by John Blaine
Thenoon break brought the water boy and the rations boy with a handful of peppered rice, a chunk of Page 19
fish preserved in pepper, and a banana apiece. It also brought the Emir.
Scotty whispered, “If he comes close, rush him. We can use him as a hostage.”
The plan died a- borning. As the Emir walked toward them, guards flanked him, their rifles pointed at the three.
The Emir stopped and looked the Americans over as though inspecting a trio of prize steers. They returned the stares with interest and didn’t particularly like what they saw.
“You seem to be bearing up very well,” the Emu -said in flawless English.“However, it is no more than I expected.”
“I thought you spoke no English!” Tony snapped.
“Did anyone say that? I think not. Elijah merely regretted I could not speak to you in your language. The reason I could not was because my anger choked me. Now, after hearing of your hard if unwilling work on my behalf, I am in a better humor.”
“Why are you keeping us prisoner?” Rick demanded.
“Prisoners?You are not prisoners. You are free to go at any time.”
Scotty pointed to the guards. “Then why have rifles been held on us at all times and why lock us in at night?”
“The rifles are an elementary precaution. For the sake of my people I must be protected against you.
You are locked in at night for your own protection, since it is possible one of my people would take revenge on you for the insult that I suffered at your hands.”
Rick stared incredulously.“At our hands? We’ve never seen you before, or heard of you. We have not insulted you.”
The Emir waved off the comment with the flip of a well-kept hand. He was a tall man, but he seemed to grow taller and his black eyes blazed at them.“Not you three personally, but your countrymen.”
“Americans insulted you, here?” Tony asked.
“Not here.InAmerica. My face was slapped, my honor was spat upon. My hope of Allah’sParadise was lessened. I speak figuratively. What happened was the equivalent of these, and more. It was a deliberate affront to me and to my faith.”
The Emir’s feelings obviously were intense. Scotty spoke quietly. “Please tell us what happened.”
“Yes. Then you will understand that my honor must be satisfied. I am merciful. Instead of putting you to the torture and death, I merely put you to the productive work of which your country boasts.”
The Emir brushed away a fly. “I attended a meeting inNew York . It was a commercial affair, to discuss better trade arrangements for groundnut oil. The governments were not involved. I represented a number of Emirs inNiger ,Nigeria , and theChad . The host was an American concern by the name of International Vegetable Oils Exchange Corporation. There were representatives of other countries, and Page 20
many American firms. After the meeting, I stayed inNew York to see the city. The president of the Vegetable Oils Corporation invited me to his home. I was the guest of honor at a very large affair, and I assure you I felt honored. It was what you call a cookout. Is this correct?”
“Food cooked on a charcoal grill? . . . Yes, we call that a cookout,” Tony confirmed.
“The food was the famous American national hot dog. My host, Mr. Roger C. McCauley, said it was probably the first time that an Emir-a Hadji who had kissed the Sacred Stone atMecca -had been served it. He served me personally. The hot dogs were delicious, and I ate several.”
The Emir seemed to swell with rage. “When I returned toNigeria I spoke of it to a friend, a Czech businessman who runs a store inKano . The horror was clear in his face. When I pressed him, he told me. Your hot dogs are made of pork.”
The Spindrifters were aghast. To serve pork to a Muslim was unforgivable. To serve it knowingly to the Emir would be close to criminal.
Rick couldn’t believe it. True, hot dogs are usually a mixture of beef and pork, but all-beef hot dogs also are available in most stores.
“It’s impossible,” he blurted. “No president of an international firm would be so ignorant as to serve pork to a Muslim. Mr. McCauley must have served you beef hot dogs.”
The Emir’s eyes glinted. “You try to explain it away, do you? I, myself, was incredulous. I knew an American could not be trusted to confirm this, so I went to a German acquaintance in Matsena. Your Mr. McCauley had told me the history of this famous hot dog. Originally it was called the frankfurter-a name you still use-because that particular kind of sausage once came fromFrankfurt , inGermany . My German acquaintance readily admitted it. The frankfurt, as he called it, is a mixture of pork and beef.”
Tony protested, “That was true, originally. But the Americans have developed all-beef hot dogs. Now you can buy either kind.”
“So you say. But does this make sense? Americans put thefrankfurt in a long roll, to eat as a sandwich.
They did this because they liked the flavor of that kind of sausage. The Americans are not Muslim, and they eat much pork. Hograising is one of the major industries. Why should they develop a different kind of sausage? I do not believe this.” The Emir turned to leave.
“Wait!” Rick said desperately, “You must know that we have a large Jewish population inAmerica .
Those who observe the dietary laws cannot eat pork, and beef hot dogs were developed for them.
Christian Americans liked them, too, and now they can be bought anywhere.”
The Emir chuckled. “I will say this. You are very ingenious at trying to explain it away. But I would expect this of the inventive Americans.”
“Even if itwere true-and I’m sure it isn’t-how can you blame all Americans for the mistake of one?”
Tony demanded.
“I would prefer to have Mr. McCauley here,” the Emir admitted. “But since he is out of reach, you will do. My honor demands satisfaction, and I must get it in any way I can. I instructed my guards to watch for suitable Americans. Your vehicles and clothes identified you, and my men followed their orders.”
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“You can’t get away with it,” Scotty informed him. “We know your statement about our not being prisoners was a joke. We’re prisoners even if you set us free, unless you give us our vehicle and supplies, and you won’t do that.”
“No,” the Emir agreed. “I won’t do that.”
“But you can’t get away with it because not even this part ofAfrica is remote enough to keep visitors from coming by. Sooner or later British or Americans will come.”
“Ah, but you are wrong. My lands cover more than one hundred thousand square kilometers. My seat of government is far from here. This is a corner ofAfrica that no one claims because it has no value. We are not even sure whether it is inNigeria , theChad , orNiger . There is no reason for foreigners to come here. But even if a party should stray this way, my guards are out and you would be hidden in your underground quarters before the party arrived. Who would question the word of an Emir that you had not been seen?”
“You might even capture a few more slaves,” Rick said bitterly.
“Perhaps.But probably I would not. For three batures to vanish will cause a little stir, but so many things might have happened to you that the search will not continue long. If two parties vanish, however, there could be trouble. No, I must be satisfied with you.”
“For how long?”Rick was afraid of the answer.
“Who can tell? Only Allah can see the future, and what is written is written. It may be forever.”
CHAPTER VI
Three Calabash Kids
The emir’s words hung overthem like the harmattan dust. “It may be forever.” The three were very quiet as they harvested groundnuts, working fast to make their quota for the day. They did not talk much until the dinner hour. As Tony had directed at breakfast, they took up positions at the place with the loose spike, and talked while Tony worked it back and forth idly, as a man does with nothing on his mind but passing the time.
“Water,” Rick said. “That
’s the beginning and end. But how do we stock-pile water?”
“Steal a goatskin water bag,” Scotty said helpfully.
“Sure. The only one we’ve seen is under Hamid’s nose all the time, and those beady-eyed guards are always there with their rifles.”
“Protecting the Emir from us,” Tony said with a short chuckle.
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Scotty sifted dirt through his fingers. “There must be other goatskin bags around. We’ll have to locate them.”
Rick was about to ask how, when they moved in the same paths every day, always guarded. But the food carriers arrived and it was time to eat. The rice was peppery, but edible. The meat also seemed less spiced than usual. Perhaps their tongues and palates were getting used to it.
“Doesn’t seem as hot tonight,” Tony observed.
“It doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But if I hadn’t taken a taste I might have thought you were talking about the weather.”
Tony drew in a deep, cooling breath after a mouthful. “The hotness of the food is relative. It’s still plenty spiced up, but maybe a trifle less than last night. Of course I know what you mean, Rick. English is probably the richest language in the world, in terms of flexibility and growth, but it does lack some useful terms.For instance, the difference between the heat of temperature, and the spiciness of food in Spanish.
Color, and caliente , if memory serves.”
“What’s the Spanish word for escape?” Scotty asked.
Rick and Tony laughed at Scotty’s way of getting them back to the most pressing subject.
“The spike is loose enough so I can get it out,” Tony said. “As soon as I’m through eating I’ll put my plate down. You move between me and the guards, and I’ll have it.”
The plates were actually bowls of a light, woody substance. They had been decorated by making designs with a red-hot iron of some kind which scorched patterns into the surface. Rick had seen them in the market atKano .
They ate slowly, because it was impossible to eat the fiery food rapidly. Tony managed to finish first. He put his bowl on the ground and moved into position while the boys changed their places carefully and casually to screen him.
“I could drink a gallon of water,” Rick said. “It will take that much to kill the glowing coals in my stomach from this chow.”
“I doubt that a gallon will do it,” Scotty replied.“No one looking our way at the moment, Tony.”
Tony joined them. “It’s in my pocket.”
“Great.” Rick grinned. “Now what do we do with it?”
“I’ll show you. Let’s get water, then the guard can escort us to our cell.”
The routine was unvarying. They walked to the pump, washed, brushed their teeth, and drank copiously.
The guards remained far enough away so they couldn’t be rushed, but paid little attention. Only when the three indicated readiness did the guards motion them toward the room leading to the underground cells, then fell in behind them.
After the door clanged shut and the bolt rammed home, Tony waited for a while until he was sure no one was in the passageway outside. “Did you notice I was the last one through the door?”
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Rick shook his head. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“I had the spike concealed in my hand. As I came in, I managed to drag my hand around the door, past the bolt.”
The boys bent over and examined the door in the dim light. They could barely see the mark Tony had made.
The door opened inward. Its massiveness was due in large measure to the planks that crisscrossed it for added strength. In one place, directly behind the bolt, there was only a single thickness of wood, perhaps an inch or slightly more.
“They put the door opening inward to eliminate any possibility of people shoving outward and perhaps tearing off the bolt holder or a hinge,” Tony explained. “It’s impossible to get enough leverage to do any damage by pulling on it. That’s true of most doors.”
“Something you learned in archaeology?” Scotty asked with a grin.
“Partly.Also, since I started associating with you two, I’ve also learned it pays to keep one’s eyes open.
You never know when a friendly walk will turn out to be the start of chaos.”
“Go on, Tony,” Rick urged. “What’s on your mind?”
“One thing we have plenty of is stone,” Tony replied. “I propose that we use some of it to put a point on this spike. We then use the spike to drill through the door behind the bolt. The hole will have to be big enough so the spike can move sideways slightly.”
“Then we can use it to slide the door back!” Rick shook the scientist’s hand solemnly.
Scotty shook hands, too. “They don’t come in here,” he added, “so they won’t see the hole. That’s the big advantage of the door opening inward.Right?”
“Right.One problem is light to see by, if we need it. They haven’t given us a candle since that first night.”
Rick shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for one. We can operate by feel. After all, this isn’t like putting an edge on a surgeon’s scalpel. Demanding a candle might make them suspicious.”
“Rick’s right,” Scotty agreed. “Let them think we go to bed exhausted.”
“All right.Suppose I start.” Tony sat down on his sleeping bag next to the stone wall and began the laborious task of sharpening the stolen spike into a usable tool.
When the archaeologist grew tired, Rick took over, following instructions to try to grind four flat faces into the spike so that four sharp edges would help the drilling. Of course the flat faces had to narrow toward the tip until the tip itself was sharp enough to penetrate the wood.
Rick rubbed and rubbed, pausing every once in a while to make sure the passage was free of listeners, until his arms burned and his hands were sore. Then Scotty took over. He stopped while Rick put a coating of ointment on his back, then began the tedious rubbing. When Rick fell asleep it was to the rhythmic scratching of the spike on the stone.
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He awoke in the morning to the same sound. Tony was at it again. Rick got to his feet and hurried to the door. He stood, there, listening, until sounds warned him the guard was coming.
At his signal, Tony hurriedly stowed the spike in his toilet kit. Rick watched, and an idea dawned, but he said nothing about it for the moment.
At breakfast they looked for another loose spike, but found none that could be pulled out without tools.
Then, as breakfast ended, Elijah appeared.
“Today you go to different work,” he told them. “The groundnut crop is finished. Now the calabashes must be gathered. They are cut open and dried for use. The cutting must be done with care. Do as the other workers do. Hamid will allow you to watch until you have learned. You will be given knives with which to work, but do not make the mistake of trying to obtain one. Hamid personally will collect them, and count them. Do you understand?”
“What’s a calabash?” Scotty asked.
Elijah looked puzzled. “A calabash is ... well, it is a calabash.Now, no more foolish questions. Go with the group.”
“I still don’t know what a calabash is,” Scotty grumbled.
“We’ll find out,” Rick assured him.
Hamid led the way. As they got closer to the field, Rick saw that it was covered with brown leaves that had once been green. Among the leaves were objects-some round, some elongated, of several sizes.
As they reached the field, he exclaimed, “They’re gourds!”
“Right,” Tony said with a smile. “They’re members of the same family as the pumpkin, the squash, and the gourd. Calabashes are important in the African cultures. Outside the cities, and even within among the poor, they’re the principal source of utensils. The plates we eat from are made from calabashes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Rick asked, and wasn’t surprised when Tony gave the classic answer:
“You never asked me.” Tony laughed. “
Actually this is the first time the subject has come up.”
Unlike the backbreaking labor of groundnut harvesting, working with the calabashes was rather fun. The vegetables grew in all sizes and shapes, from huge globular ones nearly two feet in diameter to small ones with long necks.
The calabashes were collected and brought to a central point, a sort of drying shed with racks of bamboo along the sides and a palm leaf top. The boys and Tony watched as the other workmen collected knives and proceeded to operate on the pile of gourds.
Big, round ones were given a circular cut around the top, and the upper section put aside to serve later as a lid. The seeds and pulp were scooped out, the odor reminding Rick of cleaning and carving a pumpkin for Halloween at home-and placed carefully in a pile on a sort of wooden boat, where another worker separated the seeds and spread them on boards for drying. Rick realized that was next year’s Page 25
seed for more calabashes.
The small, round calabashes were given similar treatment, except that the top was discarded if less than perfect, or put aside to use as a plate if reasonably symmetrical. The small calabashes with long necks were neatly split in two. Each half served as a spoon, Rick knew, because he had seen them in theKano market-although he hadn’t identified the objects as split calabashes until now.
Larger calabashes, with necks large enough to insert a knife and a hook-shaped piece of flat iron, were cut off at the tip, then cleaned, and put aside to dry. They would serve as water bottles, or containers for other fluids.
Rick watched, and an idea for stock-piling water grew and took shape until he could hardly contain it.
Finally the three nodded to Hamid. He handed them short, sharp knives something like a linoleum knife, and they tried their hand at calabash carving. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, and when Scotty cut his thumb while slicing a long-necked gourd into two useless pieces, even Hamid chuckled while the workers roared with laughter. The Spindrift trio laughed with them. The good-natured laughter was a sign of their acceptance into the fraternity, and was not to be resented.
