LITMIR.BIZ

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heard from the priest,” the man said. “We’re expecting a funeral.”

      “I heard,” Ash said. “We won’t be there.”

      “You don’t go to school?”

      Ash squinted at the road ahead. “Zuko doesn’t go to school. He won’t sit in a chair too long.”

      “And you?”

      Ash shifted on his feet. “I can’t go now. There’s things I have to do.”

      “You should have shown your mother some respect and buried her properly.”

      “There’s a lot of things we don’t do properly, my family.”

      “I heard there was a rich guy who supports you. From the city.”

      “I don’t know about that.”

      The man pointed at Zuko. “Is he the one that won’t speak?”

      “Can’t speak. He would if he could.”

      “I heard about him. He okay in the head?”

      “He’s standing right here. Don’t talk about him like that.”

      “From what I’ve heard, he won’t understand me anyways.”

      “That’s not true.”

      The man put both his hands on the wheel, and looked bored.

      “You going to the city?” Ash asked. He assessed the chickens in the back. They’d both fit in there, if they had to.

      “Why? You want a ride?”

      “Our father’s there.”

      “You’ve got a father?”

      “Everyone’s got a father.”

      “Not everyone knows who that is.”

      “I know. She told me. My mother told me.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “From what I heard, your mother quite liked the men.”

      “What are you saying?”

      “Nothing. Get in the back with the chickens. I’ll give you a lift home.”

      The sky rolled out to another place. The road would take them there. There was nothing to go back to. Ash shook his head. Zuko squinted into the sun and played with the light through his long eyelashes.

      “No,” Ash said. “We’re on our way already.”

      “Someone will report you, taking a kid like that on the road.” The man flicked his left indicator, already resigned that they had made their decision.

      “You think he looks like he doesn’t want to be out here?”

      The man shrugged, and pushed his beanie back from his dark fore­head. “You got shoes for him?”

      “In the bag,” Ash lied. “He doesn’t like wearing them.”

      “If anyone asks me, I’ll deny I ever saw the two of you. I don’t want any trouble.”

      Ash shrugged. “Whatever. It’s a free country.”

      “Now it is.” The vehicle accelerated onto the tar and the wheels spun slightly, like the sound of a small animal.

      4.

      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.

      5.

      The first night they crossed a field and settled behind a koppie large enough to conceal them from the road. They drank the last of the water from the plastic bottle. Ash made a circle of small stones, piled dry sticks and grass into the centre, and lit it to make a fire. While he tended the growing heat, Zuko climbed the hill, favouring his wounded foot. He reached the top and turned around and a kind of laughter bubbled from inside him, a rich and gurgling joy. Ash smiled to himself. The warmth of the young fire glowed on his face.

      Zuko stayed at the top of the hill a long time while Ash kept his eyes on the fire. He trusted the first notion of freedom Zuko had known. Somehow he sensed that finally, in this open space, Zuko had found per­mis­sion to be alive. Ash took the plastic packet that contained the dead chickens from the green bag. Now the birds’ bodies complete with feathers swam deep in the draining blood. The water was gone. Now there was nothing with which to clean the bloody mess.

      He called to Zuko on the hill but the boy laughed so hard his body doubled, and then righted itself. “What you so happy about?” Ash mut­tered. To himself he admitted that, for the first time since his mother died, the weight that previously leaned in hard against his heart had lightened. He too almost laughed at the absurdity of their journey, at their sudden home­less­ness. It didn’t feel so bad, now they were actual­ly in the world, and nothing looked to harm them. He lowered a whole chicken onto the fire. The flames seared the feathers and charred the skin. When dusk had deepened to darkness, he took a forked stick from the ground and re­moved

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