No, there could be no more delays. Yesterday they'd been scolded harshly for being late: "Why are you always so late? If you're late again, we'll stop giving you papers." Haru had said nothing. Just tilted his head and smiled a little. Very early in the morning, Haru and his big brother join the line at the hawkers' office. Sometimes they get delayed bringing the papers out from there.
No more delays—thinking this to himself, he and his big brother quicken their pace.
Dawn breaks with the crow's cry. No one on the streets. Nothing visible ahead. Haru walks with his hands buried deep in his greasy sheet. The cold is fierce today. Inside him, a terrible shivering has begun. His teeth chatter against each other.
All around, silence. Stillness. Dhaka city sleeps wrapped in fog's milk-white sheet. Through the silence, harsh crows' calls drift by. The morning's light, shivering cold wind blows. Shattering the surrounding stillness, a giant truck whooshes past them like some monster.
"Come on, hurry! The line'll get long later."
"Everyone's smarter than us. How they manage to get up so early!"
Haru replies.
Haru's hands and feet turn to ice in the cold. He doesn't feel like walking. Just as they reach the Stadium intersection, Haru sees a dog lying dead on the road. Looks like some car ran it over. Face and belly crushed. A river of sorrow flows through Haru's chest. His tender heart swells with suppressed grief. Before his eyes, like celluloid film, floats the image of Bhulu. When floods and storm surges took their parents and they left the village for the city, Haru had his pet dog Bhulu with him. Wherever Haru went, Bhulu would never leave his side.
He always stayed with his master. One morning, walking down the street, he suddenly heard whimpering cries from behind. Before he could say anything after running back, he saw several people holding Bhulu down, killing him with an injection. Then they took Bhulu away in their van. How much Haru had begged them not to take him. They wouldn't listen. Haru cried silently. He kept the unspeakable pain inside his heart.
After coming to Dhaka, his big brother took a job selling newspapers with a man from their village. They used to sleep on the sidewalk with him. But Haru didn't do any work at first. In those early days, he wandered around exploring Dhaka city. What a strange, beautiful city it was. The roads, the cars and buildings—how sparkling and gleaming. You just wanted to keep looking. Like everything else in this city, the people seemed so beautiful too. Haru was amazed. Everyone in wonderful colorful clothes, shoes, and socks. Red and blue cars, astounding buildings. So gleaming! It dazzled the eyes. To Haru, Dhaka seemed like some heavenly kingdom.
Haru loved walking past the shops draped with lights of many colors. He was delighted to see the goods in the stores. Seeing all this, he wanted to buy something too. So one day, seeing a toy car, he said, "Hey mister, how much does this cost?"
The shopkeeper looked at him, frowned, and roared, "Get lost, get out of here fast. Bloody street kid." Haru stared, bewildered. His heart sank at such bitter words. He could never have imagined that instead of telling him the price, the shopkeeper would drive him away like this. Haru's bright, cheerful mood vanished in an instant. Gradually his perceptions changed too. His heart grew somewhat poisoned. Actually, the people only looked beautiful—their words were something else entirely.
Brother and Haru arrive and stand in front of the hawkers' office. The two of them get in line for papers. "Today'll be good selling. There's big news." They hear this from everyone standing in line. Joy flickers across Haru's face, happiness in the pupils of his eyes.
Standing in line, the two brothers bring out many papers. Haru's brother explains and gives him the papers. Haru has memorized all the newspaper names. He can recite them all in one breath. Just by looking at the style of the names written on top of the papers, he can tell which is which. So even though he can't read and write, there's no problem.
After delivering papers house to house, he's sold many extra papers today. Haru drowns in a flood of joy. Only seven left. Standing at the market corner, they'll all sell like hotcakes.
Haru holds up the newspaper pages. He sees big pictures in all the papers. He tries to understand from the pictures. These are village scenes. Smiling faces of farmers. Rice stalks. He tries to read the writing under the pictures. He can't. In the crowd of letters, Haru discovers two: "a" and "aa." When he lived in the village, he used to go to night school. There he learned two or three letters. Haru can write his own name, but he writes it by guessing. He can't even read by spelling out letters.
Today, suddenly unable to read the writing, Haru somehow feels like banging his head. Why can't I read? This kind of question wraps around him like an octopus. Inexpressible anguish churns inside Haru's chest. It twists. He feels a stinging, uncomfortable pain inside his chest.
It's gotten quite late. All around, brilliant golden sunlight. No darkness anywhere, but Haru's heart seems shrouded in darkness. No brilliant golden sun has risen there. From there emerges only blue tears.