Drive-by Saviours by Chris Benjamin Page B

said.
    â€œMaybe Pram can share what he earns with you,” Bumi said, his brain scrambling for an escape route from his compounding troubles. “It’s a loan. We can all split the profits.”
    â€œThen you won’t have enough for your escape.”
    â€œThen we need ten sarongs.”
    Arum shook her head sadly at the boy’s desperation. “There’s one more thing, Small Child. I didn’t want to tell you. But I had to sell the materials I had. A nice young housewife bought them from me. It was a tough week. A tough month.”
    Bumi placed his forehead in her lap so she could stroke his hair. For a moment he thought he would cry to her, like he had once before, but then some lonesome synapse off in the corner of his brain finally got over its shyness and put forth an idea: Yusupu! Yusupu.
    Bumi’s whole head popped up so he could say, “I’ll get the money from my dad. I’ll borrow cash for materials and we can pay him back.”
    Arum and Pram knew nothing of Yusupu other than his strength, stature and skill as a fisher and as a man, so to them it was a simple and logical plan. To Bumi it was the height of desperation and risk. He’d made his decision: he’d rather die than go back to school.
    THE FIRST RISK WAS NOT RENDEZVOUSING WITH HIS CLASS AT THE museum. Bumi dared hope no one would notice his absence. To meet Yusupu, however, would require waiting until early afternoon, by which time the class would be on their way back to school. If he was really lucky, which he didn’t seem to be lately, he’d beat them there. He’d claim that he got lost and decided the safest thing was to backtrack to the school. But if he got back to school after the others he’d have to convince Ibu Nova that he got hopelessly lost and spent hours wandering through Makassar.
    The second risk was Yusupu. Yusupu’s share of Bumi’s heart had frozen. While Alfi played on his mind in daydreams and night-dreams, and Win’s gentle words and touches came to him at the most useful times, Yusupu had barely registered on his mind or soul since he’d left Rilaka. And now, to beg the man for money.
    He spent the morning storytelling—this time sharing stories of school with his street friends. Just after midday he meandered over to the fish vendors. Yusupu was in his usual spot, speaking broken, slurred Indonesian with a young purchaser, haggling over a single fillet that was to be the young man’s supper. “Great fish, good price!” Bumi heard Yusupu shout.
    â€œA great cut of fish deserves a great price,” the young man said.
    Yusupu repeated, “Great fish! Good price!” He looked ancient, like he’d doubled in age in only two months. That frozen part of Bumi’s heart melted a little. How could he approach this poor old man, this confused, frustrated, broken-down dog, for help? It should have been the other way around. Still his legs urged him forward to the blanket upon which lay the day’s catch.
    â€œThat’s okay,” the young man said as he disentangled himself from Yusupu’s flustered ministrations. “Maybe I’ll have chicken instead.”
    â€œFish is higher in protein and lower in fat,” Bumi said from behind the man, who turned, surprised, and faced the boy.
    â€œHis price is too high,” the man said. “He won’t negotiate.”
    Yusupu stared at Bumi, mouth agape, as if he were seeing a loved one’s ghost, uncertain whether to rejoice or run.
    â€œHe don’t understand your smooth talk,” Bumi told the man, slipping into his market slang. “When you say great fish deserves a great price, he don’t understand the difference.”
    â€œMaybe he should learn better Indonesian,” the man said.
    â€œMaybe you should learn better Buginese.”
    â€œBut I’m from Java, what do I need with Buginese?”
    â€œIt would help you buy