The Ghosts & Jamal
Page 14
He turned round to leave Jamal’s room but bumped into Ahmed who was running in with some lunch.
‘Get out of my way.’ He pushed past Ahmed, taking a piece of fried chicken from Jamal’s plate as he did so.
‘What did he want?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jamal. ‘But I don’t think he likes me.’
Ahmed shrugged.
‘You and everyone else,’ he said. ‘Let’s eat. Have you heard, I’m moving in here? And you get extra food until you’re well. And you don’t have to go to lessons. And, and … and I can’t remember what else I was going to tell you.’
It took a while before the spirits stopped visiting Jamal. The doctor said that the medical staff were sorting his meds out. Some days Jamal just slept all day and other days he kept being sick, but eventually he learnt when to take the medicine and how much medicine to take and people stopped noticing that he was different. He moved back into the dormitory and Ahmed taught him the right order in which to wash himself and the words to say when he was washing. He began to feel at home. Everything would have been fine if it wasn’t for the man from the market.
*
Jamal was excused early prayers for another month – until the doctor decided that he was well enough to cope. And he didn’t have to fast during Ramadan – even though everyone else did. It made him feel bad when he went to the kitchen for bread or tea. But when he tried to miss meals – like the other boys – the Imam would find him and make him eat. Ahmed said that he should miss out on the evening meal if he didn’t have to fast, but he was only joking. No one seemed to mind that Jamal was different. No one called him a witch, or said that he was cursed. No one was afraid of him. He was just another boy in a school full of boys. He was in a class with the small boys, but that was because he had started school later than everyone else. He was even making friends. Ahmed was still his best friend, though.
Ahmed and Jamal would often go into town after Friday prayers. It was the only day when they didn’t have lessons. Sometimes they would watch the other boys playing football in the park – they would only watch because Jamal was really bad at football. He often forgot which team he was on and would pass the ball to the wrong person – or kick it into the wrong goal. At other times they would walk to the market – just to look around. The boys didn’t have any money – none of the students did – and Jamal had stopped stealing. But they went to the market anyway. Jamal wanted to find Mham and maybe bring him back to the school. He thought that Mham would like the school and would appreciate having clean clothes and plenty to eat. He didn’t tell Ahmed that he was looking for Mham – he didn’t tell anyone – but he kept looking. Mham was never there. But Jamal was sure that someone else was. He was sure that the man from the market was following him.
Mham was also looking for Jamal. He asked people in the market and people at the dump. He looked around the town, working out from the market, looking for places where Jamal might have gone. But he couldn’t go to town very often – it was harder to make enough money without Jamal to help. He missed his friend.
A Different Destiny
Jamal was sitting alone in the common room. The other boys had finished their homework but Jamal was still catching up. He could read Arabic and English now but his writing was still dreadful. He wanted to fill the page with the patterns of leaping fish that he’d first seen in the Qur’an before the words meant anything to him. The problem was his writing looked as if it was made by a lizard with ink on its tail. More than anything else – even more than learning the Qur’an by heart or understanding long division – Jamal longed to have beautiful handwriting, so he spent almost every evening practising over and over again.
He was working on a particularly difficult pattern that looked like bubbles rising from a cauldron when the man from the market sat down opposite him.
‘You are wasting your time. You will never be a scholar; you have a different destiny.’
Jamal looked up and shivered a little. He still didn’t trust the man from the market. Then he realised that he didn’t even know his name. Jamal only ever thought of him as ‘the man from the market’. He would need to ask Ahmed what it was. Ahmed was definitely not a scholar, but he was great for knowing names and dates and gossip.
‘Thank you for your advice, but it’s everyone’s duty to study and learn as much about the world as he can.’ Jamal hoped that would make the man from the market leave him alone. His answer hadn’t actually been rude, but it very nearly was.
‘Some destinies are more glorious than scholarship. Wouldn’t you like to have a glorious destiny?’
What was this man talking about? Jamal wondered if it would be OK to say he had an important appointment somewhere else.
‘If you don’t want a glorious destiny, maybe I can persuade you.’
Jamal thought that the man from the market was really creepy. He talked in a scary way even when he wasn’t saying anything that was actually scary.
‘Do you remember when you first came here? Do you remember that you brought a cylinder with you?’
Jamal did remember.
‘Did you ever wonder why it was so important?’
Jamal was suddenly interested. He had learnt that the ghosts and the spirits weren’t real but he still didn’t know what was in the canisters that he had seen before he came to the city.
‘It was a poison gas canister. An illegal weapon. An illegal weapon that the police would be very interested in.’
‘Do you still have it?’ asked Jamal. ‘If you do, shouldn’t we take it to the police?’
‘Oh, I’ve still got it,’ said the man. ‘And it’s got your fingerprints all over it. I bet the police would be very interested in that. Don’t you think so?’
If what the man from the market said was true, then the police would be interested. Jamal couldn’t understand why the man from the market sounded as if he was threatening him.
‘So, are you going to accept your destiny? Or shall I tell the police where you have hidden the poison gas?’
Now Jamal understood why the man sounded as if he was threatening him. It was because he was.
‘Come, I’ll show you something.’
He walked out of the room and Jamal followed him. They went to a hidden part of the compound, well away from the school and the dormitories.
‘Come in here,’ the man from the market said. ‘I have made a coat that will fit you perfectly.’
Suddenly Jamal thought he knew what the man was talking about. But he wished he didn’t.
‘I told you once before that the army is our enemy, and your destiny could be to destroy that enemy.’
Jamal was very frightened. More frightened than when he first heard the silence. More frightened than when he met his grandfather. More frightened even than when the people had called him a witch. This man was mad.
‘I need to think about what’s right,’ said Jamal.
‘You can think. But you must think here. You have a choice: accept your destiny or go to jail.’
That wasn’t a choice, Jamal thought. That wasn’t a choice at all. This madman wanted him to die and Jamal didn’t want that at all.
He tried to think what else he could do. Jamal knew that he could move faster than this madman. He could run away from him. He could run back to the dump where he’d be safe. Mham would hide him and Jamal knew that once you were hidden on the dump no one could find you.
That wouldn’t work. He would be OK, but he remembered that Ahmed had touched the cylinder as well. He couldn’t run away and leave Ahmed.
What else? What else? Jamal needed another idea.
He wondered if he could go along with the plan and then run to the police.
No, that wouldn’t work. This man would have thought of that.
What else?
‘Well, boy, have you thought?’
‘Yes, sir. I know just what to do.’
Jamal picked up the canister and flung it at the man from the market
. Then he ran as fast as he could, dodging under the man’s arm while he was looking at the canister. Almost at once, Jamal was out of the room, skidding right and left and heading for the main compound.
‘It’s a bomb!’ shouted Jamal. ‘There’s a bomb. We’ve got to get out. There’s a bomb!’
The End
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank all the people who have helped me in the making of this book. The people who’ve checked my facts and checked my spelling and who have let me ignore them while I’ve been writing. You have been wonderful and I couldn’t have done it without you.
HopeRoad Publishing
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First published in Great Britain by HopeRoad 2018
Copyright © 2018 Bridget Blankley
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eISBN 978-1-908446-56-5
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