In the Lap of the Gods

by Tony Criddle

  “Not me for whisky, I have this with Mohammed.”

  The sighs of relief weren’t audible but they were tangible. Honour was satisfied. They were starting the parade correctly.

  Nick claimed the settee again and Laleh was there with her legs doubled up under her, but this time her hands rested over his shoulder. They listened to Sinclair pulling funny stories from somewhere in his past and he was relating a fairly spicy one when interrupted by a loud clash of cymbals somewhere in the distance.

  “This the best one,” Sarah prophesised, “we go now.”

  Nick was last out and turned the sizzling carcass as he passed.

  The lower streets throbbed with a disjointed cacophony as they strolled down to where the crowds were thick and tight. Many more than normally lived in the town were there again, a lot of them strangers. People were already animated and effervescent, and Sunday best seemed the norm.

  Some had obviously been at the sauce from early in the morning, but here it was different. There were no arguments, no belligerence, just a lot of happy laughing people, and even those who had already lost a temporary battle with the local fire-water were smiling though slumped against house walls.

  “They be up again soon.” Sarah whispered within her running commentary. The drums, whistles and cymbals drew closer.

  Most stalls and adjacent shops were still in business with ragged children dashing everywhere at once, totally ignored by their elders. They lined the streets instead, giggling themselves into jigs as the noisy procession drew nearer, seemingly unconcerned that half the musicians were playing different tunes. A phalanx followed the band, some carrying large papier-mache replicas of local vegetables, and they were led by a wizened male of advanced though indeterminable years. He deviated in and out of the open shops and the parade dutifully followed.

  Nick was amazed. He hadn’t been this close the year before, but part of his flying training had occurred at a large naval air station in West Cornwall. He’d attended the annual Helston ‘Furry Dances’ at the beginning of the UK spring, and this was obviously a similar fertility ritual. The concepts and aims were not that different.

  As the band got closer he found his feet tapping to the rhythmic thump of the drum, just like Cornwall as well. “Old man tell fortunes,” Sarah whispered along as the music drifted closer still.

  The Europeans and the Aminis were impossible to miss in that crowd and the old man cackled and pointed a talon-like finger as he pranced towards them. A shrill chant escaped through a wrinkled mouth, devoid of any discernable teeth, and he waved some sort of limp green twig towards them. When he was beside Laleh he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She blushed and he turned away still cackling.

  Nick had an arm draped lightly around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

  “What on earth did he say Lil?”

  Laleh paused for a few seconds looking at the ground. She was still red.

  “He said that my man will give me fine sons. That I should treasure you.”

  They’d all caught that, and caught Nick’s instant response too. “In that case, you should have told him that your man was certainly looking forward to the practice.” He said that with a grin as he hugged her closer, but it went beyond the ribald for the rest of them. She thumped him.

  As he turned and ducked in pretend fear, his eyes raked a nearby male who wasn’t smiling. When he rose again the man had disappeared.

  The parade snaked through the cool but sunny streets for at least another half an hour. They joined in jigs with total strangers as the band passed, then poked around the stalls before finally heading home. About half way back Nick bumped into a tall, handsome Bakhtaran, who looked a few years younger than him. The man sported a couple of day’s growth, and was inside a red anorak. He was accompanied by a striking young female in a loose blue head-scarf shepherding two young boys ahead of her. Nick and the Bakhtaran hugged. “Baraz!”

  “Nick!”

  Sarah threw an aside over her shoulder to Farhad and Laleh. “This my younger son Baraz, and wife Nasrin. These boys my grandsons.” You could cut her obvious pride with a knife.

  “They come down from hills for this and stay with me. We get back and carve meat. No more dancing now, people be hungry next.” The enlarged group headed for home with one happily squealing youngster on Nick’s shoulders, the other on Jock’s.

  A rich aroma of roasted meat wafted enticingly through the almost motionless air a good block before they reached the courtyard. The carcass was crisp and roasted to perfection when they got there, and Nick lowered the youngster and turned the ibex for the last time.

  The three women trooped into the house, returning shortly with paper napkins and a roll of kitchen paper, while Jock went for a bottle, plastic containers and soda. By then Nick had two halves of naan stuffed with crisp ibex and the boys were chomping happily.

  Chairs got dragged out by Amini and Baraz while Nick prepared a pocket bread for Sarah and Nasrin. He then called Laleh over to point out the meat she wanted. The pilot knew the protocol. And before the males had prepared their own sandwiches, boisterous chattering people were pouring through the open courtyard door. The first few were neighbours but after a while Nick didn’t know any of them. The almost endless succession of visitors declined the whisky but hammered the stoneware jars, and although Farsi wasn’t a strong point for either Jock or Nick, they found if they laughed loud and long enough everybody understood anyway.

  Without exception the callers ate meat stuffed in bread, sampled the vegetables, threw down a small cup of fire-water then moved on. Children included. It seemed so regimented, so organised and polite, but Nick thought about it some more. Perhaps it was prudence after all. It could depend on how many times you were going to do this in the next few hours. Sarah had always insisted they be a stop off point, not festival nomads, and now he realised why. They could stage themselves. They could watch their intake.

  And sometime later, when the visitors were thinning, Nick saw the face again. This time man was filling a sandwich but kept within an animated, gesticulating crowd. Nick recognised his shifty, detached look instantly. Trying not to stare, he eased around to where Sarah was laughing with her family.

  “Don’t make it obvious Sarah, but do you know that bloke with the pale green anorak near the street door?”

  To her credit, the housekeeper started but only looked when she lifted and twirled a grandson.

  Nick kept his face neutral beside her.

  “He with police force in Qom, Nickie. Father Arab but mother one of us.”

  “Is he religious police or an ordinary cop?”

  “Ordinary police. Sometimes he work with police out here.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and was going to point him out to Jock but the man had disappeared again.

  By late afternoon there were little more than bones left on the carcass, no vegetables left at all, and the second jar of booze had been severely dented. It had been a remarkable day but as the light died so did the noise and festivities.

  Sarah and her family were the first to leave, and as she departed she pointed.

  “Leave carcass Nickie. Bones for dogs. Mohammed pick up in the morning.”

  He nodded, and Imran and Jock took their leave while they cleared up.

  By the time they finished it had already darkened, but it wasn’t that late when Farhad flopped into an armchair. Nick stretched on the settee with Laleh folded into him. She had ignored her drink and was snoring delicately. They had staged themselves and kept clear of the firewater, so they weren’t under any serious pressure, but it had been a long dusty day. Bone crushing exhaustion was a bi-product.

  “What do you think Nick, bed?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “You okay with Laleh?” He wasn’t being big brotherly or cute.

  “I can hack it thanks Fred.” He gave her a nudge and she opened bleary eyes.

  “Bed Lil.” She nodded but didn’t speak as Farhad took
off for the bathroom. Her eyes barely opened when Nick walked her into her bedroom and sat her on the bed. He turned down her doona, removed her moccasins, then stood up to leave.

  “You okay now Lily?”

  “I’m stuffed Nick, you can help me.”

  “You sure that’s wise?”

  She opened her eyes. “I asked Sarah who put me to bed on Christmas Day and she said that you two did. You can help me again.”

  “Okay, but she’s not here now love.”

  Laleh wobbled but didn’t topple as he scooped up her night-dress from under the quilt, and the blouse and skirt came off easily enough. The underwear was pink this time, and again he tried to ignore the proud breasts as he removed her brassiere. He held her close while slipping her arms and head through her night gown, then gently laid her down and contemplated the panties. Bugger it. They were virtually an item already, but obviously she trusted him more than he trusted himself. He fingered the waist elastic and she drew her heels up and lifted her hips. Her eyes were still closed but a lazy smile caressed her lips as he fumbled to remove them. Nick saw the shimmering, midnight triangle at the base of her pelvis for the first time.

  But it was like an orchestra had hit all the high notes at once. If he did touch her she would almost certainly be okay with it now, but this could be some sort of test. Although their time must be ever closer, he half suspected that she needed to be the instigator, at least for the first time He cursed his new found sensitivity under his breath. She smiled but her eyes stayed shut.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  By then, time was dragging on uncomfortably. It wasn’t just another year, it was a new decade, and something would have to be done about their future before long. That hadn’t helped much with sleep, and Nick was up poking around just after six again. Mohammed was making noises as he disjointed the bones and muttered a brief greeting when Nick wandered out with the inevitable mug. He didn’t need any help.

  The Iranian cackled his farewells and left with a cardboard box under his arm while Nick re-stowed the drum. Both Farhad and Laleh Amini were up when he got back inside. Bleary eyed but up. They all exchanged grunts as Laleh hurried the kettle along.

  Nick sat across from Amini when Laleh brought the mugs. She skirted the table again and he automatically thrust out his left knee for her to sit on. He was already familiar with her warmth under the nightgown and less disconcerted now, more into enjoying it, while she immediately felt more comfortable with his arm around her. Nick mused.

  “It’s time to get a bit proactive guys. We’ll get a flight in this morning and a couple early next week, then on Friday do the trip to Tehran. There’ll be less people around on their Sabbath, so nobody should pay much attention to us. The embassies will be quieter as well. You okay about that?”

  It was Farhad who spoke. “Mohammed and Baraz want to show me their stock in the upper paddocks later this morning Nick. I don’t know much about animals but they seem to be pretty keen. That’s not a problem, is it?”

  “Not at all. They’ve both got reasonable utes but it’ll take most of the day to get up there and back. I’ll set up a few things with the embassy this morning then do an exploratory after lunch.”

  Laleh sat up fully awake. “Can I go?”

  Nick looked at her and grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you. Farhad can do the trip after, and we’ll try for a gazelle or ibex on that one.”

  “Oh good. Is it okay if I only wear the top piece of the chador. I hate the bloody thing.”

  “Nobody would notice Lily. We’ll phone the embassy first then I’ll take you up to where Fred will be. I’ve been there before. We’ll take a flask but we won’t stop this time.”

  “Do I get to drive too?”

  He was getting better at this. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of going up there without a competent co-pilot.” The girl leant back into him again completely satisfied.

  Sarah was spending a day with her daughter-in-law and grandchildren, and Amini was on his way long before Sinclair and his team bundled in. Nick let them know what was happening.

  “Okay. Take Papa Zulu, I’ve got some work to do on the other one. I’ll keep them both up to date now just in case, and you can fill in another furphy when you get back. We’ll save the positive report for a day or so before we go into Qom again.”

  “Okay. Let’s get on with it.”

  Laleh was up front when they piled into the jeep. She was already distancing herself from the restrictions of her youth, and was effervescent and talkative during the twenty minutes to the airfield. Jock and his team opened up the hangar while she and Nick carried on to the offices, where Laleh whipped off the chador top.

  The blue jeans under were the same, but the T-shirt was black with a cuddly teddy bear motive this time. Nick settled her down with the map. She was already quite comfortable with orienting it.

  Nick traced where they would be going first, then the upper meadows where Mohammed’s family ran their stock. He pointed out their hut before tracing the stretches of fencing which hemmed their animals within the high, rounded hilltops, and she knew exactly what she was looking at. Nick Evans marvelled at how much she’d grasped in a few chats.

  He made his phone call prior to getting airborne and got a male voice. The man asked a few questions before patching him through to extension 23.

  “How’s it going Nick.”

  “Still no problems doing what we do Gerry, but there’s been a few personal complications since we last talked. I’ve got a couple of friends staying with me and I think someone in town is watching us.”

  Hawkins caught on right away. “Locals I presume.”

  “Sort off, but should I say they are unlikely to be welcome locals anymore.”

  “Jesus mate, you’re a sucker for punishment. How do you think I can help?”

  “Jock and I need one more trip on Friday week, and that may be the last for a while. I’ll fill you in then if that’s okay.”

  “Not a problem. Most of the Brit staff will be here but not many locals. What about the surveillance?”

  “I don’t think it’s serious Gerry. Nobody knows about the guests outside the village so I think it’s more because we’re a Yank company. Can you call the professor of surgery at Shahid Beheshti University, a Doctor Rashid, and tell him we’ll drop in. I’m not trying to teach you to suck eggs mate, you’ll know what to say, but let him know that two friends will pop in on the Friday morning. Call him Abdul and he’s sure to know who it is. We’ll be out of everybody’s hair within the hour.”

  “I can do that and I’ll be discrete. Other than that nothing much has changed up here mate. I’ll try to find out who’s interested in you though. We’ve got a few contacts.”

  Nick thanked him and said his goodbyes.

  Laleh got strapped into the right hand seat again but it was Nick who got them going. Shahabad would be a distraction for her, so he let that pass first.

  “Do you remember what to do Lil?”

  “Definitely. I was awake half the bloody night thinking about it.”

  “Okay, come onto the controls.” She did, but the expected wayward lurches didn’t happen. He took his hands off completely. “Lil that was really smooth. You’d think you’d been doing this all your life.”

  Laleh giggled. “I remember that other thing your instructor told you. Handle the controls like you would a tramp’s dick. I can’t imagine ever doing such a thing but I know what he meant.” He chuckled as they cruised down the river. The speed and height hardly varied at all and he soon saw the valley he was looking for.

  “Okay Laleh, bring the speed back to seventy and climb up that valley on the left. Go back up to ninety knots again when you hit the top.” The mix of instructions was deliberate.

  And Nick Evans was so confident of her by then that he casually examined the strata, letting her fly the machine on her own. He pointed out where he wanted to go and left her to get on with it. Laleh was ecstatic but still conce
ntrated fiercely.

  “Okay Lil, I’ve got control.” She relinquished reluctantly. “Which way back to the river valley?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Right behind us. Twenty degrees east of north would do it.” Nick shook his head briefly, impressed.

  “Right. Pour me a coffee please then take over while I drink it?”

  She complied. Nick took his time with the coffee.

  “Okay Lily, head east along the ridge at sixty-five knots, and descend level with the hill tops as you do.” The increasingly complex directions part of the learning curve now.

  He had a quick look at his map before taking control back. The Zagros shrank lower as they approached the desert with dusty mountain tracks crossing the arid flats. The skids and wheel marks of countless vehicles stood out starkly in the light dirt surface. Laleh had finished her own coffee by then but he kept control as he turned up a prominent valley. “We’re nearly there so be ready to wave.” She nodded, but looked more at what he was doing.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll do this and then I’ve got a final treat for you.”

  A white utility slid into view almost as he’d said it, nestled alongside a small adobe shack. They were flying low and slow and could pick out the frost ravished pastures between the tors, the burnt, straw carpet more a mottled tan than a lively green. It looked arid, almost lifeless up there, but it wasn’t. They’d already put up a small herd of camels that ran with that awkward, shambling gait that nonetheless eats up the ground, and startled several large, light grey donkeys into a breakneck gallop. Nick knew that dull sparrows, soaring nightingales and melodic, twittering bulbuls also hid in the tussocks, while kestrels soared above the jagged crags around them. Some seventy varieties of snake also wriggled around up there somewhere, and tortoises and hares frequented the rocky outcrops. The hills sheltered a menagerie, it just wasn’t an obvious one.

  Farhad, Mohammed and Baraz were easy to spot and started waving. She waved back vigorously as they flew past.

  After, Nick let her dodge through the mountains for another half hour before he took back control. Threading down through the hills and rough paddocks directly towards the airfield, he slowed with a flamboyant flare well away from the runway. He used the windsock to line up precisely into wind and trimmed the beast at twice the height he would normally hover at.