Authors: Parker Bilal
The light was draining from the sky as Makana emerged from the police station. Street lights like glassy gems twinkled over the town. The crowd of protesters had diminished as people headed home for the evening.
At the internet and telephone exchange on the square, Makana tried the number Mutawali had given him for
AGI LandTech
, the survey company in Alexandria that was interested in the gas reserves. It took him a while to locate someone who knew about the Siwa project. Finally, a young man came on the line. He explained that so far as his records showed there had been no meeting planned with the Qadi on the day in question.
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes. It’s true we had an interest in the area but the whole project was suspended.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Makana.
‘It wasn’t from our end. We were ready to go with the drilling. I understood it was something to do with land permits.’
‘Can you tell me when that was?’
‘A couple of months ago, give or take.’
Makana thanked him and rang off. Outside the supermarket a pickup was unloading blue butagaz bottles. Wad Nubawi leaned in his doorway supervising. Inside the supermarket the space left by the freezer had now been filled by sacks of rice with Chinese lettering on them. At the back a row of shiny new standing freezers hummed happily away.
‘You solved your problem,’ observed Makana.
‘It was either that or go out of business.’ Wad Nubawi had shrewd, lively eyes that radiated mischief. Being out of business was not something he would ever have contemplated quietly. Also, Makana thought, the choice of replacement was interesting. It was more difficult to store a corpse in an upright freezer cabinet. Was Wad Nubawi expecting more deaths, he wondered. Makana replenished his stock of cigarettes and then remained where he was.
‘Was there something else?’ The older man reached for a date from the bag beside the cash register. For the first time, Makana noticed the left hand was missing the first and second fingers.
‘Where did you get them from?’ Makana nodded at the freezers.
Wad Nubawi stiffened. ‘All the paperwork is in order.’
‘Relax, I’m only interested in Musab Khayr. You knew him when he was here. In the old days.’
‘In the old days?’ repeated Wad Nubawi. The eyes had a hollow space in them where he seemed to retreat. Makana had the sense that he was trying to coax a reluctant spider out of a hole. Wad Nubawi was silent for a long time, then he said, ‘Are you still helping Hamama?’
‘I don’t work for him, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Well, that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.’
‘Why did Musab leave? What happened all those years ago?’
‘Shouldn’t you be asking him these questions?’
‘I would if I could find him. Do you know where he is?’
Wad Nubawi struck a match that roared as it flared. ‘The last I heard he was on his way abroad. Germany, or somewhere.’
‘I heard he came back.’
‘Now where would you hear a thing like that?’ The flame flickered softly in a corner of the grey eyes.
‘If he was trying to get out of this country, this would be the way for him to go, wouldn’t it?’
‘Why would he be trying to leave if he just came back? That makes no sense.’
‘You didn’t answer my question. He knows the way across the desert, doesn’t he?’
‘If you say so.’
‘You would know if he came back here.’
‘Why are you asking me about him?’
‘You used to know each other. He used to work for you.’
Wad Nubawi blew out the match in his hand that had burned down to his fingertips. ‘If he came back he would be making a mistake.’
‘He has enemies here?’
‘I said it would be a mistake. I didn’t say anything about enemies.’ The lean head tilted to one side. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’ Wad Nubawi made to move away.
‘He’s in a lot of trouble. He wouldn’t want to be seen.’
‘This is a small place. Nothing stays secret for long.’
‘Could he make it across the desert by himself?’
‘Why not?’ Wad Nubawi shrugged. ‘He’s driven these roads since he was a boy.’
‘So, he could make it to Kalonsha without help?’
Wad Nubawi allowed himself a smile. ‘Kalonsha is a dream. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘People talk about it as if it were real,’ said Makana.
‘People talk about a lot of things they’ve never seen in their lives. Like Allah and paradise. Where would we be without that?’ Wad Nubawi’s eyes were flat and emotionless. ‘I can’t see him coming back here, not for anything in the world.’
An old melodrama played on the television in the lobby. Jerky black and white images of a couple walking along a beach. Any minute now one of them would burst into song, thought Makana as he went behind the desk to retrieve his key from the hook. He made his way upstairs. A cat wandered along the first-floor corridor and rubbed itself against his leg. If left to their own devices these creatures would overrun the entire town. Downstairs a woman launched into a plaintive song about impossible love as Makana unlocked his door and stepped into his room. As he did so he heard a soft movement somewhere to his left. Another cat was his first thought, only this was somewhat bigger. He clicked on the light to see Rashida, Nagy’s daughter, hiding between the bed and the wardrobe.
‘Put off the light,’ she whispered urgently.
‘If I put it off it’ll look suspicious.’
‘He’ll think you’re asleep.’
Makana couldn’t think of a counter argument. He reached for the switch and the room was plunged into darkness. After a moment or two he could make out the shape of the girl as she stood up. There was enough light coming in from outside to make it possible to see. Makana moved towards her and she pulled back.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘sit down. There is something I have to tell you.’
The bed creaked long and loudly as Makana sat down on the bed. Both of them froze, listening for any sound. In the distance a car engine rolled away. An owl sounded from the direction of the mosque. The girl crept back into the little niche beside the wardrobe and sank back down to the floor.
‘My father must not know that I have spoken to you. He would kill me.’
It was always possible that a nightly diet of televised melodrama had begun to have an effect on the girl’s mind. On the other hand, Makana had seen the bruises.
‘Is this about Ayman?’
There was a murmur that he took for a yes.
‘You were close to him?’
‘I knew him since I was a child. All my life he has been there. My father took him in when he was small.’
‘He was part of the family.’
‘His father was my father’s cousin.’
‘Why was he living with you?’
‘I don’t know. His parents moved away and he came to live here.’
The girl’s answers seemed to only lead to more questions, but Makana decided it was best to let her tell it in her own time. Rashida had fallen silent.
‘It all happened a long time ago. I was very small. Ayman’s parents left. He came to live with us. Then my mother left.’
‘Your mother left you and your father?’
‘She just left.’ In the gloom, Makana could make out the girl crouched against the wall. She was fiddling with her fingers.
‘When was this exactly?’
‘Like I said, I was very small. I barely remember her.’
‘Why did she leave?’
‘I don’t know, but I think something bad happened.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody ever talks about it.’
‘You mean everybody knows?’
‘Sure, people who were around at the time.’
‘And this had something to do with Ayman?’
‘That’s the feeling I have.’ Rashida hesitated. Makana produced the piece of blue ribbon from his pocket.
‘I found this in Ayman’s room.’
Rashida turned it over in her hands. ‘It’s a school ribbon. All the girls used to wear them.’
‘Ayman used to like watching the girls, didn’t he?’
‘He didn’t mean anything by it. He was just simple that way. I don’t think he would ever do anyone any harm. He never hurt me.’ She handed back the ribbon.
‘Is that why your father took him in?’
‘His family left. They didn’t want him with them. Isn’t that terrible?’ Rashida said. ‘My father’s not a bad man. I believe that, really. I think he did something once and it was wrong and since then he has never . . . well, you’ve seen him.’
‘You mean he’s never forgiven himself.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s it.’ She gave a long drawn-out sigh of frustration. ‘I’ve had enough of this place. Kamal thinks we should run away together and get married.’
‘Kamal from the bicycle shop?’
‘That’s the one,’ Rashida nodded in the gloom. ‘He really wants to go, and I really love him. But this is all I know. All I’ve ever known. What could there be out there that is so interesting?’
Makana, suddenly tired, stretched out on the bed and leaned against the wall. The weariness of a man caught up in a web of his own making.
‘It’s true that it’s not all good out there. Things are not so bad here, are they?’
‘A little quiet perhaps, but I like that.’
It sounded like she wanted him to talk her out of it. If somebody didn’t then it was likely she would do it anyway. What was there to keep her here? Rashida fell silent. Someone was coming up the stairs. It had to be her father. If Nagy found him in his room in the dark with his daughter they would be in a difficult situation and he had no doubt that the girl’s fears were well founded. The footsteps approached until a shadow crossed the narrow slit of light under the door. The shadow stopped moving. Nagy was listening at the door. All three of them, it seemed to Makana, were holding their breath. Then the moment passed and the footsteps resumed their way down the hall.
‘Do you have children?’ Rashida whispered.
‘A daughter,’ Makana heard himself say. ‘She must be about your age.’
‘And where is she?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not even sure she’s still alive to tell the truth.’
Speaking these words aloud, in the dark, seemed to bring their own comfort.
‘Before he died, Ayman told me he had seen a ghost.’
‘A ghost?’
Rashida fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. ‘A ghost that had been haunting him for years.’
‘Ayman was a big boy. Why would he have been scared of a ghost?’
‘I don’t know. I think because of something he did a long time ago.’
Makana was having trouble trying to work out if she was being serious or just spinning out a yarn to pass the time.
‘You think this ghost killed Ayman?’
‘If you do something bad it will always come back to find you. I think this ghost came back from the grave and did those terrible things to him.’
‘And now you’re afraid it’s going to hurt you?’
‘Not me,’ said Rashida. ‘My father.’ Then she stopped talking and got to her feet. He watched as she padded silently across the room to press her ear to the door.
‘What is it?’
‘I have to go,’ she said.
Makana sat up. ‘Listen to me, Rashida. There are no ghosts. They don’t exist. Whoever killed Ayman is still out there and we need to find them. If you’re really worried about your father you must help me.’
‘I can’t stay,’ Rashida hissed. ‘If he finds me here he will kill me.’
There was no doubt that she was right. The girl opened the door slightly, allowing a crack of light to enter the room. ‘If I go now, perhaps we can meet later.’
‘Where?’
‘Cleopatra’s Eye. At midnight. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
The door opened just wide enough for her to slip out and she was gone. Makana sat there for a long time. He wondered if perhaps he had imagined the whole thing.
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what she had just told him. The door flew open and Nagy stood there silhouetted against the watery light in the hall.
‘What are you doing, hiding in the dark?’
Makana sat up as the light came on.
‘You son of a bitch, I know your kind.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Nagy made no attempt to approach Makana. He remained in the doorway and pointed an accusatory finger.
‘She was in here, wasn’t she?’ When Makana said nothing, he went on. ‘Well, you’ll pay for this, just you wait and see.’
‘Don’t hurt her, Nagy. She hasn’t done anything wrong.’ Makana called after him, but Nagy was already gone.
After that he must have fallen asleep for a time because it seemed to take an age for him to realise that the telephone was ringing.