Out 'n Around

"Maninona eto Bodo?"

"Tsy maninona fa mijorojoro."

It sounds like our old hainteny poems, those ancient verses that have turned proverbial. Except that here, it's no whispered seduction.

"So what are you doing here, Bodo?"

"Not much, just out 'n around."

Andry just got out of work, late at night. He's a waiter at C. Last to leave tonight—a difficult table. He's taking shortcuts, a different route than usual, and stumbles across one of his cousins working the street.

Not much, just out 'n around.

And Andry's supposed to buy her story.

My cousin Bodo, at the bottom of the street running through Ampasamadinika nightlife, not too far from the boulevard lined with palm trees, after it rained from 7:00 to 10:00 pm, is still out 'n around, for no reason. Just because. Because the concept of bed at such a late hour means nothing. Naturally. Out 'n around on the street, close to midnight. You don't have anything else to do? Watch TV? You bought a new TV last year, right? It doesn't work anymore—the electricity cut out with the first thunderclap back in November, the lights haven't even turned back on yet. Listen to the radio? Like I told you, there's no electricity anymore. What about batteries; radios run on batteries, too! Mine doesn't work unless it's plugged into the JIRAMA grid, and anyway I don't like listening to the radio at night. But you could sleep, right? I'm not tired. Or read? Read what? The Bible? The news? I read a newspaper once, the headlines in the street, they all say the same thing. But you could just stay home! Like I told you, I wanted to get out and walk around a bit. OK, come with me, I'll take you home. No, I'm going this way. OK, I'll go with you. Look, really, I like being here, out 'n around. Out 'n around, here, at this time of night? It's ridiculous! Come on, I'll walk you home. I'm staying here, Andry! Fine, I'll stay with you. Andry, I'm not messing around! I have to stay here. You have to leave.

You have to forget, she breathes.

He remembers. He remembers when he was little, looking at the ceiling, hearing her scream upstairs while his mother and aunt picked lice out of her long hair or just untangled it. Now, his daughter's the one who wakes him up on Sundays when he tries to sleep in.

Get out of here, Andry. I'm off, anyway. Why are you following that man? Leave me alone, Andry, you know you're not helping, right? How much is that man paying you? Bodo, you don't even know him. How much, huh? A hundred thousand to drop in. A hundred thousand? Here, I'll give you 100,000. What am I supposed to do with your 100,000, Andry? I can't give you anything for it. Get out of here, Andry. This is hard enough as it is! You can give me your time. That's what you're selling, right? OK, Andry, is that what you want? I'll take your 100,000 and you can leave after fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes? For 100,000? Yeah, it's 300,000 for the night. Three hundred thousand? I just got paid for the week. Three hundred thousand. But I have to save 50,000 for Mama, and … OK, is 250 good? Either 300 or you leave me alone; you've caused enough trouble already. Come on, 250,000 and I'll take you home. No, let go, Andry. It'd be 250,000 for today, but tomorrow, you'll have nothing and neither will I; it doesn't change anything. Let go, Andry, please, go away!

Hey, Marylin, is this drop-in bugging you? He doesn't want to pay or something? It's OK, he's my brother. This is no place to chat with your brother...