Page 121 of Never

‘We’ll see.’

‘No!’ She was insistent. ‘Nothing else.’

‘All right.’

‘Not now. Later, when it gets dark.’

‘Follow me when I leave the compound after the meal.’

With a note of desperation in her voice Esma said: ‘I could pay you double when we get to Tripoli.’

‘More promises.’

Abdul heard Esma’s footsteps walking away. He stayed where he was. A little later he heard Hakim leave.

He watched the village for another couple of hours, but nothing happened, except that people came to the well and went away.

As the sky darkened he returned to the compound. Some of the village inhabitants were preparing the evening meal, supervised by Fouad, and there was a pleasant aroma of cumin. He sat on the ground near to where Kiah was nursing Naji.

Kiah, who was sharp-eyed, said: ‘I noticed Esma talking to Hakim.’

Abdul said: ‘Yes.’

‘Did you hear them?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was said?’

‘He told her that if she didn’t have money she could pay him another way.’

‘I knew it. That pig.’

Unobtrusively, Abdul reached inside his robes and opened his money belt. He had notes in several currencies, and he kept them in order, so that he could take money out without looking. In Africa as in the US, it was foolish to let people see that you were carrying a lot of cash.

Gently, he drew out three American twenty-dollar bills. Hiding them behind his hands, he glanced down to check the denomination then folded them into a small packet. He passed the packet to Kiah, saying: ‘For Esma.’

She stashed it somewhere in her robe. ‘God bless you,’ she said.

A little later, when they lined up to get their supper, Abdul saw Kiah slip something into Esma’s hand. A moment later, Esma hugged and kissed her in happy gratitude.

The meal was flatbread and a vegetable soup thickened with millet flour. If there was meat in it, Abdul did not get any.

Abdul went out of the compound just before going to sleep. He washed his hands and face with water from the well. As he returned he passed the bus, where Hakim was standing with Tareq and Hamza. ‘You’re not from this country, are you?’ Hakim said, as if it was a challenge.

Hakim had been looking forward to his hand job and was disappointed to get sixty bucks instead, Abdul assumed. He had probably noticed Esma hugging and kissing Kiah, and guessed that Kiah had given her the money. Kiah might have a secret stash of her own, of course, but if she had got it from someone else, then Hakim figured Abdul was the likely source. Sly crooks sometimes had good instincts.

Abdul said: ‘What do you care where I come from?’

‘Nigeria?’ Hakim said. ‘You don’t sound Nigerian. What is that accent?’

‘I’m not Nigerian.’

Hamza took out a pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth – a sign that he was getting nervous, Abdul thought. Almost automatically, Abdul took out the red plastic lighter he had always used with customers, and lit Hamza’s cigarette. He no longer needed the lighter, but he had kept it with a vague feeling that one day it might be useful. In return, Hamza offered him a cigarette from the pack. Abdul declined.

Hakim resumed the attack. ‘Where was your father from?’

This was a trial of strength. Hakim was challenging Abdul in front of Hamza and Tareq. ‘Beirut,’ Abdul said. ‘My father was Lebanese. He was a cook. He made very good sweet cheese rolls.’