No bang.
That’s all I think as I claw my way up the side of the rocket crater towards Bibi. Rubble scrapes my fingers raw, but I hardly notice.
No explosion.
That’s good.
Unless …
Unless I missed it when the tank was screeching. Or it was muffled by Bibi’s long skirt. Or someone’s invented a silent landmine.
I stop thinking about that and keep climbing.
I can’t smell any explosion. That’s good too. When Yusuf’s grandfather demonstrated a landmine exploding to us kids in the village the smell was gross. Worse than Mussa’s socks.
‘Hang on, Bibi,’ I shout frantically. ‘It’s going to be OK.’
They can’t hear me. Yusuf is yelling too loudly and Bibi’s screams are filling the air like desert birds after a battle.
Please, I pray. Don’t let her legs be blown off. Not even just one.
I fling myself over the rim of the crater.
Bibi is on the other side of the soccer pitch, surrounded by war wreckage. She’s standing rock still, one leg straight, the other crooked. Yusuf is kneeling next to her straight leg, pushing down with both hands on her foot.
As I run to her I see what’s happened. The mine hasn’t gone off because Bibi’s weight is still on it. If she moves her foot off the metal plate, the mine will explode.
‘Bibi,’ I yell. ‘Don’t move.’
It’s a dumb thing to say and I can see from the tearful glare Bibi gives me that she thinks so too.
I drop to my knees and press my hands on top of Yusuf’s.
‘Ow,’ says Bibi. ‘That hurts.’
‘Why didn’t you keep an eye on her?’ I shout at Yusuf.
Immediately I wish I hadn’t said that. Yusuf looks as miserable as I feel.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s not your fault. The government’s supposed to have cleared all the mines this close to the village.’
‘That’s what they said seven years ago,’ mutters Yusuf, sliding one hand off Bibi’s foot and rubbing his leg stump inside his baggy shorts. ‘I’m sorry, Jamal.’
‘It’s my fault,’ says Bibi. ‘I saw something I wanted for my bird migration project.’
She’s pointing to a chunk of rusty debris nearby. An entire wing section off a fighter plane.
I don’t say anything. I can feel Bibi’s foot trembling. Her lips have gone pale. The poor thing’s terrified. This is not the time to remind her that our school is meant to be secret and it won’t be secret much longer if she starts dragging ten metre pieces of project material into the house.
‘What are we going to do?’ she whimpers.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’ll think of something. Just remember the secret of soccer. Never give up, even when things are looking hopeless.’
Bibi bursts into tears again.
‘Don’t say hopeless, you camel poop,’ she yells.
I look around for help. The village isn’t that far away and I know Yusuf will hop like the wind if I ask him, but I don’t. If the wrong people come to rescue Bibi and see she’s a girl, she’ll be in almost as much trouble as she is now.
There’s only one thing to do.
I stand up and put my foot next to Bibi’s.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Slide your foot off the metal plate while I slide my foot on.’
Bibi gawks at me. Yusuf’s mouth is hanging open too.
‘Are you sure?’ he whispers. ‘If that plate pops up, the mine’ll explode.’
Yusuf’s got a good heart, but he can be a bit of a referee sometimes. I don’t mind. He’s only my age but he’s taller than me and he’s already got hair on his leg.
‘I’ll be careful,’ I say, struggling to look confident. ‘Come on Bibi, just slide your foot off slowly.’
‘But then you’ll be on the mine,’ says Bibi. ‘You could be blown up.’
‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘It’s probably a dud mine anyway. A lot of these landmines are twenty years old and totally clapped out. Aren’t they, Yusuf?’
Yusuf doesn’t say anything. He’s probably not the best person to be asking.
Bibi is staring at Yusuf’s empty shorts leg.
‘No,’ she yells. ‘It’s too risky.’ She crumples into tears again.
‘Bibi,’ I say desperately. ‘If you get blown up, people will find out you’ve been playing soccer. Even if I tear up the note.’
Bibi shakes her head. ‘Mum and Dad will understand,’ she replies. ‘They’re always doing things they’re not meant to. Like school, and Dad putting army petrol in his taxi that time.’
I’m getting frantic and I can see Yusuf is too. I’m hoping the mine’s a rusted dud, but it might not be. Yusuf’s grandfather says that some old mines are seriously unstable. Some go off even before the metal plate flips up.
I’ve got to get Bibi away from here.
‘What about the government?’ I say to her. ‘If the government finds out a girl’s been playing soccer, Mum and Dad are in big trouble, remember?’
Bibi thinks about this. I can see she knows it’s true. But instead of getting off the mine, she gets angry.
‘It’s not fair,’ she yells. ‘I don’t want to get blown up and I don’t want you to get blown up either. It’s not fair.’
This is bad. She’s working up to a tantrum. When Bibi has a tantrum she stamps her feet.
I grab her shoulders and put my face close to hers.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘Let me step on the mine. Then Yusuf will help you get home, and once you’re inside he’ll bring help for me. We’ll all be fine.’
‘He’s right,’ says Yusuf.
Bibi glares at me for a long time. ‘OK,’ she says finally. ‘If I die, I hope you do as well.’ Then her eyes fill with tears again and she puts her arms round me. ‘Because if I was dead and you weren’t, I’d really miss you.’
She shuffles off the mine, Yusuf holding her feet so she doesn’t move too fast.
I shuffle on at the same time.
In the tension of the moment I forget Bibi is meant to be sprinting away. We hold each other tight while we wait and see what happens.
Nothing.
I can feel the spring of the mine pushing against the soles of my feet, but the mine doesn’t explode.
‘OK,’ I say to Yusuf. ‘Run for it.’
It’s not a very thoughtful thing to say to a kid with one leg, but I know Yusuf doesn’t mind. He grabs his crutches with one hand and Bibi with the other.
She’s still holding onto me, her dark eyes staring at me fiercely. ‘Jamal,’ she says, ‘I like soccer and I’m going to keep on playing it.’ She hugs me, then thinks of something. ‘Unless you’re dead, because then I wouldn’t feel like it.’
She gives me a final hug and hurries away with Yusuf.
I look down at the metal plate under my feet.
It doesn’t look very rusty. It looks quite new. Which is good. New mines are better. The coloured wires haven’t faded and the bomb-disposal experts can see which ones to snip.
Of course, if I was a desert warrior, I’d have a go at snipping them myself.
No. Don’t even think about it. Bomb disposal experts do years of training, plus practice at stopping their hands shaking. Best to leave it to them.
Even though my hands are shaking, inside I’m feeling more relaxed.
Then I hear Bibi yelling my name and I get tense again.
I look up.
Bibi is running towards me, sobbing.
‘I can’t,’ she’s yelling. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’
I watch in horror as she flings her arms round me and buries her face in my chest. I try to bend my legs to absorb the impact like David Beckham does when a defender barges into him, but Bibi is moving too fast and together we sway and totter.
And fall.
Off the mine.
We cling to each other in the dust and scream for a long time. When we realise we’re still alive, we stop.
We stare at the metal plate.
It hasn’t flipped up.
No bang.
We get up and I’ve never felt so faint or sick or dizzy.
‘You pongy lump of camel spleen,’ Bibi yells at the mine. ‘I’d like to kick you in the guts.’
As I take her arm and drag her towards the village, I start to feel better. We’ve survived. We’re not dead. Even though Bibi’s not safely home yet, and I may throw up at any minute, life is good.