Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Don’t ask me what went wrong, the list goes on and on

As I climbed up onto the top of the perimeter wall, I glanced back to check if the police were making another round. At that moment – of all people – one of the teachers from the boys' school drives slowly past and I ducked down quickly. Did she see me? I thought, and wondered what she might have said if she had indeed caught sight of me entering that particular plot of derelict land. Just as I suspected...cavorting with the crack-heads. Hes no better than the wretched kids themselves!” 

I was honoring my threat promise to Enildo that if he did not make contact I would visit him every single day. At first, I feared breaching the wall, especially due to the invasions by the police in recent days, but the question “are you scared of going in?” by a pair of addicts nearby (who Id asked about Enildo) provided sufficient provocation for me to jump the wall. 

Walking tenuously over the crazy-paving landscape of broken bottles, tiles and smashed computer monitors (an effective alert of impending visitors to the huddled masses below), I pondered the puncture-resistance of the thin rubber soles of my old flip-flops. Over the next few weeks, however, I became quite familiar with that terrain, although the pervasive and overwhelming smell of human excrement is one that I will never quite become accustomed to.

Alex, the young and painfully thin “owner” of the patch intercepted me before I could reach one of the several boarded-up shacks scattered among the overgrown vegetation. He spoke as one in complete control of the territory and when asked about the father of our four brothers he replied - with the authority of a sage - that Enildo would “return when hes ready”.

But I don't want your opinion, I thought. I just want to talk to my friend. 

I just want to know what went wrong.

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