by Prue Mason
All of a sudden, I feel pleased I’m not stuck out here on my own. Even if Walid is a half-wit who can’t speak English and Marge is only a goat, at least they’re here. It’s like now there are others to share this situation with the whole thing has become more like an adventure than a disaster.
I can’t help grinning to myself when I think about what the Hartlisses would have said to each other when they realised I wasn’t with Jason’s family, that I wasn’t in any of the cars. Even better – what are they going to tell Mum and Dad? They’ll be feeling pretty stupid, I bet. That definitely cheers me up. And when I turn up safe and sound everyone will be so pleased to see me, they won’t even tell me off.
And I’m not even too worried about what’ll happen with the war when we get back. Mr Hartliss reckoned that the Americans would be there before you could blink because they won’t want the Mafi controlling the oil wells. When the Yanks arrive with their F-18s and B-52s and cruise missiles, the Mafi won’t know what hit them. It’ll probably be all over by the time we get back there.
But if we want to get back at all, we’d better get this expedition moving. I look up at the sky. Explorers always use the stars.
‘Holy Hell! Where did they all come from?’ There are suddenly millions up there, and I can’t pick out any stars I know at all. I feel myself starting to panic and I try to remember everything I learned at Scouts. But I didn’t go for long because it was down at Ras-al-Haq, which is about an hour’s drive from Abudai, and Mum got sick of driving me there every week.
The only thing I can remember is that the north star is the one to follow, for some reason. But I don’t have a clue why or which one is the north star. How can I tell which direction is north?
Everything’s getting blacker. The valley feels like it’s closing in around us. We have to get going. We have to walk at least 40 kilometres tonight. But which way? I can hardly even see a metre in front of me.
‘Which bloody way do we have to go?’ I know Walid can’t understand a word I say, but I shout at him all the same.
I’m starting to get angry. Even if he could understand me, he probably wouldn’t make a decision anyway. Mr Hartliss says these people can’t make decisions. Not even to save their own lives. He says they reckon it’s all in Allah’s hands and everything in life only happens because Allah wills it.
‘What am I going to do? I’m stuck here in the middle of the mountains with a sneaky little idiot who expects me to know everything and do everything. Why?’ I yell at Walid.
He cringes away.
Allah! This one is going mad with the darkness. Maybe now I should be running fast away, for in his craziness he may try to kill me. But without the goat and Ad-am’s knife to kill it, I will surely die. What to do?
‘It’s not fair!’ I scream. ‘It’s not fair.’ And I can’t help it. This terrible panicky feeling wells up inside me and I begin to sob in a dry retching sort of way. Why did this have to happen to me? Then, just as I think things can’t get any worse, they do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVENING, DAY ONE
‘The goat!’
Foolish Adam did not hobble its feet and tied this animal only to the tree. It has eaten the rope.
‘Besurah! Hurry! We must catch the goat.’
Walid yells something at me as if it’s my fault. But I can’t believe she got away. I used double reef knots! Then I realise she’s obviously chewed through the ropes. I feel like an idiot. I should have hobbled her feet. Maybe that’s what Walid was trying to tell me. Maybe he’s smarter than I’ve given him credit for.
‘Look! There she is!’ We see Marge through the trees and we both take off after her. With all the surfing I do, I’ve got strong legs and I’m a good runner. Walid is, too. He’s amazing for someone so skinny. He keeps up with me.
‘We’ve got to catch her,’ I yell to Walid. I’ve got this feeling that Marge is our lucky mascot, and if she gets away, then nothing will work out. I can hear her snickering as if she’s laughing at us as she trots up the valley. We follow the sound.
We are running fast after the goat. And Ad-am has stopped his crying. Maybe he is not so crazy, but just scared in the darkness. Now, at last, he is showing some sense.
‘Together we will catch her.’
It’s hard to see where we’re going and we crash through thorny bushes and trip over rocks. Walid’s bare feet must be tough as old boots because he doesn’t seem to notice.
Then we hear Marge scrambling up the mountain side. It’s alright for her, she’s a mountain goat. At least it’s not too high or steep. We scramble up after her, then chase her down the other side and up a narrow valley that seems to go for quite a way, deeper into the mountains.
We’re both panting and my chest hurts from running so hard.
Then we hear Marge snicker in a way that sounds like she’s pleased with herself. Almost straight away there’s another noise. It’s a loud splashing.
‘Hey!’ I shout and turn to Walid. ‘Good old Marge. She’s found water!’
Marge is calmly drinking from a pool of water that’s about knee deep on her, so it’s up to my shins. She only looks up and bleats a bit as Walid grabs her by the tail and I hold her around the neck. Between us we manoeuvre her out of the water and get her down on her side. The only thing we’ve got to tie her up with is my belt. Walid holds her legs together, which is a tough job because she starts to kick. I strap the belt around her legs and make sure it’s pulled tight so she can’t move. She bleats a bit, and I feel bad, but we can’t let her get away again.
‘It’s okay, girl,’ I say, as she looks up at me with those trusting brown eyes. ‘We’re not going to hurt you. We just want you to come with us and be our pet for the next few days.’ I scratch the hard part on her head and then the soft spot behind her ears, and she snickers as if she’s enjoying it.
Walid and I look at each other and he starts to smile for a change. Out of habit, I swing my arm up and go to give him a hi-five like we always do in the Sea Ks.
Walid ducks away like I’m trying to hit him or something.
‘What is this? I do not understand. But, if you want a fight, then you must know I am very tough.’
He frowns at me. Again.
‘Come on, lighten up, Walid. I wasn’t trying to hit you. I only wanted to give you a hi-five. I mean, what planet are you from? You don’t know about hi-fives and you wear jocks on your head.’
He looks as if he’d like to fight me. I give up. I’m off to jump into the small pool of water Marge has found. It must have been filled by the storm today. I feel all itchy from dried sweat, and I’m hot and sore from my sunburn. Even though it’s really dark now, it’s still hot, and the water is warm, but it’s still nice. It’s like being in a bath.
*
Now Ad-am sees I am too tough so he does not want to fight. But he is so crazy. I do not understand. He cries and then he laughs, he threatens me and then he walks away. Infidels!
This is good to find water, for now I can wash myself before praying. Maybe, when I am clean, Allah will listen to my prayers and help us on our journey to Abudai.
As I lie back in the water, I watch Walid carefully wash his face and hands and feet. Then he faces Mecca, bows and kneels down to pray.
Then, I get this urge to do something dumb. I was told once that when Muslims start saying their prayers they’re not allowed to stop for anything, not a fire, not an emergency, not for anything. If they do, they think they’ll go straight to Hell.
I decide to find out if it’s true. I splash Walid. He doesn’t move. He keeps muttering his prayers. I splash him again. He still doesn’t move. I go for the ultimate test and I stand up and cup some water in my hands and trickle it over his head. He doesn’t even shake his head.
I’m starting to feel like an idiot. He really takes this praying business seriously. Our family isn’t that religious and we never go to church except for weddings, but I suddenly get this prickling, guilty feeling. What I
’m doing would be like shouting in a church and making fun of the priest while he’s conducting a service. I’ve probably really offended him.
He finishes with a last ‘Allah Akbar’ and then lifts his head. His eyes look black and fierce.
‘Hey, sorry man, I was just seeing if –’ He comes at me, flailing. It’s like some crazy switch has been flicked on in his brain. He jumps at me and knocks me backwards into the water. Then he leaps on me. It’s lucky I’m bigger and stronger or else I’m sure he’d have drowned me. We wrestle, churning the water up. There’s water up my nose, in my eyes. We only stop when we’re both spluttering and coughing. We’re gasping for breath as we back off from each other.
‘I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It was a stupid joke.’ I know I’m gabbling and he can’t understand, but I can’t help it. He must think I’m a complete moron. He still looks pretty angry. Maybe if I give him something … What have I got? What would he want? Then, I remember the way he looks at my Swiss Army knife. Like he thought it was magic with the way all the blades and bits pull out. I hate to give it away, but I can always get another one. And if I need it before we get to Abudai, I can always borrow it.
I take it out of my pocket and hold it out. He looks at the knife and then back at me.
‘Look, as-salaam – peace. Take it. It’s yours.’
Allah! It is a wonderful thing with so many blades and other things all fitted into a red box. With this I could –
‘Now can we be friends?’ I search my memory for the Arabic word for ‘friends’. ‘Salaak?’ I say, hoping he won’t be angry any more.
Salaak? I had friends in my village. Boys I played with. Ad-am is not my friend. And I am thinking: he is an Infidel. Should I be friends with an Infidel? But I think he might be simple; maybe he was wanting only to play. Old Goat says that Infidels are never praying. And Allah did not strike him down when he was making fun.
Walid looks puzzled. But at least he doesn’t look like he wants to kill me any more. I’m trying not to worry about the fact that I’ve just given him a weapon. But even though he tried to drown me, I think I can kind of understand why. It was just the heat of the moment. For some reason, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really want to do me any harm.
I did not flinch in my prayers, and Allah has rewarded me with this good knife, so maybe it was only a test of my will. If Ad-am wants to play, I will play with him.
Walid smiles at me. I feel so relieved. ‘Come on, I’ll show you how to do a proper hi-five.’
Walid’s a quick learner and soon we’re laughing and slapping our hands together like we’re old mates. We even go for a swim.
When we finally get out of the water I think about grabbing a dry shirt. It’s only then I remember that I’ve left the backpack in the other valley.
‘Oh God! The backpack’s got everything in it – the mobile and the food as well as fresh clothes! I didn’t even think about it when we took off after Marge.’
Walid looks worried too, but it’s not about the bag. He puts his hand up to his head and pulls out his wad of dirham notes from under the jocks. They’re all wet and screwed up.
‘You need to dry them out,’ I say and reach for them.
He backs away. ‘I’m not going to pinch your money,’ I say, as he quickly shoves the soggy notes back under the jocks. He looks at me like he thinks I really was going to steal them.
‘I’m more worried about what we’re going to eat tomorrow.’ I mime like I’m eating something.
He is wanting to eat the meat of the dog that he has left in his bag. He probably eats the flesh of pigs as well. Perhaps Old Goat is right. These Infidels are unclean. They do not pray and they do not eat Halal. We cannot be friends.
Walid turns away. Why would he care? He probably hasn’t even thought about tomorrow and how we’re going to get out of this mess.
In the car Mr Hartliss said that Muslims never think ahead. He reckons everything is left up to God, then when things go wrong because of something stupid they’ve done they can still blame it on Allah. He reckons that will be the Mafi’s excuse later on. He said that’s the big difference between Easterners and Westerners. We take responsibility and we make decisions. Maybe Mr Hartliss was right.
But what do I do now? I try hard not to panic. I’ve got to think properly for a change and not just rush in. Okay. Do I know where the bag is? All I know is that it’s in a valley not that far from here, but I’m not exactly sure how far we came or, for that matter, where we are right now. All I can tell is that this valley has come to a dead end. The cliff face behind the pool of water is steep and would be hard to climb.
The point is, we’re already lost. So do we want to get even more lost? Not really. And it’s so dark I probably wouldn’t even be able to see the bag if I tripped over it. If I’m being smart, I have to admit there’s no urgency to go back and get it. The phone is out of charge so no one can ring me anyway.
I’m positive I’ll be able to find it when it gets light. I mean, the bag’s lime green and day-glo orange so it should stand out amongst all the grey and brown scenery.
Just then my stomach grumbles. I’m starving. I know if I go back now and find my bag, I’ll be tempted to eat the dog food, and we’ve got to save it for when we really need it. I can’t even milk Marge because we’ve got nothing to put the milk into.
I can hear her kicking her legs on the ground and bleating. She’s trying to get up. I feel bad about strapping her feet together with my belt, but I can’t let our lucky mascot get away again. If I go back looking for my bag now it’ll be too awkward taking Marge and getting Walid to understand. And I’m suddenly feeling so tired. It’s been a long day. Too long. And too many things have gone wrong. I just want to curl up and sleep and forget about everything for awhile.
‘Ad-am, we must kill the goat for food. This meat is good. Not like the meat of a dog.’
I recognise the Arabic word for dog and the word zain, which means good. ‘Yeah.’ I say, nodding. ‘Aywah. Dogs are good.’
A picture of Tara sitting by our gate, hungry and worried, comes into my head. To stop myself thinking about her, I make a new plan for us.
‘I know I said we’d travel by night, but there’s no point trying to walk a long way if I’m feeling like this. The best thing to do is have a good night’s sleep. Find the bag in the morning. Come back here where there’s water, eat something and rest up for travelling tomorrow night. Okay?’ I point to the sky and sort of mime lying down and closing my eyes.
Walid nods his head. I think he understands.
It’s not easy to get comfortable, but I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. It’s been one long day. It feels like a year since Mum came into my room before she left. If only I …
I must have finally dozed off. It’s the scream that wakes me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DAWN, DAY TWO
I sit bolt upright and realise, by the grey light, that it’s around dawn. I feel the hairs on my arms prickling. The sound was so close. It was like someone was being murdered.
I hope it was just Walid having a bad dream. Then I look around and see him leaning over Marge. Even though I feel scared, I almost laugh because he still hasn’t taken the jocks off his head. I see Marge kicking her legs. What is he doing? Then I hear a gurgling sound and I breathe in the smell of something so sweet it’s sickly. And strong. It makes me cough.
Walid grins at me, and jumps up. He’s trying to give me a hi-five like he’s done something wonderful.
‘Oh God, you’ve got blood all over your hands!’
‘I have killed the goat as we agreed last night, and now we will have a good feast today,’ I am telling him.
But Ad-am is looking very scared and then, suddenly, he screams at me and starts crying like a bint for the life of this goat.
But why? He agreed that we must kill the goat. Because I know he is soft with this animal, I was thinking to kill it before he wakes. Now he is actin
g crazy.
‘That’s it!’ I scream at him. ‘You’re nothing but a little murderer, and as far as I’m concerned you can look after yourself from now on.’
Now I can understand why someone tied him up and dumped him. I feel like slitting his throat. But I can’t even touch the knife. Not after what he did with it. It’s covered in blood and hair.
All I want to do is get away from him and away from Marge’s staring, glazed eyes. She’s lying there with her head twisted up at an unnatural angle and that horrible gaping area around her neck like a wide open mouth with blood gushing out.
‘Leave me alone!’ I scream at him.
I’ve been running and running and I’m starting to feel sick. And it’s too hot to stay angry. It takes too much energy and I need all I’ve got to climb these ridges. I’ve decided that after I find my backpack, it’ll be best to go back to the pool. There’s nothing else to do. I’ll need to make sure the water bottle is full before I head off. I don’t know when I’ll be able to fill it up again. I can’t count on storms every day, although I’m hoping some of the wadis might have water in them now. Besides, it’s too hot to travel for long today and I don’t want to end up like I did yesterday. I’m going to try and rest up and do double the kilometres tonight.
I don’t care what Walid does. As far as I’m concerned he’s on his own – though I bet he tries to follow me anyway. I suppose it’s better. At least I can see what he’s up to.
I just don’t understand. Last night at the pool, I thought we were starting to be friends, but how could I ever trust him now?
‘Please let this be the right valley,’ I pray out loud, as I make my way up the slope. I’ve done more praying in the last twenty-four hours than I’ve done for years. God’s giving me a hard time, though, because not much is working out. I reach the crest of the slope and look down into the dry, bare valley.
‘Please let me see the backpack.’
I can see it okay. The orange and green colours certainly make it easy to pick out. But I can’t believe where it is.