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| THE FLOWER BOY |
by
Frances Beckham
CHAPTER 1
My real name is Gunessa,
and I am 8-years-old. My name means “like a flower”.
Mother told me that on the
day I was born the little flower garden in the yard was in full bloom. That’s
why she named me Gunessa.
In the country where my
father, my mother, my four younger sisters, and I live it’s forbidden for women
and girls to have jobs and attend school. They aren’t even allowed to leave
home without a male relative.
Only men and boys can work,
study, and have fun, but that never seemed fair to me.
From behind our gate each day
I watched a group of boys, carrying books, pass our house. I called out to them
one morning and asked where they were going.
One boy proudly replied,
“We’re on our way to school.”
“What do you do at school?” I
asked.
“That’s none of your
business,” said a second boy.
“Yeah,” said a third boy.
“School is no place for girls.” Then he picked up a rock and threw it at me.
I became more curious and
asked mother about school.
“It is a place where boys
learn how to read and write and count numbers,” said mother.
“Why do boys need to learn
those things?” I asked.
Mother said, “So when they
become men they can be doctors and lawyers and government officials. They can
drive cars and trucks, build buildings and run businesses and banks.”
That all sounded interesting
and exciting to be able to do all those things, whatever they were. I didn’t
know what lawyers, government officials, and banks were. “I want to go to
school,” I eagerly said. “I want to learn all those things.”
“Silly child,” mother
laughed, “girls can’t go to school.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” she explained. “A
girl’s place is at home, learning to cook and clean and learning how to be a
proper wife so when she marries she’ll obey and serve her husband.”
“Then I wish I was born a boy
so I can go to school,” I told mother. “I’d study hard to learn everything and
be the smartest boy in the world.”
“Humph,” mother grunted. “If
you were a boy you’d be working and
earning money instead. We’re a poor family and can’t afford to pay for school.”
I didn’t mind the idea of working.
Even that would be better than being confined at home, learning how to be a
wife. I was bored at home. There was barely room for my sisters and me to play
because the house and yard were so small. So when there were no chores to do,
my sisters and I just sat quietly in a corner and played with our broken, old
toys.
Boys were lucky. They could
have fun. They could run and play in the streets. They didn’t have to be shut
in, learning how to be husbands. I thought it was very unfair how boys and girls
were treated differently. That was when I first began to wish I was a boy.
Father did take us out once a
week. Excited to venture beyond our gate, mother dawned her burka, and my
sisters and I put on our hijabs.
Father walked us to the park.
My younger sisters and I played chase and hide-and-seek, and we played on the
playground. But the fun ended when boys arrived. My family and I had to leave
the park because girls and boys weren’t allowed to play together.
It made me angry and ashamed
to see people in the park point at father and say, “Look at that unlucky man.
He has all daughters and no sons.” Hearing them again made me wish I was born a
boy.
Father took us to shop at the
market. The market was a big place. My sisters and I held hands and stayed
close to father and mother to keep from getting lost. Everything was sold
there: fruits and vegetable, oil lamps, carpets, clothes, TVs, and camels, to
name a few things. My sisters and I wanted father to buy us a camel to keep for
a pet. He told us he would if he ever struck it rich. Until then we had to
settle for what he could afford: cabbages, chicken, rice, and chick peas. He
did buy taffy for my sisters and me as a treat and almond date rolls for
mother.
Everyone in the city shopped
at the market, including Mr. Omar. Mr. Omar was a very rich man. He owned lots
of land and businesses. He also owned the coal mines where father worked.
“Ajin!” Mr. Omar called out
to father one day. Mr. Omar was accompanied with his servants and a small boy.
The servants carried sacks and baskets of food. “Spending up your wages I see,”
said Mr. Omar.
Father smiled and bowed as he
replied, “A pleasure to meet you this fine evening, Master Omar.”
Mr. Omar squint his eye at my
sisters and me. “Are all these little girls your
children?” He asked. “You poor poor
unfortunate man. And that one’s face
is so dark.” He pointed at me. “Why is her face so dark?”
“My wife is Southern Yemani,”
explained father. “She took a lot after her mother.”
“Poor thing,” said Mr. Omar.
The boy with him had a pale and shiny face. Mr. Omar pushed the boy forward and
boastfully said, “This is my son. His
name is Fizaal.”
Father smiled and bowed to
Fizaal. “Greetings, young master,” father told the boy.
Fizaal scowled at father.
“Must I speak to this man?” Fizaal said to Mr. Omar. “He doesn’t look
important.”
“This poor man is Ajin,” Mr.
Omar told his son. “You will be his master someday.”
Fizaal glowered at us. He
pinched his nose with his fingers and turned his head. “Father,” he said, “They
smell like donkeys.”
Mr. Omar laughed and pat
Fizaal’s head. “My son’s nose is sharp like a fox.”
I
didn’t like Mr. Omar nor his son Fizaal. It was rude and mean of Fizaal to say
we smelt like donkeys. He made everyone in the market laugh at us. And father
laughed too. He laughed the loudest. “Yes, we smell like donkeys,” Father
joked. “We are the donkey family! HEE HAA! HEE HAA!”
Everyone laughed even louder,
except mother, my sisters, and me. My sisters got scared and hid under mother’s
burka. I wished father wouldn’t laugh with everyone.
Mr. Omar and Fizaal laughed
as they walked pass us. I stuck my foot out in front of Fizaal without anyone
seeing. He tripped and fell on the muddy ground and burst into tears like a
baby. He skinned his hands, and mud covered his shiny pale face. Seeing him,
dirty, hurt, and crying made me happy—it made me happy just a little bit.
***
CHAPTER 2
Mother fell ill when winter
came. “I’ll be fine after a good rest,” was what she told us so we wouldn’t
worry.
But one evening when father
returned home from work, mother was feeling worse. She was too sick to stand.
Father had to carry her on his back as we all ran down the street in the rain
to the hospital.
The doctor discovered that
mother had diabetes. The doctor prescribed insulin medicine to mother to help her get better. To stay
well she had to take the insulin medicine every day.
The insulin medicine was very
expensive, and father could not afford to buy it. To pay for the medicine, he
asked his boss Mr. Omar for money.
“You want me to buy medicine
for your sick wife!” Mr. Omar exclaimed.
“I would appreciate your
generosity,” said father.
“But I’m a businessman,” Mr.
Omar said. “To me, giving out money is like making an investment. What will I
gain from investing in your sick wife?”
“Well, her health will get
better,” said father.
“Yes, but what will your
wife’s good health gain me?” Mr. Omar said. “How can I benefit?”
“I don’t really know,” said
father. “All I can do is ask for your kindness. You’re the only person I know
who can help us.”
“Ah, but, Ajin,” Mr. Omar
said. “If I give you money, then
everyone else will expect me to give
them money. No. But still I am a charitable man. Instead of giving you money to buy your wife’s
medicine, I can loan you the money.
You must pay it back with interest, of course.”
“Thank you, Master Omar,”
said father. Father bowed and kissed Mr. Omar’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.”
Father was able to buy
mother’s medicine, and she got better. But the interest Mr. Omar charged on the
loan was so high, father did not have enough money left from his wages to buy
enough food for us to eat, buy enough coal to heat the house, and pay rent to
the landlord. He could not even afford to buy the new coats and shoes my
sisters and I needed.
Father had to borrow more
money from Mr. Omar when mother’s insulin medicine ran out, and he had to pay
even more of his wages to Mr. Omar.
“I think Mr. Omar is being
very unfair,” I told father. “He’s rich enough to give you the money for
mother’s medicine instead of making you borrow it.”
“Gunessa, hush!” father
rebuked me. “You should never disrespect a man! Especially an important man
like Master Omar!”
“But Gunessa is right,”
mother said. “Master Omar is taking too much of your wages. The rent hasn’t
been paid in two months. The landlord said he will put us out on the streets if
you don’t pay something by the end of this month.”
“I am a complete failure,”
father mourned. “I can’t afford to pay for the things my family need. A man is
a failure when he can’t care for his family.”
I felt sorry for my father,
my mother, and my younger sisters. I loved them and wanted to help them, but I
couldn’t do anything because I was only a little girl. I wished more than ever
before that I was a boy.
Then an idea came to me.
“Father. Mother.” I spoke up. “I know how I can help everyone.”
“Gunessa, there’s nothing you
can do,” said mother. “You’re just a girl.”
“I can help,” I insisted. “I can pass as a boy and work in the coal
mines with father.”
Mother was appalled, but
father looked thoughtful. “That just might work,” he mused. He looked at me
closely. “Hmm,” he mused again and said, “With a haircut Gunessa can easily
pass for a boy.”
“Gunessa is a girl!” mother
yelled. She did not like the idea. “She can’t pretend to be a boy! The coal
mine is no place for a little girl passing as a boy!”
“There’s nothing else we can
do, and we need the extra money,” said father. “If Gunessa does not pretend to
be a boy and go to work, we’ll stave and be homeless, and you won’t have your
medicine.”
Mother had no choice but to
agree with father. She put a bowl over my head and cut my long frizzy, curly,
hair around the edge. My younger sisters sewed rags together to make me an
outfit of boy’s clothes. Out of an old
trunk father found a hat he had worn when he was a boy and gave it to me.
“My poor Gunessa,” mother
uttered sadly after I dressed in the clothes my sisters made and put on the hat
father gave me. “You look exactly like a little boy.”
“She does indeed,” agreed
father. He was pleased. “I think we’ll be able to pull this off.” To me he
said, “Now, Gunessa, forget about ever being a girl. You’re a boy now. You must
think like a boy, and you must always act like a boy, even at home. Your new name now and forever is Abdul, not
Gunessa. Now tell me. What is your name, boy?”
I answered, “My name is
Abdul.”
***
CHAPTER 3
Father took me with him to
work in the coal mines.
“Master Omar, Good morning.”
Father greeted while doing his smiling and bowing. “This is my son. He wants to
work.”
“A son,” said Mr. Omar, while
thoughtfully pulling his beard. “I thought you only had daughters.”
“I also have a son,” father
said. “He’s been in the country side helping my friend on his farm. I sent for
him to return home. I need him to earn money to help pay the debt I owe you.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Omar. He
stared at me with a greedy look in his eyes. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.
“Abdul,” I replied.
“Well then, I’ll be glad to
hire you, Abdul,” said Mr. Omar. He pat my head. “It’s good to meet boys
willing to do hard work.”
I was surprised, after
entering a coal mine shaft, that father worked in such a place. It wasn’t
pleasant. Dim lanterns lit the gloomy tunnels. The cold air was dry and very
dusty. Men were lined up swinging pick axes, hitting the rocky walls. The axes
made a loud CLANKING and SNAPPING sound as lumps of coal broke off and fell to
the ground.
A big man stalked up and down
carrying a whip and yelled at the men. “Put your backs into it, you tunnel
rats!” he shouted. When he spotted father and me he lumbered over.
“What is that?” the big man asked father. He folded his arms and glared
down at me.
“Mr. Rimi, this is my son,”
father introduced. “Master Omar hired him to work here.”
“Another lazy scamp for me to
nurse maid,” Mr. Rimi groaned unpleasantly.
“I’m not lazy,” I proclaimed
stoutly. “And I don’t need nurse maiding. I can work harder than all the men
and boys here.”
“Now. Now. Don’t boost,”
father told me. To Mr. Rimi he said, “Please excuse my son. He’s eager to
work.”
Mr. Rimi grunted, “We’ll see
about that.” He ordered father to take up an axe and get to work. Then to me
Mr. Rimi said rather roughly, “Tell me your name, boy.”
“It’s Abdul,” I replied.
“Humph,” Mr. Rimi grunted and
led me to where a lot of boys were. They were all ages, some older and many my
age and younger. Like me they were skinny and dressed in rags. They were busy
picking coal off the ground and tossing them in carts. “Look here,” Mr. Rimi
said gruffly, “Pick up these lumps of coal and put them in those carts, like
they’re doing. Understand, boy.”
“I understand,” I replied and
immediately began picking up lumps of coal.
“Lazal, you there!” Mr. Rimi
called out to a boy pushing a cart. “Get that cart over here!” Lazal pushed the
heavy cart over as Mr. Rimi left to go holler at the men.
“Don’t leave one lump on the
ground,” warned Lazal in a whisper. “And don’t let him catch you sneaking coal
in your pockets.” He rolled his eyes to Mr. Rimi.
“I don’t want to sneak coal,”
I said. “I’ll buy coal with my wages when I get it.”
“There’s never enough wages
to buy anything,” said Lazal. “See that boy over there.” Lazal pointed at a boy
a distance away. Rather slyly, the boy watched Mr. Rimi.
“What about him?” I asked.
“That’s Hamon,” said Lazal.
As soon as Mr. Rimi was gone
the boy named Hamon motioned to some other boys near him. They quickly began
filling up their pockets with coal.
“We should tell Mr. Rimi,” I told Lazal.
“Better not,” said Lazal. “That Hamon is a troublemaker. He likes to
bully the new boys. Just stay away from him.”
From early in the morning to
late in the evening father and I labored in the coal mines. Gathering coal was
hard work. I had to constantly bend up and down. My knees and back were sore,
and so were my arms. The mines were freezing cold, and I didn’t have a coat to
wear; Mother had me to layer up on clothes.
The black dust in the air was thick and caused me to sneeze and cough,
and my throat was always dry. There was no time to rest, just work, work, work,
binding up and down, picking up lumps of coal. At the end of the day I was
always covered coal dust, and my hands were covered in blisters.
The boys’ job was to gather
the coal the men picked off the walls with their axes. But the boys picked up
the smaller, lighter lumps of coal and left the large heavy ones for me.
“Hey, you lazy weakling!” Mr.
Rimi shouted at me. “Can’t you work any faster?”
I was struggling to lift a
large a lump of coal to drop it in a cart.
“It’s those boys who are lazy
weaklings,” I said, panting. “They’re only picking up the small lumps of coal
and leaving the big heavy ones for me.”
Mr. Rimi’s big voice boomed,
“Even if a lump of coal is as big as a mountain, you still have to pick it up
without complaining and not let it take you all day!” Then he cracked his whip
in the air over my head.
I saw Hamon and the group of
boys always following Hamon standing together in a corner snicker wickedly.
Then all the other boys began to laugh too, except Lazal and a boy everyone
called Rin. Rin was smaller than me, and he never spoke to anyone. His
appearance was dirtier and shabbier than the others. Instead of shoes he wore
rags tied to his feet. While everyone laughed, Rin began picking up large lumps
of coal and drop them in the cart.
“It isn’t fair,” I later told
father when we were at home. “Those boys aren’t doing their fair share of work.
Mr. Rimi should whip them. I would.”
All father said was, “Do your
work, and don’t complain.”
“That’s right,” agreed
mother. “If you make a fuss they’ll find out you’re really a girl. Then both of
you will lose your jobs. And no one will hire your father.”
“And be sure not to wonder
off in the mines,” warned father. “There are a lot of tunnels in there, and you
can easily get lost if you’re not careful. Sometimes there are even cave-ins.
Men die in cave-in because there is no air.”
“Have you ever been in a
cave-in?” I asked father.
“I have once,” he said.
I asked, “Were you scared?”
“Yes,” he said. “I was very
scared. But I got out safe and sound because I used my brain.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
Father explained, “A group of
men and I were trapped,” said he. “We thought we were going to die Because
there was hardly any air. But I felt a breeze. I knew it was coming from an
opening leading outside. So I held my finger up over my head to feel from where
that breeze was blowing. I told the men to follow me. Soon we were at the other
end of the tunnel. It opened outside the mines.”
“That’s amazing,” I said.
“Father, you’re a hero!”
“Never mind that nonsense,”
said father. “You just mind what I said about not wondering in the coal mines.”
Everyday my back and legs
ached from long hours of picking up all those heavy lumps of coal and carrying
them to the carts. But I worked without stopping because I didn’t want Mr. Rimi
to hit me with his whip. In fact I picked up more coal than any of the boys,
with the help of Rin. He never spoke to me nor to anyone else. He just quietly
did his work. During midday meal he sat alone and ate.
“Ajin,” Mr. Rimi said to
father one day in his big voice. “You’re Abdul is truely a hard worker. He’s
well behaved too. He doesn’t give me trouble, unlike the rest of these lazy
rats. A son like him will grow to be a fine man.”
“Thank you. Thank you,”
father said smiling and bowing. Hamon
and his followers overheard Mr. Rimi. They stood grouped to together scowling
at me, but I ignored them.
***
CHAPTER 4
“Hey, girl!” I heard Hamon
call out to me. It was during break for midday meal. Everyone was exiting the
mines and going to the yard to eat. I ignored Hamon and kept walking.
Out in the yard everyone was
given flat bread and a bowl of lentil soup. I had just received my share of
food when I was suddenly surrounded by Hamon and his group of bullies.
“Hey, girl!” Hamon yelled in
my ear. “Are you deaf?” He shoved my shoulder.
“Who are you calling a girl?”
I yelled back. I tried to look and sound like a boy mad about being called a
girl. I shoved him back.
“You,” said the boy named
Jarfa. He shoved my side.
“Yeah, you!” said another boy
named Gan. He shoved my other side. My soup slushed over the rim of the bowl.
“You walk like a girl,”
taunted Hamon. He shoved me again. “You talk like a girl.” He shoved me again.
“You’re a girly boy!” He shoved me again.
I was ready to fight. “You
take that back!” I angrily yelled. “I’m more of a boy than any of you!”
Lazal stepped in. “Everyone
just leave Abdul alone,” He demanded. “He isn’t bothering anyone.”
“I don’t like Abdul,” said
Hamon.
“He thinks he’s better than
the rest of us,” Jarfa complained.
“Yeah, and he called us
weaklings,” complained Gan.
“You can only pick up coal
the size of grape seeds!” I told them, “That makes you weaklings!”
“Are not!” shouted Hamon.
“You take that back!”
“First you take back calling
me a girl!” I demanded.
Hamon suddenly knocked my
bowl of lentil soup out my hand then slammed his fist in my face. Furious, I
raised my fist to punch him back, but father caught me and dragged me away.
“No fighting the boys!”
father scolded.
“But Hamon hit me!” I said.
Father looked at my face.
“And a fine black eye he gave you!”
“I’ll blacken both his eyes,”
I said. I tried to twist away from father’s grip. “He has no right to call me
names. He has no right to hit me.”
But father’s face was stern.
“NO,” he said firmly. “You’re a girl.
Girls can’t fight boys. Girl can’t even talk to boys.”
“But they started it,” I
said. “And you’re the one who told me I’m not a girl anymore.”
“HUSH! Just don’t speak to
the boys,” ordered father. “When they come to you, run away.”
“But I can’t do that,” I
said. “They’ll bully me even more.” I shook my finger at father. “You should
never show a bully weakness.”
“I don’t care,” said father.
“I don’t want trouble. I don’t make trouble, and I don’t want you making
trouble.”
I didn’t think father was
being fair. I had the right to punch Hamon back and any other boy who hit me.
At the end of the week all
the men and boys lined up in front of Mr. Omar’s office to collect their wages.
Mr. Omar sat inside his office at the barred window. He counted out each
person’s wage, and hand it to him after writing in his account book.
It was the first time
collecting my wage, and I was excited. I ran ahead of everyone to be the first in
line.
“Well, if it isn’t Abdul,
Ajin’s boy,” said Mr. Omar. Eagerly, I held my hand out. “I hear you work as
harder as the men,” he said while counting out my pay.
“I work harder than all the men,”
I boosted. “Pretty soon I’ll be able to use the pick ax.”
“You’ll need more muscles on those scrawny arms before that can happen,”
said Mr. Omar. He chuckled and wrote in his account book. “Well, here’s your
hard earned wage for this week.” He handed me my money.
Perplexed I stared at the few
coins and several bills in my hand. I didn’t know how to count money, but I had
a feeling that I should have had more of it. “Is this all?” I asked.
“I deducted money for your
father’s debt,” explained Mr. Omar.
Frustrated, I asked, “How
long will it take to pay off father’s debt?”
“With only your father
paying, it would have been two years and a half,” said Mr. Omar. “But with your
wages, now it shortens the time to only two years.”
Two years seemed like a life
time. Feeling dissatisfied, I left the window and went to find father.
Father was standing further
down in line. “My son, I see you’ve earned your first pay,” he said. “How does
it feel?”
“I feel cheated,” I told him.
The men in line all laughed. “Mr. Omar took away too much of my money,” I said,
“and I think wages are too low. He’s rich, and he can afford to pay more to
everyone.”
The men in line clapped and
cheered. Father raised his hands to quiet them. He said to me, “Abdul, you need
to stop complaining so much.”
“But, Ajin,” said one of the
men. “Your son speaks the truth.”
“No. No,” Father whispered.
“We must be satisfied with what we’re given and don’t complain about anything
or else we’ll have nothing. Don’t listen to my son. Don’t pay any attention to
what he says.”
“Oh, father, why are you always like that?” I said, disgusted. “Don’t
complain. Don’t fight. That’s all you ever say. Maybe if we complain about our
wages to Mr. Omar, he’ll give us more money.”
Father suddenly threw his
hands in the air. “Allah, have mercy on us!” he exclaimed. “The boy is going
crazy!”
“Why is it crazy to want more money?” I asked.
“Yes, Ajin,” said the men. “Why is that crazy?”
“It’s Crazy! It’s just crazy!” shouted father. “Abdul, give me your
money!” I handed father all my money. “Now go over there and wait for me.” He
pointed to a pile of rocks way across the yard. “And don’t speak to anyone.”
Feeling disappointed I
dragged my feet to the rock pile to wait for him. There I found Mr. Rimi’s
whip. I didn’t see him anywhere when I looked around. I wondered did he
misplace his whip. He was never without it.
That was when I heard the
shouts of jeering, taunting boys. Curious, I followed the voices to the work
sheds across the yard. Behind the sheds Hamon led a group of boys in kicking
and beating Rin.
“Stray dog!” Gan yelled while
pulling Rin’s hair, “You smell like trash!”
“Garbage eater!” Jafar
shouted and rubbed mud in Rin’s face. “I hate you, mangy mutt!”
“Go crawl back in your trash heap,
you flea bitten stray dog!” Hamon laughed and kicked Rin’s stomach. Hamon then
pulled the rags off Rin’s feet, and threw them away. “HA! HA!” Hamon laughed.
“Look at those ugly, dirty feet!”
“They’re not feet!” shouted a
boy I didn’t know the name of. “Those are bear paws!” He then spat on Rin.
I ran back to the rock pile
and grabbed Mr. Rimi’s whip. Lashing the whip wildly in the air, I returned
behind the sheds. By then several of the boys held Rin to the ground while
Hamon forced Rin’s fist open and grabbed his money. “Let Rin alone,” I yelled,
“or I’ll rip you to pieces!” I lashed the boys with the whip. Hamon and his
gang of bullies raced off hooting and laughing. “Girly boy!” they shouted.
“Girly boy! Girly boy!”
“You shouldn’t let those boys
bully you,” I told Rin and helped him to his feet. “You need to fight back so
they’ll be afraid of you.”
Rin looked sad, almost to the point of crying. “But what they said about
me is true,” He whimpered. “I do smell like trash, and I do have fleas.” Tears
streamed from his eyes and down his muddy cheeks.
“That’s nothing to be upset
about,” I told him. “Everyone gets dirty. Just ask your mother to give you a
good bath.”
That’s when Rin burst out
crying. “I don’t have a mother!” he wailed. “I don’t have any family. I live in
alleys and eat from garbage heaps. At night I sleep with stray dogs to keep
warm. Those dogs are the only friends and family I have.”
That was the saddest thing
I’d ever heard. Poor Rin. He was worse off than my younger sisters and me.
Although we were poor we had each other, father, and mother and our little
house. “Rin, I’ll be your friend,” I offered.
Rin wiped his eyes and
scowled. “I don’t need people friends,” he scoffed. Then he ran away. He
stopped suddenly and turned around to yell, “You better put Mr. Rimi’s whip
back where you found it!”
Returning to the rock pile, I
marveled at how confusing men and boys were. I uses to think the reason why
women and girls were kept locked up and out the way was because the men and
boys had something special and great outside, and they wanted to keep it all to
themselves. Little did I know that men and boys lived in misery, beating and
cheating each other; making one feel inferior to another; living in fear of one
another; and working hard for just a handful of change. This was the real world
of men. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all.
Mr. Rimi was at the rock pile
searching for his whip and scratching his head doubtfully. But he didn’t see
me. I silently tipped up behind him and quietly placed the whip on the nearest
rock, then silently tipped away.
My meager wages did help my
family. We were able to pay rent and buy some food and some coal. But if father
and I had our full wages we could have bought a lot more food and a lot more
coal. No matter what father said, Mr. Omar was being very unfair.
***
CHAPTER 5
Then the earthquake came. It
happened one night quite suddenly, violently shaking our little house. We ran
outside and stood in the yard, afraid the house would fall on us. Fortunately
the house did not collapse, but it suffered a lot of cracks in the walls and
ceiling.
The next morning father and I
went to the coal mines. In the yard all the men and boys were gathered around
Mr. Rimi as he stood on a rock pile in the mist of them. He announced the mines
were closed because they were too damaged by the earthquake to enter.
Looking anxious and followed
by his son Fizaal, Mr. Omar came running in the mist of the gathering. “Wait!
Wait!” yelled Mr. Omar. “Rimi! Who gave you authority to close the mines? If
there is no work there will be no money!”
“But the mines aren’t safe,
Master Omar,” said Mr. Rimi. “I didn’t think you would want to endanger lives.”
“Some mines are safe enough,”
Mr. Omar insisted. “They can work in the ones that are safe,” He then turned to
the crowd and announced loudly, “Anyone who refuses to work is dismissed from
his job now and banned from working
here ever again!”
Immediately everyone entered
the coal mines because no one wanted to lose their job. Mr. Rimi had several
men to block off mine shafts that were absolutely too dangerous to enter. We
were all scared, even Hamon and his gang of bullies. Inside the mines shook
from time to time. It felt as if the mines would fall apart at any moment. The
mines weren’t at all safe like Mr. Rimi had said, but Mr. Omar was just too
greedy to listen.
When the time came for the
midday meal, everyone was glad to leave the mines. But unfortunately for
everyone Fizaal was out . While eating pistachio nuts from a paper bag, he
wondered around the yard.
I was sitting, eating with
father and a group of men when Fizaal spotted us. We grimaced as we watched him
come our way. He stood over us, glaring at us as he chewed pistachios then spat
nut shells over our heads. The shells landed in our soup. Fizaal sniffed the
air and said, “This place always smells like a donkey yard. I hate donkeys.”
The men frowned at each
other. One of them asked Fizaal, “Boy, way aren’t you in school?”
“The earthquake knocked down
part of the school building,” Fizaal replied. “Father says I can’t return to
school until the whole place is completely safe.”
Mr. Omar saw Fizaal with us
and hurried over. “Fizaal, my son,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here with these people.”
“But I’m sooo bored,” complained Fizaal. “There’s nothing to do and no one
to play with.”
“Then come to my office,” Mr.
Omar said, “I’ll teach you how to keep the account books.”
Fizaal sighed tiredly. He
turned his paper bag upside down and shook out pistachio shells over our heads.
Then he crumbled the bag and tossed it on the ground before running off to
follow Mr. Omar.
When it was time to return
inside the coal mines, we were surprised to find that one of the mine shafts
worked in before the midday meal had partially caved in. The mine shaft had to
be blocked off. Mr. Rimi warned everyone to stay away from there.
Then Fizaal entered the mine,
bouncing a soccer ball. Mr. Rimi tried to stop him. “This isn’t a safe place to
play, young master,” Mr. Rimi told the boy.
“Don’t touch me with those
filthy hands,” Fizaal snapped.
But Mr. Rimi insisted,
“Young master, you must leave.”
“I can be here if I want,”
said Fizaal. He bounced his soccer ball against a coal cart. The cart
wobbled.
“That donkey smell is in here
too,” said Fizaal. “Why does it always smell like donkeys when there aren’t any
donkeys around?” He ignored Mr. Rimi and continued to bounce the ball against
the cart. The cart fell over, and the coal spilt out. The soccer ball went
bouncing away down through the mine shaft.
“My ball!” shouted Fizaal.
“Go fetch it now!”
“You, Abdul. Rin!” Mr. Rimi
called to us. “Take a lantern and go find the young master’s ball.”
The mine vigorously shook at
that moment, nearly knocking everyone off their feet.
“It’s too dangerous,” I
refused. “If he wants his ball he can go get it himself.”
“My soccer ball!” yelled
Fizaal. “My soccer ball is brand new! Get it now!”
“You get the young master his ball!” Mr. Rimi yelled at me.
“No!” I yelled back.
Fizaal’s face turned as red
as a tomato as he stretched his mouth wide open and hollered, “I WANT MY BRAND
NEW SOCCER BALL NOW!”
“You disobey me!” Mr. Rimi
raised his whip at me. “I give you get 10 lashes!”
“Give yourself 10 lashes!” I
shouted back.
Mr. Rimi huffed and snorted
like an angry bull, “Why you I’ll--”
“Mr. Rimi,” my father spoke
up. He hurried over. “I’ll go find the young master’s ball.”
“No!” shouted Mr. Rimi. “When
I gave an order I will be obeyed! You, Ajin, keep pick axing the coal! Those
boys must go! If they don’t want to be whipped to death, they must learn to
obey their young master!”
“Abdul, you do what Mr. Rimi
says like a good boy,” father nervously told me.
“But, Father!” I shouted.
“Go!” he shouted louder.
Rin and I stopped picking up
coal. Taking a lantern, we ran through the mine shaft to get Fizaal’s soccer
ball.
While Rin and I searched for
the soccer ball, the mine began to shake and rumble.
“We better go back,” I told
Rin.
“No,” he said. “If we don’t
find the ball we’ll get whipped.”
Rin was so afraid of getting
whipped by Mr. Rimi, he ran further into the mine shaft. I felt it would have
been wrong to leave him. So I followed.
“Look!” Rin shouted and
pointed. “There’s the soccer ball!” He ran and picked it up.
The mine continued the shake
and rumble even more, and it made loud, deep, groaning sounds like a monster as
it shook. “Now we better hurry back!” I told Rin. We both ran.
As we hurried we ran into
Lazal, Hamon, and Hamon’s gang of bad boys.
“Hey, girly boy,” Hamon
addressed me. “Have you seen Fizaal?”
“My name is Abdul,” I firmly told him. “And no. we haven’t seen
Fizaal. Why?”
“He ran off to find his
stupid ball,” murmured Lazal. “Mr. Rimi sent us to look for him. Mr. Rimi told
us he’ll whip the skin off our backs if we return without him.”
We all searched for Fizaal,
calling his name. Our voice echoed with the monster groan the mine made as it
shook.
“Fizaal! Fizaal!” our voices
echoed.
“Help me!” We heard a faint
cry. “Help me!”
“That sounds like Fizaal,” I
said.
“He sounds far away,” said
Rin.
“Fizaal!” we all shouted as
loud as we could.
“Help me!” the distant voice
answered. We followed it to one of the blocked off mine shafts. Fizaal was
there crying his eyes out. When he saw us, the first thing he did was snatch
his soccer ball from Rin.
Suddenly the mine made a
great, violent jerk. Rocks and dirt rained from the ceiling. The walls cracked
and crumbled. We screamed and ran trying to escape falling rocks.
The earthquake stopped as
suddenly as it came.
“AW! OH, AW! I’m being
crushed!” It was Fizaal again. Rocks partially covered him. We struggled to
pull the heavy rocks off him and found that he was lying atop Hamon.
“AW! AW!” both boys cried in
pain.
“Get off me, you pig!” yelled Hamon.
“I can’t!” cried Fizaal. “My
legs don’t work!” Lazal and I pulled Fizaal off Haman. Hamon’s legs weren’t
working either.
“My soccer ball!” Fizaal
suddenly said looking around. “Where is it?”
“Who cares about your stupid soccer ball,”
said Hamon. “I can’t even stand on my feet. OOOW!” Hamon dropped to his knees
when he tried to stand up.
Rin found Fizaal’s soccer
ball again. It was completely flat beneath a rock. “My brand new soccer ball is
ruin!” Fizaal cried. “This is all your fault!” he angrily yelled at us.
I was so mad I slapped Fizaal
across the face. I slapped him so hard my hand print was left on his cheek. All
the boys gasped in shock as if I had done an extremely terrible thing, but I
didn’t care. “No!” I yelled at Fizaal. “This is your fault because you’re a very mean, very selfish boy! If
weren’t for you we wouldn’t be in this mess!”
Fizaal cried and wailed. “Now
you’re being mean to me! I want my father! Just you wait! I’ll tell him you
beat me!”
“But we’re trapped,”
announced Lazal. A pile of rocks blocked our only way out. The rocks were so
large and heavy, they were impossible to move.
“Oh, no. Now we’re going to
die,” Fizaal said in a scared trembling voice. “My father told me when you’re
trapped in the mine with no way out you’ll die of suffocation.”
“What’s suffocation?” Lazal
asked.
“It’s what happens to you
when you run out of air,” said Fizaal. “There’s too many people in hear
breathing up all my air! Now I’m going to die!”
Then all the boys panicked
and cried like babies, including Lazal and Rin.
The earthquake returned,
shaking the mine even harder than before. More dirt and more rocks rained on
us, and the boys ran about scared and frantic as a crack parted the ground.
I knew we couldn’t stay where
we were, but our only way out was, blocked—or was it? At that moment I recalled
the story father had told how he escaped a cave-in.
I waved my hands around
trying to feel for a breeze. I felt it. It was slight but study, and it came up
through the wide crack in the ground. “There is way out!” I exclaimed. “Down
through there!” I pointed at the crack.
“Are you crazy!” the boys
shouted. “No way! That can’t be the way out!”
“It is!” I insisted.
The mine suddenly shock so
violently and so vigorously the crack in the ground stretched wide enough to
fall through. Everyone fell against the rocky walls. I lost hold of the lantern
I carried and watched it fall through the crack, rolling and tumbling against
the rocky wall below until it hit the ground, and its light went out.
“We’ll be killed if we stay
here,” I told the boys. “We have a chance of saving ourselves if we climb down
and find our way outside.” But the boys were too afraid to move. “Fine,” I
said. “Stay here and rot if you want.” I took a lantern from a nearby boy, then
slowly climbed down into the crack in the ground.
“Abdul, wait for me!” I heard
a voice shout. I looked up and saw Rin climbing into the crack.
“Me too! Me too!” one after
another yelled the other boys, also climbing into the crack. Lazal and some
other big boy carried Fizaal and Hamon on their backs as they climbed into the
crack.
The earthquake continued to
shake the mine, but we slowly and carefully descended the rocky wall until we
reached the ground. We found ourselves in another coal mine shaft and a strong
wind blow through it.
“Where do we go now?” asked
Rin.
“We go this way,” I said. I
turned and walked against the wind. The earthquake continued to shake the mine,
but we kept going.
We came to a fork in the mine
shaft where it split in two tunnels. The wind was swirling all around. We
couldn’t tell from which tunnel the wind was blowing.
“Now what?” groaned Fizaal. I
licked my finger, held it high over my head, and slowly walked in a circle.
“What is he doing?” the boys
muttered, but I ignored them.
I felt the wind. It blew the
strongest from the tunnel on my right side. “We go this way,” I told them.
Right after Fizaal and Hamon,
the last of us, were pulled in the tunnel, a huge boulder fell at the entrance.
There was no turning back. We hurried as fast as we could because the
earthquake was getting worse. Then afar a speck of light was visible.
“See!” I exclaimed. “I told
you there’s a way out!”
The boys all raced ahead of
me, dragging Fizaal and Hamon with them.
Soon we were at the mouth of
the mine shaft. It opened high up on the side of a rocky hill. Rocks and dirt
slid down the hillside as the ground shook.
Men and boys ran about at the
bottom of the hill, frantic from the earthquake. We waved to them and shouted, “Here we are!
Come save us!” When they saw us, they climbed and scurried up the hill side.
The first one to reach us was
Mr. Omar. “My boy! My son!” He grabbed Fizaal, hugging and kissing him. “My
Fizaal! You’re safe, my Fizaal!”
Fizaal cried like a baby and
held tight to Mr. Omar. “My legs are broken,” Fizaal wailed, “and my soccer
ball is broken too.”
“Oh, my dear boy. There.
There. Don’t cry,” Mr. Omar said, cuddling Fizaal. “I will get you a new soccer
ball, millions of soccer balls. Rimi! RIMI!”
Mr. Rimi, trembling with
fear, stepped forward. “Yes, Master,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Rimi, you’re fired!” angrily
yelled Mr. Omar. “If it weren’t for you, my precious son wouldn’t be in this
condition! Leave my coal mines, and never show your face here again!”
“Yes, Master,” said Mr. Rimi.
I saw the disappointment in his face as he bowed, then turned and pushed his
way through the crowd. I pitied him a bit because he did tell Fizaal to leave
the mine, but I only pitied him a tiny
winy bit because he forced me and Rin to risk our lives to find Fizaal’s
soccer ball.
My father was glad to see
me. Tears swelled up in his eyes. “Abdul, I was so worried and scared. I
thought I would never see you again.”
Father picked me up. He
hugged and kissed me. That was something he had never done. “How did the boys
find their way out?” he asked.
“I did what you told me,” I
said. “I found the wind and followed where it was coming from.”
“A smart boy you have there,
Ajin,” praised. Mr. Omar. Fizaal was wailing loudly and his face was quite red.
Mr. Omar cradled him like a baby and began hurrying downhill. “Come everyone!”
he shouted. “We must get my Fizaal to the hospital quickly!”
Everyone followed Mr. Omar.
We were all glad to be alive and safe. When I looked back I saw Rin. He trailed
far behind everyone all alone, struggling down the rocky hill side on his rag
covered feet. I wondered were the rags on his feet new rags or the old ones
Hamon had thrown away. But what did it matter? He actually should have been
wearing shoes like the rest of us.
***
CHAPTER 6
Mr. Omar surprised us the
next day when he drove up in front of our house in his shiny black car. We were
shocked when he and his driver carried boxes and more boxes then baskets and
more baskets all filled with food into our little house.
“What is this? What is this?”
lost for words, father kept repeating himself. “Master Omar! Master Omar! What
is this?”
Father nearly choked when Mr.
Omar bowed to him and said, “I want to express my gratitude for your Abdul
saving my Fizaal’s life. Fizaal is all I have to carry on my name.” Mr. Omar
took a paper from his pocket and gave it to father. “This is a statement
showing I forgive all your debt,” Mr. Omar said. “I am also raising your wage,
and Abdul’s wage too. But--” he added in low tone, “we’ll just keep this
between ourselves.”
Father was so overwhelmed
with surprise, excitement, and happiness, all he could say was, “Master Omar!
Master Omar!”
Mother was so happy she
cried. My younger sisters, glad to see so much food, were hungrily shoving
dates and persimmons from the baskets into their months.
There was one thing that
concerned me. “Mr. Omar,” I said.
“Master Omar, Abdul,” said Father. “Say Master Omar.”
“Mr. Omar,” I said. “Thank
you for what you’ve done for us, but what about Rin?”
“Rin?” He said wonderingly.
“The dirty little street urchin?”
“Did you reward him too?” I
asked.
“No,” said Mr. Omar. “Of
course not.”
“Then will you give Rin a
reward too,” I said.
Mr. Omar screwed his face in
a disagreeable way. “But Rin is only a dirty homeless boy. He’s like trash with
legs and feet and arms and hands. I let him work in my coal mines. That’s good
enough, right? Why should I show him extra kindness?”
“Because he was willing to
find Fizaal’s soccer ball even though I told him not to because it was too
dangerous,” I explained. “Rin is a good boy even though he is an orphan and
lives in alleys and has to eat garbage. Couldn’t you take him in to live with
you since you’re a rich man? He doesn’t even have shoes and has to wear rags
tied to his feet.”
“No!” Mr. Omar disagreed
while shaking his head. “Impossible! Preposterous! That boy isn’t my
responsibility. It isn’t my fault he’s a poor orphan.”
“Master Omar, please excuse
Abdul,” father nervously spoke up while smiling and bowing. “My son doesn’t
understand what he’s saying. Abdul, you don’t know what you’re saying. You
can’t speak that way to a great man like Master Omar. Apologize now. ”
“Well,” mused Mr. Omar,
thoughtfully stroking his beard. “I suppose I could spare him a little
something.”
“And reward the other boys
too,” I insisted.
Mr. Omar groaned and twisted
his face like he was sucking a lemon. “Ajin,” he said. “You do have quite a
boy.”
“Thank you, Master Omar,”
father said, bowing and smiling. “I am very proud of my son Abdul. Although he
says troublesome things at times, he is a true blessing.”
It made me happy that I was
able to begin helping my family, and it made me happy that I made my father
proud. However, I was disappointed that I had to do it as a boy, although I had
always wanted to be one. I wished that someday father would say, “I am proud of
my daughter Gunessa. She is a true blessing.”
When father and I returned to
work at the coal mines, I saw that Rin was wearing a brand new pair of shoes,
as well as Lazal, Hamon, and all the other boys.
THE END
I want to show a girl growing up passing as a boy to get advantages
in life for herself and her family (I’m thinking a girl “Moses”), and as she
matures she begins to express concern for the state of girls and women and
begins to take action. I am working on a second book “ABDUL THE ERRAND BOY” and
generating ideas for a third book “ABDUL GOES TO SCHOOL”. I plan for more
books. A series of books is intended.
Please click here https://www.gofundme.com/the-flower-boy-read-amp-donate to donate $7.50 per reader (approximate price of
the book if it were published) to the house found for my mother, brother, and me. The goal to to raise $380,730.
You know, ‘a story for a house’ is an excellent idea. Story Book House. One writes a story,
post it, each reader donate a minimum of
$7.50. This can be a way to help people buy homes. They’re giving something
in return for donations, a story. I’m
spreading this idea. You should too.
Also please leave a
comment on THE FLOWER BOY here or email me personally at ahicks4298@q.com. Or go to https://abdultheflowerboy.blogspot.com
the book’s website to post comments. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. Your compiled
comments and donations will be presented to literary agents as proof the
children’s book is marketable. I AM NOT GIVING UP ON THEM! Thank you—Frances
Beckham
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