In the Sea There Are Crocodiles - Fabio Geda [11]
Because some of the shopkeepers I went to regularly, every morning about ten, and then again in the afternoon about three or four, were kind to me and gave me tips, which I could have kept for myself, but at the time I didn’t know if it was right, so I handed them over to kaka Rahim. Not that there was much I could have done with the money. It was better that way, I think. If I’d made a mistake in counting and taken more as a tip than I should have done, kaka Rahim might have stopped trusting me, and I didn’t want to lose a place where I could sleep and clean my teeth.
But on a day full of wind and sand, one of these shopkeepers, the osta sahib who sold shoes, a sandal or chaplai in my language, and who liked me, motioned me to sit down with him for a moment and have a little chay myself, which I wasn’t at all sure I should do, but seeing that he was the one who asked me, I thought it would be impolite to refuse. I sat down on a rug on the floor, with my legs crossed.
How old are you, Enaiat?
I don’t know.
More or less.
Ten.
You’ve been working at the samavat for some time now, haven’t you, Enaiat?
Nearly six months, osta sahib.
Six months. He looked up at the sky, thinking. Nobody’s ever stayed that long with Rahim, he said. That means he’s pleased.
Kaka Rahim never says he’s pleased with me.
Affarin, he said. If he doesn’t complain, Enaiat, that means he’s very pleased.
I believe you, osta sahib.
Now I’m going to ask you a question. And you have to tell me the truth. All right?
I nodded.
Are you pleased with your work at the samavat?
Am I pleased that kaka Rahim gave me work? Of course I’m pleased.
He shook his head. No, I didn’t ask if you’re pleased that Rahim gave you work. Of course you are. Thanks to him you have a bed, something to eat in the evening, a cup of yogurt for lunch. I asked if you like the work. If you’ve ever thought of changing.
To do different work?
Yes.
What kind of work?
Selling, for example.
Selling what?
Whatever you want.
Like those boys with their wooden boxes down in the bazaar, osta sahib? Like them?
Like them.
I thought of it, yes. The first day. But I didn’t know the language well enough. I could do it now, but I wouldn’t be able to buy the merchandise.
Haven’t you put any money aside?
What money?
The money Rahim pays you for your work at the samavat. Do you send it home or do you spend it?
Osta sahib, I don’t get any money for my work at the samavat. Just the chance to live there.
Really?
May I be struck dead.
That skinflint Rahim doesn’t even pay you half a rupee?
No.
Lanat ba shaiton. Listen, I’m going to make you a proposition. At the samavat, you’re paid with food and a place to sleep, nothing else, but if you work for me, I’ll give you money. I’ll buy you the merchandise, you sell it and then we share the profit. If you make twenty rupees, I take fifteen and you take five. Your money. What do you say? You’ll be able to do what you like with it.
But kaka Rahim won’t let me sleep at the samavat anymore.
That’s not a problem. There are plenty of places in the city where you can sleep.
Really?
Really.
I was silent for a while, then I asked osta sahib if I could stand up and take a walk around the block, to think it over. It was break time, and maybe the children’s cries would help me find the right answer. The only thing that made me hesitate was that I was very small, as small as a wooden teaspoon. It would be easy for anyone to rob or cheat me. But in Quetta there were lots of children working on the streets, who bought merchandise wholesale and sold it again, so it wasn’t as if the idea was a strange one. And then there was the fact that I’d have money of my own, which wouldn’t be bad at all. True, I didn’t know where I’d sleep, but osta sahib had said it wouldn’t be a problem,