by S A Tameez
“Oh, ok, so let’s get going.” Khaleel said, holding out a flask with steam flowing out of the top of it. Ahmed suspected it was tea, and although he had lost his appetite entirely, the thought of that warm tea going down him made him want to snatch it and gulp it down, regardless of how hot it might be. It reminded him of the amazing talent of brewing the perfect cup of tea that Maryam had. Every morning, before the war began, they would sit on the balcony of their apartment and enjoy a warm cup of tea and share stories and ideas. Ahmed wanted to change the world and Maryam wanted to save it. They both new that they would never succeed. It was a cruel world, that had no room for heroes.
“Thank you,” Ahmed said, accepting the flask gratefully. It was tea and it was precisely how he liked it, it even had the correct amount of sugar. It must have had one and half teaspoons exactly. Although, he could have debated with himself that it was perhaps his overwhelming hunger that compelled him to perceive it as a perfect blend of tea bag, warm water, milk and one and half teaspoon of brown, natural sugar, left to brew for just a little longer than usual. But he didn’t, he blissfully guzzled it down and warmed his insides.
“Thank you.” Ahmed said.
“It was nothing, just a well brewed cup of tea.”
Ahmed smiled. “No… I mean for everything. You didn’t have to help me.”
“And nor did you need to help me… but you made a choice and life is all about choices.”
Ahmed and Khaleel walked to the office. Ahmed was full of steam and Khaleel had trouble keeping up with him. Ahmed emptied his pockets, hurled the contents onto the floor and put his arms up in the air. The guard, the same one that sent him away earlier, didn’t say anything, he just stood and stared for a moment, then gestured with a nod, as if to say it was ok to go in.
“I can take it from here,” Ahmed said to Khaleel, who didn’t protest and remained outside as Ahmed went in.
Inside, the office was almost empty. Ahmed could have sworn there were less tables and chairs than there were before, a peculiar silence was cast about the room. No phones ringing, no humming of fans, nothing. And there was no one around, except one man sitting on the table that John had been sitting at previously. He didn’t look like a volunteer. His hair was short, even shorter on the sides and back. His perfectly chiselled jaw matched his perfectly pressed shirt and he sat straight, incredibly straight. He looked more like a man from the army pretending to be an office worker.
“Hello,” the man said, in a bubbly tone. It really didn’t suit his image. He seemed fake, like a bad actor. The right lines, but wrong costume kind of bad actor.
“I came earlier to report that my son was missing!” Ahmed said.
“That’s awful,” the man responded, his concern somewhat pretentious, “just awful.”
“Can you help me?”
“Of course. Now, tell me, when did he go missing and do you have his paperwork, a photograph or… anything?”
Ahmed paused, not feeling convinced or confident in anything this man was saying.
“Erm… where is John? And all the others that are normally in this office?” Ahmed asked, eyeing the room.
The man paused and smiled, as if he needed a moment to prepare an answer.
If they were going to go to all the effort of preventing the volunteers coming to the camp, and put this man, who is obviously pretending to be something he is not, in charge, why would they not have a story prepared, especially for such an obvious question?
“John…erm, yeah, John and the others… they are on training…” his eyes rolled to the top left corner. Ahmed remembered reading a study that claimed that you can often tell when someone is lying by the direction their eyes go when they are asked a question. The trouble was, Ahmed couldn’t remember which direction it was.
“Ok…” Ahmed mumbled. “What type of training?” he purposely probed.
“Oh, it’s just some type of volunteer training, they have to do some kind of up-skilling every few months, you know, it’s like a bureaucracy gone mad in this place.
This was now turning into one of those moments where Ahmed had to make a choice.
Maybe the man wasn’t lying, maybe he was just new, or just strange. Maybe he had been in the army or police force previously and had now left. Highly unlikely, he thought. Perhaps it was all some type of charade. But why? It doesn’t make sense.
Ahmed stayed quiet. He didn’t know whether to trust this person and give him the details of his son or not.
“Your son… Mr Ahmed, does he have any friends in the camp? Or any adults that he knew?” the man asked.
What a bizarre question Ahmed thought.
“Erm… no, we haven’t been here long. He knew a few boys at his school, but…
“Ok, so… can… I get his paperwork?” the man asked, “it would be good to know who the boy is, right? And we can’t help you look for him if we don’t know what he looks like.” The man grinned, exposing his pearl white teeth. They were perfectly straight and looked like they were vigorously polished four or five times a day. Either that or they were fake… just like the rest of him.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Ahmed rummaged through his pockets to find the neatly folded photo of Malik, one that he usually carried in his wallet.
“Good. This is no place for a ten-year-old boy to be alone. I am sure we’ll find him in no time.”
Ahmed felt his mouth go dry and his heart galloped with anxiety. Something was wrong, he knew it. He kept rummaging, pretending to look for the photo and tried his hardest to not give away his trembling hands but they were drawing attention to his bluff.
“I… I must have left the photo outside, on the floor, when I emptied my belongings,” Ahmed, careful to not make any eye contact, said, “I’ll just run and grab it…” If his hands hadn’t already given him away, his eyes certainly would.
“There’s no need, I’ll get the guard to bring it in…” the man said. Ahmed noticed that the man’s eyes had spotted his unsteady hands. Ahmed didn’t stop, he turned and stormed out as fast as he could.
Once out of the office, his eyes met with Khaleel’s, who was still waiting for him, some feet away. Ahmed bent down and collected his belongings from where they were still scattered on the ground. He hurried over to Khaleel and judging by the look on his friend’s face, Ahmed sensed that he could see the panic in his eyes.
Ahmed’s heart beat like the legs of a race horse pounding the ground. He could sense the guard, feel his presence behind him, following him as he moved closer to Khaleel. He could hear his footsteps and could see his shadow stretching towards him. Any minute now, the guard would grab him from the back and throw him on the ground, or maybe he would strike him in the back of the head with his gun… Ahmed’s mind buzzed. If he was going to shoot me, he could have done it from back there. But that would be too messy and loud. He probably would want to knock me out quietly and the drag my less than human body to a secluded place to finish me off. And I would disappear without a trace.
Ahmed sensed that the guard was right behind him, his shadow now over powering Ahmed’s. It was a matter of milliseconds before Ahmed would feel the fatal blow – he knew it. He was too afraid to look back, his body tightened up and he closed his eyes. Khaleel was looking worried, and it seemed as if he was going to run to help him.
A loud voice was suddenly heard in the distance. “Ahmed! Khaleel!” It was Jane, she had a very distinct voice, smooth and crisp, like that of a professional singer. Ahmed tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, inevitable if you walk at fast pace with your eyes closed.
He was expecting the guard to be standing over him, ready to strike. After all, Ahmed had just done some of the work for him by falling to the ground. All the guard had to do now was strike the lethal blow. As the guard towered over him, Ahmed didn’t know whether to close his eyes and say a little prayer, or to watch as it happened.
But to his relief, the guard put out his arm offering to help him up. “Hey, you
ok?” the guard asked with what seemed like genuine concern in his eyes. He was definitely a better actor than the other
guy, Ahmed thought. He was probably hindered from executing his action plan when he saw Jane. The guard leaned down and picked up Ahmed’s wallet and his key, both of which went flying when he fell. “Here you go,” the guard said with a faint smile, one of those sympathetic smiles that would be impossible to fake. Unless you were well trained in the art of deception, Ahmed thought.
“I’m fine… thank you,” he said, accepting the wallet and key. The guard calmly walked away, still on course. Surely, if he was going to kill me and his diabolical plan was suddenly foiled, then he would turn back and go back to the office building, right? Ah! but that would be too obvious, especially for someone as well trained as him. The conflict in his head was beginning to sound puerile even to him.
“Hey Ahmed,” Jane gasped, sounding out of breath from the short sprint, “you alright?”
Ahmed nodded but stayed silent.
“You look a mess,” Jane said, her eyes looking at the holes in the knees of his trousers and to the injuries on his elbow. “I’ll get you a change of clothes and first aid kit and meet you at the house.” She walked off to the gates where her team of volunteers waited to setup their food and clothes bank.
“What on earth is going on?” Khaleel asked.
“Something’s wrong!”
“What?”
“John wasn’t there, nor were the others.”
“Ok… that’s odd, but not really something to freak out about.”
“There was another man in there… He looked military and I think he was pretending to be a volunteer. Definitely deceptive.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He was very concerned about my ten-year-old son.”
“Ok…” Khaleel tilted his head and made a face, “so that makes him deceptive?”
“I didn’t tell him he was ten,” Ahmed said, quietly, looking around to make sure no one was able to hear them.
“But—”
“Not here!” Ahmed said and then began limping away.
7
It was bitterly cold. Colder than in previous days at the camp. The sky was miserable and the sun used the clouds like a large ghostly veil. The howling wind threatened to blow down many of the makeshift houses. The sharp, merciless chill that cut through the throat and into the lungs would certainly kill many of the vulnerable. Those lucky enough to have some type of oil heating might survive, but those that relied only on donated coats and blankets were likely to end up as corpses. Ahmed felt guilty that they were given a priority band. He liked to believe that they got it because of them being a family and since Maryam was injured. Secretly, he knew it was due to him having well documented paperwork, highlighting his work and contribution to education and stamped by the powers that be, verifying that he would be of some use.
The long, muted walk back to the house was finally over.
“Ahmed, are you sure that you didn’t mention that Malik was ten?” Khaleel asked, breaking the silence. “Maybe you said it without realising.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Ahmed responded abruptly. The pain from the injuries on his knees and elbows was now kicking in – this, along with his dull headache, made him feel irritable.
“Of course, you’re not,” Khaleel protested, “I am just saying that maybe, because you have been under a lot of stress lately, you may have said it and don’t remember.”
“So, you think I have gone crazy?” Ahmed replied, making his voice sound as sarcastic as possible.
“No one is saying that Ahmed.” Khaleel faced his palms forward to defuse Ahmed’s growing anger, “it’s just that you have been through, sorry – are going through – a lot and it’s ok to get confused or miss some details. No one could expect—”
“I am not an idiot, mad or confused. The man was a fake and something is not right here. I know it. I can sense it.”
“Maybe it was a lucky guess? Maybe he didn’t know and just assumed?”
“Pretty accurate assumption, don’t you think?”
Khaleel shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know... I think you might just be a little paranoid. Are you sure you didn’t mention it when you went there earlier?”
The dawning came like a hard blow to the stomach. A warm chill rippled down Ahmed’s back. How does he know about my earlier trip to the office? I didn’t tell him that I went earlier. Is he involved? Ahmed tried to snap himself back into reality. Involved in what? What is it I think he might be involved in?
“I should really get back out there and look for my son.” Ahmed stood up.
“The guard,” Khaleel said, clearing his throat, “the guard at the office, while you were inside, he mentioned that you came earlier and that you were all over the place. He was worried, worried that... you know, you were finding things hard to deal with.”
Ahmed paused. He didn’t seem worried to me, he didn’t seem like he cared at all about my son or me… or maybe he is telling the truth and this isn’t some huge conspiracy. I was there and it was the same guard... and maybe I did say that he was ten to the guard and he mentioned it to the guy inside... I don’t know what to think anymore.
“Hi guys.” Jane said as she walked straight in without knocking. She was flustered and carrying a bag, which Ahmed assumed had clothing in, and a small green first aid box.
“I need to look for my son. I need to go.” Ahmed said and began to walk for the door.
“Hey, hang on a minute,” Jane huffed, putting the bag and the first aid box on the bed, “what do you mean looking for your son? Isn’t Malik at the school? Its past nine-thirty,” she said, looking at her silver wristwatch.
“Malik... Malik is missing.” Khaleel said after a few moments of Ahmed not responding.
She almost screamed. “What?”
“He was at the football ground yesterday, early evening and then...” Khaleel fell silent.
Jane stood like a statue, her eyes wide, and her mouth open.
“Surely, he’s around here somewhere, I mean where could he be? I’m assuming you checked the football ground and the school, and around here. Right?” Ahmed could hear the panic in her voice.
“I…we have looked everywhere. We went to the office and they...” His voice broke off and a tear rolled down Ahmed’s cheek. He didn’t have time to hang around here and feel sorry for himself, nor did he have time to bury his head in conspiracy theories. His son was still out there somewhere, and he had to find him.
“Ok, let me go and get some volunteers and let’s get looking for him,” Jane said. “But before that let’s quickly get those wounds cleaned and dressed.”
Ahmed didn’t want to argue with her, especially after what happened with Maryam and her wound. Besides, he could really do with help searching for Malik.
Jane being around in some way made Ahmed feel more confident, and safer. She was full of energy and life. Her “get it done” attitude made Ahmed feel more assured that they’d find Malik. But it wasn’t just her tenacity that Ahmed admired. It was her kindness and genuine warmth that he really appreciated.
It wasn’t long before Jane gathered the group of volunteers and they were scattered around the camp, looking for Malik. It was going to be a challenge, especially as there were a lot of children without parents in the camp – a lot of children.
Jane teamed up with Ahmed in the search.
The doors to the orphanage were wide open like before when Ahmed had been there. Some of the children were at school, some at the football ground and some were just AWOL. They would, however, usually turn up at the football grounds after school hours.
“Who manages here?” Jane asked, looking around at the state of the place.
“Exactly!” Ahmed responded. “No one does, they are left to fend for themselves.”
“It’s my role to help rescue people from the sea, and organise food and clothing. I always assumed that things inside here we
re controlled and taken care of,” Jane said, apologetically.
The smell of damp wood was stronger than the previous time Ahmed came. Particles of dust floated in the air. Jane gazed around looking shocked. The place was crowded; beds, mattresses, scattered clothes, and random bits of junk everywhere. There were even puddles of water where the roof had leaked from last night’s rain.
“What was that?” Ahmed said, standing still and silently.
“What was what?” Jane whispered.
“Shh…” Ahmed whispered. Jane looked around. There was a faint rustle and she tilted her head as if to hear better. Ahmed pointed in the direction of a large oak cupboard. They moved towards it, and as they got closer, they could hear a snivel and quiet breathing. Jane gave Ahmed a perplexed look.
“What on earth was in that cupboard?” Jane asked. Her eyes looked down at a small cricket bat. She picked it up and held it out in front her.
“You open the door, and if something we don’t like jumps out, I will… you know…” She nodded at the bat. Ahmed almost felt amused. But remained cautious in case she swung wildly and hit him.
“It’s fine,” he whispered, “just step back please.”
He grabbed the old brass handles and yanked the doors open. He pulled it with such force that they broke off their hinges and fell to the ground. Ahmed stood and stared. Jane dropped the cricket bat and fell to her knees as they saw two little boys huddled together. They both looked no older than eight-years-old. Tears rolled down their flustered cheeks and they were trembling in fear.
“Hey…” Jane said, her usual soothing voice working its magic, “it’s ok…” she put her hand out and then nodded. “It’s ok, you’re safe.” One of the boys nodded at the other and then put out his hand.
