THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES

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THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES Page 4

by Mario Reading


  ‘That’s it. Cut off his balls.’ ‘No. Do his eyes first.’ A cho­rus of el­derly wo­men we­re en­co­ura­ging her from the­ir po­si­ti­on out­si­de the ca­ra­van do­or­way. Sa­bir lo­oked aro­und. Apart from the wo­man with the kni­fe, he was sur­ro­un­ded en­ti­rely by men. He tri­ed to mo­ve his arms but they we­re bo­und tightly be­hind his back. His ank­les we­re knot­ted to­get­her and a de­co­ra­ted pil­low had be­en pla­ced bet­we­en his kne­es.

  One of the men upen­ded him and man­hand­led his tro­users over his hips. ‘The­re. Now you can see the tar­get.’

  ‘Stick it up his ar­se whi­le you’re at it.’ The old wo­men we­re pus­hing for­ward to get a bet­ter vi­ew.

  Sa­bir be­gan sha­king his he­ad in a fu­ti­le ef­fort to free the ta­pe from his mo­uth.

  The wo­man be­gan inc­hing for­ward, the kni­fe held out in front of her.

  ‘Go on. Do it. Re­mem­ber what he did to Ba­bel.’

  Sa­bir be­gan a sort of ulu­la­ti­on from in­si­de his ta­ped mo­uth. He fi­xed his eyes on the wo­man in fi­en­dish con­cent­ra­ti­on, as if he co­uld so­me­how will her not to fol­low thro­ugh with what she in­ten­ded.

  Anot­her man grab­bed Sa­bir’s scro­tum and stretc­hed it away from his body, le­aving only a thin memb­ra­ne of skin to be cut. A sing­le blow of the kni­fe wo­uld be eno­ugh.

  Sa­bir watc­hed the wo­man. Ins­tinct told him that she was his only chan­ce. If his con­cent­ra­ti­on bro­ke and he lo­oked away, he knew that he was do­ne for. Wit­ho­ut fully un­ders­tan­ding his own mo­ti­va­ti­on, he win­ked at her.

  The wink hit her li­ke a slap. She re­ac­hed for­ward and rip­ped the ta­pe off Sa­bir’s mo­uth. ‘Why did you do that? Why did you mu­ti­la­te my brot­her? What had he do­ne to you?’

  Sa­bir drag­ged a gre­at gulp of air thro­ugh his swol­len lips. ‘Chris. Chris. He told me to ask for Chris.’

  The wo­man step­ped back­wards. The man hol­ding Sa­bir’s tes­tic­les let go of them and le­aned ac­ross him, his he­ad coc­ked to one si­de li­ke a bird dog. ‘What’s that you say?’

  ‘Yo­ur brot­her smas­hed a glass. He pres­sed his hand in­to it. Then mi­ne. Then he gro­und our two hands to­get­her and pla­ced the imp­rint of mi­ne on his fo­re­he­ad. He then told me to go to Sa­mo­is and ask for Chris. I wasn’t the one that kil­led him. But I re­ali­se now that he was be­ing fol­lo­wed. Ple­ase be­li­eve me. Why sho­uld I co­me he­re ot­her­wi­se?’

  ‘But the po­li­ce. They are lo­oking for you. We saw on the te­le­vi­si­on. We re­cog­ni­sed yo­ur fa­ce.’

  ‘My blo­od was on his hand.’

  The man threw Sa­bir to one si­de. For a mo­ment Sa­bir was con­vin­ced that they we­re go­ing to slit his thro­at. Then he co­uld fe­el them un­ban­da­ging his hand - ins­pec­ting the cuts. He­ar them tal­king to each ot­her in a lan­gu­age he co­uld not un­ders­tand.

  ‘Stand up. Put yo­ur tro­users on.’

  They we­re cut­ting the ro­pes be­hind his back.

  One of the men prod­ded him. ‘Tell me. Who is Chris?’

  Sa­bir shrug­ged. ‘One of you, I sup­po­se.’

  So­me of the ol­der men la­ug­hed.

  The man with the kni­fe win­ked at him, in un­cons­ci­o­us ec­ho of the wink that had sa­ved Sa­bir’s tes­tic­les two short mi­nu­tes be­fo­re. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll me­et him so­on. With or wit­ho­ut yo­ur balls. The cho­ice is yo­urs.’

  16

  At le­ast they’re fe­eding me, tho­ught Sa­bir. It’s har­der to kill a man you’ve bro­ken bre­ad with. Su­rely.

  He spo­oned up the last of the stew, then re­ac­hed down with his ma­nac­led hands for his cof­fee. ‘The me­at. It was go­od.’

  The old wo­man nod­ded. She wi­ped her hands on her vo­lu­mi­no­us skirts but Sa­bir no­ti­ced that she did not eat. ‘Cle­an. Yes. Very cle­an.’

  ‘Cle­an?’

  ‘The spi­nes. Hed­ge­hogs are the cle­anest be­asts. They are not mah­rimé. Not li­ke…’ She spat over her sho­ul­der. ‘Dogs.’

  ‘Ah. You eat dogs?’ Sa­bir was al­re­ady ha­ving prob­lems with the tho­ught of hed­ge­hogs. He co­uld fe­el the on­set of na­usea thre­ate­ning.

  ‘No. No.’ The wo­man burst in­to up­ro­ari­o­us la­ugh­ter. ‘Dogs. Hah hah.’ She sig­nal­led to one of her fri­ends. ‘Heh. The ga­dje thinks we eat dogs.’

  A man ca­me run­ning in­to the cle­aring. He was ins­tantly sur­ro­un­ded by yo­ung child­ren. He spo­ke to a few of them and they pe­eled off to warn the camp.

  Sa­bir watc­hed in­tently as bo­xes and ot­her obj­ects we­re swiftly sec­re­ted be­ne­ath and in­si­de the ca­ra­vans. Two men bro­ke off from what they we­re do­ing and ca­me to­wards him.

  ‘What is it? What’s hap­pe­ning?’

  They pic­ked him up bet­we­en them and car­ri­ed him, splay-leg­ged, to­wards a wo­od-box.

  ‘Jesus Christ. You’re not go­ing to put me in the­re?

  I’m cla­ust­rop­ho­bic. Se­ri­o­usly. I pro­mi­se. I’m not go­od in nar­row pla­ces. Ple­ase. Put me in one of the ca­ra­vans.’

  The men tumb­led him in­si­de the wo­od-box. One of them drew a sta­ined hand­kerc­hi­ef from his poc­ket and thrust it in­to Sa­bir’s mo­uth. Then they eased his he­ad be­ne­ath the sur­fa­ce of the box and slam­med shut the lid.

  17

  Cap­ta­in Cal­que sur­ve­yed the dis­pa­ra­te gro­up in front of him. He was go­ing to ha­ve tro­ub­le with this lot. He just knew it. Knew it in his bo­nes. Gypsi­es al­ways shut up shop when tal­king to the po­li­ce - even when it was one of the­ir own who had be­en the vic­tim of a cri­me, as in this ca­se. Still they per­sis­ted in wan­ting to ta­ke the law in­to the­ir own hands.

  He nod­ded to Mac­ron. Mac­ron held up the pho­tog­raph of Sa­bir.

  ‘Ha­ve any of you se­en this man?’

  Not­hing. Not even a nod of re­cog­ni­ti­on.

  ‘Do any of you know who this man is?’

  ‘A kil­ler.’

  Cal­que shut his eyes. Oh well. At le­ast so­me­one had ac­tu­al­ly spo­ken to him. Ad­dres­sed a com­ment to him. ‘Not ne­ces­sa­rily. The mo­re we find out, the mo­re it se­ems that the­re may be a se­cond party in­vol­ved in this cri­me. A party whom we ha­ve not yet suc­ce­eded in iden­tif­ying.’

  ‘When are you go­ing to re­le­ase my brot­her’s body so that we can bury him?’

  The men we­re ma­king way for a yo­ung wo­man - she ma­no­e­uv­red her­self thro­ugh the clo­sed ranks of wo­men and child­ren and mo­ved to the fo­ref­ront of the gro­up.

  ‘Yo­ur brot­her?’

  ‘Ba­bel Sa­ma­na.’

  Cal­que nod­ded to Mac­ron, who be­gan wri­ting vi­go­ro­usly in a small black no­te­bo­ok. ‘And yo­ur na­me?’

  ‘Yo­la. Yo­la Sa­ma­na.’

  ‘And yo­ur pa­rents?’

  ‘They are de­ad.’

  ‘Any ot­her re­la­ti­ves?’

  Yo­la shrug­ged and in­di­ca­ted the sur­ro­un­ding sea of fa­ces.

  ‘Ever­yo­ne?’

  She nod­ded.

  ‘So what was he do­ing in Pa­ris?’

  She shrug­ged aga­in.

  ‘Anyo­ne know?’

  The­re was a gro­up shrug.

  Cal­que was bri­efly temp­ted to burst out la­ug­hing - but the fact that the as­sembly wo­uld pro­bably lynch him if he we­re to do so, pre­ven­ted him from gi­ving in to the emo­ti­on. ‘So can an­yo­ne tell me anyt­hing at all abo­ut Sa­ma­na? Who he was se­e­ing - apart from this man Sa­bir, of co­ur­se. Or why he was vi­si­ting St-De­nis?’

  Si­len­ce.

  Cal­que wa­ited. Thirty ye­ars of ex­pe­ri­en­ce had ta­ught him when and when not, to press an is­
sue.

  ‘When are you gi­ving him back?’

  Cal­que sum­mo­ned up a fa­ke sigh. ‘I can’t tell you that exactly. We may ne­ed his body for furt­her fo­ren­sic tests.’

  The yo­ung wo­man tur­ned to one of the ol­der ma­le gypsi­es. ‘We must bury him wit­hin three days.’

  The gypsy hitc­hed his chin at Cal­que. ‘Can we ha­ve him?’

  ‘I told you. No. Not yet.’

  ‘Can we ha­ve so­me of his ha­ir then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you gi­ve us so­me of his ha­ir, we can bury him. Along with his pos­ses­si­ons. It has to be do­ne wit­hin three days. Then you can do what you li­ke with the body.’

  ‘You can’t be se­ri­o­us.’

  ‘Will you do as we ask?’

  ‘Gi­ve you so­me of his ha­ir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Cal­que co­uld fe­el Mac­ron’s eyes bo­ring in­to the back of his he­ad. ‘Yes. We can gi­ve you so­me of his ha­ir. Send one of yo­ur pe­op­le to this ad­dress…’ Cal­que han­ded the gypsy a card. ‘To­mor­row. Then you can for­mal­ly iden­tify him and cut the ha­ir at the sa­me ti­me.’

  ‘I will go.’ It was the yo­ung wo­man - Sa­ma­na’s sis­ter.

  ‘Very well.’ Cal­que sto­od un­cer­ta­inly in the cent­re of the cle­aring. The pla­ce was so comp­le­tely ali­en to him and to his un­ders­tan­ding of what cons­ti­tu­ted a nor­mal so­ci­ety, that he might as well ha­ve be­en stan­ding in a ra­in­fo­rest dis­cus­sing et­hics with a gro­up of Ame­rin­di­an tri­bes­man.

  ‘You’ll call me if the Ame­ri­can, Sa­bir, tri­es to ma­ke con­tact with you in any way? My num­ber is writ­ten on the card.’

  He glan­ced aro­und at the as­semb­led gro­up.

  ‘I’ll ta­ke that as a yes, then.’

  18

  Sa­bir was clo­se to de­li­ri­um when they lif­ted him out of the wo­od-box. La­ter, when he tri­ed to re­as­semb­le the emo­ti­ons he had felt upon be­ing for­ced in­to the box, he fo­und that his mind had bloc­ked them out en­ti­rely. For self-pro­tec­ti­on, he as­su­med.

  For he hadn’t be­en lying when he sa­id he was cla­ust­rop­ho­bic. Ye­ars be­fo­re, as a child, so­me scho­ol­ma­tes had pla­yed a prank on him which had in­vol­ved loc­king him in­si­de the trunk of a pro­fes­sor’s car. He had blac­ked out then, too. The pro­fes­sor had fo­und him, half de­ad, three ho­urs la­ter. Ma­de a Hell of a stink abo­ut it. The story had ap­pe­ared in all the lo­cal news­pa­pers.

  Sa­bir had cla­imed not to re­mem­ber who had per­pet­ra­ted the prank, but al­most a de­ca­de on he had had his re­ven­ge. As a jo­ur­na­list him­self he had be­co­me pos­ses­sed of con­si­de­rab­le po­wers of in­nu­en­do and he had used the­se to the full. But the re­ven­ge hadn’t cu­red him of his cla­ust­rop­ho­bia - if anyt­hing, in re­cent ye­ars, it had got even wor­se.

  Now he co­uld fe­el him­self sic­ke­ning. His hand was throb­bing and he sus­pec­ted that he may ha­ve pic­ked up an in­fec­ti­on du­ring the co­ur­se of the night. The cuts had re­ope­ned and as he’d had not­hing to cle­an them with be­fo­re re­ap­plying the ban­da­ge, he co­uld only pre­su­me that they had at­trac­ted a few un­wan­ted bac­te­ria along the way - the in­car­ce­ra­ti­on in the wo­od-box must simply ha­ve com­po­un­ded the is­sue. His he­ad lol­led back­wards. He tri­ed to ra­ise a hand but co­uldn’t - in fact, his en­ti­re body se­emed be­yond his cont­rol. He felt him­self be­ing car­ri­ed in­to a shady pla­ce, then up a few sta­irs and in­to a ro­om in which light drif­ted on to his fa­ce thro­ugh co­lo­ured pa­nes of glass. His last me­mo­ri­es we­re of a pa­ir of dark brown eyes sta­ring in­tently in­to his, as if the­ir ow­ner we­re trying to plumb the very depths of his so­ul.

  ***

  He awo­ke to a de­ade­ning he­adac­he. The air was stif­ling and he fo­und dif­fi­culty in bre­at­hing, as if his lungs had be­en three-qu­ar­ters fil­led with fo­am rub­ber whilst he was sle­eping. He lo­oked down at his hand. It had be­en ne­atly re­ban­da­ged. He tri­ed to ra­ise it but only ma­na­ged one de­sul­tory twitch be­fo­re al­lo­wing it to col­lap­se help­les­sly back on to the bed.

  He re­ali­sed that he was in­si­de a ca­ra­van. Day­light was stre­aming in thro­ugh the co­lo­ured glass win­dows be­si­de him. He at­temp­ted to ra­ise his he­ad to see out of the sing­le whi­te pa­ne but the ef­fort was be­yond him. He col­lap­sed back on to the pil­low. He’d ne­ver felt so comp­le­tely out of con­tact with his body be­fo­re - it was as if he and his limbs had be­co­me di­sj­o­in­ted in so­me way and the key to the­ir ret­ri­eval had be­en lost.

  Well. At le­ast he wasn’t de­ad. Or in a po­li­ce hos­pi­tal. One had to lo­ok on the bright si­de.

  ***

  When next he awo­ke it was night-ti­me. Just be­fo­re ope­ning his eyes, he be­ca­me awa­re of a pre­sen­ce be­si­de him. He pre­ten­ded to be as­le­ep, and al­lo­wed his he­ad to loll to one si­de. Then he crac­ked his eye­lids and tri­ed to pick up who­ever was sit­ting the­re in the dark­ness wit­ho­ut her be­ing awa­re of his lo­ok. For it was a wo­man - of that he was cer­ta­in. The­re was the he­avy scent of patc­ho­uli and so­me ot­her, mo­re elu­si­ve smelt, that re­min­ded him va­gu­ely of do­ugh. Per­haps this per­son had be­en kne­ading bre­ad?

  He al­lo­wed his eyes to open wi­der. Sa­ma­na’s sis­ter was perc­hed on the cha­ir at his bed­si­de. She was hunc­hed for­ward, as if in pra­yer. But the­re was the glint of a kni­fe in her lap.

  ‘I am won­de­ring whet­her to kill you.’

  Sa­bir swal­lo­wed. He tri­ed to ap­pe­ar calm but he was still ha­ving tro­ub­le in­ha­ling and his bre­ath ca­me out in small, un­com­for­tab­le puffs, li­ke a wo­man in child­birth. ‘Are you go­ing to? I wish you’d get on with it then. I’m cer­ta­inly not ab­le to de­fend myself - li­ke that ti­me you had me ti­ed up and we­re go­ing to cast­ra­te me. You’re just as sa­fe now. I can’t even ra­ise my hand to ward you off.’

  ‘Just li­ke my brot­her.’

  ‘I didn’t kill yo­ur brot­her. How many ti­mes do I ha­ve to tell you? I met him on­ce. He at­tac­ked me. God knows why. Then he told me to co­me he­re.’

  ‘Why did you wink at me li­ke that?’

  ‘It was the only way I co­uld think of to com­mu­ni­ca­te my in­no­cen­ce to you.’

  ‘But it an­ge­red me. I ne­arly kil­led you then.’

  ‘I had to risk that. The­re was no ot­her way.’

  She sat back, con­si­de­ring.

  ‘Is it you that’s be­en tre­ating me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Funny way to be­ha­ve to so­me­one you in­tend to kill.’

  ‘I didn’t say I in­ten­ded to kill you. I sa­id I was thin­king abo­ut it.’

  ‘What wo­uld you do with me? With my body?’

  ‘The men wo­uld jo­int you, li­ke a pig. Then we’d burn you.’

  The­re was an un­com­for­tab­le si­len­ce. Sa­bir fell to won­de­ring how he had ma­na­ged to get him­self in­to a po­si­ti­on li­ke this. And for what? ‘How long ha­ve I be­en he­re?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He re­ac­hed down and lif­ted his bad hand with his go­od. ‘What was wrong with me? Is wrong with me?’

  ‘Blo­od po­iso­ning. I tre­ated you with herbs and ka­olin po­ul­ti­ces. The in­fec­ti­on had mo­ved to yo­ur lungs. But you’ll li­ve.’

  ‘Are you qu­ite su­re of that?’ Sa­bir im­me­di­ately sen­sed that his ef­fort at sar­casm had en­ti­rely pas­sed her by.

  ‘I spo­ke to the phar­ma­cist.’

  ‘The who?’

  ‘The wo­man who tre­ated yo­ur cuts. The na­me of whe­re she wor­ked was in the news­pa­per. I went to Pa­ris to col­lect so­me of my
brot­her’s ha­ir. Now we are go­ing to bury him.’

  ‘What did the wo­man say?’

  ‘That you are tel­ling the truth.’

  ‘So who do you think kil­led yo­ur brot­her.’

  ‘You. Or anot­her man.’

  ‘Still me?’

  ‘The ot­her man, per­haps. But you we­re part of it.’

  ‘So why don’t you kill me now and ha­ve do­ne with it? Jo­int me li­ke a suc­king pig?’

  ‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’ She slip­ped the kni­fe back un­der­ne­ath her dress. ‘You will see.’

  19

  La­ter that sa­me night they hel­ped Sa­bir out of the ca­ra­van and in­to the cle­aring. A co­up­le of the men had const­ruc­ted a lit­ter and they lif­ted him on to it and car­ri­ed him out in­to the fo­rest and along a mo­on­lit track.

  Sa­ma­na’s sis­ter wal­ked be­si­de him as if she ow­ned him, or had so­me ot­her ves­ted in­te­rest in his pre­sen­ce. Which I sup­po­se she do­es, tho­ught Sa­bir to him­self. I’m her in­su­ran­ce po­licy aga­inst ha­ving to think.

  A squ­ir­rel ran ac­ross the track in front of them and the wo­men be­gan to chat­ter ex­ci­tedly amongst them­sel­ves.

  ‘What’s that all abo­ut?’

  ‘A squ­ir­rel is a lucky omen.’

  ‘What’s a bad one?’

  She shot a lo­ok at him, then de­ci­ded that he was not be­ing flip­pant… ‘An owl.’ She lo­we­red her vo­ice. ‘A sna­ke. The worst is a rat.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ He fo­und that he was lo­we­ring his vo­ice too.

  ‘They are mah­rimé. Pol­lu­ted. It is bet­ter not to men­ti­on them.’

  ‘Ah.’

  By this ti­me they had re­ac­hed anot­her cle­aring, fur­nis­hed with cand­les and flo­wers.

  ‘So we’re bur­ying yo­ur brot­her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you ha­ven’t got his body? Just his ha­ir?’

 

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