pig shelter behind his house where he tied up his donkeys. They watched him feed a chain through a retaining ring in the wall of the house and padlock the chain around the man’s ankle. They watched the big man test the chain, then come around front and hand Elksran a bottle and a small package of what he called monzoul , which they knew to be a cheap narcotic.
“Feed him scraps,” they heard the big man tell Elskran. “He is to live like the other pigs. But don’t kill him. If he dies, you die.”
“The way we did it before, Master?”
“Only hang a sheet of canvas over this one. I don’t want him burned. Every morning before you water him … Here, I’ll show you.”
He grabbed a stick from one of the children and went out back where the man in shirt sleeves was cowering against the building. The children watched Elskran remove the man’s shoes and jumped back when the big man started striking the bottoms of the cowering man’s feet.
“Twenty times or more every morning, twenty times every night. Bring blood. But nowhere else, just the feet.”
“I understand, Master,” Elskran said, looking at the children as though hoping they realized the significance of his having been entrusted with this important task. Maybe they wouldn’t ridicule him after this. Maybe he’d get some respect from them.
When the big man and his driver went away, the children followed Elskran to the back of the house and watched him stand over the cowering prisoner.
“No screaming,” they heard him tell the man. “No swearing in front of the children. We are Christians here.”
“I’ll pay anything you want,” they heard the cowering man say.
“And when they kill me for taking your money, where will I spend it,” Elskran said, “in hell?”
They watched the cowering man try to scrub flies off the bottoms of his feet, grinding them into the slime of the garbage. They watched a dog timidly approach the man and sniff at his bleeding toes. They laughed when the man cried out in pain because he had tried to kick the dog with the foot that was chained.
“Get away from here!” Elskran shouted at them, coming around the corner of the house with a bottle to his lips. “He is a bad man who has to be punished. Stay away from him!”
Chapter Five
East of the city, Nick Palermo turned his pickup into a narrow road that led across a field to the river where a girl in skirt and blouse was walking barefoot on the grass near the water. She was slender and had long black hair that fell gently over her shoulders. Occasionally she stooped to pick something off the ground, examine it, toss it aside.
“I’ll wait here,” Habib said, admiring the girl through the windshield.
“She’s a child,” Nick said.
Habib laughed. He pointed at the man on a bench further down the river whose back was turned to them. “Probably his daughter.”
“Stay in the car in case there are messages—”
“It will be my pleasure,” Habib said.
As Nick walked over gravel toward the man on the bench, he glanced at the girl. She was pretty, and maybe seventeen years old. The breeze off the river occasionally flattened her skirt against her buttocks, no doubt what Habib was fascinated by.
“And what do you have for me?” he said as soon as Nawaf turned, a small man in a linen jacket and gray slacks. He had a narrow face and a nose like a hawk’s beak and a mole on his forehead the size of a third eye.
“A name,” Nawaf said. “Nuha Za’im is the woman at the café where Bashir Yassin was picked up.”
“Where can I find her?”
“That’s her address,” handing Nick a slip of paper. “She has some kind of supervisory position in a dress shop. That’s all I could find out. It wouldn’t pay me to become too inquisitive, you know.” He glanced toward the girl, gazed at her for a few moments, then looked at the ground. He picked up a stone and hurled it into the river.
“A handsome child,” Nick said. “Your
“Feed him scraps,” they heard the big man tell Elskran. “He is to live like the other pigs. But don’t kill him. If he dies, you die.”
“The way we did it before, Master?”
“Only hang a sheet of canvas over this one. I don’t want him burned. Every morning before you water him … Here, I’ll show you.”
He grabbed a stick from one of the children and went out back where the man in shirt sleeves was cowering against the building. The children watched Elskran remove the man’s shoes and jumped back when the big man started striking the bottoms of the cowering man’s feet.
“Twenty times or more every morning, twenty times every night. Bring blood. But nowhere else, just the feet.”
“I understand, Master,” Elskran said, looking at the children as though hoping they realized the significance of his having been entrusted with this important task. Maybe they wouldn’t ridicule him after this. Maybe he’d get some respect from them.
When the big man and his driver went away, the children followed Elskran to the back of the house and watched him stand over the cowering prisoner.
“No screaming,” they heard him tell the man. “No swearing in front of the children. We are Christians here.”
“I’ll pay anything you want,” they heard the cowering man say.
“And when they kill me for taking your money, where will I spend it,” Elskran said, “in hell?”
They watched the cowering man try to scrub flies off the bottoms of his feet, grinding them into the slime of the garbage. They watched a dog timidly approach the man and sniff at his bleeding toes. They laughed when the man cried out in pain because he had tried to kick the dog with the foot that was chained.
“Get away from here!” Elskran shouted at them, coming around the corner of the house with a bottle to his lips. “He is a bad man who has to be punished. Stay away from him!”
Chapter Five
East of the city, Nick Palermo turned his pickup into a narrow road that led across a field to the river where a girl in skirt and blouse was walking barefoot on the grass near the water. She was slender and had long black hair that fell gently over her shoulders. Occasionally she stooped to pick something off the ground, examine it, toss it aside.
“I’ll wait here,” Habib said, admiring the girl through the windshield.
“She’s a child,” Nick said.
Habib laughed. He pointed at the man on a bench further down the river whose back was turned to them. “Probably his daughter.”
“Stay in the car in case there are messages—”
“It will be my pleasure,” Habib said.
As Nick walked over gravel toward the man on the bench, he glanced at the girl. She was pretty, and maybe seventeen years old. The breeze off the river occasionally flattened her skirt against her buttocks, no doubt what Habib was fascinated by.
“And what do you have for me?” he said as soon as Nawaf turned, a small man in a linen jacket and gray slacks. He had a narrow face and a nose like a hawk’s beak and a mole on his forehead the size of a third eye.
“A name,” Nawaf said. “Nuha Za’im is the woman at the café where Bashir Yassin was picked up.”
“Where can I find her?”
“That’s her address,” handing Nick a slip of paper. “She has some kind of supervisory position in a dress shop. That’s all I could find out. It wouldn’t pay me to become too inquisitive, you know.” He glanced toward the girl, gazed at her for a few moments, then looked at the ground. He picked up a stone and hurled it into the river.
“A handsome child,” Nick said. “Your
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