy tries to push back, but GC is bigger. GC takes hold of Rocking Boy's shirt collar, twists it, and pulls on it. If we don't do something quick, GC will choke Rocking Boy.

I throw my arms around GC's neck and pull him off Rocking Boy.

He lets go of the collar, turns around, and slaps me hard across the face and is ready to deliver the next blow when Thick Fingers steps between us.

“No fights. You touch anyone again, I will complain to Boss,” Thick Fingers warns GC.

“You won't.”

“I can't allow you to attack anyone. You know what will happen if Boss finds out. He will beat me to a pulp. So keep your hands away from others. Understand?” Thick Fingers shakes with anger.

“Traitor!” GC yells.

“I'm not and you know it.” Thick Fingers turns to me. “Make the tea. I'm the leader and I say so.”

I am not the only one surprised by what Thick Fingers does and says. GC's eyes are on fire. His anger smolders and now there is sourness between the two of them. Thick Fingers is simple, but GC is not. He will find a way to get back at me. I will have to be ready for him.

When the tea is made, we dunk our bread to moisten it, except GC. He eats his dry.

 

“Wa-wa-water!” Night Chatterer screams in a high-pitched voice, pointing at the back door. This is the first time he has talked. I stare at him and then at the water seeping from under the door. It is creeping into the room slowly, but if the rain continues like this, it could cover the entire floor.

“We should take the boxes of frames up,” I say.

“Just because you want to?” GC says, and then turns to Thick Fingers. “Why do you let this know-it-all elbow you around?”

I'm surprised GC is ready to fight again. I guess he
knows that as long as he doesn't touch us he is fine.

Thick Fingers eyes are on the water. He looks confused. “I don't know. No! Yes!”

Is he talking to GC or me?

Night Chatterer is standing on his tiptoes as if that will help him avoid the water. Only half of his shirt is tucked in and he scratches his head. He opens his mouth and I see his perfectly even teeth, as if he has glued each one in its place. Finally he utters, “If-if the frames are ruined, Bo-boss will beat us up.”

It is clear that he is terrified of Scar's punishment because I haven't seen such dread and fear on his face before. No wonder he stays absolutely silent. He doesn't want to get in any trouble and risk Scar's wrath.

I want to kick Thick Fingers and the others into action, but the friction between us is as brittle as a dry twig. I watch with everyone else as more water seeps in.

“Time to take the boxes up,” GC says.

“It was Gopal's idea.” Rocking Boy is again full of courage.

GC's face twists in disgust. “So?”

“So don't be the boss of us,” Dimpled Chin cries.

GC grabs Dimpled Chin's hand. “Do you want your ears, nose, and arms twisted?”

Thick Fingers swiftly pulls GC away. “No touching.”

Wah!
Thick Fingers had warned GC before not to touch anyone, but I didn't realize Thick Fingers would move so quickly. He didn't do that when GC grabbed
Rocking Boy, so why is he so protective of Dimpled Chin? Maybe he knows that if he doesn't stop this right away we might end up with a big fight. And if anyone gets hurt, Boss will punish Thick Fingers.

While Dimpled Chin and GC sulk in opposite corners, Thick Fingers, Rocking Boy, Night Chatterer, and I move the boxes close to the ladder. There are four filled with beaded frames and six filled with plain frames. They're heavy. “How are we going to take them up?” Thick Fingers wonders.

When Baba worked in the quarry, he used to tell us that when the load was extra heavy, they stood in line and passed the stuff so each one had to carry it for just a short time. “If we stand on the ladder and pass the boxes up, we can do it. Each one of us will only be holding the box for a few seconds.”

“You always have good ideas,” Thick Fingers compliments me.

“Let's see how well this idea works,” GC barks.

Thick Fingers is the biggest, so he stays at the bottom. I stand on the second step of the ladder. He lifts the box and hands it to me. I give it to Rocking Boy, who is two steps above me, and he passes it to Night Chatterer. Dimpled Chin is on the top floor, and when Night Chatterer puts the box down, Dimpled Chin slides them on one side. GC doesn't help.

Once we move the boxes, we go back up.

 

We work for about half an hour before
kadaak
,
kadadad bhoom
. Thunder booms almost on top of a lightning strike, and with that, the yellow naked bulb blows out. It is ink dark in the room. Dimpled Chin screams. “We're all here. Together,” Thick Fingers says.

No one says a word after that. I hope, once my eyes get adjusted, I'll be able to see, but it doesn't happen. It is not just our bulb that has gone out, but the whole area is without power, and there is no moonlight. Darkness drowns us.

I finger my flashlight and wonder if I should bring it out. Maybe I can trust Thick Fingers, but I'm not sure about GC. He might tell Scar about the flashlight, and then he'd take it away from me. It is not worth the risk. Let us all wait out the night in dark.

Someone starts crying. First softly, but then it turns into piercing, wailing sobs.

“Who is it?” Thick Fingers asks.

“Not me,” Dimpled Chin says.

“I know it is not you. I want to know who is crying.”

There is no reply except more sobs.

“What difference does it make? We don't know each other's names,” I say.

“We know your name, Gopal,” Dimpled Chin says.

“Who is crying like a
ladki
?” GC mutters, as if only girls are afraid of the dark. Naren has always been scared of the dark, but not Sita.

“It-it-it is me. Roshan. I-I-I can't breathe,” Night
Chatterer—Roshan—whispers. His voice is shaky.

“If you don't stop, I am going to complain to Boss. He will give you such stiff punishment that you will forget you were ever afraid of the dark!” GC yells.

“No need to bully just because—” Thick Fingers's voice quivers.

“Are you afraid of it, too?” GC challenges.

This is worse than Naren and Sita bickering. At least I could yell and shut them up. I whip out my flashlight. As soon as I flick it on, there is light and quiet.

It is Dimpled Chin who breaks the silence. “Where did you get that?”

“A friend gave it to me.”

“What's his name?”

“Chachaji,” I say.

“Your uncle?”

“No.”

“What is his real name?”

Jama never mentioned Chachaji's name. “I don't know.”