Читать книгу The Hum of the Sun - Kirsten Miller - Страница 22

The road stretched empty. Ash put his hand into the backpack and pulled out the clear plastic bag filled with notes. He took the fifty rand the priest had given them and added it to the pile. He sat down on a nearby rock and counted the money. Zuko turned in circles, his face to the sky. Three cars passed, too fast for Ash to get a good look at the occu­pants. No-one was looking to give two strange boys a lift. Ash scratched his ear, and waved away a fly from his nostril. “Come here,” he told Zuko. Without taking his eyes from the absence of clouds, Zuko moved closer. He sat beside Ash’s knees, leaned into them. Ash put a hand on his brother’s head. He bent forward and put his lips on the warm, dark head. “We couldn’t stay there,” he told Zuko. “Not us alone. I need to go to school before I can ever do anything else. Keeping a few chickens is not an income, not a job. There’s no guarantee we’ll be able to eat. Even if you’ve got chickens and eggs, you need some way of selling them.”

Zuko tilted his head as though curious at the sound of the words, or the tone of Ash’s voice. He put his face in Ash’s lap. “We’ll get a taxi,” Ash told him. “I’m sure one will come along soon.” He wiped a hand across his cheek. “There are plenty between here and the city. We might have to wait though. I heard they travel the long-distance routes mainly at night.”

Zuko didn’t move. At first Ash thought he was asleep, one dark and tender cheek pressed against his knee. When he shifted and noticed Zuko’s half-smile, he knew his brother was listening. “Do you remember the stranger?” Ash asked. “I always called him the stranger to Mama, but that wasn’t right. I think he still sent us money, after he stopped coming to see us. At least you got to eat Cheerios after he left.”

Zuko sat up and tried to peel the makeshift bandage off his foot. The underside was caked with dried blood. The dust made an ochre mud. “Keep it on,” Ash told him. “The cut will get infected if it gets dirty.” Seven distant birds flapped in a lazy formation across the sky. Zuko’s eyes followed, caught by the moment. He continued to pull at the fabric on his foot until it came loose. He trailed it in the dust. Ash shrug­ged. “Whatever you want,” he said, and Zuko grinned.

When the sun sat at an angle, the first white minibus approached. Ash stood and put his hand out. The vehicle slowed to a standstill be­side them. A young man with a smooth head and easy pale green T-shirt leaned over the steering wheel to get a good look at them. “You going somewhere?” he asked. The back of the minibus held a sleeping woman in a Zionist’s uniform, and two men in blue overalls.

“The city,” Ash said.

“You got money?”

Ash fingered the plastic sleeve in his pocket. “How much will it cost?”

“Three hundred. Each. Six for the two of you.”

Ash shrugged. “S’okay,” he said. “We’ll get a lift.”

The minibus jerked into motion. The wheels slurred on the gravel roadside. Ash looked ahead at the road that narrowed to the horizon.