Ishaq loved the freedom. It was perverse; that they played in a cage but felt ever-so free. Ishaq would run, ball at his feet, air on his face as it rushed past, penned in by meshed-fencing that would ripple and sing as a body or ball punched into it. The jangling of caging, providing percussion to an orchestrated movement of passes. The thrill of passing an opponent through speed or guile, the heady buzz of scoring a goal and taking in the acclaim of your mates.
Ishaq even enjoyed the needle between opponents. Ishaq, Marwane and his friends enjoyed a skilful passing style. The aim was to create beauty. To display skill and panache by humiliating your opponent in exposing them through a nutmeg or an intricate buildup. Scoring a goal was incidental to this sophistry and even frowned upon if it did not contain some scintilla of flair.
As well as infuriating opponents it also caused frustration among friends. They berated Ishaq and Marwane. Shouting at them that winning was everything, as they hoofed the ball upfield whenever they could, huffing, and puffing, and shooting at every opportunity. Playing like Vikings. It was all good though, especially on those sticky summer nights when Ishaq held a secret hope that this would last forever. He, being ever-responsible, guided the defence and came out with the ball in control. Marwane, indisciplined, capable of great skill but infuriating in his inconsistency.
Ishaq and Marwane left the cages on this still evening, the air calming their perspiration. The two lads took seats on a railing while Ishaq vigorously rubbed his football sock into his shin, and then peeled it down to look at the result of someone’s errant kick. He did not look impressed, shoved the sock down, and then raised his face to the sky to let air cool his eyes.
‘No stars.’
‘What you say?’ Marwane looked sideways to Ishaq.
Ishaq looked at Marwane and jabbed upwards. ‘No stars. Would be good to see some, sometimes.’
Marwane was in the middle of a gulp from a can of coke, carbonated bubbles expanding and moving upwards, nearly overwhelming his nose. He was uncertain of what to say to such a random remark. ‘Just make sure you only talk to me like this; I think only I can handle your weirdness.’
Ishaq jumped off the rail and, with Marwane following his lead, started to walk.
‘Whatever. Anyway, guess who I bumped into? Father Horan, from the community centre days.’
‘Oh, Father Ted. How’s he doing? He must be a fossil now.’
‘Nah, he looked fine. He was just taking care a few odds and ends at the building. Was asking about ze Muslimz. Talking about the IRA, and the bad ol’ days for the Irish.’
‘Was he now?’ Marwane said, in a mixture of amusement and derision. ‘Man, hate it when Irish people go on as if it’s the same. They should leave it out. Seriously, don’t try and ‘relate’.’
Ishaq looked at Marwane walking beside him in his elongated but lolling style. With his height and explosion of hair, he looked liked a monochrome Ronald McDonald. Ishaq stifled a laugh, his shoulders purposefully hunched. Father Horan had said there was a chance to resurrect the centre, but no point telling Marwane, he would just hide behind a joke and belittle the idea.
Mistaking the reason for the laugh, Marwane retaliated with his own triumphant cackle. ‘We haven’t talked about you going-off on one, at that inter-faith thing.’
‘Yea, yea, you told me so…Well done. If I had a hat, I’d take it off to you ,’ Ishaq made a bowing gesture.
‘Ah, you a bit sore about it,’ said Marwane, his grin widening. ‘Look, that’s what happens when you mix with the super-annoying, intellectual renewers of the Ummah. The only ones who can bridge Islam and the West, blah blah blah. You should let them get on with it.’
‘I just feel that we need to make more of an effort with them. We can be insular and scary to those lot. We actually have common ground. Did you hear that guy on telly today? He doesn’t make distinctions.’
Marwane started laughing again, this time showing gently crooked teeth. ‘I heard it, but you trying really worked out for you, didn’t it? Look, these guys will always be more comfortable with middle class non-muslims . They’re just as insular. They can’t connect with us. They don’t want to anyway. They just want to kiss arse and get along. All their talks are about stuff like Muslim representation on TV. Stuff we don’t give a crap about. And anyway, the ways I heard it was that the speaker was calm and super-slick with you, you came out of it sounding like a foaming-at-the-mouth fundie. Honestly bruv, I would have paid to see it.’
‘Go on, laugh as much as you want,’ said Ishaq, kissing his teeth and shaking his head. His footsteps slowed until he was lagging a bit behind, making Marwane twist and walk backwards to interact. To a bystander it would have looked like Ishaq was being dragged forward by the other man with an invisible rope. ‘It just bugs that they look down on a lot of the kids. They think of them as simpletons who need rules and regs to navigate their lives.’
Marwane’s grin dropped and he looked back, over Ishaq. ‘Well that’s right isn’t it? A lot of brothers do need a lot of hard rules. I need it too. What’s wrong with that? Man is in loss, nothing shameful about that, and it doesn’t make it less true. Look, these guys want to cure poor people of being poor, without actually having to meet any. Man, you’re making me angry now!’
‘Ok, let’s drop it. I acted like a tool. I don’t want to talk to you about it,’ said Ishaq. Marwane had called him Mr Negativity but all he offered instead was apathy and cynicism, and sometimes it just grated. He could now see that it was just hiding. It was funny now, but it was getting harder and harder to talk about anything.
‘Speed-up Ishaq. I want to get home. You got me going now. You know they’ve got that poster campaign, as well. The one that has pictures of model Muslims. You know, like a doctor who wears hijab, or a policeman, and they’ve chosen fair-skinned people or white converts.’ Marwane made a loud inhale of breath. ‘It’s just so desperate…the need to be included…’
‘Look, I actually understand what they are doing with the posters though. It’s not saying, “Please let me in, I’m just like you”, it’s saying to people like that politician today, “Please don’t smack me in the face, I’m normal.”’
‘Well, then it’s a humiliating plea.’
‘Bruv, no point pretending we’re strong. What are we? Like four percent of the population and all different, all divided. Anytime, the outside can squash us like a bug. Nah man, we’re just the bogeyman.’
They reached a tunnel. The underpass marked the end of a sparsely built-up part of the estate, where the cages resided. Their footsteps made cavernous echoes that fled away from them in a pitter-patter, descending down the singularity of the sloping path. As they exited they saw a cityscape lying passive under a waxing moon. A silver sheen spilled over the concrete. Laid out like an ice rink, this silent world was when the estate was at its most deceptive. An easy seduction into thinking all was right.
Marwane opened his arms up wide, in protest at the emptiness around them. ‘And really? How would we have ended up, if we didn’t say no? Islam says don’t drink, so we don’t. It says don’t take drugs, so we don’t. It says, don’t sleep around, so we’ve managed not to get a girl preggers at fifteen. You know, people get a bit of ease in their lives, or get education, and they think it was all up to them. Not luck, or destiny, or a privileged background or anything. They think they’re so complicated, and we are all so simple, in our wants.’
Ishaq tried to intervene but Marwane’s hands rebuffed him, whirling away while he ranted, his eye’s trenchant and fastened somewhere else.
‘Money talks, Issy. In those posh areas, they can afford to make mistakes. They can afford to look down on people like us, with our rules. Imagine you or me banged up before a judge with some coke. We’re screwed. We have to be stricter. It’s the only way and that’s part of the wisdom…Maybe we are needy, but then there’s some truth in people’s needs, not deception.’
Ishaq was happy to let the words echo and settle, but Marwane kept fixing him with his triumphant ‘whadya think’ mug. ‘Well, M, that’s a bit deep for you. Where’d you get that from?’
‘Nowhere. Just made it up. See it’s not only you arty farty students that think a bit. It’s not good to be alone in that head of yours 24/7. You and your weird ideas. You have to live in the real world. See, what I’m gonna do, inshallah, is graduate. Get a job that pays, marry a good muslimah and raise a family. Simple.’
‘That’s fine, but this other stuff has a habit of breaking down your door at five in the morning, terrifying your wife and kids, and then carting you off to prison.’
Ishaq changed tack, charging forward, Marwane sidestepped in a hop, facing him to continue the conversation. ‘That’s scary. But I ain’t involved in anything like that, so if any great injustice like that happened, then I’ll just accept it and rely on Allah.’
‘Really Marwane? That’s so easily said, but if that did happen, and you were innocent, then wouldn’t you want people to be around to help you out? People who cared about something other than just their own backside.’
‘Look bro, Allah says save yourself and your family first. So I’ll do that, then, if I have the strength and resources, I’ll help outside of that. It’s not being selfish, it’s about foundations. You can’t do anything unless the foundations are strong, and that’s your family, then your local community, and so on. Any racing ahead and trying to save the world, when that stuff isn’t right, is vanity, just causes more aggro. Don’t be like those uni guys who are only interested in cool causes that suit their ego.’
The same rote lines. Ishaq could hear the uncertainty, more of blind hope than real conviction. As if repeating them, again and again, was a comfort in itself. Nothing had ever pricked Marwane’s protective bubble, and it wasn’t his place to pierce it, either.
They matched strides as they forged homewards, making headway, the hush only broken by three barks of a dog that had been chained up someplace. They stepped through a small field that had been left boggy by rivulets of rain. Marwane cursed himself as one foot landed in a deep patch and he felt water spill over his shoe, down to his sock.
‘Speaking of marriage. That sister who gave you the leaflet, she was nice,’ he said.
Ishaq smiled. ‘She was super-political and thought you were a twat.’
‘She thought WE were twats. Anyway, next time I see her I might slip her my phone number. Give it a chance. All through the parents, legit and all. Or Shams stylee.’
Towards the end of their time together Shams had discovered girls. Ishaq remembered how stricken Shams was when he took a fancy to someone. He’d go mute and self-aware, fixed to the spot, pretend he was looking away. Once, he even spent hours outside a girl’s place, hoping for just a glimpse of a face. Ishaq had to bale him out sometimes, explain that his mate wasn’t strange, just having a moment. It was sincere though. For a time. The odd thing was that, once a week had passed, Shams’ ministrations found another target. A new arrow, piercing his heart. Layla after Layla, to his one Majnun.
‘I do miss that guy.’
‘You sure show it,’ said Marwane.
After a moment’s deep thought Ishaq said, ‘Ibn Hazm, from Cordoba, Spain, thought that courtly love, one that was chaste and from a distance, could be edifying. It could ennoble your character.’
Seeing Marwane give him a look of pity, Ishaq said, ‘What?’
‘Don’t know whether to slap you for talking about “courtly love” or for using the word “edifying”. Honestly, Ishaq, I think the stork that brought you to the ghetto must’ve been on crack that day.’
Ishaq laughed. ‘Just reading, expanding my horizons, you bonehead. Back in the day, Islamic scholars wrote and talked about everything. And edifying means something that raises you morally…’
‘I know what it means, you arty farty ponce. Anyway, sounds like Ibn Hazm would have a coronary if he came round these parts. You’re pure if you hold out beyond the first time you get wasted together.’
‘Well, good luck then. Her dad might be like Obama. You know what he said he would send, if someone tried to date his daughters?’
‘No, what?’
‘Predator drones.’
Marwane’s mouth flattened and his demeanour chilled. Ishaq followed suit, realising his mistake. Marwane said, ‘Everything is a joke to those people, they’ve lost their souls.’
They reached the old community centre. More of a hut, it was a shoebox-of-a-building. The walls were pock-marked from errant shrapnel thrown by passers-by. The windows were mostly smashed, and covered by rusted grating. Once a beneficiary of council funding, it had a good set of play equipment outside. In between the scattered trash there lay a carousel, multiple climbing frames, and swings. Yet no movement, petrified as in an exhibit. A sole lamppost bathed the area in a lambent pool, separating it from the field, and, once within, the rest of the estate looked indistinct. Two paths led to parts of the now adumbral estate which, while screened, was only a hop, skip, and a jump away.
In the light they saw a boy wearing a green puffer vest over a marl hoody. He took his over-sized headphones off, and brought down his hood.
‘What’s up? Long time, man. Ishaq, bruv, you’ve gone awol. Don’t see you much since school days.’
Marwane whistled, and gave the new boy a hug. ‘What’s happening, Levi? Ishaq’s having an identity crisis.’
‘Ah shut up Marwane,’ said Ishaq, as he clasped Levi’s hand and slightly bumped his chest.
‘I. Den. Tee. Tee.’
‘Proper dry. You’re really not half as funny as you think you are, you know that?’
Levi nodded. ‘I see. I see. So what’s that about?’
‘Well, it seems to involve lots of posh words, and mixing with posh rich-kids discussing poshness. Ya know, how much pain is in the world,’ said Marwane.
Levi said, ‘Nah man, Ishaq’s a homeboy. He knows what he’s about, don’t ya?’
‘Yea, he does really, but he also spends too much time on the Internet, and reading newspapers about how much people hate him. He gets-off on it.’
Levi folded with a snicker, bringing a fist up to his mouth in an abortive attempt to quell it.
Ishaq made a theatrical shake of the head, emphasising slow and long sweeps to show his pity and patience. ‘Course I do. Course I do. I would love to be you, M.’ Ishaq’s hands were out like a showman at a circus. ‘I’d love to be dumb enough of our situation so I could be happy in my ignorance. You see Levi, Marwane just likes to stick his head in the ground like an ostrich. He never developed past five years old, and still thinks if he covers his eyes and can’t see people, then, they definitely can’t see him.’
‘Whatever, Ishaq. Go and spend all day on twitter. Hashtag killallmuslims.’
‘Marwane. Xo xo my backside.’
Levi continued his snorting, as Ishaq gave Marwane a playful punch in the chest and Marwane bent over, pretending to wince in pain. ‘Man, you boys don’t change.’
‘Anyway, enough of our stuff. How are things with you? What’s new?’ asked Ishaq.
Levi’s mouth fell into a grim line. ‘Where the fuck have you been? You haven’t heard? My cousin Leon got stabbed last week. Bled-out on the corner of the estate under one of the bridges. You haven’t been past there? Seen all the flowers and the incident sign?’
Ishaq nodded. ‘I did see that, bruv. I’m sorry I didn’t realise who it was. What went on? How’s his family?’
‘His mum’s in bits. I don’t know what happened. He was sixteen. Some random beef. It’s fucking mental. Maybe he did something stupid, I don’t know, but I’m pretty messed-up about it, too. Someone said there was a group of them, just bounced on him like a pack of dogs. Fucking sick. Man, I’m sick of this place. Police don’t do nuthin’.’
A fox darted out from the darkness. Levi recoiled with fright. With its neck rigid, the fox strolled its way round the edge of the play area. It kept a disconcerting stare on the boys as it sniffed out any discarded food.
Marwane, trying to do the civil thing and not laugh at Levi’s jump, ‘You alright?’
‘Nah man, I is cool,’ Levi replied, his face telling a different story as his body still shuddered. ‘Those foxes are becoming bare brave, ya know. Vermin like rats. They carry disease. We should be shooting them all.’
Ishaq said, ‘They breed like rabbits; you kill one, they just get replaced. You just have to put up with it.’
Marwane ran up to the fox, his arms wide as if he were attempting a capture. It gave him a stare and then scampered off. ‘See Ishaq, all mouth no action, like you. In fact worse than that, they can’t even bare their teeth to try and look scary. They don’t have the face muscle for it.’
‘Nice one. Who told you that? You can’t have been reading a book.’
‘Haha. Shams – he knows his stuff, man.’
A voice spat out at them, gatecrashing their shelter. ‘What the fuck are the three of you hanging around here for?’
Ishaq looked in the direction of the sound but couldn’t see anything outside the bubble of light. All the boys could hear was was their own pallid breathing – Levi’s with a choking rasp – as Ishaq started to see three formless sketches approach. He placed a hand above his eyes and squinted, while his torso dipped as his body prepared to run. The watery shapes were just outside the lit area and, though bathed in the moonlight, it was hard to make out any features.
The first broke through the barrier of illumination. ‘I said, what the fuck are you doing here! This is our area.’ The voice belonged to Mujahid.
‘Flippin’ hell, bruv. Mujahid, you scared us,’ said Marwane. Levi relaxed, taking his lead from the relieved expressions of the other two.
‘Ah, brothers Marwane and Ishaq. I didn’t see it was you.’ The voice sounded robotic, somehow devoid. ‘Did you boys not hear what that man said, on the television? It’s all going to kick-off now. I want to make sure that Muslims are safe on the estate. I’m making sure round here is a safe zone.’
‘Like a Muslim-only one? That’s cool, it could be like our version of Chinatown, except instead of hanging lanterns, you lot can start hanging televisions, Taliban stylee,’ said Marwane, who started laughing with Ishaq and bumping fists.
‘You two are both very funny. Laugh-a-minute kids.’ Mujahid pointed at his own severe face, that he extended out from the darkness. ‘Do you see me laughing?’
The other spectres resolved into men. One came behind Mujahid and pushed at a swing. He prodded it with a single, extended, finger. Enough to make a line of swinging shadows that swayed along the ground, as the chain made a desperate squeak.
‘Who is this, here?’ Mujahid asked, indicating Levi only with his eyes.
‘Just a friend from school we bumped into.’ Ishaq felt a tingling down his spine that peaked and crashed. His skin felt clammy, he thought probably from all that running about. The silence intensified, and he smelled the pack of men mix with the whiff of decomposition.
‘Ok. We’ll leave you to it. Good seeing you bruv.’ Ishaq moved away, but Mujahid stepped forward and placed a contending hand on his chest. The other members positioned around the three, to make obstacles of their exit.
‘Not so fast. I asked who is he? Ishaq, don’t disrespect me. I’m a Brother, just like you and Marwane.’
Levi looked at the new men, was made unsure by their frosty interaction and tried to warm them up.
‘Fam, I know Ishaq from school. We are friends from way back.’
‘Don’t ‘fam’ me. You and me are nothing. So are you Muslim?’ Levi hesitated and looked at Ishaq for guidance. ‘Don’t look at him; what are you doing out here so late?’ Mujahid put his face into Levi’s, foreheads touching. Levi cast his eyes downwards, his body hung.
Ishaq pulled Levi away. ‘He’s not Muslim. He’s a friend, he was just telling me how he lost his cousin last week. He’s in mourning. Just on his way home, like us. You’re right. We should all be getting back.’
The one who toyed with the swing joined his friends. They all waited for Mujahid’s response, silent while children’s amusements created playful shadows, their motion at odds with the static figures of men. Ishaq knew this was not the tranquil quiet of long summer nights.
One of the men came just behind the shoulder of Mujahid. Ishaq recognised Saeed, he was the son of one of his father’s colleagues from the bus depot. When younger, Ishaq used to visit their house and Saeed would let him play on his games console, knowing that Ishaq’s family couldn’t afford one. That soft teenager was a world away from this shaven-headed guy. Someone had once made an inappropriate comment to his sister and he and a group of friends steamed into the guy’s phone shop and beat him senseless. So he done time. Stupid time.
As a group they didn’t look like much. Maybe they found some some affirmation and brotherhood. Some comfort in each other’s assigned guilt. When he looked at Mujahid, he thought that he was internalising it all, and taking others with him. Allowing it to become woven in to the fabric of his being, losing hope of anything better. Just playing-up to an imposed identity, realising a destiny of malevolence endowed by others. That was what scared him about these people. They were so unknown.
Saeed looked timid, an echo of that former life, as he whispered into Mujahid’s ear, ‘Why you hypin’? We know these guys, let them go.’
‘Shut the fuck up. Who asked you?’ Saeed shrank back.
Looking at Ishaq, Mujahid said, ‘Friends? With him?’ Returning to Levi, ‘So, your boy was the guy who croaked…I heard he was runnin’ for some other lot round here, causing trouble. You should know we don’t allow that here. So, what you doing?’
‘Nothing fam, I was just on my way home. I don’t want any trouble.’
‘I said don’t fam me,’ shouted Mujahid, bawling at Levi, whose eyes widened and face opened. ‘Let’s see what you got on you. Jump up and down for me…I said jump.’ Levi looked again at Ishaq, and then a made a couple of half-hearted hops as Mujahid listened for signs of anything loose and metal.
There was no method to this, it was just humiliation. Something you do just because you can. Ishaq stepped in and stopped Levi. ‘Mujahid, itaqullah. Fear Allah. What do you think you are doing? This is too disrespectful.’
‘What did you say? You fucking little shit!’ Mujahid grabbed Ishaq by the neck and pushed him against the metal A-shaped frame of the swings. With his free hand, he brought out a knife. ‘Don’t you fucking dare talk to me like that! Always the same with you lot, looking down on people like me, when you’re the snake.’
Marwane moved to grab Mujahid but was held by the two other men. Pinned, Ishaq was helpless as Mujahid brought a glimmering blade to his throat. He summoned up all his resolve to stop his lower lip from quivering, offering a silent prayer that, if his life was taken, he would at least die with some dignity.
Breathless, Ishaq said, ‘I don’t look down on anyone. You are my brother, and I’m telling you this isn’t the way. Why are you acting like this? I haven’t done anything. He hasn’t done anything.’
‘You haven’t done anything? You haven’t done anything? You’ve threatened me and my family. If I go back in, there’s no one to feed them. And you say that you’ve done nothing? As for these kuffar, they give us no dignity so why should we give them any. I’ll take what I want from these people and this system, no man can tell me anything else.’
‘Threaten you, what are you talking about?’ Ishaq stared at Mujahid’s eyes. He looked frenzied, but those eyes were clear and held a harsh focus. ‘At least let this guy go while we clear this up? He’s got nothing to do with anything?’
Mujahid release his grip ever so slightly and, after some calculation, nodded at Levi, who in turn looked at Ishaq.
‘Go on, I’ll be fine. Don’t call anyone, leave us to it,’ said Ishaq.
Ishaq’s voice was betrayed by his shaking hands but Levi nodded in thanks and ran.
Ishaq addressed Mujahid straight on. ‘You can’t violate other people’s property. Brother, you’re fooling yourself if you think this is halal. Look where it’s ended, a knife against another Muslim’s throat.’
‘You guys, in your mosques and circles, and your scholars.’ Mujahid broke eye contact and spat onto the rubber matting. ‘You heard them. They’ve called for our end…and they’ve spread their little moles and grasses, like you, amongst us. You haven’t a clue. It’s a war, out here. We do what we need to do to survive.’
It came out in a spitted gush. His demeanour and words confused Ishaq. ‘Survive? By selling drugs? By eating your own people!’
‘Drugs? Foolish child, what you talking about? What’s the difference? You want to be like Mummy and Daddy…pay taxes…work ‘til you’re dead?’
Marwane had been struck dumb, but manged to coerce some words from himself. He sounded foreign as, for the first time, Ishaq heard tremors in his voice. ‘Mujahid, this has gone too far. You’re scaring us. Allah knows what we’ve done, but we apologise if we’ve dissed you. We’re just on the way home. Subhanallah, you used to come to the halaqah. Why you acting like this?’
‘The circle again; all you people know is being a slave to the system. What kind of Muslims are you? If you are Muslims at all? What’s the difference anyway, we are all stuck here. You and me, both. Rules are different here.’
Ishaq struggled against Mujahid’s clamped hold, finding some new energy. ‘The difference is the halal and the haram. Allah sees what we do!’
‘And you say that after what you have done?’
‘What have I done? You’re not making any sense.’
‘Leave it, bruv, you’ve made your point. Let them be. You can’t be hurting one of them, one of us, like that,’ Saeed implored Mujahid; but he was implacable, not even acknowledging him.
‘You stood with me just a day ago, chatting like a friend. You’re a liar! A traitor! You threaten me being able to provide. A guy who just wants to go about his business. You like talking about truths, don’t you? So I’m teaching you one now. Tell me Ishaq, for all your big words. Your big-man words from your small-boy mouth. What can you do if I decided to put out some justice on you, right now?’ Mujahid strengthened his grip on Ishaq, who could feel a crushing just below the neck.
Ishaq’s eyes bulged and glided downwards, then over the group, as he gave out one limp, paling, word. ‘Nothing.’
‘Exactly.’ Mujahid finally smiled and released his grip. ‘Ok, you lot can clear, I better not hear anything about this.’
Ishaq collected himself and adjusted his clothing. He could hear formerly-heavy breathing around him retreating to a normal pattern. He gave Marwane an uncertain look, but his friend looked away. He moved his gaze onto the others. Hesitant, he looked outside the light and went to step out.
‘Just one more thing,’ said Mujahid. ‘I want to give you a reminder to behave in future.’ Mujahid grabbed Ishaq and pinned him, again, and slashed him on the arm. Ishaq let out a powered cry. As the sound carried across the dark space into the estate and into homes, lights, that were illuminated, extinguished. The obligating burden to see, to be accountable, was too heavy a responsibility.
Time slowed as Ishaq fought the fog of consciousness. He felt a slashing of skin. Cutting that continued for an eternity. Mujahid threw him to the floor. Ishaq saw a clump of rust invade the white of his football shirt and looked on as crimson drops collapsed on the floor. His own blood. His own blood oozing out. Blood dripping out from his fat and muscle, cut by another Muslim.
He tried to cover the bleeding with his other hand. Marwane struggled to get to Ishaq, but was still held by two men. Breathing rapidly, Ishaq said, ‘Mujahid, this is madness.’
Mujahid pinioned Ishaq with the toe of his boot. ‘This is mercy, considering what you done. One more thing. Tell me about Shams. Would he double deal me? Are you two in it together? Tell me the truth and I’ll let you go? Just a little word.’
Ishaq could not believe the sheer amount of warm ooze that the cold ground leeched. He wondered if he was going to die, in his own squalid puddle. He half-heard his own words, as part of him prepared for this final destination.
‘…Shams is a good lad. He wouldn’t double deal.’
Mujahid moved his foot to Ishaq’s upper arm and Ishaq screamed, this time with a chesty gurgling as he struggled for breath.
‘Say it again, tell me the truth. If you tell me the truth, that he’s been lying, I’ll let you go.’
‘I’m telling you the truth. He’s done nothing.’
Mujahid moved his leg away. ‘Tell Shams, I want that money, and I better not get any more messin’ from any of you guys or it’ll be a different story next time. You’re lucky I used my knife instead of something else…you know what I’m saying?’
Mujahid and his cohort walked-off, disappearing into shadow. Saeed had tried to kneel to take a look at Ishaq but was grabbed at the collar and told to move. Marwane helped Ishaq up so that he could lean back against the posts. Marwane’s hands shook as he took off his football top and tied it above the cut.
Ishaq could hear a scratchy pounding and looked, his mind wandering for its origins until he realised it was his heart. Drowsy, he started to feel a chill as his clothing saturated with sweat. He stayed there, slumped across the post, for a while. At one point Marwane stood, as if he were getting help, but Ishaq used his good arm to cling weakly to a sleeve of Marwane’s t-shirt.
‘I think it’s ok, just get me to the hospital.’
‘Don’t be crazy.’
‘Just get me up and help me in to St Georges. It’s not too far.’
‘It’s way too far to walk, the way you are.’
‘You can borrow your cousin’s car, right?’
Marwane closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead in thought, while Ishaq lay there stealing spasmed breath. Ishaq tried to concentrate on inhaling, but the tugs of splintered air hurt his insides, as if he were choking on pins. Ishaq looked at Marwane, tall like a tower but with no fortification. Ishaq had seen the fear paralyse him. Now it struck him hard, how that tall tower was now collapsing in on itself.
‘Marwane, it’s going to be ok. Just help please. Let’s get going.’
‘But what are you going to say?’
‘I’m not going to say anything.’
‘The man’s crazy. An animal; he overstepped the mark.’
‘And, if I tell the brothers, it’ll start a war. I’m just going to keep quiet for now.’ Ishaq struggled with his answers, as he used his left hand to wipe moisture from his eyes, his breathing now laboured like a man ascending a hill but afraid of reaching its peak and journey’s end.
‘And your parents?’
‘Please, Marwane, no more questions…no more bloody questions. Just help me. Please.’