Trash - Andy Mulligan [49]
‘You go up and down, that’s all I remember,’ said Rat – and that’s what cracked it. We split the six numbers into two: 746 and 229. Sure enough, the map had a 74 and a 22, they were right there along the sides, and took us straight to a square in the middle. In it was a graveyard. In fact, the graveyard covered the square, and we never did find out what the 6 and 9 were.
‘He put the fridge by a graveyard,’ said Rat quietly. ‘That’s what the gardener said.’
‘Where we lay,’ I whispered. ‘That means where we are … buried.’
There was a little silence, and then we all started to laugh again, quiet as we could. There was a little light coming through – we’d worked through the night, and had our answers. We held hands, we slapped our palms and Gardo kissed me right on the head. It had all just fallen all over us, and we were getting close. A graveyard in the centre of the city – the Naravo. We’d go and look for the brightest light – a special grave, maybe? Or a part of the church? Once again, the trash boys were ahead of the trash police.
Or so we thought.
5
This time they came quietly.
This is Jun-Jun, because I remember exactly how it was. I am the best hearer, the best jumper, the best runner – they think I brag, but they know it’s true!
Early morning they came, hoping to catch us asleep – plainclothes and uniforms, I believe, all pressing in around us. The boys had blown out the candles – we were just folding up the papers, and we heard a heavy step on the ladder below.
Why I stopped and noticed, I don’t know. José and Gabriel again, like Raphael says – on the Day of the Dead, the dead look after you. Anyway, I said how quiet it was – we usually heard the old lady at the bottom of the house shouting and banging about because she had about ten children, who were up before dawn making mischief. So we all stopped still, and wondered where the morning sounds had gone.
Maybe she was the one who sold us? I don’t know.
I could hear someone talking below, sounding worried. Then the feet coming up the ladder sounded too heavy, that’s all I can say – they sounded heavier than any man who lived up in our part of the building, where you had to be light.
I went straight to the roof-hatch, opened it up.
Raphael was almost too scared to move – I had to smack him one. Gardo and he picked up what they could carry and we went so slow, so silent – because we didn’t want to make a sound. If it was police, we wanted them to come right in and find an empty room. They might stick around, thinking we were close, and then bust up the next little room – the last thing we wanted was panic and for them to see us run. So even though my guts were aching and the voice inside was screaming, Get yourself out of here! we made ourselves go slow.
I went first and guided Raph, who guided Gardo. I was waiting for a shout, or a gunshot even – I thought they had to have the place surrounded, they wouldn’t be that dumb again – but there was nobody on the roof.
Then, just below, I heard someone call Gardo’s name.
‘Hey, Gardo! It’s your cousin!’
Lies.
‘Gardo? Hey! He’s sick.’
Crazy lies, telling us only that we had to get moving.
We stayed low, poised there for a while, like three scared little cats. I beckoned, and we all crossed to the next roof, a TV aerial helping us swing down silently. There were wires stretching across, but we all knew not to touch them in case they were bad electrics – once you’ve had a zap off a power line you go careful. So we just went on our toes down into a dip in the roof-space where we definitely couldn’t be seen.
Luck holding.
A man was sitting in his window, smoking a cigarette, just watching us. I saw some other people too – a woman flapping out some washing, and two children playing with a dog. Everyone stopped and stared at us, but no one said a word and the dog didn’t bark.
Then down below we heard battering and hammering on doors, and we knew the police were moving. Right at once we heard feet running, we heard shouting – we could hear