Rawi Hage - Carnival

Where to, boss? I said, sounding like a low-ranking gangster.

The industrial district, he said.

I drove up Highway 41 and all the way to the periphery of the city. Soon the industrial complexes started to show their long chimneys, and the fumes pouring out of their furnaces filled the sky with circular shapes and evasive patterns. On both sides of the highway were old workers’ houses the same shades of grey as the factories behind them. All the walls were drenched in that pale, toxic colour of cement and dust.

Take this exit, Zee said.

I went down the ramp and drove along a row of houses. On the narrow road we encountered a truck loaded with what looked like a mountain of sand. The truck driver drove straight towards us without any hesitation or plan to accommodate our passage. Giving way, I veered right and up onto the shoulder, and dust rose from both sides and covered my car and my windows. I turned on the wipers, and they drew two arches in the shape of peacock tails, or two Andalusian fans, and I fancied myself in Moorish Spain walking through bow-shaped palaces and fountains and the smell of orange blossoms. .

We passed a series of warehouses, encountering one grocery store that was open but had a doleful, vacant look, and an old metal sign with the fading letters of a soft-drink brand that no longer existed.

Zee told me to stop. He stepped out and stood at the corner. Then he called to me, saying, Come here, Fly. Get some fresh air.

I got out.

Stand here beside me, Zee said. So I stood next to him and we waited until a kid came around the corner and walked towards us. The kid’s steps looked crooked; there was a one-sided, leaning dance to his marching. His hat looked one or two sizes too big, pragmatically casting a shadow on his eyes. The kid stood in front of Zee and I saw him slip something into the dealer’s hand.

Zee started jawing at the kid, saying, Late again. I am not the one who should be waiting for your coming. Is it all here?

The kid nodded.

At the end of the street, I saw another kid on a bicycle standing in the middle of the road watching us. Zee saw him too.

Who’s that?

My brother.

You come alone. And you be here on time. Zee turned and went back to the car and I followed.

Now what? I said.

Fountain Street, number 45, is all Zee said to me. And for the next half-hour he kept quiet and was pensive.

Did I pay you yet? he asked, as we were about to arrive at our destination.

No, not yet.

I was expecting him to say something else but he didn’t, and I didn’t pursue the conversation. In my oval mirror he had the look of those melancholic killers, or people about to be killed.

The address turned out to be a record store. From the outside, it looked neglected. The record sleeve hanging in the window had turned yellow under the pounding of the midday sun, the changing seasons behind the glass, and the settlement of dust. In the background, a faded, forgotten red curtain, like a trio of backup singers, was barely noticeable. The artists on the record covers looked permanently young and ever-smiling. Who knows, I thought, eternity could well be found in the permanent display of eternity.

I am staying, Zee said. You go in and hand over the bag.

I hesitated. I looked at the bag but I didn’t touch it.

What, are you scared? Zee said.

What’s in it?

What’s in it. Who the fuck do you think you are, mule, to ask me that? You just open the door and go inside and do what I tell you.

My job is to drive you around, I said, not to deliver bags.

What did you say?

I repeated what I had said, but this time I looked him straight in the mirror.

Why do you think I pay you, motherfucker?

Well, I said, I assumed either you can’t drive, or that maybe, deep inside your heart, you are an environmentalist who supports the use of public transport.

One funny, big-mouth motherfucker you are.

And in my mirror I saw his upper body extending on one side and his hand reaching to his waist. Then I heard the cranking of metal.

Don’t make me waste you, Fly. Think of it as a promotion, he said. New responsibilities for you. Advancement in the company: the company of me. Now don’t let me go in that store and drive back home sorry I killed a fly. My girlfriend wouldn’t like it. So what will it be, Fly man. This or that?

I grabbed the bag, got out, and walked towards the store.

The store was closed but I could see people inside. I banged on the window and a man approached. With my imaginary whip, I made the sign of the letter Z in the manner of Zorro, and the man unlocked the door and let me in.

There was bombastic music coming from speakers on the wall. Up by a mezzanine window, two guys were watching the ground floor. When one of them spotted me, he came down the spiral stairs, with difficulty, because he was large and limping under the weight of his humongous thighs. We made eye contact, he had sharp eyes, and I nodded without saying a word. He approached me and frisked my waist.

Who’s this from? he finally said.

Zee.

It better be good. He took the bag and looked me up and down. It better all be here, or you’re going to be listening to your last song.

I stood there while the big man went upstairs. I looked behind me and saw an employee at the door, blocking the exit and frowning at me. Up above, the forms of men walked back and forth and leaned over a table. After a while the big man returned with the same bag in his hand. He handed it to me and said, You tell Zee to bring it himself next time. He gave a signal to the employee and the man moved out of the way and let me pass.

I went back to the car. Zee had put his dark shades on.

I handed him the bag. He opened it quickly and then told me to drive. Any trouble? he asked, once we were on the road.

No, just that the big guy said you should bring it yourself.

Zee paused, looked up, and said, Who told you that?

The big guy, I said.

Mammoth said that?

The big guy, I repeated.

The motherfucker, motherfucker! Zee shouted. I will teach that motherfucker respect. After I’m done here. Now. Get me to the Island fast. You know how to get to the Island? Zee asked.

I told him that I had a previous engagement and wasn’t sure if I could get there and back in time.

Engagement? he repeated. You are engaged to me now. And if you walk out, I will fuck you on and before our wedding day. Drive me to the Island, Zee said calmly, don’t make me pull my shit again, because this time if I pull it, I am going to use it, Fly.

And so I drove towards the Island, though it was not an island in any way. Maybe it was called the Island because of its seclusion from wealth, its apocalyptic-looking emptiness, its rundown buildings and abandoned stores. We arrived and the streets were deserted. We passed the emptiness and headed towards the train tracks. The headlights of my car slashed through the darkened road until we arrived at a meadow, or what looked like a meadow, with a small shack at the far edge and a big car waiting beside it.

Now what, I said.

You turn off your lights and we wait. The backup is on its way.

Backup, I repeated.

Yeah. Watch the mirror for a Jeep with tinted glass and shut the fuck up.

We waited for a while and then Zee started cursing, saying, Where the fuck are they? And after a few more minutes he said, Fuck it.

Drive forward, he said. Put your lights back on.

So I rolled slowly towards the shack.

Stop here and flick your high beams three times.

I did, and then he said, Give me the car keys.

I hesitated.

I swear I will waste you here and now. Don’t make me do it.

So I handed over the keys.

You aren’t going anywhere until I get back, you hear? I will walk over there. Don’t go forward, just keep your beams on. They will see me and the shit will be cool.