‘That’s it,’ he said aloud to himself.
He aimed again at the rock and steadied his hand. He put his finger on the trigger. It was then that he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned a fraction to his right and to his horror he saw an old grey donkey walking slowly towards him. On top of the animal sat an elderly man, dressed in a dirty white robe, with a faded black hat on his head, protecting him from the sun. He wore dark glasses on his face and a pair of brown sandals on his feet.
Presumably as protection from the wind and sand, his mouth and nose were covered with a large, off-white handkerchief.
‘Shit,’ Hedge shouted.
This came out too loud and the Old Man looked up and spoke. ‘Who is it? What are you doing? Tell me why you are here?’
The Old Man was speaking English but it came out heavily accented, and slightly muffled from the handkerchief, and Hedge could only just understand it.
‘Who is it, what are you doing?’ repeated the Old Man.
Hedge was still holding the gun out at full stretch and he brought his arm round so that it was pointing directly at the Old Man. He felt panicky, and his anxiety had suddenly started to rise. Hedge had no idea who this man was, but he didn’t want to be caught in possession of a firearm in a country where he didn’t belong. They had strict laws about weapons in this part of the world and he guessed that the penalty for having a loaded gun could be quite serious.
However, it wasn’t these thoughts that were making him so anxious. It was the handkerchief around the man’s face. As he stared at the Old Man, he started to shake, and an uncontrollable fear began to take hold of him.
It wasn’t a rational fear, he knew that, and he also knew where the problem had originated. It had taken several hours of expensive therapy many years ago to work it all out. The handkerchief phobia had developed as it was linked to several traumatic experiences he had endured during his time at boarding school. He still wasn’t always able to control his reaction to the fear, but at least it helped to understand where it came from. Some of the things he had issues with were quite minor, but when it came to handkerchiefs, the reaction was usually quite severe. As well as a therapist, he had also been to see various doctors about his issues, and they had helped to explain about the effects of the anxiety attacks, but they hadn’t cured him. So it was as with most anxiety therefore, that the intensity of the feelings that were generated was out of all proportion to the danger of the actual situation.
Hedge’s mind was racing and he was gripped with terror. He struggled to focus his eyes and his hands were trembling badly. He had a look of fright on his face and his mouth was wide open as if in a state of shock. Part of his mind was telling him that he would have to shoot the man, but another part of his brain was saying that would be a drastic and totally unnecessary thing to do. He was gripped in the anxiety attack, and he didn’t know what to do. Panic had overtaken him. He wasn’t sure that the gun would fire, even if he pressed the trigger. Was the man armed, and would he shoot back if he missed?
The Old Man was only about thirty feet away now and so Hedge had to make a decision. Should he shoot or should he just run? One part of his brain was telling him that this was not a rational thing to consider, but another side to his thinking made this feel like a genuine threat. He was confused. He couldn’t think straight.
The donkey kept moving towards him and it was only twenty feet away when total panic overcame him and he subconsciously made his decision. He put pressure on the trigger with his finger and he heard a loud click. The gun was aimed squarely at the Old Man’s chest. Hedge was sweating and he could feel the moisture running from his forehead and stinging his eyes. His head was spinning and his hand was still shaking. He pressed a little harder on the trigger and held his breath. There was a loud noise like a clap of thunder that seemed to echo around inside his eardrums, followed by a flash of lightning, and then his vision went completely black.
He must have lost consciousness for just a split second, but he had managed to remain standing. Coming back to reality, he tried to refocus his eyes, but to his horror the next thing he saw was the Old Man falling off the side of the donkey.
‘Oh shit!’ he said the words out loud.
What had he done?
Chapter Twenty Three
Hedge was shaking violently. His hand dropped and the gun fell onto the sand next to his feet.
Had he really just shot the man on the donkey?
Everything had happened so quickly, he couldn’t even remember whether he had heard the Glock firing. He was struggling for breath and he looked again to see where the Old Man had fallen. It felt like his eyes were playing tricks as he didn’t quite believe what he saw. The Old Man was standing next to the donkey and was staring over towards him.
Hedge tried to focus his eyes. It wasn’t easy as he was still quite nervous, and the sun’s rays were reflecting brightly off the surface of the sand. He looked closely at the Old Man. There was no blood, no bullet wound, in fact no damage at all. He looked perfectly well.
This wasn’t entirely true, Hedge realised, as the Old Man slowly took off his dark glasses. Hedge stared at him, and he felt his mouth drop open. The Old Man’s eyes were completely white, with a kind of glaze across them both. He leaned over the donkey and pulled a stick from the pack it was carrying. As he moved forward towards Hedge he poked the ground deliberately with the stick, before tentatively placing each foot onto the soft sand. As he came close, Hedge watched with some relief as the Old Man pulled the handkerchief away from his face and pushed it into his trouser pocket
‘Hello, my friend, what are you doing at this water hole? We don’t find many people here normally. My name is Ahmed, who might you be?’
He continued to poke the stick at the ground ahead of him as he took his last few steps. Hedge realised that Ahmed couldn’t see, he was completely blind. He also realised that he hadn’t actually fired the gun at him. So the Old Man had no idea that Hedge even had the pistol.
‘Hello, my name is Hedge. I have journeyed out here to get a view of the desert. I’m travelling around the area.’
Hedge moved his right foot and gently kicked the gun behind him as he spoke.
Ahmed explained that he came to this spot every few days to exercise and water his donkey. It was a trip of some three miles or so from where he lived. He didn’t get to talk with many people these days.
Ahmed seemed delighted to have stumbled across someone to chat to. He looked very frail and Hedge thought he must have been well over eighty years old. He spoke good English, although some of the pronunciation was a little strange. Hedge wondered if that might be because Ahmed only had half of his original teeth left, and those remaining were black, or at best a dark shade of yellow.
Ahmed jabbered on for a few minutes, he clearly liked to talk. Hedge said nothing, just nodded and smiled as Ahmed spoke – not that his unseeing eyes would have noticed. He talked about the weather, his family, the animals he kept, and a few more subjects besides. Quite suddenly as if realising he may be boring his new friend, the Old Man cut off his oratory. He turned and walked slowly back to his donkey and guided the animal towards the water to drink.
As he stood there, he turned his head slightly towards Hedge and he shouted over to him. ‘You must stop at my house on the way back to the city. It’s on the main road, so it’s easy to find. Look out for the small field with an old wooden fence. You will see this one here and several other donkeys. I will expect you in about one hour. Please don’t let down a lonely, old peasant. My daughter visits every day at noon to check on me, so she will be there to serve us some fresh mint tea.’
Hedge found it difficult to refuse him and so he said he would call by. Ahmed struggled back onto the donkey and was gone almost as quickly as he had arrived.
‘That was a close one,’ Hedge said to himself.
He was horrified that he had nearly shot the Old Man but for some reason the Glock hadn’t fired. He lean
ed down and picked up the gun, then waited a few more minutes to give Ahmed time to be well out of hearing range. He brushed off the sand, took out the magazine and replaced it as he had before. He pulled back the slider mechanism again and once more aimed the gun at the rock before pulling hard on the trigger.
This time the Glock fired. There was no mistaking it, as the noise was deafening and the recoil forced his wrist backwards with surprising force. A cloud of sand jumped into the air just a few inches behind the protruding rock.
Hedge yelled with delight. He had started to believe that the gun was faulty. He aimed once more at the protruding rock, this time more carefully, aligning the middle of the target with the sight on the barrel of the Glock. He gently pulled the trigger and the gun fired again. This time, to his amazement, the bullet hit the rock and several small fragments flew into the air. Hedge allowed himself a big smile and he felt a new surge of confidence.
‘This is fun,’ he thought to himself.
He fired several more shots at the rock, some of them from slightly further away. He managed to hit the target three more times, which he thought was a reasonable result. With his last shot, he aimed at the middle of the drinking pool and watched as a small splash of water showed exactly where the bullet had landed.
He was tempted to continue his target practice, but thought it would be best to finish up and move on. He wiped the gun down with the sleeve of his shirt, then packed up his stuff and headed back to the car.
A short while later Hedge was knocking on the door of Ahmed’s house. Not really a house, Hedge thought to himself as he pulled off the road, more of a shack. The grey donkey was now in a small field to one side of the dwelling, along with a group of other bedraggled looking specimens. The animals seemed content though, standing in the sun chewing on dry hay and drinking from a rusty old trough.
There was an old, dark blue car parked next to the house. Obviously not Ahmed’s, so Hedge guessed it must belong to his daughter.
The door finally opened and a woman dressed in a black robe asked him to come in.
‘We have been expecting you. My name is Asha. You are most welcome,’ she said.
Hedge was shown into a badly lit room at the back of the house where Ahmed was sitting. He was drinking from a small, white cup. He was delighted that Hedge had decided to stop by, and he chatted continuously while they both drank tea. Asha hovered in the background, occasionally filling up the cups with a brew that reminded him of mint sauce diluted in hot sugary water.
Ahmed had just finished a story about the old days - when Dubai was just a small town on the edge of the desert, and he had then changed the subject and asked Hedge what kind of work he did. Hedge was explaining to the Old Man what his previous job had involved. He hadn't quite finished his story when he noticed that Ahmed’s eyes had shut. He stopped talking, and in the silence he could hear a gentle snoring sound. Ahmed was fast asleep.
Asha entered the room at that point and laughed. ‘He must find your conversation very interesting.’ She said this with a hint of sarcasm.
She laughed again, but then went on to explain that her father gets tired very easily and often falls asleep without warning. Hedge moved into the kitchen and watched Asha wash the cups. She must have been around his age, and she spoke excellent English. As he stood watching her, he could see the outline of her slim body against the fabric of her robe. She was talking about her father, and Hedge liked listening to her as she had a soft, gentle voice.
‘So how have you managed to bore my father to sleep then? I thought you Americans were always so interesting!’ She said this with a mischievous smile.
‘Well apparently not as interesting as you might think. I didn't realise I was so dull,’ he said.
‘Ha-ha, but I’m sure you are not dull. Just a small joke I couldn’t resist. He gets exhausted quite easily these days.’
She turned and took a small towel which was hanging on the back of a chair, and started to wipe dry the cups. Hedge studied her as she wiped. Her face was smooth with well-defined features. She had a slightly hooked nose, typical of many Arabic girls in the region. Her eyes were dark, and he thought he saw some sadness in them.
‘Do you live nearby,’ he asked.
‘Not far, near the edge of the city. We have a small apartment, my husband and I. It is ideal for us, and not expensive. There are a lot of foreign people buying property in Dubai these days, and prices are too high for many local workers. We are lucky though as we bought our home several years ago.’
She made some more mint tea and they continued to talk as they drank. They seemed very comfortable chatting together, and they both relaxed as they enjoyed each other’s company. He told her about his life as a small boy in the United States, and then how the family had moved to England. She talked about her husband and their lives in the Emirates. Hedge was interested to learn more about her family.
‘Do you have children?’ He immediately regretted the question. It sounded like he was prying into personal matters. A question that might often be asked back home in London, but here it may well be considered slightly rude.
‘No, we don’t, no children.’ She replied, but she answered too quickly.
Hedge realised he had made a mistake.
The woman turned away from him and she fell silent.
Chapter Twenty Four
Asha stood with her back to him and faced the window. The view outside was of dry sand and scrub. It stretched as far as the eye could see into the distance.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to ....’ he started to say.
‘It’s a barren view, don’t you agree,’ she said softly. ‘Barren and very much like me. I am not able to bear children. My husband says it is god’s wish, but I do not believe that. It is because I went through a certain ritual just before my fifth birthday. All the girls in my village did. We didn’t have a proper doctor and so it was the tribal elder who performed “the cutting of the girls.”’
Hedge felt uncomfortable listening to Asha talking about something so personal to her. He guessed she was referring to the practice of female circumcision, or Female Genital Mutilation as it was commonly called. He knew it was prevalent in many African and Middle Eastern countries. A fellow student at university, who had been studying Sociology, had explained the concept to him in some detail. His friend had been following a case study of a group of girls in Somalia who had all undergone the same ritual at a very early age. The investigation had revealed that various degrees of mutilation had occurred, from simple removal of the clitoris, to complete removal of all external parts of the female genitalia. In one case, following the surgery, the girl’s vaginal entrance had been sewn up to prevent her ever having intercourse.
To call it surgery was not strictly correct, his friend had explained. In fact, most of the mutilations are done with unsterilised knives, and without any proper anaesthetic.
Hedge winced as he thought about it, but he listened sympathetically as Asha continued.
‘It was very painful, and I recall seeing a lot of blood. I had to be held down by two older men. It hurt for many weeks after, but do you know the worst thing about it all?’
Hedge looked at her, and shook his head gently.
‘The most horrible thing is that I screamed for my mother. Help me Mama, I called. I was still wailing as I looked round the room, and then I saw her. I saw my mother. She was standing there in the corner. She walked over to where I was being held down, leaned over me, took my hand, and told me to be brave. I still can’t believe it. She was there, right next to me, while they brutalised me. My own mother - I was four years old!’
She turned to look back out of the window.
Hedge felt sickened by what he had just heard. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what the right words would be. So he said nothing as he moved over and stood next to her. He put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed gently. They stood together, silent, staring out at the bleak landscape.
Afte
r a while she looked at him. ‘I don't know why I told you that story, but I think you understand the pain. You have had some hurt also in your life, I think.’
He looked at her and smiled. She seemed calmer now somehow.
‘A little, maybe,’ he said.
As he stood there next to her, he remembered earlier that day when he had first met her father. He had been close to shooting him. He felt quite ashamed that he could have been responsible for inflicting more grief on this woman.
What a crazy day it had been, he thought to himself again.
He felt tired. It was time to get back to the hotel.
Ahmed had woken again, so he said goodbye to him, and to Asha. He said he hoped that they might meet again someday, but it seemed unlikely he thought.
He climbed into the car and headed back to the city.
It was now late afternoon and he parked up at the back of the hotel. Sitting in the vehicle for a few moments, he reflected on his impromptu trip into the desert. Firing the Glock had been exciting. The chance meeting with Ahmed could have turned out badly, but didn’t. Talking to Asha had been quite an emotional experience.
He walked back into the hotel and took the elevator up to his room where he lay back on his bed. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but nothing would surprise him at the moment. His usual dull life seemed to have changed and he wondered when it would all get back to normal, if ever. He closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. A few seconds later he was fast asleep.
Chapter Twenty Five
Hedge’s room phone was ringing and it woke him up.
It was Cole. ‘Meet us down in the lobby in thirty minutes. We need to work out what we are going to do next’.
The Palindrome Cult: A gripping, page-turning, crime suspense thriller, its fast pace takes you from London to New York, via Dubai and the Virgin Islands. (Hedge & Cole Book 1) Page 10