Read Online Afghan Bound by Henry Morgan - Free Book Online Page B

the south of his desired destination. The first thing he needed was Pakistan rupees, and the most obvious course to take was to sell the bike. It wasn’t difficult, any form of transport in this region raised the owner to the status of movie star. He managed to wrangle seven hundred rupees from the owner of a one-pump garage, and he suspected the man had got himself a bargain. The money meant he could at least buy a bed for the night.
    Unfortunately Jalpuri was devoid of hotels. In fact it was devoid of most things, although it did have two pushbike repairers and a cobbler. But an Englishman is not alone for long in such a remote part of the world. Within a few minutes an assortment of children had tried to sell him everything from half a bicycle chain to a broken cricket bat. It brought a wry smile to his face; they probably thought an Englishman wouldn’t know what to do with a complete bat.
    â€˜You want room sir?’
    The sound of an English voice amidst so much jabbering immediately caught his attention.
    â€˜You want room sir?’ she repeated. ‘Good room. Cheap room.’
    He looked into her pretty young face and answered instinctively. ‘Yes. Yes I do. Thank you.’
    The girl took him by the hand and led him through the throngs of milling children.
    â€˜Ten rupees,’ she said, as they neared her rooms. ‘Cheap rooms. Plenty food.’
    Seven of them lived in three rooms above the village butchers; Yasmin, the oldest daughter, her three sisters, one brother, and two parents. Yasmin had taught herself English from the radio and any books she could get her hands on; mostly by begging them from tourists. Not that Jalpuri got many visitors.
    The entire household fell silent the moment they entered the house. Yasmin spoke to her father and gestured as if to hand him money. This smoothed over any initial reservations, and her mother motioned for David to sit and have some food with them. It was getting quite late and he was glad of the meal, although it was a lot spicier than anything he had tasted before. Afterwards the youngest girls took the dishes away for cleaning and David asked where he could sleep. Yasmin took him to a room at the back of the house, which was usually used by the young ones.
    â€˜They sleep with my parents,’ she told him in reply to his questioning look. ‘They sometimes do that anyway.’
    â€˜I don’t want to cause any problems,’ he protested.
    â€˜You have not,’ she answered coolly, then turned and left.
    The bed was little more than matting in the corner of the room, but to David it felt like the best divan in the shop. He stashed his gold laden socks inside some clothes and made a pillow for himself. He climbed gratefully into his bed and was asleep in seconds.
    Sometime during the night, exactly what time he didn’t know, an exploring hand found its way beneath the covers. Although quickly awake, David lay frozen for a while to consider his actions. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, focusing gradually on a stooped figure near the bottom of the bed. The hand crept further along his leg, no doubt searching for any valuables it could find. With the benefit of surprise David lunged towards the figure, knocking it backwards with ease. In an instant he was atop the shadow, rolling, fighting, grappling, until suddenly he felt the unmistakable shape of a woman’s breast. Small yes, firm certainly, but a breast it definitely was. He seized her wrists and held them firmly above her head, and there in the faint light of a breaking dawn he saw Yasmin, breasts heaving, her body soaked with perspiration and her face a mask of fear and excitement.
    â€˜What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded.
    In a soft, almost childlike voice, she said in her broken English. ‘I never seen a white man’s thing before. I only wanted see yours, to see what it look like.’
    With such clear innocence she could only be