Boys without Names by Kashmira Sheth Page A

the next street. More than five hours have gone by since Baba left. I wonder how much longer it will take for him to return with Jama.
    â€œDid you see the two girls selling things this morning?” I ask Aai to get my mind away from Baba.
    She nods.
    â€œThose girls were not much older than I am. I can do that.”
    â€œYou can, but first you need the money to buy the magazines or toys or whatever they were selling. No one will give you those for free, Gopal.”
    â€œMoney, money, money,” Sita mumbles. “Why can’t we have a pile of it, just like this?” She snaps her fingers.
    â€œI’ll become a magician and turn that pile into money,” Naren says, pointing at a heap of garbage near the sidewalk.
    We ignore the twins. “I can ask those girls how they got started.”
    Before Aai can answer, Sita says, “No magician can make money out of garbage, right, Aai?”
    â€œWell, you can’t make it by snapping your fingers,” Naren says.
    â€œI sure can.” Then she sticks her tongue out and moves her head back and forth like a puppet.
    Naren whines, “Sita can’t, Aai, and she keeps saying she can.”
    I hate when the twins hijack our conversation. I raise my hand as if to slap them. “Naren, stop whining! Sita, shut up!”
    They look at me with their eyes wide-open. Sita’s tongue still dangles out of her mouth. I have never been this sharp with them. I give Aai a sideways glance. I think she is going to be mad at me, but instead she ignores all of us.
    Once we are done eating we pick up our luggage and move away from the stall. Down the street there are fewer people, and one of the shops is closed. Aai takes out the frayed rug and spreads it on the footpath in front of the shop, and we both sit down. I hand the deck of cards to the twins and they settle on the bedding sack.
    I watch two girls a little older than I get out of a car on the curb in front of us. They are wearing sandals with heels and their nails are painted red. “Come in an hour,” they say to the driver. They walk into the shop next to the one where we are sitting. I get up and stroll past the store. The shop windows are full of fancy sandals—a pair ofred with beads and shiny stones, a brown one with heels so high that you can trip over them, a gray pair with tassels. The girls must have gone to buy sandals even though they own nice ones. I guess when you have money you can buy more than you need. Someday, maybe I can buy a nice pair of dark brown sandals.
    I see Aai twisting her sari and I come back and sit down by her. The twins are playing with cards and I silently thank the Card-Man for giving them to me. I take out my notebook, open up to a new page, and hold the pencil in my hand. Nothing comes to my mind. So I flip the pages without reading anything. I don’t know how long we sit there, but it must be an hour because the girls come out each carrying a large bag. One of them pulls out her phone. “We are here,” she says in Hindi. A few minutes later their car comes by and they get in.
    After a while Aai motions me to follow her. She walks a few steps away to the edge of the footpath and scans the street. I join her. “I wonder how long it takes to go to Dadar and find Jama’s home,” she says.
    â€œAnd come back here.”
    For a few seconds we both are silent. The sun is in the west and it will set soon. If Baba does not make it back tonight we must find a place to sleep. Maybe we can spend the night right here. “I’ll be back,” I tell Aai, and walk over to pav-bhaji stall. “Do you think we can sleep here tonight?” I ask the vendor.
    â€œThis place gets full at night. The people who usuallysleep here might kick you out. Maybe you should look for a place farther away from the station.”
    I thank him and return. “Aai, we have to find a place farther away from here, just in case we have to spend