rubs his arm at the memory of the tweezers plucking out the broken needle. “It was horrible. I’m never going to that place again. Did you hear about Shareen and Daniel? What’s wrong with her brain?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Aaron explains. “She hates him.”
“Everyone hates him. He shouts you down if you disagree with him. Did you see the bruise on her neck?”
“No. Does he hit her?” Aaron’s shocked to hear it, but there’s something else that’s bothering him. Jacob’s on edge. He’s twitching. His eyes are darting all over the place.
“I saw him squeeze her neck with two fingers when she spilled his tea this morning,” Jacob says, then gazes at the sky, his feet, the next building, the sky again.
“Did he hurt her?” Aaron asks, wondering if the vaccination has made Jacob’s eyes ache.
“I don’t know!” Jacob scratches his curly hair in an odd, slow way, as if he can’t quite get to his scalp, where the problem is. “I’ve still got that nearly full bottle of poison I told you about. Do you want to sell it to her?” Then he laughs and his big yellow teeth pop out of his mouth, making him look more like himself.
“She could mix it with chili sauce or black coffee,” suggests Aaron. “He wouldn’t be able to tell.”
“I could hold Daniel’s nose and chin while you pour it down his throat?” Jacob grins. “Hey, maybe it would be better if she marries him first, because if he has got some money, she can keep it.” Jacob starts twitching again.
“Maybe give some to us,” Aaron says hopefully.
Suddenly the old lady opposite starts wagging a finger and cursing as she struggles out of the doorway and hobbles away.
“Who’s she?” Aaron asks.
“Fatima,” Jacob replies. “Fatima with the Filthy Mouth—that’s what they call her ’round here. Her husband and his brother died last year of that horrible disease. You know, the one I might have? They used to clear the private hospitals. They all sling stuff out that’s not allowed.”
“Hepatitis?” Aaron wonders what the symptoms are. Maybe that’s why Jacob is twitching.
“Yeah. Fatima went a bit crazy after that.” A wave of fear crosses Jacob’s face. “Do you want to sit on the wall?”
“Maybe later,” Aaron says.
He is watching a sagging cart with two teenage boys on it come to a halt. Instantly the boys begin unloading bags crammed with boxes. Boxes marked on all sides with the words “Bio-Hazardous Waste.”
“What does that mean?” Aaron asks.
“It’s dangerous, I guess.” Jacob sighs.
“Why don’t they burn it if it’s dangerous?”
“You should see those hospital incinerators.” Jacob’s eyes fly every which way. “They’re so old, they’re nearly busted. Sometimes they break down. There’s never a spare one. They don’t have room to store everything and they don’t want to pay the special companies to take the dangerous stuff away when we’ll do it instead.”
“What’s in there, then?”
Aaron hasn’t ever wanted to hang around in this area when the carts return. He covers his nose at the overpowering smell of old bandages, blood, and disinfectant that turns his stomach. A young girl, no more than eight years old, appears from the side of the building, holding her mother’s hand. She is followed by two girls of about eleven and twelve, dressed in rags. The teenage boys nod at their mother and sisters briefly and then head inside for water while Aaron and Jacob watch the mother and girls start to break open the boxes to reveal broken plaster of Paris, cracked beakers, tubes, blood bags, and syringes. They pour the lot on to the street before sorting them into piles.
“Their home’s on the ninth floor,” Jacob whispers, and Aaron immediately understands that the families who live high up have to work here first before carrying the sorted bags upstairs for safekeeping.
Needles, scalpels, knives, and all sorts of other sharp things clatter from
“She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Aaron explains. “She hates him.”
“Everyone hates him. He shouts you down if you disagree with him. Did you see the bruise on her neck?”
“No. Does he hit her?” Aaron’s shocked to hear it, but there’s something else that’s bothering him. Jacob’s on edge. He’s twitching. His eyes are darting all over the place.
“I saw him squeeze her neck with two fingers when she spilled his tea this morning,” Jacob says, then gazes at the sky, his feet, the next building, the sky again.
“Did he hurt her?” Aaron asks, wondering if the vaccination has made Jacob’s eyes ache.
“I don’t know!” Jacob scratches his curly hair in an odd, slow way, as if he can’t quite get to his scalp, where the problem is. “I’ve still got that nearly full bottle of poison I told you about. Do you want to sell it to her?” Then he laughs and his big yellow teeth pop out of his mouth, making him look more like himself.
“She could mix it with chili sauce or black coffee,” suggests Aaron. “He wouldn’t be able to tell.”
“I could hold Daniel’s nose and chin while you pour it down his throat?” Jacob grins. “Hey, maybe it would be better if she marries him first, because if he has got some money, she can keep it.” Jacob starts twitching again.
“Maybe give some to us,” Aaron says hopefully.
Suddenly the old lady opposite starts wagging a finger and cursing as she struggles out of the doorway and hobbles away.
“Who’s she?” Aaron asks.
“Fatima,” Jacob replies. “Fatima with the Filthy Mouth—that’s what they call her ’round here. Her husband and his brother died last year of that horrible disease. You know, the one I might have? They used to clear the private hospitals. They all sling stuff out that’s not allowed.”
“Hepatitis?” Aaron wonders what the symptoms are. Maybe that’s why Jacob is twitching.
“Yeah. Fatima went a bit crazy after that.” A wave of fear crosses Jacob’s face. “Do you want to sit on the wall?”
“Maybe later,” Aaron says.
He is watching a sagging cart with two teenage boys on it come to a halt. Instantly the boys begin unloading bags crammed with boxes. Boxes marked on all sides with the words “Bio-Hazardous Waste.”
“What does that mean?” Aaron asks.
“It’s dangerous, I guess.” Jacob sighs.
“Why don’t they burn it if it’s dangerous?”
“You should see those hospital incinerators.” Jacob’s eyes fly every which way. “They’re so old, they’re nearly busted. Sometimes they break down. There’s never a spare one. They don’t have room to store everything and they don’t want to pay the special companies to take the dangerous stuff away when we’ll do it instead.”
“What’s in there, then?”
Aaron hasn’t ever wanted to hang around in this area when the carts return. He covers his nose at the overpowering smell of old bandages, blood, and disinfectant that turns his stomach. A young girl, no more than eight years old, appears from the side of the building, holding her mother’s hand. She is followed by two girls of about eleven and twelve, dressed in rags. The teenage boys nod at their mother and sisters briefly and then head inside for water while Aaron and Jacob watch the mother and girls start to break open the boxes to reveal broken plaster of Paris, cracked beakers, tubes, blood bags, and syringes. They pour the lot on to the street before sorting them into piles.
“Their home’s on the ninth floor,” Jacob whispers, and Aaron immediately understands that the families who live high up have to work here first before carrying the sorted bags upstairs for safekeeping.
Needles, scalpels, knives, and all sorts of other sharp things clatter from
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