The Ghosts & Jamal Page 4

  Why was this old man so rude? Jamal was sure that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had given his grandfather the last of his drinks – it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have any food. And as for being ugly, was that a reason to be cross? Jamal couldn’t help being ugly, and in any case, he didn’t think he was ugly – dirty, yes, but not ugly. And his grandfather did not appear to mind people being dirty. Jamal thought that his grandfather had never washed in his life. He didn’t like Grandfather saying that his mum was ugly either. She wasn’t. Jamal sometimes forgot the shape of her hands or the sound of her voice, but he was sure she was not ugly.

  ‘So, ugly boy, what’s going on out there? Where is everybody? Why haven’t they brought my lunch?’

  Jamal tried to explain about the ghosts and the smell and his family dying and all the animals being dead and people at the bottom of the mountain and why he had brought the red canister with the pictures but the old man didn’t listen.

  ‘So you expect me to believe all that, do you? Then tell me this, what makes you think I will help you? Especially when you haven’t brought my breakfast?’

  Jamal couldn’t understand why his grandfather was so bothered about his stomach when so many people were dead. Jamal fetched the cylinder from where it had landed.

  ‘Please, Grandfather,’ he said, ‘please tell me what it says. Read the stories to me.’

  ‘Bad magic. New magic. Not the sort of magic I want anything to do with. Throw it away.’ The old man kicked the cylinder into the fire. Jamal tried to pull it out but the metal was too hot and choking smoke began to swirl, wrapping around the picture of the fish in the net and the tree without leaves.

  ‘I told you. Bad magic,’ his grandfather said before starting to cough again.

  Jamal started to explain how he used to keep the spirits away from his family and how, when the ghosts came, he’d failed. He explained that he wanted to put things right, to make the spirits happy but he didn’t know how, but how he was sure that the pictures on the cylinder were important.

  The more he said, the angrier his grandfather became.

  ‘What spirits, ugly boy?’ the old man asked. ‘Do you get money to drive the spirits away? Do you get food? Why didn’t you stay where you were? Why didn’t you stay away from me?’ He hit Jamal on the head, making his ears sting.

  His grandfather was asking so many questions. Jamal’s head began to spin and the scent of nutmeg slipped into his nostrils. For once he wasn’t afraid; his grandfather was there and he would watch him while the spirits came.

  ‘Get up, get up, lazy. Get off my mountain.’

  Jamal felt a sharp pain in his ribs as the old man kicked him.

  ‘I said, go.’

  He didn’t understand. Why was Grandfather kicking him? What had he done wrong? He got up; he was still shaking and wanted to stay on the ground but the old man had sharp toes and Jamal wanted to get out of his way. He stumbled and reached for his grandfather’s arm to steady himself.

  ‘Get away, boy! I don’t want you here. This place is mine, find your own living. Find it somewhere else, a long way from here.’ The old man flung the cylinder, still hot from the fire. It caught Jamal on the arm, knocking him over. As Jamal stumbled, his book fell from under his blanket. He scrambled to save it, but he was too late. The old man had seen the book and started screaming at Jamal. If Jamal thought he was cross before it was nothing to how cross he was when he saw the book. It was only a book but Grandfather seemed to be afraid of it. He was shouting strange, mixed-up words. Some words that Jamal understood and some that he didn’t. All shouted in a voice that sounded like a pack of wild dogs. Then the mad old man threw stones at Jamal and Jamal decided to run.

  ‘Good! Go away! Get out of here. Take that book with you. No wonder everyone has died. Do you know nothing? Bringing a thing like that here, to my mountain. This is a place for the old gods, not the new. This is the Mountain Without God. Keep that book of gods away from me. No wonder the flies have returned. Get away and take that book with you. Get off my mountain!’

  Jamal ran. Grandfather threw stones and cursed Jamal until he was out of sight, then he turned back to his fire, still mumbling about a book and the mountain and the gods.

  Jamal didn’t stick to the path. He ran and slipped and fell straight down the mountain, away from the old man and into the safety of the trees. He didn’t stop until his heart was pounding in his chest and his feet were cut by the stones and thorns he’d slid across. His legs collapsed and he sat on the ground taking great gulps of air, trying to make up for the breaths he hadn’t taken when he was running.

  A great cloud of yellow butterflies rose into the air, then settled back down, almost exactly where they’d been. Jamal had never seen so many butterflies together and he had never seen them fly without opening their wings. He reached out to touch one. Then he stopped. They were all dead. The ground was covered with thousands and thousands of dead butterflies. He had thought that the earth was soft with a carpet of leaves, but it wasn’t. The ground felt soft because he was sitting on a cushion stuffed with the bodies of yellow butterflies.

  He looked at his hands; they were grey with the dust from the wings of the butterflies, and they shone where the sun caught the scales sticking to his hands. Suddenly Jamal wanted to cry. The ghosts must have been there, killing every butterfly in the world. But why? Butterflies had such tiny souls – they held the souls of babies who had been born dead. What could the ghosts want with them? Jamal knew that he couldn’t stay there. He walked slowly until he left the last of the butterflies behind, wiping his hands as he walked. He tried to wipe the scales away, but he couldn’t. They stuck to his skin and his clothes so he couldn’t forget.

  When he was sure he had left the last of the butterflies behind, he walked out of the trees and kept walking until he came to a red dust road. Then he curled in a ball and pulled his blanket over him and slept.

  A Place to Rest

  ‘Here’s another one. Bring a bag.’

  The woman’s voice, loud and exhausted, cut into Jamal’s dream. Or maybe it didn’t; maybe the voice was part of the dream. He hadn’t seen any women since he had stolen the drinks from the drink seller. He was sure that this was just another dream, until he felt his hair pulled upwards.

  ‘Ahh!’ he shouted.

  The person let go of his hair and Jamal’s head hit the ground with a thump.

  ‘Ahhh!’ he said again.

  ‘This one’s alive. Bring a stretcher … and the oxygen. Quick!’

  The woman with the tired voice suddenly sounded wide awake. She was stroking his head, touching his cheeks. Jamal wanted to get up. He wanted to tell her to go away. Tell her that no one came close to him, that the spirits would notice if she touched him. But he didn’t say anything, he just looked up at her while his head spun and his stomach churned.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetie, you’ll be OK now.’

  Jamal couldn’t understand what was wrong with this strange woman. What would be all right and who was sweetie?

  ‘Hurry up, will you? God knows how he survived but we’re not going to lose him now. Come on!’

  Jamal was about to ask what was happening but people were all around him. Everyone was touching him and he wanted to make them stop but there were too many people. Something was put on his face; it made his mouth and nose cold. Jamal thought they were trying to stop him breathing and pushed them away, but the woman with the tired voice held his hands.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. Don’t fight. We’re here to help you.’

  She was talking about sweetie again. Maybe she thinks I look like her friend, thought Jamal. Or was she called Sweetie and she was telling him not to bother her? It was all so confusing. They had put Jamal on a narrow bed and they were carrying him somewhere. He couldn’t work out where because so many people were walking around him and leaning over him. All talking at once.

  There was another bump as they put his bed down. Jamal tried to push the
people away again. He knew he’d been right; they were blowing spirits into his mouth – he could smell the nutmeg on his face. The last thing he heard was the tired woman sounding very worried.

  ‘He’s having a fit. Put your foot down; let’s get out of here.’

  The spirits came and went and Jamal felt confused. When he woke up he was lying on a mattress, but the floor must have been damp because the mattress was high above it. They had put a plastic sheet above the mattress as well. It fell like a tent over Jamal, but it kept him dry so he didn’t complain. It was strange, though, because the people who were outside the tent didn’t look wet and they didn’t wear coats or hats. The people outside the tent were very nice to him. They smiled and told him to rest. Jamal was happy to just rest because he had walked further than he’d ever walked before.

  Sometimes they put their hands under the tent and wiped him with cold cloths. Sometimes they put a small stick in his mouth and told him not to bite it. He thought that strange. Only babies bite sticks and he wasn’t a baby. They brought him food and water to drink and sometimes a very small drink in a very small cup. He didn’t like the small drink – it made him very sleepy – but he liked the other things they brought him so he took the small drink when they gave it to him and he didn’t complain.

  After a while the people outside the tent took the tent away and said that he didn’t need it any more. They didn’t put the mattress back on the floor, though, and when they told Jamal that he should try to walk he was surprised to find that the floor was not wet at all. He asked for his blanket but the people from outside the tent said it was lost. Jamal felt sad but the people were so nice he didn’t tell them he was sad.

  The woman with the tired voice came to visit him and gave him a gift wrapped up in a red cloth.

  She smiled when he opened it and found his book inside.

  ‘I rescued it,’ she said. ‘I should have had it destroyed, but I checked it out and it’s OK.’

  Jamal didn’t know why the book should have been destroyed; it had such pretty patterns inside.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone that it’s the same book. I’ll get in trouble if you do.’

  Jamal wasn’t sure why she would get in trouble for returning his book but he thought she was nice and he didn’t want her to get into trouble, so he didn’t mention his book to anyone.

  He was given clean clothes to wear and milk to drink and three meals every day. He noticed that his arms were getting fatter and he felt strong. All the people who talked to him were nice and no one called him names or pushed him or hit him with sticks. This was a good place to rest and sometimes he even forgot about the smell of the ghosts and the fact that his grandfather didn’t want to see him and that all his uncles and aunties were dead.

  One day, when he was sitting outside, trying to forget about all the people who had died and trying to make stories from the patterns in his book, a soldier told him to follow her to the office. Jamal wanted to ask someone if this would be all right but no one was there but the soldier. He closed his book and followed her across the compound. She told him that he must tell the judge what had happened and that it was important for him to tell the truth.

  ‘Why would I lie?’ Jamal asked. The soldier smiled and rubbed Jamal’s head.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetie.’

  Who was this Sweetie? And why did everyone mix him up with Jamal?

  ‘I am sure a boy like you wouldn’t have any reason to lie.’ The soldier smiled at him again and opened the door to the office. ‘Now just remember, sweetie, tell the truth.’

  The judge sat at a desk and another soldier sat next to him, and another sat in the corner tapping his fingers quietly on a machine that was sort of like a typewriter and sort of like a light. Jamal wanted to look at the machine but the soldier guided him to a seat opposite the judge.

  ‘Now, young man, you mustn’t be afraid.’

  Jamal wasn’t sure what he should be afraid of – this room was much less frightening than most of the things he had seen and the judge was much less frightening than his grandfather. But after the judge mentioned being afraid, Jamal began to think about all the things that could be frightening and felt very afraid indeed.

  ‘That’s good. I am going to ask you some questions and we are going to write down what you say on the computer over there. Do you understand?’

  Jamal didn’t understand the bit about the computer but he understood the rest so he said yes.

  ‘It’s Jamal, isn’t it?’

  Jamal nodded

  ‘An unusual name, where does it come from?’

  ‘My mother gave it to me.’

  ‘Ah yes, but why did she give you that name? What part of the country is the name from? What tribe?’

  Jamal didn’t know. He didn’t think he was from a tribe. He thought he was from a family. He explained this to the judge. He was surprised that he had to explain about families to this man. He looked clever, he looked as if he had been to school, but he didn’t seem to know about families.

  ‘Never mind,’ the judge said. ‘Let’s move on. Did you see who threw the gas?’

  Jamal didn’t know what the judge was talking about, so he shook his head.

  ‘Well, did you see anyone near your village? Anyone who didn’t belong there?’

  Jamal still didn’t know what the judge was talking about so he shook his head again. He thought about telling the judge about the men in the Jeep, but he hadn’t really seen them, just heard their voices, and as the judge didn’t seem to be very bright Jamal didn’t say anything.

  ‘We’re not making much progress here, are we? Can you tell us how you survived the gas attack?’

  Jamal felt better about this; he didn’t know what a gas attack was but he remembered the lessons that the Imam had given him.

  ‘Because it was Allah’s will, sir,’ Jamal said.

  He was very pleased that he had been able to answer one of the questions.

  ‘Oh dear, let’s try again. Why were you on the mountain?’

  Another easy question. Jamal was getting the hang of this at last.

  ‘I was visiting my grandfather.’

  ‘And why didn’t you stay with your grandfather?’

  ‘Because he told me to go away, sir. He kicked me and threw things at me and told me to get off the mountain, sir. I don’t think he remembered me, sir. He didn’t want to see me at all. So I went away before he kicked me again.’

  ‘And is your grandfather still alive?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I think so, sir. I told you he kicked me, sir, and threw things at me. He was alive when he told me to go away, sir. But he had a bad cough, sir, so I think he might be very sick.’

  ‘And your grandfather lives on the mountain? How strange. I thought no one would go near that place. Don’t the locals think it’s haunted?’

  Jamal nodded. ‘I don’t know if it is haunted, sir, but my grandfather lives there, in a cave. I don’t know why he doesn’t live in the empty houses, sir – they are much more comfortable – but he lives in a cave, sir, high on the mountain.’

  ‘Send someone up there to trace him, will you, sergeant?’

  Jamal imagined how angry his grandfather would be if they brought him off the mountain and decided that he would have to find somewhere else to live. Grandfather would definitely blame him if the soldiers brought him off the mountain and Jamal didn’t want to get kicked again.

  ‘And you really can’t tell us anything else?’

  Jamal shook his head once again.

  ‘OK, sergeant. I think we’re finished here. See if you can arrange a school or an orphanage or something until his grandfather collects him.’

  The judge looked down at his papers.

  ‘Clearly the boy’s a fool, no point wasting any time with him.’

  Jamal knew he wasn’t a fool; he hadn’t been to school but he wasn’t a fool. He was about to tell the judge but the soldier pushed him towards the door.

  ‘He is definit
ely a fool, your honour. The medics have said that he’s simple. They don’t know if it was the gas or if he’s always been that way, but they think it was probably the gas attack.’

  Jamal wondered why the soldier was being so mean, when she had been so nice before. He might have asked her, but she kept pushing him towards the door.

  ‘Yes, sergeant, a sad case. Take him back where you found him, will you? We have other interviews today.’

  That was it. They had finished with Jamal and now wanted to send him to live with his grandfather.

  ‘Why did you say I was simple?’ Jamal asked when they got outside. ‘I’m not simple, and I’m not a fool.’

  ‘I know you’re not,’ said the soldier, ‘but it’s better the judge thinks you are. When they saw your Qur’an, they thought you were one of the terrorists. I didn’t want them to send you to jail. If they think you are too stupid to be a terrorist and too simple to tell them about the terrorists, they won’t bother with you.’

  Jamal wondered if terrorists were one of the mountain tribes that the judge had asked about. He’d never heard of them but the judge seemed to think there were lots of tribes and that they were very important. He was about to ask the soldier why it was best not to be a terrorist when they reached the cooks with their big pot of groundnut stew.

  ‘Well done,’ said the soldier. ‘I bet you’re looking forward to going home and eating your mother’s stew instead of this.’

  Jamal smiled at her and nodded his head. He knew he couldn’t go home and he knew he wouldn’t go with his grandfather. The only thing he didn’t know was where he would be going.

  Soup

  The soldier turned away and left Jamal with the cooks. The food smelt good – the food always smelt good – but it wasn’t like his auntie’s food. The chilli prickled his nose, but somehow it prickled it in a different way from Auntie’s chillies. There was fish in the stew, but it wasn’t the same fish as Auntie used; it wasn’t the fish Mr Onuzo caught in the river. Yes, thought Jamal, the food is good but it’s not right – and because Auntie was dead, food would never be quite right again. He decided that maybe he would miss lunch today. He would not have to go hungry – there was always something to be had if you knew where to be and who to ask – but first he wanted to spend some time thinking about home.