kuya bodjie doesn't come for me (part 2)

[pielcanela]

There have never been many people in New Valley like Kuya Bodjie, so he was immediately noticeable. He walked tall, in freshly-laundered clothes, with neatly brushed hair. Wherever he went, he trailed newness, a faint scent of soap, a general feeling of being clean.

He must have been in his late 30s or early 40s - older than most of the adults in New Valley, but infinitely healthier-looking. He smiled often, and it was a disarming smile, and he spoke in soft, deferential tones, but there was always a hint of sadness behind even that smile and that voice. His shoulders were broad but permanently stooped, in what seemed to be a respectful way. His skin wasn't as dark or mottled with grime and soot as ours, though his nose was just as flat.

I was in love with him.

And the other little girls noticed. Of course they would. Some of them were in love with him, too, even if they didn't admit it.

Kuya Bodjie wasn't handsome - not in the mid-Metro way, not in the way you saw in movies where the guy killed the villain, got the girl, and lived happily ever after. Those movie guys had a "shine" to them that made them not seem real - like they were made of light sparkling out of filthy river water. Or made of plastic. That wasn't Kuya Bodjie.

Kuya Bodjie was just...different. And in New Valley, different was sexy. He was sexy in a way that appealed quietly, subtly, no matter your gender or age. It made you trust him, respect him, believe in everything he said.

I never knew his real name. It couldn't have been "Bodjie." That was a baby name, something you gave a child to keep the spirits from claiming it. It confused spirits living under the earth, because if they didn't know a child's real name, they couldn't steal him away.

People from New Valley had baby names. People in the Metro didn't need them. The spirits only fester where the poor are, because only the poor could afford to believe in them. It didn't matter that in New Valley the earth was dead, buried under mountains of organic and inorganic refuse, and any spirits that might have lived in it must have died a long time ago, as well.

But their stories survived, and so did the names.

Kuya Bodjie was from New Valley.

The adults remembered him as "Ka Paeng's son," the only one who survived past the age of 16. His older sister had died at 16, and his younger brother had died in infancy, and no one had expected Kuya Bodjie to live as long.

But Kuya Bodjie was taken by a recruiter at the age of 12 and brought to the Metro to be adopted by a happy childless couple there, so he lived. And he thrived.

What was his real name? No one could remember. That was only as far back as memory could go in New Valley.

That was what he was - a "recruiter." There was no other word for it. "Buyer" might have been too harsh for the few parents who actually had some sort of emotional investment in their spawn.

Kuya Bodjie had been recruited in exchange for a sack of rice - which was already a big deal in those days. He liked recounting this story: he wasn't an exceptional child; the recruiter had simply liked his teeth. But Kuya Bodjie recruited children in exchange for FIVE sacks of rice. And not just because of their teeth.

He said, he could tell if a child would do well in the Metro. And, of course, people believed him, because he had spent most of his life in the Metro.

He knew the kind of child who would be taken out of New Valley and into Paradise.




"Give it up," Oyang spat. "You're just not his type."

"I don't want to be his type," I argued, even if it wasn't true. "I just want to get out of here."

Oyang was my best friend growing up. She had died at age 13, as many New Valley children died in those days - with collapsed, blackened lungs, and a death mask crumpled up in agony. I couldn't have done anything about it. No one could.

"Stupid girl," she chided. "He has a 'type,' you know that as well as I do. All the kids he gets are perfect."

Oyang had been born with the left side of her face withered, and a poorly developed left eye. Folds of flesh covered it. She claimed she could see out of it, and sometimes you could see her eyeball moving under the sealed onion skin lid...but none of us believed her, really.

Compared to Oyang, I'd thought I was perfect, but...

"You're missing one ear," Oyang liked to point out whenever Kuya Bodjie was in town. "You think you can hide it under your hair, but you can't. It's ugly. Not 'balanced.' "

"I'm more balanced than you are," I shot back.

"Not enough to get recruited!"

It wasn't just the ear. I was also missing a couple of teeth. Some of it from poor hygiene, some from near-regular assault from my stepfather. I was, as Oyang had said, "ugly."

"Admit it," Oyang chuckled, "he's never gonna want to fuck you. And he fucks all those other kids for sure."

I got visibly annoyed, and Oyang limped away, still chuckling. I did not know at the time that I was going to have the very same limp she did - limb rot. It would take me 8 more years to get it, but get it I would.

I didn't listen to her. I'd decided long ago that if I did, I would never get out of New Valley. I would never become Kuya Bodjie's wife. No wife of a Metro man would doubt herself so much.

She would be a fighter. She would be braver.

So, every time Kuya Bodjie was in town, which was once every few months, I gathered up what little courage I could muster, and walked up to him to say hello.

I had been saying hello since I was five years old, when I first fell in love with him.

I don't think he noticed.




"Kuya Bodjie!" I greeted.

He glanced at me once, briefly.

Then he went back to talking to Boying's aunt and mother. My 11-year-old heart sank a little. Boying, the neighbors' latest kid, was four years old, bright-eyed with a completely symmetrical body, and perfect. Of course he was.

I was already too old, and too broken, for him. But if I wasn't going to be his "type," I was at least going to impress him with my accomplishments. I was going to be good enough for him to take to the Metro, somehow.

"Kuya!" I cried out in desperation. "Look at my grades! Look!"

I strode up to him and waved a piece of paper in his face. It was an extraordinary act of bravery, because for one thing, there were no such things as "grades" in New Valley - the only thing that passed for a "school" was a run-down shack where kids got together and made an effort to teach each other how to write and read.

We had very few adult teachers, who worked for rice, that precious New Valley currency, and they never stayed because they all died soon anyway.

You became a teacher or a nurse when you were too sick to work in the garbage piles. It was at least some way to earn some sort of comfort before you died. You could trade the rice in for deverol, and die hungry but less aware of it.

It wasn't much, what I had in my hand. But Kuya Bodjie wasn't in town often. I wasn't going to miss my chance.

Kuya Bodjie's eyes glazed over as he tore his attention away from Boying's relations to look at the intruding paper. He didn't even touch it - just cast a fleeting glance at the "grade" to which I was pointing.

Boying's mother and aunt looked at me with venom in their eyes.

"Yes," he said, his voice level, disinterested. "You're a very good student, Ading."

Then he turned back to Boying's relations.

My heart soared.

As he resumed his conversation with Boying's relations, I couldn't stop the words from pouring out.

Did you know, I said, this was given to me by Ka Gundong, who was a teacher? A REAL teacher? Not just a pretend teacher but a real one, with the license and everything, and he said he wanted to teach at the Metro but they wouldn't let him in, but maybe it was because they didn't have a use for someone who taught writing. Writing is still important in the Metro, isn't it? Ka Gundong said I was a very good writer. He said I was smart, and I could go anywhere I wanted, even become Mayor of the Metro if I worked hard enough. He died a month ago because his brain was full of lumps, did you know? They said he wasn't thinking right anymore but I don't believe that. He was such a good teacher. He'd read a lot of books! He said...

As I was speaking, I felt an adult palm strike me across my cheeks. It took me a moment to realize it was a woman's hand. Not Kuya Bodjie's. And the realization caused the rush of warmth to my face.

I fell to the ground, and was pulled to my feet by a hand around my elbow.

"Get out of here, Ading," Boying's aunt, Tita Melay, hissed close to my ear, as she pinched me hard in the upper arm. "Don't ruin this for us."

The piece of paper I had been holding fell to the ground. I didn't bother to pick it up.

Kuya Bodjie never looked at me again, and I ran.



(tbc)