Close to the Wind (7 page)

Malik opened his eyes when the sunlight warmed his face. Papa’s head was lying close to his own. He was asleep on his back, his body slung across the bare floorboards, his mouth wide open. A line of saliva dribbled from the corner of his lips, which had swollen into patches of purple, red and blue, and he was breathing heavily.

Malik sat up and looked around the room. He was alone with Papa. He got to his feet, walked to the window and pulled the curtain back to make the room brighter. The street was empty. Above the opposite cottage he could see thin white clouds in a pale blue sky. A coil of dark smoke rose into the air from the back of the town.

Malik stepped into his Wellington boots and stood over Papa, expecting him to wake. He thought
Papa looked older when he was asleep. The bright sunlight showed blood, like tiny flakes of rust, still clinging to the hairs of Papa’s white beard. Hector had helped Papa wash himself, using water that Malik had brought up in the bucket, and in the dim light of the candle they had thought his beard was clean. Papa’s shirt still lay in the corner of the room where Hector had thrown it, saying, ‘You’ll never get the blood out of that, but don’t worry – now you have the money to buy as many shirts as you want.’

Malik decided to let Papa sleep.

He went downstairs, expecting to see Hector and Vex. He thought they would be in the sitting room but found it was empty. They weren’t in the kitchen either. When he turned the handle on the back door, he found it unlocked. That was strange. He put his head outside. In daylight, the yard was smaller than he had imagined and empty, with the exception of a wooden planter, with four yellow pansies that crouched close together in the dry soil.

Above the wall of the yard, Malik could see the other cottages and, above them, the dark blue funnel of the ship. To the right of the funnel was another building that he hadn’t noticed last night – a warehouse that must be on the quayside, with bright red
wooden doors for windows. A groan of engines came from the dock behind it. Perhaps Hector and Vex had already left for the dock?

Malik went to the back gate and opened the latch. He stepped into the alley and looked both ways. What had seemed so frightening last night had now become the most ordinary place in the world. He heard a rustle, looked down and saw a cat tug at the head of a fish that poked from a rusted hole in the upturned rubbish bin they had stumbled on last night. Malik knelt and watched the cat, but when it sensed him it let go of the fish and retreated, its body crouched and tense. It was a hairball of a cat, black with a white sock on each paw and a triangle of white under its chin that reminded Malik of Papa’s beard.

He stretched out his hand and rubbed his fingers together. He made the smooching noise that cats couldn’t resist and the cat, which looked only just old enough to fend for itself, stretched out its neck and sniffed, but it wouldn’t come closer.

Malik took three careful steps and knelt by the bin. The fish head smelled bad. He waved away some flies and prodded it. The flesh was soft and the dead eye looked like a dirty puddle. He put his finger in behind the head and flipped it out of the hole so that
it skidded across the alleyway and stopped at the cat’s feet. It prodded it and turned it over, pausing only to look at Malik suspiciously.

Malik stayed very still as the cat began to eat. Papa had told him that you should never approach an animal that is hurt or hungry, and when they had been with the dying dog in the cellar, Papa had let him throw a piece of ham close to its head, but he hadn’t let Malik go any nearer than that.

So Malik waited.

When the cat had finished eating it came to him itself and allowed him to stroke the fur along its arched back. It purred and nudged its nose into his hand. Malik tickled it under the belly as the cat walked to and fro, rubbing itself against his bare legs and the top of his Wellington boots.

Malik picked the cat up and it didn’t seem to mind. He thought it was probably thirsty, so he carried it into the kitchen, and because he had no bowl he poured a little water into the bucket and left it on its side. The cat stretched itself and sniffed. It took a lick of the water and once it knew it was fresh, it began to drink with quick laps of its tiny pink tongue.

‘Malik!’ Papa shouted from upstairs. ‘Hector? Vex? Is anyone there?’

‘I’m here, Papa.’ Malik ran out into the hall.

Papa stood at the top of the staircase. His face was white and haunted and the pockets of his trousers were turned inside out. ‘Where is Hector? Where is Vex? Are they with you in the kitchen?’

Malik shook his head. ‘They’re not here, Papa. They have gone out already and they left the door unlocked.’

Papa stood in the centre of the room holding his winter coat. He had a hand deep in one of the pockets. He brought out his passport and dropped it onto the mattress where his keys and wallet already lay. He turned the coat around and felt the outside pockets, first the left and then the right, his forehead creasing into deep furrows, his hands worried and frantic. He produced the two red apples and dropped them on the floor without a second glance. Malik watched them roll across the boards and settle under the window – he knew they weren’t what Papa was searching for.

Papa was muttering. He talked to himself in fast, clipped sentences that Malik could barely
understand. Then he dropped the coat at his feet and his hand went suddenly to his heart and a finger scooped inside the small pocket on the left breast of his shirt, but it was empty like the others.

He touched his face. Felt his jaw and winced. He looked around the room, bewildered, took in the upturned chair and the wardrobe as though he had never seen them. Then he sucked saliva back into the side of his mouth that wouldn’t close properly, and his eyes darted from one end of the room to the other. He began to shake, his shoulders shivering and his head beginning to twitch. His mouth fell open.

Malik thought Papa would collapse he was so unsteady on his feet, and when he began to bend at the middle, Malik took a step forward, but Papa regained some control of his body and Malik stepped away again, scared to get too close.

Papa seemed to not even know he was there. He reached down, picked up his coat and felt again in every pocket, trying to be calm, but all the while he was frantic and muttering, with hands that moved too quickly so that he dropped the coat on the floor.

He left it where it lay, stepped around it and stood on the collar. He gripped the edge of the inner pocket, then pulled hard, tearing the lining from
the inside of the jacket in one long strip of red silk that remained attached at the hem. He turned the coat around and did the same on the other side, then shook it vigorously, turned it upside down and shook again. When nothing fell out, he threw it at the wardrobe.

‘No!’ Papa shouted. ‘No. No. No.’

Malik moved from foot to foot and his hand held the front of his blue shorts. He had never seen Papa look like this and he didn’t know what he could do to make it any better.

Papa stood still, his lips pursed, staring blankly out of the window.

Malik waited.

Finally Papa said what they both knew. ‘They have robbed me.’

The two of them said nothing after that. They simply stood there until the cat walked into the bedroom and sauntered across the floorboards toward the window. It rubbed itself against Papa’s ankle and he kicked it hard with his heel, sending the creature skidding into the corner with a screech of a howl.

‘Stop it!’ shouted Malik. ‘Stop it!’

He ran to the cat but it dodged him, skittered across the floor and ran back out of the door. Malik let
it go. He circled Papa at a distance as Papa clenched his fists into tight balls that he put to the temples of his head. He bent over till his elbows touched his hips and he sat down heavily on the wooden chair, put his head between his knees and moaned.

Malik stood back at a safe distance. He waited until Papa had stopped moaning and then he asked, ‘Papa? Are you all right?’ He took a step closer. ‘Papa?’

Papa kept his head bowed and Malik didn’t know whether he should ask again or say nothing. Papa spoke to the floor. ‘My face hurts.’

Malik couldn’t think what to do about that. He said, ‘Mama will be here soon. She’ll know what to do, Papa. I know she will.’

Papa looked up quickly. He pointed a finger at Malik. ‘
I
know what to do! Do you think
I
don’t know what to do?’

Malik stepped back and his hand went to the front of his shorts again. Papa lowered his head and stared at the floor. ‘Can I use the toilet?’ Malik took his hand away in case Papa saw, but when Papa didn’t look up he went to the bathroom anyway. He left the door open wide enough so that he could see the pipe in the floor and his wee fell in a golden arc
that spattered on the side of the pipe, then fell away into darkness.

When Malik came back into the room, Papa was still in the chair with his head bowed. Malik waited to be noticed, but when it didn’t happen he said, ‘Perhaps the diamond doesn’t matter, Papa.’ He sounded uncertain. He looked down at the wallet on the mattress, still thick with banknotes. ‘You still have all that money.’

Papa touched the side of his face where it had swollen. ‘You’re right.’ He spoke quietly and his eyes were grim. ‘Yes, you’re right. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. It’s only money. It’s the betrayal that matters. That’s what hurts more.’ Papa looked Malik in the eye. ‘The diamond would have made everything easier. That’s all. Everything would have been that much simpler for us. You’re too young to realize, but it would.’

The sound of a motor came from the street outside. Malik ran across to the window in time to see a vehicle drive past the cottage, and it wasn’t a soldier’s jeep but a civilian car with shining black paint and polished chrome. Its wheels rattled on the cobblestones.

Papa arrived beside Malik as the tail lights turned
the corner. He turned the pockets of his trousers back the right way and hurried over to the mattress. ‘People are arriving at the port. I must be quick.’

Malik didn’t know whether this was good or bad but it felt important.

Papa picked up his keys and passport, and the wallet with the cash, and he stuffed them in his trouser pockets. He went over to the wardrobe, took his coat from the floor and shook it out. He leaned inside the wardrobe door, found the knife that he had left in there from the previous night, opened out the blade and cut away the strip of red silk that he had torn from the lining of his coat, making it wearable again.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Malik.

Papa picked up the rucksack and searched in the pockets.
‘You’re
not going anywhere.
I
have to go to the docks but I won’t be long.’

‘I want to come with you.’

‘It’s better that you stay here.’

Malik’s chest tightened. ‘But I don’t want to be on my own. It’s not safe.’

‘It will be, and anyway, I won’t be long.’

‘What if Mama is at the docks?’

Papa took a black leather notebook and a silver
pen from the rucksack. He stuffed them into the pocket of his coat. ‘She won’t be.’

‘But what if she is? She should be here today. You said we would meet her at the ship when it sailed and that was meant to be today.’ Malik was desperate. ‘She might already be there.’

Papa was impatient. ‘She’ll know it’s been delayed. She won’t expect us to be there, and anyway, if I see her I can bring her back with me.’

Malik knew the only way to persuade Papa was with logic, like he had with the torch in the alley. He tried not to speak until he was sure that he had something worth saying. ‘But you said I was good at looking. You told me we make a good team. It would be better if there were two of us. We could make a better job of looking for her.’

‘No, Malik. It’s better that you stay here.’ Papa didn’t even bother to give a reason.

Malik stamped his foot. ‘But I don’t want to be on my own. What if someone comes here?’

‘They won’t come.’

‘But what if they do? They did last night!’

‘Aaaaghh …’ Papa put a hand to his forehead. ‘That’s too many questions. Just like yesterday. For heaven’s sake, I have only just woken up. I haven’t
even had a chance to start counting and I still think you’ve bust your limit.’

‘I don’t care!’ Malik burst into tears. ‘I don’t care about your stupid counting.’

There! He had said it. He stared defiantly and Papa met his gaze and they stood with both their eyes burning. Malik didn’t care if Papa got angry and he didn’t care that he was crying.

Papa blinked first. He lifted the rucksack from the floor, looked inside it for nothing in particular and then put it back down. ‘Go ahead and cry.’ His voice was gentle when he met Malik’s eye. ‘You deserve a good cry. Really. I mean it. You have been very brave these past few days, Malik.’ Papa reached out and touched his arm. ‘I sometimes forget how old you are. I’m sorry.’

Malik immediately felt bad. He was ashamed of himself and he could hear from the tone of Papa’s voice that he wasn’t going to give in – he was still going to convince Malik to stay in the cottage.