Slowly sweeping the area with his binoculars Josh went from hut to hut and window to window, looking for any clue that might lead him to the possible whereabouts of his father. When he got to the first window of the fourth building, which was more brightly lit than the others, he could see a man sitting behind a desk with his back towards him. On the desk was a reading lamp, a telephone, a stick which the man kept playing with and some papers. Suddenly, as if startled, the man looked up and picked up the stick, held it for a second then crashed it down on the desk. The man’s object of anger seemed to be someone who had just come into the room. Josh could see part of an arm, then the body of a man in uniform as he moved more into view. The seated man, showing tantrums more associated with a teenager than an adult, pushed his chair back, stood up and once again struck the desk with his stick. He made a gesture, as if brushing the uniformed man aside, who abruptly appeared to leave the room.
Some minutes elapsed before the man turned and started to pace up and down, the whole time striking the side of his leg with the stick, as if deep in thought. He stopped and looked up as the same uniformed man came back into view, this time prodding in front of him, a man manacled and dressed in rags. Even from this distance it was clear for Josh to see that he was emaciated and drawn. His bearded face bore the marks of despair. He kept his head high but with obvious effort. He swayed slightly from side to side as if about to collapse. The man with the stick walked up to him, stood for a moment, then brought it down with a vicious swipe across his face. The chained man’s swaying rhythm was uninterrupted as he seemed to ignore the blow. This sent the stick-wielding brute into a raging frenzied attack, striking his prisoner time and again across both sides of his face. Still the prisoner appeared to ignore the blows, except that his swaying became more pronounced.
Josh tried desperately to get a better view of the proceedings and, without saying a word passed the binoculars to Ahmad before using his sleeve to clean some of the dust and cobwebs off the small pane of glass in front of him. A moment later Ahmad offered the binoculars back, but in that short time the scene had changed and all Josh was able to see was an empty room.
“What happened?” he whispered.
Ahmad looked at him enquiringly and shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know,” he said. “Except that, just after you handed me the glasses, the monster hit the prisoner with something and he went down. I believe that he is still on the floor, behind the desk. I feel ashamed,” he continued, “that such barbaric treatment should be committed by an Arab.”
As Josh kept the binoculars focussed through the cleaned window pane he saw a head slowly appear from behind the desk and could see that it was the prisoner slowly getting to his feet. The inquisitor, materialising from the right, this time minus his jacket and holding the stick in both hands in front of him, glared at the prisoner, who had now regained his full height, towering over the guard by several inches. He showed complete contempt for his weasel faced interrogator by defiantly staring him out, like a prize fighter before a fight. With blood, sweat and saliva trickling from his mouth into his matted beard, he looked like Neptune coming up from the deep.
Josh’s binoculars began to rattle against the window as he pressed forward to gain a better view.
The bullying guard went berserk, leaping at his captive, whose chained legs prevented him from taking any evasive action and rained blow after blow upon his head until he went down again behind the desk and out of view. The perpetrator of the assault quickly stood back, with hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork.
The atmosphere around Josh and Ahmad was tense. Neither speaking or daring to take their eyes off the scene in front of them. Desperately, Josh tried to look for something on the prisoner that would give him a clue to his identity. The clothes he was wearing were torn to shreds and impossible to tell if they were the remnants of a British Army uniform. Due to the grime, beard, and matted hair that almost covered his face, the colour of his skin could not be determined with any certainty.
Two more uniformed men came into the room, bent down behind the desk, and seemed to try to help the prisoner to his feet. There was something in the attitude of one of them that led Josh to believe that he wanted no part in, and did not approve of, the treatment being dished out to the prisoner.
Twice he was seen to put himself between the prisoner and the interrogator, and each time he was roughly pushed aside. When he tried to leave the room, he was dragged back by his collar and, it would appear, told to take the prisoner away.
Another poor wretch was brought into the room. His dishevelled appearance, emaciated, scarred and bloody body was almost all that Josh could stand. He put the binoculars down and looked at Ahmad. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He whispered shaking his head, “and I’m only watching.” However, he reluctantly put the binoculars back to his eyes.
The same, grim, abhorrence continued with the next victim who the bullying perpetrator of misery took great delight in beating with his cane, punching and kicking, knowing full well that he could not fight back or properly defend himself.
Josh dropped his binoculars, stood back from the window and looked at Ahmad. “That…could…have…been…my…dad,” he almost shouted with tears welling up in his eyes and overflowing down his cheeks. “But thank God, it wasn’t.”
He slumped down onto the floor. “And I just stood here… watching…without…without.” He sat trembling for several minutes before his mouth began to set in a firm line as his jaw muscles tightened. “Those poor, poor guys.”
“What could we have done? The two of us against them. We wouldn’t have got past first base.”
“You’re right, Ahmad, but we must try something,” Josh said, composing himself. He stood up and looked out of the window again. “Now that we’ve discovered this terrible place, and even though my dad may not be here, we must try to do what we can for those who are.” Deep in thought he continued looking at the huts until his attention was quickly drawn to a figure striding purposefully towards them. He grabbed the binoculars and trained them on the uniformed advancing soldier. Over his shoulder he carried an AK47 assault rifle and in his hand a flashlight. As he got nearer he started to deviate to Josh’s left. Towards the gate and sentry. As the angle became more acute, Josh lost sight of him until he spotted the beam from the flashlight between the parameter fence and the building that they were in. “Quick,” he whispered, “help me throw some sand and dust on the window… he may notice that it’s been cleaned…Flatten yourself against the wall here, underneath the window, he’s shining his light into the buildings.” They quickly scraped their hands across the floor to gather as much sand and dust as they could and threw it at the pane of glass, but with little effect. The army of bugs continued to attack them as they sat close to the wall, desperately trying not to move or make a sound. They waited and listened, hardly daring to breathe in case the vapour from their breath caused the windows to mist up.
Like an advancing juggernaut the powerful beam got nearer and nearer until eventually piercing the gloom and lighting up the room. The soldier hesitated, tapping the window with his flashlight…he tapped it a second time…then a third…harder, which was followed by the sound of broken glass as the window shattered, showering Josh and Ahmad in splinters. The soldier let out an oath muttering and cursing to himself before shining his light into the building again, moving the beam backwards and forwards over the broken glass close to the boy’s feet. A moment later they heard the sound of slowly retreating footsteps on gravel.
Still not daring to talk, they waited before, very slowly, raising their heads above the window sill where they were able to see the soldier returning to the first of the small buildings.
“What do you think all that was about?” asked Josh, half to himself, before carefully directing the beam from his flashlight onto the floor.
In amongst the broken glass was the crushed body of a 20 centimetre long scorpion.