Trash - Andy Mulligan [6]
I followed Gardo, and on either side I was aware of the little grey movements. There is light over Behala, because some of the trucks come at night – they’ve rigged up big floodlights, and they’re usually on. We’d gone left, right, over the little canal that just about gets through, stinking of the dead – and then off we went into a lane only the trash people use – no trucks, and not even many people. It was dead trash underfoot, and it was damp – you were up to your knees. Soon we came to one of the old belt-machines, but this one was disused and rotting. The belt itself had been stripped out, and the wooden panels had been taken. It was just a huge metal frame, rusting away. The arm that held the belt pointed up into the sky like a big finger, and now and then kids would climb it and sit in the breeze. At ground level, its legs were sunk into concrete piles, and underneath the legs was a hole.
I suppose machinery must have been down there at one time, because there were steps down, and they were slimy. Trash is often wet, and the juices are always running. Maybe the ground here was a bit lower, I don’t know – but it was always muddy.
We stopped at the top of the steps, and I called out: ‘Rat!’
I called quite soft – I didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing, or where we were. The problem was, the kid couldn’t hear me if he was down there, and I was pretty sure he would be. Where else would he be?
‘Hey, Rat!’ I called again. I could hear the little cheeps and squeaks. Gardo was following me now, because even though he’s braver than me and stronger, he’s not easy with rats. I’ll kill one with my foot, but Gardo got bitten badly a while ago, and his whole hand went bad. He’ll kill them, but he’d rather stay away from them. I was halfway down the steps, and a little one streaked up past me, then another.
‘Rat!’ I called, and my voice echoed in the machine-chamber. I got down low with the candle, trying not to breathe too deep because of the stink – and I heard him turn in his bed.
‘What?’ he said. He’s got a high little voice. ‘Who is that?’
‘Raphael and Gardo. We got a favour to ask you. Can we come in?’
‘Yes.’
It might seem crazy asking a kid if you can come into his hole, but this hole was about the only thing Rat had, apart from what he wore. I would not have lived there – anywhere would have been better. For a start it was damp and dark. For another thing, I would have been scared that the trash above would fall and pile up down the stairs, trapping me, like it did on Smoky Mountain. These mountains do move. It’s not us climbing about on them that makes them fall, it’s usually just their own weight as the belts pile more and more stuff on. You can get caught in a fall, and it’s heavy stuff. I’ve never known anyone killed, but one kid broke bones, falling badly. When Smoky went down, there were nearly a hundred killed, and everyone knows some of those poor souls are still down there, down with the trash, turned into trash, rotting with the trash.
Anyway, I got to the last step, trying not to think of all that, and put my candle low. There was a sudden flicker of black, and another rat – this one big as they come – shot past me, right over my shoulder.
The kid was sitting up, just in his shorts, gazing at me with frightened eyes and his big broken teeth sticking out of his mouth.
‘Raphael?’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
I thought, I should have brought him a bit of food. He goes hungrier than most, and his face is pinched. Kids used to call him Monkey Boy before Rat, because his face does have that wide-eyed, staring look that little monkeys have. He was sitting on some layers of cardboard, and around him there were piles of rubbish that he must have been sorting. The walls and ceiling were damp brick, and there were cracks everywhere. That was where the rats came in and out, and I guessed there were nests just the other side. He had arms skinny as pencils, and Gardo’s crack about breaking them had made me smile. You could break Jun’s arms with your finger and thumb. He