Refugee Boy (18 page)

Alem took the gifts from her. They were in a brown paper bag. He held it at one end and let the gifts fall into the other hand. It was two CDs, one of Eritrean traditional music and one of Ethiopian traditional music. The minute beginnings of a smile appeared on Alem’s face.

‘There is a problem,’ he said mock seriously. ‘You didn’t get me any Tigrean music nor any Somalian music.’

‘Gosh, Alem, I don’t know the difference. I’ll take them back if you don’t like them,’ Ruth said, holding her hand out.

‘Only joking, silly,’ Alem said, holding the CDs to his chest. ‘They’re great.’

Ruth rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘I looked hard for
those. I was trying to find an Ethiopian band but I couldn’t find any.’

After Ruth left the room, Alem went to his computer and played the CDs. He had never been interested in music and he certainly was not the type to listen to traditional music, but this was different. The recording quality was basic, as if recorded in a field or by someone simply placing a microphone in front of the musicians. It didn’t have the clean, polished sound of a studio recording but it had a profound effect on Alem. The stringed instruments, the drumming and most of all the chanting meant that he was hearing the sounds of home. These were the birth songs, the death songs, the wedding songs and the love songs that he had for so long taken for granted. He closed his eyes and drifted from the Ethiopian town of Harar to the Eritrean city of Asmara; then he drifted into sleep.

There was a knock on the door. Alem woke up. It was Mrs Fitzgerald. ‘Alem, maybe you should get in bed now, it’s almost midnight.’

Alem couldn’t believe he had been asleep so long. ‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald. I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’

The next time Alem woke up it was morning. The sound of pop music was blaring out from Ruth’s room as she was busy getting ready for work. Before she left, Alem caught her on the landing and thanked her
for the CDs again. ‘I don’t know what you were thinking but all I can say is that it was just what I needed.’

His mood that day at school was a bit better and he managed to explain to Robert and Buck what had happened, how his father came and how he went.

‘We have to do something,’ Robert said. ‘It’s not fair!’

‘There’s nothing we can do now,’ Alem replied.

When Alem arrived home, Mrs Fitzgerald had a message for him. She told him to go and get changed and then to wait in the living room. Alem just didn’t know what to expect but the seriousness of her tone made him very worried. She came into the living room and sat opposite Alem.

‘Well, Nicholas Morgan has been on the phone to me again today and he sounded hopeful. Tomorrow morning your father will appear in court and Nicholas will be making an application for bail on his behalf. He thinks that there’s a good chance that bail will be granted but he said he couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure.’

Alem didn’t know how to take the news, he wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad.

‘Do I have to go to court as well?’ he asked.

‘Nicholas said no. He said that we don’t want to be seen taking you out of school for this and that he will
have your file with him anyway because it may help your father’s case.’

‘So I just carry on as normal?’

‘That’s just what he said,’ Mrs Fitzgerald replied. ‘It’s going to be difficult waiting for the results of the hearing but Nicholas does know his business.’

Alem looked her in the eye and said, ‘I’m sorry for being such a problem.’

Mrs Fitzgerald rose to her feet. ‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘The only problem I have is you thinking you’re a problem. Now stop saying sorry and stop saying problem, will you?’ She looked down at him most seriously but then quickly winked at him.

Alem smiled. ‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald.’

‘And Alem?’

‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Remember, there’s a lot of people who love you.’

‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald.’

At dinnertime the next day after Alem and Robert had visited the chip shop, Alem stopped at a phone box to phone home. He had told Robert about the hearing so Robert knew how important the call could be as he waited outside.

Mrs Fitzgerald answered the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Mrs Fitzgerald.’

‘Hello, Alem.’

‘Have you heard from the court yet?’

‘Nicholas has just rung here.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said your father is on his way here.’

‘You mean they’ve let him out?’

‘That’s right, he’s free and I think he’ll be here before you get here. So go back to school and don’t worry.’

‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’

Robert could see that the news was good. ‘They let him out then?’

‘Yes,’ Alem said, ‘he’s already on his way here.’

The afternoon just couldn’t go quickly enough for Alem. He was counting every minute down and he struggled to concentrate on his work. When he got home there was another emotional reunion, but Alem could see that the detention centre had had a negative effect on his father. He looked extremely tired and nervous. Mariam and Pamela were with him and as they all sat in the living room, Pamela began to speak.

‘We won a battle but we haven’t won the war.’

Alem and his father looked at each other. They hated the war metaphor.

Pamela noticed their reaction.

‘I’m sorry for using such an unfortunate phrase but you know what I mean. We still have a long way to go. Today the courts have agreed that your father’s hearing and yours,’ she said, looking at Alem, ‘should be combined, so the same adjudicator can hear both your cases. Your father will now be in court with you on 15th February, which isn’t very far away – twenty days to be exact.’

‘But what will Mr Kelo do until then?’ asked Mr Fitzgerald, who was standing by the door.

‘Well,’ Pamela continued, ‘he can’t work. He can get a little state help – and I mean a little – and Sheila has fixed him up with a hotel. It’s not great but it’s somewhere, and it’s not very far from here.’

‘Can’t he stay with us?’ said Mr Fitzgerald.

‘Sheila reckons it might complicate things,’ Mariam said. ‘Apparently if the make-up of the household changes, the condition of the fostering may be invalid.’

Alem knew it wasn’t perfect but he also knew that things could have been much worse. ‘Where is this hotel?’ he asked Pamela.

‘Well . . .’ she hesitated. ‘It’s called a hotel but these hotels are full of homeless families and asylum seekers. It’s not like a Holiday Inn or even like the nice little place you stayed at in Datchet. It’s a bit rough, to say the least. It’s at the Forest Gate end of Romford Road, so it’s not far at all.’

‘I think we should go now,’ Mariam said. ‘We have to buy a few things and get Mr Kelo checked into his new home.’ She handed Alem a business card. ‘That’s the name and address of the hotel.’

Alem took it, and read it. ‘Father, can I come to see you tomorrow after school?’

‘No,’ his father said to everyone’s surprise. ‘Give me a couple of days to sort some things out and to talk to my barrister and then come. Why don’t you come on Saturday? You’ll have more time.’

‘OK,’ Alem said. His father’s reasoning made sense to him.

On Friday night Mr Kelo rang Alem at home. ‘How are you, young man?’ he asked.

‘Everything is fine, Father.’

‘So are you coming tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Why don’t you come early, like nine o’clock? We could go shopping together.’

‘Yes, Father, I would like that.’

The next morning Alem walked down Romford Road, remembering the last time he had ventured down there. He feared that he might meet the people who took his bike and at the same time he looked at every bike that passed, trying to see if it was his. He arrived at the Hartman Hotel at exactly nine and walked into the building looking for the reception. He couldn’t find it. As he stood trying to look for any signs that would point him to the reception desk, people passed him going in and going out but no one offered to help him. Then he saw someone looking at him as he was trying to find his way. The man stood silently watching at the bottom of the stairs. He was about eighteen, dressed in jeans and a heavy leather coat, and looked Arab or Mediterranean.

He approached Alem. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked, expressionless.

‘I am looking for my father,’ Alem replied.

‘What room is he in?’

‘I don’t know.’

Alem could see him thinking.

‘Did he come in about two days ago, tall man, on his own?’

‘Yes, yes, that sounds like him,’ Alem replied, cheering up.

‘I think he is on the top floor at the back.’

‘Do you know what the room number is?’ Alem asked.

‘There are no numbers on the room doors. But I’m sure I saw him moving into that room.’

Alem climbed the four flights of stairs and at the top there were four doors. Two were facing the front of the building and two were facing the back. He stood for a moment wondering which door could be his father’s. Then he heard sounds coming from one. Putting his head to the door, and he could hear children playing and adults talking. That made things easier for him. He knocked on the other door and his father opened it.

‘Hello, Father,’ he said, noticing the flaking paint on the door.

His father noticed him noticing the paintwork. He smiled. ‘It’s not the Holiday Inn and it’s not the Palace Hotel, as our friend said, it’s a bit rough.’

Alem entered the room and took an instant dislike to the place. The cheap carpet was so worn in places that the underlay was showing. There were areas of the wall where the wallpaper had peeled off, leaving patches of damp plaster. The curtains moved as the
wind blew outside. Two panes of glass were completely missing and had been replaced with pieces of cardboard. The only bits of furniture in the room were a single bed, two hard pink chairs, a small table and a wardrobe. The only luxury was a radio, almost covering the small table it rested on. Alem was horrified.

‘Father, you can’t live here!’

‘I have no choice, young man.’

‘But Father, look at it – and it stinks!’

‘Well, I will have to try my best to stop it from stinking,’ he said as if he was happy to take on the task.

‘Father, there must be somewhere else for you to go. I will talk to Sheila for you, I’m sure she can find you somewhere else.’

Mr Kelo grabbed one of the pink chairs and turned it around so it was opposite the other chair. ‘Sit down, I want to talk to you,’ he said to Alem, pointing to the seat.

Alem sat down and Mr Kelo sat down facing him. ‘You have lost your mother, I have lost my wife. We are far away from home. Our lives are changing. Things will never be as they were and things will not stay as they are. We are both lucky to be here. We know that, don’t we?’

Alem nodded his head.

‘We know what war is like,’ Mr Kelo continued. ‘Let us not be ungrateful and let us not be greedy. If
we are patient, things will work out. This is a good country and everybody has to start somewhere.’

‘I know you are right, Father,’ Alem said quietly, ‘but I just don’t like to think of you living here. I feel bad because I live in a better place than you.’

‘Don’t worry, this won’t be for long.’

‘OK, Father.’

Alem paused for what seemed quite a long time. His father watched him look around the room but then he looked his father in his eyes in a way his father had never seen before.

‘Father, how did Mother die?’

His father looked nervous. He hesitated before speaking. ‘Well, let me put it like this, young man, I wasn’t there but I know it was a violent death. Sometimes it’s best not to know the details of these things. I have to tell you, son, that the night I found out about her death I cried all night, and then when I tried to go out the next day I couldn’t. Every time I saw a woman, I looked to see if it was your mother. I could not believe that we had lost her. I had to return home, I could not face the day, and when I was home I cried even more. I had to lock myself away for a week just to cry.’

Mr Kelo’s eyes started to water. Alem had never seen him like this and Mr Kelo was aware of this. ‘Let me tell you something, young man,’ he continued, ‘real men cry, real men have feelings. Any man that
lives without emotions or feelings is not a real man. These people that kill and think nothing of it are cowards. Real men feel, real men cry.’

Alem’s eyes began to water. He reached out both his hands and they held each other’s hands as Alem wept quietly. As Alem spoke, the tears rolled down his face and over his lips. ‘I didn’t even say goodbye to her.’

‘None of us did, and she would understand why. We never knew the plans of those evil people.’

‘Father, do we all do evil?’

His father thought for a while. ‘We all make mistakes and we are all capable of evil but I must tell you young man, I met your mother when she was fourteen years old and I have never known her to say an evil word or do an evil deed. Not once. Do you know whose idea EAST was?’

‘Yours,’ Alem replied.

‘No, young man, it was your mother’s. She was the one who said to me and my friend Asfa that we should start an organisation to bring people together. She was the one with the vision, she was the one who was not prepared to sit back and watch us tear ourselves apart.’

Alem sat back, lifted up his chest and took in a long, deep breath. ‘I know what I must do, Father,’ he said, still looking into his father’s eyes. ‘I must represent Mother’s ideas, I should promote her dream.’

His father smiled. ‘You got it, young man! You do that and that will mean that she lives. Now,’ he said, standing up, ‘I’m told that I will get some financial help next week. My money is running out but I have enough to get some food for the time being. So let’s go shopping.’

They took a bus and went to a large supermarket. Mr Kelo was choosing mainly vegetables and tinned meat products. As Alem pushed the trolley he began to ask himself questions, and when he felt that he couldn’t answer them himself, he asked his father.