The Invisible Crowd. Ellen Wiles
man turned as he walked. ‘What is your name?’
‘My name?’ Yonas thought frantically, then remembered the bin man. ‘My name is… Joe.’
‘Joe, yeah?’ the man said. ‘And where you come from?’
‘Eritrea. And you?’
‘Emil. From Romania.’ Emil pulled out a key and unlocked a side door, then led Yonas down a dimly lit corridor and up some concrete stairs to another door, on which he knocked three times. The words ‘come in’ floated out.
Inside, a grey-haired man with knitted eyebrows was sitting behind a computer, with three stooping table lamps poised around him like water birds. He didn’t look up. Emil cleared his throat. ‘Uncle, this is new guy. He say his name Joe. Eritrean. Been sleeping rough.’
Uncle appeared to ignore them and continued typing with two fingers. Was this going to be another Aziz? He could hardly look more different: gaunt, with a crooked nose, pointed shoulders and spindly fingers that looked as if they might snap at the next tap. After a little while he looked up, and his eyes were two spikes. ‘So. Joe. You are new to the UK?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know nobody here.’
‘No. I mean, I thought I did, but they… No, I know nobody.’
‘You are willing to work hard?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. If I let you stay here, there are rules to follow.’ Uncle pushed his chair back, stood up and walked around to the front of the desk on which he perched and leaned forward, his dark eyes locking in. ‘How are you at following rules?’
‘Good.’
‘Well, my rules are simple enough. One’ – Uncle stuck up his forefinger – ‘I arrange the work. Two’ – middle finger – ‘you do as much work as I tell you to do, and you don’t work for anyone else. Three’ – ring finger – ‘you never – ever – tell anyone outside about how you got the work or anything about this place. Got it?’
Yonas nodded.
‘You haven’t seen the film, have you?’
Yonas shook his head.
‘Fine. Anyway, if you’ve got the rest, the correct answer would be yes.’
‘Yes,’ Yonas echoed.
‘Because if you talk we are all going to get into trouble. Do you know the meaning of the word trouble?’
‘I do.’
‘Good. If you imagine to yourself the worst possible kinds of trouble, then you’re on the right track.’ I don’t need to imagine, Yonas thought. ‘So, blend in. Don’t get yourself noticed. Keep yourself to yourself. Understood?’
‘Understood.’
Uncle got off the desk and began to pace around the room. ‘Good. You can stay for a trial week. You will do a mixture of work. Construction, cleaning and such like. You will get forty quid a week cash in hand from me, for working however many hours I tell you to work, normally around eight hours a day, for six days per week. In return you get to live here and sleep here for free and I give you work clothes to wear – which it looks like you need right now. If you want to leave I need two weeks’ notice. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Yonas said immediately. He fought with the corners of his mouth to stop them from smiling.
‘Right. Here’s a tenner to tide you over.’ Yonas took the note and held it gently between his fingers as if it were pressed from gold. He imagined telling Gebre: Only day three, and I’m already in the money, with a real job, and a place to live! Was Gebre wishing he’d followed after all? Or was he still cursing Yonas for abandoning him and Osman?
‘Any questions?’ Uncle asked.
Yonas thought for a second. ‘What’s the film?’ he found himself asking.
‘The film! Oh. Well, I’m not giving it away that easily. You can ask the others. There’s a TV in the living area, so if it’s coming on I may let you know. Now, scarper. I suggest you prioritize a shower.’
UK IMMIGRATION SHOCK 150,000 ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS ENTER UK EACH YEAR, SAYS WHISTLEBLOWER EX-HOME OFFICE BOSS
I will take one espresso macchiato, and two spoon sugar. Okay three, just today.
So, you wanna talk about Professor Jojo! Haha, yeah, that’s how I call him, but when I first met him in street, Professor was like opposite word I would think of, okay, I had to even hold my breath, like he smell of shit mix with rotten fish and mouldy cheese in big bag of rubbish when you leave too long before taking outside. You got my point. But when I am looking closer I am thinking: Wait. Nice smile, tall, cheekbones, huuuuge fro all matted and disgusting like rats living inside – but with a proper wash it’s gonna look good! I am even getting a little fantasy…
I can talk about it now, with you, no problem. But back when I meet the Prof, no way. I am so much hoping for another gay to come to live in warehouse, you cannot believe, but I can’t say nothing. I mean, I came to UK because everyone said London scene is awesome and people easy-going compare to rest of Europe – Romania anyway – so I think, okay, maybe there I can be me. But when I arrive I cannot even get work to pay rent, not even think about going out, clubbing, all that. I mean, London is so expensive, so, so, so, SO expensive, it’s not even true. Even room size of small cupboard in shittest area is too much money. So after some time I was living with a load of straight, immigrant guys in warehouse. I mean, not even proper house – this big, old place where they used to repair cars, with one big room out back full of mattresses. Some guys living there even more gay haters than back home. Russians especially. So I try to keep secret, and in case they guess, I am always try to be comedian, so they will like me for being that guy who is making everybody laugh. Problem is, then they start to really like me and wanna hang out, and they like going to pull women, so I have to make excuse. Once I even went out and pulled three women just to make point and get them off my back. Ugh. It’s like I just snog my sisters.
So anyway, Uncle tell Professor Jojo he can stay, and I show him spare sleeping spot – I mean, it is only mattress, okay, but he look right into my eyes and say thank you… like it is biggest favour anybody done him ever in his life, and he lie down, hands behind head, with biggest smile you’ve ever seen. He start saying something about leaving jungle, with like fox and snake kissing dove or something crazy like that, ending up in city with bed to sleep on… I have like no clue what he is talking about, but he tell me it was just a poem he remember, so I applause him and tell him that has got to be first poem anyone ever said in this place, but maybe if he want to fit in with guys here he better rein it in, and also, if he want to be friends even with me, he got to shower, like right now.
He jump up and ask if shower was with hot water, like that would be impossible, and when I said yeah of course, his face lit up like he just got papers from Home Office. I say I can lend him razor and I show him bathroom. He go to look at himself in mirror, then turn to me and his face is angry. I’m thinking, What did I do? He ask if I have scissors, and I’m like, Uhhh, is he gonna stab me or what? But I get them from kitchen. He take and say thanks, then start to chop at his hair like weeds! Just chop chop chop and throwing big lumps down toilet, I mean – I was still imagining it all brushed out ready for dance floor, so I’m like, ‘Wait, please, my friend, keep some!’ But too late. He smile little bit and tell me, ‘My hair needs new start, like me.’ I tell him, ‘Okay, fine, but you can’t leave it all messed up like that. I can cut properly for you. I am cutting everybody’s hair in warehouse – I do yours for free first time. But I am not even touching your head until it’s had, like, three shampoos, okay?!’
When