Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Dust

When you are covered with dust, you are less than human, Alejandro taught me.
And taught me that the rich people stole our money.
He taught me how to get back.
We were thieves.
   In our neighborhood, nobody owned a house, we all lived on the sidewalks. When it got so cold, we sew old rags and covered ourselves with them. Alejandro would always hug me to make me feel warmer. In Sunday evenings, we lit up some fire gathering around Gabriel who played his guitar and sang old country songs. He was a thief too, but always worked on cars. One Sunday he didn’t come. When I asked Alejandro he told me that a car had hit him and that the police hadn’t investigated because Gabriel was not important enough. I cried so hard I felt my eyes were going to come out of their places. When Alejandro saw me like that he pushed me to the ground. “Crying is for kids,” he said.
   Christmas was one day away; our busiest day in the year; all the wallets were stacked with money. Every year, we tried a new place. All of them were around our neighborhood and the people were not so rich.
 This time though, they were.
   The second we entered, I saw fathers and mothers buying kids my age pretty, clean clothes. For the first time, I felt ashamed of the dirt deeply buried beneath my fingernails and of the torn clothes I wore. I felt ashamed of my skin, of my hair, of myself. I felt I was cheap as dust. Alejandro saw me and his jaw tightened. He clutched my hand and said, looking ahead, “Come.”
   When we entered the shop all the eyes darted towards us; they totally stripped me of everything and I stood before them naked and felt them scrutinizing my nudity then thanked God I was not their child. I saw them moving their kids away wherever we passed like we were dirt.  Alejandro approached a blue sweater with Santa on. He asked a man who wore a uniform, “How much is that?”
He replied, “Nothing you can afford.”
  “I said, how much is that”
  “And I said if you don’t get out of here I’ll have to call the police”
  “Do they capture people who enter shops these days?”
  “If these people are like you.”
   I saw his hands tightening and the veins looked like they were about to burst.
   “Alejandro, let’s get out of here.”
   He stood for a second then towed me to the door slamming it behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man’s nose wrinkling in disgust.
   I hid my eyes with my sleeves and let my  bitter shame translate itself into tears. Abruptly, Alejandro let go of my hand and shouted, “Didn’t I tell you never to cry?”
   I removed the sleeves and shrieked, “You are a liar, I saw you crying when our mother and father died.”
  The face he always wore seemed to crumple down showing his true age, which was ten years younger than what people thought. In his head, he searched for words but could find none. His lips opened and closed on nothing then his face hardened again and he started walking away.
 I felt a soft hand on my back and turned to see an old lady.
  “Here,” she said, giving me a bag.
  I found the sweater in it.
   For a second it was mine. Its texture would cover my bones. I’d walk in it and all kids in the neighborhood would be jealous. I’d  visit rich streets and no one would be disgusted from me.
 Alejandro snatched the sweater out of my hands, and with it, all my dreams.
  He threw it on the ground and said to the old lady, “We don’t need anything from you.”
  We walked to the sidewalk. Not a word passed between us. But I learnt how Alejandro never cried.
    The muscles of his face were  all flexed, I heard them screaming, “We own nothing but dignity and tears are humiliation.”
   That day, my face changed forever, losing its softness and finally becoming like my brother's.

14 comments:

  1. Such beauty in sadness. Great write! :)

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  2. I was going to comment that I hope this is not a true story...then I realized it is...somewhere...even if it isn't yours. You are an amazing writer.

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  3. Maha, this was a stirring read. The emotions tautly captured and expressed. I allowed myself sadness when I read of Alejandro's tenacity and the girl's mind.

    Should 'thieve' be 'thief?'

    Joy always,
    Susan

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  4. This reminds me of someone. Not the exact context but a similar idea. You are a wonderful story teller. Everything was captured perfectly.

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  5. thanks for pointing out Susan, I corrected it.

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  6. wonderful write maha...i am thoroughly enjoying the way you seem to have adjusted your story telling just a bit recently...

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  7. That's not a life anyone would like to live-love the ending.

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  8. Poor Alejandro...

    After all that girl learned that even when it was not right the only thing that will keep her alive in her reality is becoming like him...

    Oh! How I wish she could keep the sweater!

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  9. Life can be so hard. It's a shame people can't accept a helping hand when it's offered. Very powerful.

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  10. "When you are covered with dust, you are less than human"

    I love this line. Sad story though, but very much a reality for more people then it should be.

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  11. Kaleidoscope GirlJuly 23, 2010 at 4:49 AM

    This is an amazing piece of prose! I loved reading this; it was so emotive, it was intrusive and inclusive.

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  12. First time on your blog - and - wow - this is a moving story Maha - it made me hold my breath - and I hoped that it is not a true story cause it's so sad - and that it is not your story. Looking forward to reading more from you!
    Hugs
    Claudia

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  13. this is just wonderful.
    your words just seem to flow so lovely and gently.

    please never stop.
    xo

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  14. This was a beautiful story Maha. Must be such a hard life to lead. Enjoyed your writing as always.

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