We had left the crowd only a few yards behind, when a young boy—at best fourteen years old—came running to us. He needed a few seconds to collect himself before speaking. He lived in this neighbourhood, he said, and to be more specific, mentioned the holding number of the house. ‘36A Jagadish Road, just behind the market; the third hoarding from the ditch where they throw remains of animals.’
‘I know where it is,’ Abdul Ali said clearly. ‘What can I do for you?’
The boy hesitated a moment, then said there was no need to send a van to remove the woman’s body, he would do it himself.
‘I will clear up the area, scrub the floor and the walls, disperse the crowd, make it like nothing has happened there; give me only two hours.’
Abdul Ali looked at me with concern before saying: ‘Why do you want to do that?’
The answer was ready on the boy’s lips. ‘Because I live here and it is my right. Before you send someone to work in this neighbourhood you may want to enquire if we are available. Pay me what you would have paid the van driver.’
I wanted to reach Moina Mia’s house as soon as possible and so did not want to be bothered. The woman’s suicide had already delayed our meeting considerably. I pulled Abdul Ali by the shoulder, but he did not move even an inch. On the other hand, I noticed, the boy sounded very tough and determined.
‘You are too young for this job,’ Abdul Ali said.
‘But I have experience,’ the boy replied. ‘Since the beginning of the famine I have removed thirty-four bodies. Women, children, grownups, I don’t care. Bodies are bodies, aren’t they? I am strong and I love the famine.’
‘It may be a homicide,’ I said to Abdul Ali. I wanted to scare him. I wanted him to come with me and come quickly. I could not wait. ‘Who knows who was with the woman on the roof. A body may not be as simple as it looks. We need someone who is mature and who understands how sensitive the situation is. Besides, if you think about the law of the country, the body may also have to be taken to the police station for an autopsy and investigation.’
The boy continued talking with Abdul Ali in the same manner, as if he had not heard me. When he asked Abdul Ali how much he was planning to pay the van driver for the job, I spoke again, louder this time: ‘Don’t you listen to the little devil, Ali bhai; this can be a never-ending issue and can even damage your relations with Moina Mia, making you lose your job in the end. I don’t know why you are wasting your time with him.’
‘Who is this man?’ the boy said resentfully, with his eyes on me. ‘Is he a newcomer in this country? Does he know there is no homicide, slaughter or disappearance here at the moment, only death, very ordinary, raw, uncomplicated death? Does he know I have come to seek your permission only out of courtesy and I will do whatever I find suitable in this case to help myself?’
Abdul Ali wanted to say something, but I pulled him aside saying I would deal with the matter and stood with the boy face to face. The boy was thin and undersized, and I believed it would not need more than a blow to shut him up for the day. ‘And what do you think is suitable?’ I asked instantly. ‘Give me an example, please. I want to enlighten myself with your experience.’ He looked up at me with the same anger. ‘Say honestly how many bodies you have buried—one, two, three, none?’
Finding him silent, I kicked him in the leg, to which he reacted only by taking a step back, bending to touch his knee, his face squeezing in pain. He was terrified. I asked him again if he was still willing to remove the woman’s body from the yard. ‘My darling, my little darling, speak up. Don’t limp, raise your head, close your fist and smack me in the face.’ When he did not respond, I grabbed his hair, swung him from side to side a few times and then let him go. Abdul Ali did not have much strength in his legs, but he came to rescue the boy. ‘Khaleque sahib!’ he said and tried to cover the boy with his body. I followed him, ran around him and kicked the boy again. ‘Please,’ the boy cried into the dust, ‘don’t hit me. Don’t hit me. I just wanted to do something to earn money. It did not matter if it involved burying a body. I have half of my family dead and the other half starving.’ Though I had controlled myself to some extent by that time, I still yelled at him. ‘Tell me, have you carried any bodies before,’ I said, ‘or I’ll break your spine. Tell me the truth.’
‘O God!’ he said, while collecting himself under my gaze. ‘I have not. O God!’
Soon his cries became louder. His body shook as he drew in every breath with visible difficulty.
Abdul Ali squeezed a one-taka note into his pocket and pushed me towards the road.
‘What is this world, Khaleque bhai?’ Abdul Ali asked as we proceeded through the neighbourhood.
He walked beside me, holding my arm. He wiped his nose with a handkerchief I had given him.
‘What is this time, this circle of seasons, this turn of years, this vanishing light and this insignificant but inviolable conflict between life and death? What is this that we see and cannot react to, that we perceive and cannot explain, that we repeat and yet cannot recollect? Tell me, if you know; tell me today; tell me when this is coming to an end. I do not believe in premonitions but I’ll believe today. Tell me anything; I’ll believe you.’
I was now at least two hours late for my meeting with Moina Mia. What excuse would I give him? That someone fell asleep on the sofa and I saw a death on the road? Those would only prove that I was not sufficiently careful about my responsibility.
‘If you hold on to me like this,’ I said to Abdul Ali, ‘I cannot walk. You’re too heavy for me to carry all the way; you’re too dejected; too preoccupied to let me speak; and too immature to understand anything.’ I pulled my hand away. ‘Walk by yourself, please. This day says nothing more different to me than to you. This day says: look ahead; this suicide did not happen; this blood you saw was only the juice of the earth; this woman was a mirage; this boy was a ghost. Walk straight, go home, sleep, wake up, walk straight, look ahead.’
‘Why wasn’t walking yesterday enough for today? Why won’t walking today be enough for tomorrow? Why walk then, if walking doesn’t count?’
‘Walking is always for tomorrow; yesterday’s walk, today’s walk, tomorrow’s walk—all for tomorrow. That is what this world is. Such are the times. Don’t come close to me; walk apart; behind me or before me. Walk fast, like the wind. I am walking now, for tomorrow; I am thinking now, for tomorrow. I am now going to stun myself, for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.’
He stopped talking. He stopped walking, pressed his chest and fell to the ground. ‘Come, hit me,’ he said. ‘You hit the boy, hit me.’
‘Not now,’ I said, as I ran towards him. ‘Not now. Kill me if you want to kill me. But we have no time for this. We have to go.’ I shook him by the shoulder, by the head, slapped him.
‘I am tired,’ he managed to say.
‘On your feet!’ I screamed. ‘On your feet!’ I dragged him a few steps in the dust, a pain growing in my armpit, my legs feeling heavy, like the legs of an elephant; then raised him on to my shoulder and ran towards Moina Mia’s mansion.