Just my luck! Here I am, thinking I’m going to be rescued, and it ends up being me doing the rescuing. But what am I going to do now? I try to kid myself that he’s been tied up for a joke or something by other kids, but I know that can’t be the truth. He looks half starved. And he’s filthy, like no one cares about him. But he couldn’t have just been dumped. Could he?
I finally remember the word for father. ‘Babu?’ I ask hopefully. He must have a father somewhere. Even if his father’s cruel and horrible and treats his kid like this, I’m sure he’ll still be happy to take my two hundred dirhams and get me to Abudai.
The kid’s whole expression suddenly changes. I’m not sure if he understands.
‘I want you to take me to your babu,’ I say loudly. It seems to work, but he speaks too fast for me to understand. I do pick up the words ‘babu’ and ‘mayyet’. And I know ‘mayyet’ means ‘dead’. There’s an archeaological dig not far from Abudai where an ancient town has been found. The locals call it Madeenah Mayyet – the Dead City.
So I guess he’s saying his father is dead. That figures. Well, where’s his mother? She obviously doesn’t give a toss about him. Maybe she was forced to marry again, and he’s got a cruel stepfather or something. I don’t really care. Anyone will do as long as they can give me water and get me back to Abudai.
‘Mama?’ I ask him, and my heart drops when I hear him say something about Abudai, and he suddenly looks at me in a hopeful way. I guess that’s where he’s from, as well. It’s true then. He has been dumped. Somebody just wanted to get rid of him for some reason and figured the mountains would be the best spot. He’s as lost out here as I am and wants me to help him.
What am I going to do now? I can’t leave him tied up; he’ll die. But if I let him go, he might try to kill me again. I don’t trust him one bit. I half want to just run away and pretend I never saw him.
For some reason, my gran’s face, pops into my head. Barby would know what to do. Then, like a coin has dropped into a slot in my head, I have a brilliant idea. I can call her and ask. Get her to send help. She’s always home. And even if the money runs out she can ring me back. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
I pull out the phone and my hands are trembling. Please let this plan work. Please have enough battery power.
The battery indicator bar flickers as I key in the number. I can hardly breathe. It rings three times and then there’s a click. I hear Barby speaking in a tinny voice and asking me to leave a message. It seems like forever, waiting for the beep.
‘Barby, it’s me,’ I yell. ‘I’m lost in the mountains and I need to talk to you. I need help.’
Is he begging his father to forgive him? What terrible deed did this one do to suffer this punishment also? Allah! It seems his father has no mercy.
I hear the kid praying. I am, too. I’m praying that Barby picks up. Sometimes she doesn’t get to the phone for a while. The battery bar flickers. Then I get this sinking feeling like there’s a rock dropping to the bottom of my stomach. I remember that because we were all meant to be in Melbourne, Barby was going to the city to meet us. We were all going to see Sarah speak on her school’s debating team. Barby won’t be back at the farm for at least three days so she won’t get my message until then.
The screen goes blank. The battery has died. I shake it, but it’s no good. It’s dead.
Just like I’ll be shortly.
Oh God. Everything’s turned out to be such a mess. ‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’ Everyone says I’m really brainy because I can think fast and I have good ideas, but my mum always says I would be smarter if I slowed down and thought about the consequences. Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.
But how can I think straight when I get mad, like I did this morning? It’s like my head’s being banged against a wall. And now, here I am, lost in the middle of the mountains with a flat mobile and a charger, but nothing to plug it into.
I know there’s nobody else to blame but me. I was so mad at Mr Hartliss. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him for anything. I can almost hear my mum. ‘Look where that temper’s got you now,’ she’d say.
Lost in the mountains without any water, with some crazy kid who’s been tied up like an animal and who tried to kill me. That’s where it’s got me. And if anybody ever comes looking for us, all they’ll find are bleached bones. Maybe they won’t even know which one of us is which.
I drop the phone into my backpack alongside my totally useless charger. I guess I can’t leave the kid like this, though – all tied up. I pull my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket and open out the blade.
Ah, Allah! Now since this one’s father is not showing any mercy, no mercy is he showing me. For sure he is going to slit my throat.
‘Stop being such a girl,’ I say, as I bend down and cut the ropes around his hands and feet, but he’s shaking so much it’s not easy. Finally, I free him, but I don’t look into his eyes because I don’t want to see that look, like I can help him. I can’t. We’re going to die and that’s that.
The kid’s legs must be numb from being tied up. Numb like me. I just sit here and watch him trying to get up, trying to crawl. I don’t know where he thinks he can go. There’s nowhere to go. Doesn’t he realise that?
I feel like crying, but I can’t even do that. I’m as dried up inside as this whole scorched country. I lie back on the hot ground, close my eyes and pull my cap over my face to get some relief from the sun. My head throbs. I can feel all the bites and cuts and scrapes on my arms and legs, but I don’t care any more. About anything.
Then, because my brain won’t stop turning things over, I think of something. Even condemned men get a last meal. I remember the After-Dinner Mints.
I sit up, zip open my bag and find the box. Of course, they’ve melted, but they’re best like that because then you can lick the paper.
I poke my tongue into the wrapping and even before I taste the bitter sweetness and cool peppermint flavour, the richness of it hits my nose and nearly sends me reeling.
The boy, who’s sitting not far away now, rubbing his legs to get them working again, watches me as I lick the mess of brown and green. He looks at me with those big eyes and it’s like Tara begging.
‘Here,’ I hold one out to him. ‘You may as well have one, too. We’re both goners.’
What is this? It cannot be poison for he is eating. But Old Goat says that foreign devils are always taking so why is this one giving? And why is he setting me free?
He stares at me with this strange look on his face.
‘You don’t have to take it,’ I say. ‘I was only being polite.’
He snatches the mint out of my hand. I see him sniff it, then his eyes light up and he pokes his tongue into the paper. Then he stuffs the whole thing in his gob – paper and all. You’d think he’d never eaten chocolate before.
I take time to lick the paper absolutely clean. I’m concentrating so hard on what I’m doing, I don’t notice the sky until I realise it’s gone dark and it’s suddenly got windy. Small bundles of rolling grass race each other across the valley.
I look up, and I’m totally amazed to see shining storm clouds building above the valley. They weren’t there ten minutes ago. It’s like someone came in when I was concentrating on eating my mint and blew them all up just like big balloons. They’ve blocked out the sun and it even feels cool now.
For a minute, I stare at them like I’ve never seen storm clouds before. They’re so purple and they shine with a yellow tinge, and they’re so fat they bulge downwards like someone’s belly. Then, like I’m dragging up a memory from a long time ago, I remember: summer storms. Sometimes, sitting up in my room, I’ve seen the storm clouds piling up over the mountains. Dad told me the name of the clouds, too – cumulonimbus. He said you always know them because they’re bumpy and knobbly and look like a huge cauliflower head. I remember my dad saying that if a pilot was silly enough to fly an aeroplane through clouds like that, the forces inside a thunderstorm could rip the aeroplane’s wings right off.
I hear a crack and there’s a flash. Next thing a freezing, wet splodge lands on my head and then I’m drenched.
The kid kneels down and prays as it rains. I’m too busy with my face upwards and my mouth open, yelling and drinking.
The rain only lasts a few minutes before the storm passes, but it’s like being put through a car wash. One minute a deluge, then the next back into the sunshine. Everything’s steaming like it’s cooking, and water is running off the rocks and just vanishing into the parched earth. I know what it’s like to be that thirsty.
I’m soaking wet. The kid is soaking wet. We’re both grinning like mad. He looks like a toothless monkey when he grins like that. I feel light-headed and a bit giddy, like I do after I’ve snuck one of my dad’s beers. But the only thing I’ve been drinking is the rain. Cool, delicious, soaking rain. It’s dripping off my nose and chin like tears, but I’m not crying. Or am I? It’s not raining now and yet warm, salty drops are still dripping down my face into my mouth.
Why is this one crying too much? Never am I crying like a bint. Not even when I am lost here in this Hell on Earth with this crazy Infidel boy.