by Rose Fox
The young man signaled him to wait and went to the rooms. Sharif glanced quickly at the door, thought about opening it and running away. He started making a move for it but a broad sturdy guy with light-colored hair arrived, his dark little eyes darting everywhere. He seemed pleased with the arrangement he had just heard.
“Great!” he exclaimed. “We have a worker for two weeks and he’ll do whatever we need.” He spoke in Arabic peppered with Russian.
“Two weeks?!” Sharif yelled. He was expecting to work for a few hours that day and thought that would cover his lodging and what the cabdriver owed them but then he heard what the innkeeper said.
“Yes, and that’s also not enough. The driver owes me two hundred and eighty rubles.”
“How much?!” Sharif knew that in the financial terms of the region that was a great deal of money and he exclaimed,
“How? For what?”
“Hey, don’t make problems for me. I’ll bring a policeman here and you’ll have plenty of explaining to do,” he said in broken Arabic as he looked at Sharif out of the corner of his eye and immediately added:
“I saw you were also planning to run away like your driver, right?”
Sharif lowered his gaze and was silent. Azar, the manager of the drab hotel signaled to the young man standing on the side to lock the entrance door and went into his office. There, he picked up the telephone receiver, made a call and spoke quietly.
“Hello, two fellows came here and I suggest that you apprehend them.” He listened to what he was being told and then said quietly,
“One of them ran away. I managed to detain the other one for the present. Come at once.”
Sharif remained at the hotel.
He befriended the young man, called Raj, who told him he was paid fifty rubles a week. It was a miserable wage that he sent to his family, but he was happy that he had a job at all.
They sat silently together every evening. Sometimes Raj sang in Persian, his mother tongue and then sipped from a small bottle of vodka. He had been given the bottle as a tip by Azar, for both of them. When he sang, his eyes filled with tears, which he wiped away with his filthy sleeve and offered the bottle to Sharif.
The following day, Raj brought him a fresh change of clothes and after a few days he brought him a faded coat of uncertain color. At first, Sharif refused to take the coat till Raj told him quietly that he had taken it from a pile of unused clothes in the storeroom and even then, Sharif hesitated.
“Take the coat; it’s okay. Sometimes it gets so cold here, it’s impossible to survive without one.”
A week had ended. On the seventh evening, Azar, the innkeeper joined them. He drank with them from the bottle and as he became inebriated he told them that his mother was Iranian and his father, Caucasian. They stared at one another in silence in a brotherhood of the new friendship that had been forged between them. Sharif recalled that Raj had warned him that Azar was unpredictable and had warned him of his moodiness, so he kept quiet.
“My father left when I was a kid,” Azar wailed. “But he did leave me something. Because of him I speak a little Arabic.” Azar chattered for a few more minutes till his eyes closed. When the two were certain he was drunk he suddenly opened one of his little eyes and spat out maliciously,
“Hey, both of you, I hear every word you say, so take care!”
Ten days had passed since Sharif came to the inn. That morning, he dragged a bucket and was soaking a rag in its murky water to wash down the floor when, suddenly, Azar appeared before him.
“Here, take this,” he said and Sharif stared at him. Between his fingers he held two twenty Ruble notes and flipped them as he handed them to him.
“For me?” Surprised, Sharif leaned on the mop he held.
“Da, da, (yes, yes), it’s for you”, the man said in Russian as he offered him the notes, “You already paid your debt with your work.”
Sharif put out his hand cautiously and pulled the notes out of the fingers in front of him. Azar remained standing and, with the utmost candor, told Sharif, “I lied. Your debt was much smaller. That’s why I’m paying you now for your good work.”
Sharif shrugged and put the notes into his trouser pocket, then unexpectedly, he asked,
“What about Sergei, the driver who brought me here?”
Azar broke out in a long streak of curses, of which Sharif could only make out a few, but understood that Azar knew the cab driver from before. When he finished shouting and turned to go Sharif said in Arabic,
“Kol kalb biji yumo, (every dog has his day).” Azar turned round angrily and waved his fist and Sharif hurriedly explained,
“I meant that the driver’s day of reckoning will come," and he saw Azar’s fist drop.
Sharif stayed there for one more day, except that he didn’t work that day at all. He found his plastic bag, the one with the red Coca-Cola logo, exactly where he had left it ten days earlier. He took it without examining its contents, pushed the door closed and left without saying goodbye. In fact, during the day he had thought of it, but couldn’t decide whether he was also angry with Raj or accepted his stay there in lieu of payment.
Sharif did not know that already on the first day, Azar had reported him and Sergei to the authorities and thus did not take precautions or protect himself.
A strong wind blew outside and the cold penetrated his bones. He stood with his back to the door, scanning the surroundings. To his right and ahead of him he saw gigantic trees, conifers that don’t grow crowded together but there were many of them. The idea of entering there did not appeal to him and even frightened him. Snowflakes hung on their branches and the wind whistled as it blew through them. Soft snowflakes drifted in the air and sank slowly to the ground, but didn’t pile up on it.
Sharif decided to turn left and he started walking in the direction of the distant highway. He hoped a passing vehicle would stop and give him a ride.
A car coming towards him went off the highway and onto the dirt road and bumped slowly on the sand until came right up to him and stopped. A dark-skinned girl rolled down a window and turned to him. Sharif raised his arms on both sides to demonstrate that he didn’t understand what she was saying. He touched his chest, smiled apologetically and turned to continue on his way. He heard the car door open behind him and powerful blow landed on his head and slipped down on his shoulder. Sharif tried to turn round but both legs folded beneath him, his body twisted in a half turn and everything went dark.
He didn’t feel the two men drag him and throw him into the car. They hurried back into the car, sat on the back seat and rested their legs on his unconscious body as the car continued on its journey.
The two were friends of Azar, the innkeeper. He had called them to turn Sharif in to the police but, for some reason, they hadn’t come when he called them ten days earlier.
Sharif regained consciousness during the ride and found he was lying under their shoes. He felt the bumps of the ride and the pain in his neck reminded him what had happened. He gradually grasped where he was and continued lying there in silence, pretending he was still unconscious as his brain calculated his next move.
A few minutes later, the car stopped and the driver got out. When he opened the rear door, Sharif sneaked a glance at him and saw a man dressed in police uniform. The two men lifted their legs off him, got out of the vehicle, picked him up and placed him on the driver’s shoulder, without knowing that he was fully conscious and realized his situation now. The driver shifted Sharif’s position on his shoulder to improve the weight distribution when Sharif suddenly jumped off and fell on the path in front of him. Before the men realized what had happened, Sharif got to his feet and ran very fast towards the trees he had seen before and disappeared between them.
He stood among the many trees for a few seconds, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light and then, quickly continued pushing his way inwards. After walking for a few minutes, he selected a tall tree, climbed it nimbly till he reached a branch in t
he trunk. He found a niche between the enormous branches, where he put his nylon bag and lay down.
A few moments later he heard people speaking excitedly. Torch beams, projected in various directions, racing between the branches. The search for him continued for an hour or even more, but when that stopped and quiet returned Sharif continued lying on the branch without moving. He waited in the niche until he fell asleep.
He was roused from his sleep by fresh voices. They had brought heavy back-up. Torches projected a variety of strange beams of light and for a moment a ray, directed up at the tree actually touched him but, fortunately for him, did not cast its light on him so he was not discovered. After a while, the people seemed to give up their search, their voices died out and the beams of light disappeared with them.
He stayed like that, without moving, for hours. From the darkness that deepened and took control of everything, Sharif understood that daylight was ending, the very moment he had been waiting for. As he slid down the tree, his shirt caught onto the splintered bark of the tree and he heard it tearing. He feared his torn shirt might raise suspicion, so he decided to change into another shirt he had prepared. He opened the red bag and was surprised to find a transparent nylon bag containing dark bread and two cucumbers in it. He also found the two banknotes as well as three more warm sweaters. Sharif hugged the bag and pressed his lips to the red plastic.
“That’s for you,” he said quietly, meaning Raj, his new friend from Azar’s inn. He rolled up his torn shirt and put it back in his bag. It was clear to him that under no circumstances should he leave a trail and he knew that now they might be looking for someone in a white shirt so he decided to change into a brown one. Now, he quickly put on the faded coat because the wind that blew between the tree trunks was icy cold, pinched at his face and made his teeth chatter in his mouth.
Sharif weighed two possibilities now. If he decided to continue deeper into the forest, who knew where that route would lead him, and if he decided to leave the forest, his pursuers might be waiting for him and he would fall into their hands like a ripe fruit. He did not know which choice was the correct one, but because he feared the other route led to darkness and the greater likelihood of getting lost, he turned back and emerged from among the trees. He decided to rely on the blessed cover of night.
With the trees behind him, he stood for a few seconds and accustomed his eyes to the dark. A full moon sailed across the sky like a yellow circle in the pervading dark. Behind him he heard the hoot of an owl, accompanied by a chirping of a cricket looking for a mate to spend the evening with, in the frozen grass.
Sharif didn’t know where he was but relied on his good luck and healthy instincts and had no idea what a good choice he had made.
* * *
Chapter Twenty Five
Abigail sobbed with revulsion. She was lying in a large pool of urine. She had attempted to restrain herself for hours without success and had wet her clothes, the same clothes she had worn since she was caught days earlier. She had lost count of them. Gradually the liquid was absorbed and seeped into the sand beneath her. The stench of urine mixed with the smell of wet earth and she had grown accustomed to it.
Suddenly she remembered that she hadn’t received any food that day. Her stomach grumbled out loud and she was very hungry. She searched and checked in another direction but found nothing there either.
Abigail felt stinging prickles on her irritated and itching skin. The odor of urine attracted insects and crawling creatures of all kinds. Greenish fat worms crawled over the ropes, passed over her body descending to her clothes that were stiff from the dried out wetness they had been soaked in. Abigail studied the worms crawling over her. Some of them were narrow and small like pins and one of them that had tiny hairs sticking out of its back.
She was bored and tried to preserve her sanity by seriously studying the worms. She decided to give them names. First of all, she decided that they were all female and thought of names in alphabetical order, from A to Z. For a change, she discovered some pale sandy colored cockroaches, which Abigail decided were transmitting signals and she made up the conversation they were having.
‘Look, there’s someone new here’, and the antennae opposite transmitted a cheeky reply:
‘She’s not new at all, I saw her yesterday.’
Afterwards, she looked at their size and decided they were a father and his rebellious son and she suggested helping them make up their differences and composed a conciliatory conversation.
Suddenly voices were heard, growing louder. She recognized they were speaking Arabic, but there were unfamiliar words that didn’t pose a problem because they were few and scattered over long sentences. Abigail strained in her effort to hear.
“That’s it, he’ll live, and it’s unbelievable! I swear he didn’t have a hope. You should have seen how his broken bones protruded out of his flesh. Repulsive! And he lost so much blood. He’s not human. I tell you he’s an animal!”
Abigail shuddered.
“That’s for sure. So why do you think they brought the doctor to him?”
“Really, why did they?”
“Well, listen. They were all certain he would live an hour, maybe even two hours. Five days later, when they saw he was still alive, with God’s protection, they realized something unusual was happening here. What’s more, don’t forget he was surviving without almost any food.”
“Without food, you say?! What about without almost any blood in his body? It’s unbelievable. When we dropped him off he bled like a slaughtered sheep.”
“I don’t understand what these bastards are made of. These cursed Zionists are strong, damn them! Listen, it’s not funny!”
A short laugh was heard and someone continued speaking and Abigail listened.
“Say, did you see that woman they brought with him? That one actually looks pretty weak and she hasn’t got much flesh on her at all. What do you say about her?”
The voices grew louder, then weakened and faded again. Abigail understood the people were talking about an additional hostage. She thought about what she had heard and that led her to understand things about her situation and about another man being held, who was still alive in spite of his serious injury.
Abigail was deep in thought.
The itching of her skin increased and she notice that the worm climbing along the length of her forearm differed from the rest. It was yellow and its movements were slow and she knew it was looking for a suitable place to cocoon itself.
Abigail whispered, “Don’t do this to me. I won’t get to see you how you change and turn into a butterfly, or maybe I will.”
* * *
Adam’s condition worsened. He was hallucinating and making strange sounds. His skin was fiery hot and streams of sweat burst out of every pore in his body and washed over his skin. The smell of his perspiration and the stench of his urine that had dried on his clothes mixed with the bodily excretions that dripped beneath him. The cloud of odor that arose from him attracted swarms of miniscule mosquitos that hovered in circles above his head.
Two lumps of uneaten dough lay in the sand beside him and convoys of tiny ants came out of their burrows in the sandy wall. The ants marked two black lines on both sides of his head. Every few hours a tired soldier would arrive and holding his nose in disgust poured water into Adam’s mouth but the water spilled out, running and collecting in pools near his cheeks.
He had lain like this for the last two days and it was clear to his guards that his hours were numbered. They had stopped checking his condition because it was difficult to bear the stench that arose from the hollow where he lay and they sent one of their men to remove some of the filth.
A soldier stood over Adam, spreading a cloth over his mouth and nose and was obviously finding it difficult to breathe. The fumes of odor were unbearable and he blurted out all the curses he knew. He held a dirty plastic bucket in one hand and a stick with a scoop attached to it in the other. He did his best to keep his arm
as extended as possible and swore that if he had to come here again, he would make sure he would bring a longer stick.
Now he used the scoop to roll turds out of a tear in Adam’s trousers while he mumbled incessantly. He poured sand around Adam’s body and scraped the soft excrement that had spread on the sand as it emerged uncontrollably from his body.
The soldier held his breath for a minute too long and could no longer contain himself.
He burst out of the hollow and made for the path. There he took a few breaths that were rather shallow. The terrible stench had also reached here.
Adam emitted strange, sharp sobbing sounds that resembled the cries of jackals in the night when they bay at the moon overhead.
A bright light flashed in the distance, instantly disappeared and another soldier came and stood beside the cleaner.
“What’s up with him?” he said, pointing to Adam.
The cleaner shrugged without removing the kerchief from his face.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said.
“Hello, you’re Adnan and I’m Jamal,” the man said and extended his arm to shake hands. “Say, do you think he has a chance of surviving?” he asked.
“Ana mush araf, (I don't know),” Adnan replied.
“Listen to me now, and let me explain. We want to start interrogating him and we thought that if he says anything, then, perhaps, we should pay attention to his mumbling, especially when he is unconscious.” After a moment, he added:
“And what’s more, if you get any information out of him for us you’ll be rewarded with holiday leave, I promise you.”
At that very moment, Adam emitted one of those strange howls and also mumbled a few garbled words. Jamal peeked into the hollow in which Adam lay, nodded towards the man and said to the cleaner:
“Do you know that this revolting creature lying there is a Qadi? A judge. Yes, he’s a famous judge among the Zionists,” and Adnan gaped in surprise.