Free Trash by Andy Mulligan

him.’
    I said, ‘I’m so sorry. Which prison?’
    He told me the name, and as I knew nothing about the city’s prisons it didn’t mean much and I wondered why I’d asked the question.
    ‘Why is he in prison?’ I said.
    Gardo looked away, and the bruised boy – Raphael – put his arm round his shoulders and said something in his own language. I realized I had touched on something personal, but I could hardly back-track now – and in any case, it was one of the logical questions.
    ‘They say he beat up someone,’ said Jun softly, ‘but it’s not true. It’s all corruption because there’s some men who want his house.’
    Gardo, I saw, had started to cry. He wiped his eyes and said: ‘They’re trying to get him out of his house! They file a charge. They pay the police, the police arrest him. Now they’ve got his house.’
    Gardo wiped tears away again. Raphael hugged him harder, and said something again – something reassuring, I assumed – in his own language.
    Then he said to me: ‘Gardo needs to see him, Sister.’ The boy’s mouth was swollen, and his speech was awkward. ‘Can you help us get to the prison?’
    I took a gulp of water, and Jun topped up my glass.
    It was dawning on me that I had been right: this was going to be a request for money. They needed bus fares, or bribe money. I was surprised again, therefore, when Gardo said: ‘We need you to go with me, Sister. Please?’
    ‘Me?’
    They all nodded.
    ‘You want me to go and see your grandfather?’ I said.
    Gardo nodded.
    ‘How?’ I said. I was completely bewildered. ‘Why do I need to see him?’
    ‘We’ve got to get some information to him,’ said Gardo. ‘The police were asking questions about him – that’s why they beat my friend. Maybe they come for me next time!’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘It’s a difficult situation, Mother,’ said Jun. I’d never seen him so grave. ‘The old man needs to know what is going on here. We need some information too, to help him. Or he loses the house.’
    ‘But your family, perhaps – your mother …’
    Gardo shook his head. ‘No mother.’
    ‘Your grandfather must have sons,’ I said. ‘And theremust be visiting times – why can’t somebody just … visit? I’m not sure what good I can do, that’s the problem.’
    Gardo said, ‘You don’t understand.’
    ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I don’t.’
    ‘The prisons here,’ said Jun. ‘A visit once a month. Mother, they’re going to lose their house – that’s everything here. You lose your house, you’ve got nothing. And you – you’re a social worker …’
    Gardo said: ‘You take your passport. You sign your name. They let you inside.’
    I was silent. At last we’d got to the bottom of it.
    The boy said something I didn’t hear, and put his head in his hands. Jun put his hand on mine and said, ‘We ask you because it is so important and no one else can help.’
    ‘You’re the only foreigner we know,’ said Raphael. ‘And the prisons out here … they do what they want.’
    ‘You say you’re a social worker,’ said Jun. ‘You say you just want to see him for half an hour. They may keep you waiting, OK? They may say no at first. But in the end, if you just sit there … There’s a chance, yes?’
    Gardo looked at me, and his eyes were still full of tears.
    Jun said, ‘You’re the nicest, kindest mother we ever had here. He’s only asking because, without this, they maybe gonna lose the house.’
    ‘They beat me,’ said Raphael. ‘They think I got some papers, but I don’t have them.’
    ‘Please, Mother?’
    *   *   *
    That was how I found myself in a taxi heading for Colva Prison.
    Vanity and stupidity, and the fact that three little boys could break my heart one minute and flatter me the next, all the time lying and lying. I took just Gardo with me, and the first thing we did was stop at a big store to get him some new clothes. He’d cleaned himself up, as I said, but