Dogstar Rising

The Nile Star





Chapter Twenty-Six




Makana called Rania from the hospital. Okasha, when he got hold of him, said he would send a squad car to bring her straight to the hospital. A stretcher went by with an unconscious boy of about twelve on it, accompanied by two orderlies trying to steer their way through the crowd and fight off the hysterical relatives at the same time. The boy’s mother was screaming and slapping her face.

‘We must keep the details secret,’ said Okasha. ‘This could start a riot.’

‘It’s too late for that. I have a feeling the news will already have been leaked.’

‘Save your paranoia, please,’ Okasha groaned.

‘A crucifixion. You don’t think that’s a clear message?’

‘We don’t know that for sure.’

‘You should listen to yourself sometimes. What does it look like to you?’

A young man with red eyes and the look of someone who had not slept for days appeared.

‘What can you tell us, doctor?’ Okasha asked.

‘He has lost a lot of blood, but we believe we have stabilised him. He needs to rest. It’s hard to say how much damage was done. The hands and feet are complex. A lot of delicate bones, ligaments, nerves. Whoever did this wanted him to suffer.’

‘Then they didn’t want to kill him?’ Okasha pressed.

‘Oh, yes, he would have bled to death eventually, but it would have taken a long time.’

‘You think they might have mistaken him for you?’ Okasha followed Makana outside to smoke a cigarette.

‘It’s possible. If they were watching the awama and knew I would turn up at some stage. It was dark. They saw a man arrive and go down onto the boat. They thought it was me.’

They stood in the dark as people hurried by to attend to one emergency or another.

‘If you’re right, then maybe you should disappear for a while.’

‘And go where exactly?’

Okasha looked pained. ‘Well, at least try and clean yourself up, you look like you just came from a slaughterhouse.’

Makana found a bathroom, which offered a thin trickle of water from a solitary tap, and cleaned himself up as best he could. He buttoned the remains of his shirt and jacket and tried to clear off some of the dark smears he knew were Sami’s blood. His face looked a mess. Along with the collection of cuts and bruises, he had acquired the haunted look of a man who hasn’t slept for weeks.

In the corridor Makana found a free space on a bench alongside an older woman who gave off an acrid smell. She looked as if she had spent days sleeping in this spot. Her bare feet, gnarled and dry like muddy roots, stuck out in front of her as she snored softly to herself. After a time he closed his own eyes and miraculously managed to sleep.

When he gently pushed open the door to peer into the room, Makana found Rania sitting by Sami’s bedside with her head bowed. He thought she was sleeping and was about to turn and leave quietly, when she stirred and raised her head. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying.

‘Rania, I’m so sorry about this.’

They stood on opposite sides of the bed, staring down at the inert figure between them. Sami’s hands and feet were bandaged and he was under heavy sedation.

‘I couldn’t understand where he had got to,’ Rania murmured. ‘I made supper and sat down and waited. I must have fallen asleep. I tried to call him. I wasn’t worried. Sami’s always forgetting to charge his phone . . .’ Her voice cracked and she put a hand up to stifle her sobs. ‘They don’t know if he will ever be able to walk again,’ she cried. ‘What will we do?’

‘He’s strong, Rania, and stubborn. He’ll pull through. You’ll see.’

‘And even if he does, will he ever be able to write again? Did you see his hands?’

‘He’ll be all right.’ Makana recalled the memory of the nail as it grated against broken bone while he tried to pull it free.

‘How could this happen?’ She looked up from Sami. ‘I want to know everything.’

‘I don’t think they intended to hurt him. I think it was me they were after.’



Dawn was breaking when he got home to find Umm Ali standing by the road surrounded by a small crowd of neighbours. She gave a cry when she caught sight of him and rushed over.

‘What a night! I swear by the father of my children I hope I never live to see another like it.’

‘How are you, Umm Ali? How are the children?’

‘Al-hamdoulilah, the Lord saw fit to preserve our lives from those devils.’ She paused to wail a little and then told her story. Around sunset three men, their faces covered, had appeared in the doorway of the little shack. After tying them up and gagging them, they left them all lying on the bed together, which is where the police had found them. As they went by the little shack he caught a glimpse of Aziza and her brother standing in the doorway, holding themselves back in the shadows.

‘Where was Bassam?’

‘That useless donkey? He went out in the afternoon and we’ve seen no sign of him yet, probably out gambling with his friends, just when we needed a man to protect us. We could have been slaughtered like chickens.’ Umm Ali clutched a hand to her throat and wailed some more. ‘Is it true what they did to ustaz Sami? The policeman told me. These Christian devils? None of us is safe.’

‘We don’t know who did it yet, or why.’

But Umm Ali’s remark told him that by now the story would be eating its way through the city from one end to the other. Twenty-four hours. That was all it would take, probably a lot less, before the story was on the lips of every newscaster and front page in the country.

‘May Allah guide you in finding the guilty ones. How is ustaz Sami, ya basha?’

‘He suffered, but he will recover, inshallah.’ It always surprised him how the words came naturally to him. If God wills it. Did he really believe that God was anything more than an alibi, a licence to do violence? It was a reflex that had not been worked out of his system yet. Umm Ali began wailing again and tearing at her hair when she saw the upper deck.

The blood had thickened into stringy patterns along the cracks in the old, dry planks, spreading out in a spiderweb across the deck. Had they found their intended target Makana knew he might have spent all night in agony before being found. He wasn’t expecting anyone and assuming nobody dropped by . . . Even if Umm Ali’s useless brother had returned to find his sister and her children tied up, how long would it have taken for them to discover him? His eye caught something fluttering in the breeze. Gently he detached a scrap of paper stuck to the deck with Sami’s blood. The same note he had left in the café opposite the building where Rocky lived.

There was a commotion down below and he went over to the railing to see two men in casual clothes trying to make their way past Aziza. Slight in build she was far from defenceless. A furious Amazon defending her territory. Her mother called down to ask what was going on, but she coolly ignored her. The two men tried charm, then bribery, and then threats. Aziza stood her ground. Finally they retreated, tails between their legs. The girl beamed with delight.

‘They’ve been trying to get up here all night,’ Umm Ali moaned as she dragged a bucket of soapy water up the stairs. She began to scrub at the floorboards.

‘Who are they?’

‘They want to take pictures. Imagine that? May Our Lord lead them all to damnation.’

The telephone disturbed his thoughts. It was Damazeen. His voice full of cheery bluster despite the early hour.

‘Have you considered my offer?’

‘I’m not sure I trust you any more than I can stand the sight of you.’

‘Put your pride to one side. Think of what I am offering you. What I said is true. I can give you your life back.’

‘Does Talal know that you were the one who betrayed his father?’

‘He’s a talented boy. I can help him.’

‘That won’t make what you did right.’

There was a long pause. ‘I have told you a good deal of my plans. Perhaps that was foolish of me, but I did it as a mark of trust. I need to know you will help me.’

‘Now that sounds like a threat. Why do I have no trouble believing you mean that?’

‘This offer does not stay open indefinitely. I need your answer, Makana. Remember what I said. I am your only link. Without me Nasra stays dead.’

After Damazeen had hung up Makana stared at the receiver in his hand. He dialled Amir Medani’s office and it was answered immediately.

‘Did you find out anything?’

Makana heard the lawyer sigh, which wasn’t good. It sounded like he had someone in the office with him as he lowered his voice to a whisper, muting it, as if he were cupping the receiver in his hand.

‘I made some calls. There is no record of either of them having survived the accident, but that is only to be expected. The militias could do what they wanted back then and they answered to nobody. Then I called a cousin of mine, a journalist. It seems that Mek Nimr has an extensive family – three daughters and two sons. One of the girls is said to be adopted, apparently from his wife’s family.’

‘So, Damazeen is telling the truth.’

‘We don’t know that, but yes, there is a possibility she is alive.’ There was a long pause, then Amir Medani said, ‘I know this is difficult for you, but you must not get involved with Damazeen. Even if it was true, I still think this could be a trap.’

Makana thanked Amir and rang off. After that he took a shower and dressed in fresh clothes, which made him feel a little more human. When he arrived back at the hospital he found Rania asleep on a simple bench in the corridor, her head resting against the wall, a veil of dark hair covering her face. When he sat down beside her she jerked awake with a cry.

‘What? Did something happen?’

‘Don’t you think you ought to go home and get some rest?’

She yawned and rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I must look awful.’

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I brought you coffee from the place you like in Zamalek. Latté, right?’

‘How did you know about that?’ she frowned, taking the paper beaker and removing the lid.

‘Sami told me.’ Makana recalled the afternoon with Meera in the café.

‘And I also brought you some food,’ he said, handing over the paper bag.

‘I can’t think of food at a time like this,’ she said, opening the bag to sniff. ‘What is it?’

‘Cheese fiteer and fried chicken.’

‘I’ll get as fat as a duck,’ she fretted, but nevertheless reached inside to begin tearing strips of savoury pancake off and stuffing them into her mouth. ‘I haven’t eaten since yesterday.’ Rania leaned back in her chair and chewed for a while, the bag in her hand forgotten. She stopped and tears flooded her eyes. ‘I keep thinking that if only he hadn’t talked so much.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean, all his big ideas.’ She sniffed, found a paper napkin in the bag and wiped her nose. Then she took a deep breath and tried again. ‘You know how he’s always talking about revolution and changing the world, and all those crazy things that come into his head.’

‘That had nothing to do with what happened.’

She stared at him and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Eat,’ he encouraged gently. ‘He needs you to be strong.’

‘I just don’t understand how anyone could do such a thing,’ she said, staring into space, then she stopped again, her hand halfway to her mouth. ‘I mean the way they did it.’

‘The Romans crucified slaves, pirates and thieves. Early Christians adopted it as a form of martyrdom, a symbol of their struggle to be allowed to practise their religion.’

‘You’re saying someone wanted to make it look like Christians had done it? That’s horrible.’

Closing her eyes, Rania sipped her coffee, holding the cup in both hands to breathe in the aroma. Watching her drink took Makana back to that now distant afternoon in the Alhambra café with Meera. Rania spoke without turning to him. ‘We don’t really know each other, do we?’

‘Well . . .’

‘I mean, without Sami there to bounce around between us.’

‘I suppose there’s some truth in that.’

‘He admires you, you know. Calls you his moral compass.’

‘I’m not sure what that means.’

‘I suppose it means that whenever he is in doubt he asks himself what you would do.’ Her eyes remained fixed on the cup in her hands.

‘He’s going to be all right, Rania. I’m sure of it.’

Now her eyes came up to meet his. ‘What if he can’t walk again, or write, what kind of life will he have? How will we manage?’ Her whole body began to tremble and she pressed a hand to her eyes as if to blot out the world. Makana sat quietly. A moment passed. The hospital seemed quiet at that time. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying. A telephone began to ring. A door slammed and a voice called for help. A nurse went by and eventually the crying stopped.