Authors: Parker Bilal
‘You didn’t tell anyone?’
‘I’m not a fool. He would have killed me just as easily.’
‘How do you know Rocky?’
Ramy’s eyes fell. He scratched his chin. ‘I knew him a long time ago. When I was a boy.’
‘You were together in the orphanage, at Wadi Nikeiba.’
‘My father . . . It’s a long story.’
Dena reached for his hand. ‘It’s all right,’ she said gently.
‘You told him?’ Ramy wrenched his hand free, then after a moment he went on. ‘People were already calling him Rocky back then. He was a few years older than most of the boys. He was a bully. He was also a ferocious boxer. One of the priests used to train the boys.’
‘Father Macarius,’ said Makana.
‘Yes. Rocky used to like hurting things, any living thing. He tortured animals, poked the eyes out of a cat once. It was a sickness.’
‘But he never hurt you.’
A deep sigh sounded from Ramy. The gun had dropped until it was resting on his knee. He wasn’t really aiming it at anyone.
‘I was his boy, okay?’ He lifted his gaze to meet Makana’s. ‘Do you understand what that means? I was his boy.’ He ignored the whimper that came from Dena.
‘He took care of you, in return for certain . . . favours.’
‘He took care of me,’ mumbled Ramy.
‘You never told me any of this,’ Dena said. He carried on ignoring her.
‘Tell me about Meera. Why did you decide to help her?’
‘Why? Why wouldn’t I help her? She wanted to expose what that bastard was doing.’
‘He’s still your father.’
‘No,’ Ramy laughed bitterly. ‘He will never recognise me. He’s too ashamed. He has a respectable family. You know what those informal weddings are like, it’s just legalised prostitution. My mother was nothing to him but a whore and I am an embarrassment.’
‘He took you in. He gave you a job,’ Dena implored.
‘He gave me a job because he was afraid I would make a fuss. He made me promise that I would never make any claims about inheritance. He’s happy for me to work for him, but I always knew that one day he would grow tired of me and that would be the end of it.’ He looked up at Makana, as if sure he at least would understand. ‘And now it’s done.’
‘So you helped Meera find the evidence she needed to expose the Eastern Star’s actions.’
‘I caught her one day going through old files and that made me suspicious. I did some checking on her and guessed what she was up to. She couldn’t believe it when I confronted her and told her I had exactly what she was looking for. They had been running money through the company for years. It comes in from one source and goes out to another. They made up the names of hotels, transport firms, caterers. It was all being run by Yousef.’ Ramy snorted. ‘There’s another piece of work. Anyway, Yousef trusted me for some reason. The account numbers were supposed to be destroyed as soon as the transaction was over. But I kept a record,’ Ramy smiled. ‘I thought, one day this is going to be useful. This is going to be my ticket into the good life.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘Then Rocky showed up.’ Ramy stared into space. ‘I couldn’t understand how he had found me, but there he was. One day I walked in and he was standing there.’
‘Running the café downstairs,’ said Makana.
Ramy shook his head. ‘Rocky wouldn’t hang around in a simple
’ahwa
if there wasn’t a reason. No, he was running his band of boys out of there. It was just like the old days, except we were all older. He said he needed my help. I hadn’t seen him for five years.’ A shudder went through him. ‘I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t eat anything. I threw up. It was as if I couldn’t get away from him, no matter what I did or where I went, he would always be there.’
‘So that’s why Rocky was there, using the café as a front for his activities?’
‘Sure, they were stealing stuff all over the place. Downtown is a treasure trove if you know what you are doing. They ran their stolen goods through the café.’
‘Cigarettes, for example?’ asked Makana.
‘Exactly, television sets, radios, things they stole from offices and flats in the neighbourhood. They had a kind of storeroom in the back.’
‘What did Rocky want you to help him with?’
Ramy’s eyes flicked up to find Makana’s. ‘Somebody wanted Meera dead. He wouldn’t tell me who, but he was going to take care of it, and I was going to help him.’
‘You don’t know who ordered the killing?’
‘No,’ Ramy shook his head. ‘All he would tell me was that it was going to be a spectacular, headline-grabbing operation. They wanted to use the opportunity to scare people.’
‘You have no idea who they were?’
‘No, but I got the impression it was personal, to do with who she was, I mean. She was married to some crazy professor. All of that they knew. That was why she had to die.’
Someone from Meera’s past, connected to the Eastern Star Bank. Serhan had overheard someone at the shareholders’ meeting saying it was time to clear the slate. Was one of those people Sheikh Waheed?
‘So, Rocky was there to kill Meera,’ said Makana. ‘What did you do then?’
‘I couldn’t deal with it. It was too much. And I liked Meera. I wanted to help her, and now here was this monster that I just couldn’t shake off.’ Ramy glanced at Dena. ‘I thought I’d got away from Rocky. I just wanted to live a normal life.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I was so stupid. Some people are born lucky and others, well . . .’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘If you wanted to start a new life down here with Dena, why destroy your uncle’s company?’
‘It wouldn’t have destroyed the company. You know what this country is like. These people take care of their own. There would be a scandal and maybe a couple of people would get fined, or even go to prison, maybe even my uncle. But then who would he get to take care of things while he was gone? You see? I was thinking that then he might really need my help.’
‘All of this is assuming no one found out you had helped Meera.’
‘Yes, well, let’s just say things didn’t work out the way I expected.’ Ramy stared down at the Beretta. He turned it over in his hand as if wondering who had put it there. Makana considered trying to take the automatic away, but decided wrestling with a loaded gun was a bad idea.
‘Rocky wanted me back. He said we were fated to be together, that I could never really get rid of him.’
An involuntary sound of disgust escaped Dena. She put a hand to her mouth, but Ramy gave no indication he had heard. If he had, he was beyond caring.
‘It was all part of the game. He didn’t really care about me. What he wanted was to know that he had me in his control.’
‘You could have resisted,’ insisted Dena. ‘You could have stayed away from him.’
Ramy didn’t even look at her. His voice was dead. ‘I went to see him. He showed me around. He had a stable of young boys, kids he had picked up off the street. Every now and then he lost control and one of them would die. He didn’t care. There were plenty more out there, he said. He locked them up on his roof like animals, living in their own filth, until they were willing to do anything to get out. It brought it all back. The pain and humiliation. The shame of it all.’ Ramy’s chest heaved as he tried to draw breath. ‘I remembered how scared I had once been. Rocky was laughing. I don’t know what came over me. I just thought this has to end. I thought I could take him by surprise. It was stupid. He is strong, and very fast.’ Ramy’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He beat me, and he held me down and he touched me that way. He said, you’ll always belong to me. After this nobody is ever going to want you. And then he poured acid on my face.’
The story seemed to have left him drained. Ramy’s head hung down. His body racked with silent sobs. Somewhere in the distance Makana could hear an owl. Dena tried to console him, but Ramy pushed her away. ‘Before this,’ he gestured at his face, ‘I thought there was a chance of starting a new life. But now . . . what does it matter?’
‘But it does matter. I don’t care how you look,’ insisted Dena.
‘Well, I do!’ he yelled. Then he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her towards him roughly, pressing her against the burned side of his face. ‘How long would it take for you to find this disgusting? Six months? A year? Two years?’
‘No, no!’ she sobbed. ‘I love you.’
Ramy flung her away. ‘You should go now,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m very tired.’
‘Yes,’ Dena agreed, wiping the tears from her face. ‘Maybe we should go.’ She got to her feet quietly. ‘I’ll come back in the morning, before we leave. I’ll bring you something to eat.’
Ramy said nothing. Makana had more questions but he could see that he would get no more out of Ramy tonight. He followed Dena down the stairs towards the entrance and out to the beach. A cool breeze was blowing along the river’s edge. In the distance the low curve of the felucca could be made out, with Adam outlined beside it, looking out for them.
‘It’s so sad. I wish there was something I could do,’ Dena sniffed.
Makana paused to glance back at the house. The faint glow of light fluttering from within made him uneasy. Ramy had spent his whole life living in fear and when he finally tried to stand up for himself he had paid a terrible price. He had wanted to help Meera, and he had failed at that too. So he fled the city, his face disfigured, and ran to the one person he thought would be able to give him back his dignity. But even that wasn’t enough. Makana had come to a halt now. He had turned and started back towards the house when he heard the shot. Then he was running with Dena screaming behind him.
Ramy was slumped against the wall with the ugly, twisted side of his face turned towards the light, his expression one of surprise, his white shirt was spattered with blood and his brains were spattered over the wall behind him. The Beretta was still smoking in his hand.
It was dawn by the time Adam delivered him back to the
Nile Star
. Dena had stayed behind to deal with the police, but they had agreed that Makana would not be included in the story. The gun was not registered to anyone, so where it had come from would remain a mystery. Too exhausted to sleep, Makana went up on deck to watch the town come to life. He leaned on the railings and smoked a cigarette while taking in the view.
The Aswan skyline was once dominated by King Farouk’s old palace, jutting out over the water, which had been transformed into the luxurious Cataract Hotel and frequented by all manner of royalty and celebrity. Nowadays it was superseded by the grim tower of the Oberoi on Elephantine Island. Twelve concrete pylons rising
30
metres into the air to support a restaurant suspended in mid-air. From a distance it resembled an industrial complex in the shape of a cobra, the ancient royal symbol of Upper Egypt. But it lacked any trace of charm and elegance. The artists of old must have been rolling about in their caskets in indignation. A white rag floated gracefully down overhead and became a heron.
‘A sad business.’
Makana looked round to see Adam, his overalls covered in an unusual amount of oil. He had just come from the engine room and carried a monkey wrench and an oily rag. Without a word Makana offered him a cigarette. He tucked the wrench into a pocket and wiped his brow with his greasy forearm.
‘He wasn’t a bad kid. He worked hard and everyone liked him.’ Adam sniffed and rolled the cigarette between his fingers leaving black fingerprints on the white paper. ‘It’s a shame for the girl, though. She was in love with that boy, would have done anything for him.’ He took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew on the tip until it glowed. ‘Things have been bad here for a long time. People are worried this is going to finish off the company.’
‘You remember I asked you about Wadi Nikeiba?’
‘The monastery?’ Adam frowned. ‘Sure.’
‘You said they were running a brothel out there.’
Adam gave a dismissive shrug. ‘You know how people are. One story leads into another.’
‘Do you think you could find your way out there?’
‘I suppose so. I’d need to get hold of a car first.’
‘But you can do that, right?’
‘I suppose so.’ Adam puffed on his cigarette and studied the rivets on the deck. ‘Of course, a car is not an easy thing to lay your hands on.’
Makana reached into his pocket for some of Faragalla’s money and counted out some notes into the grubby hand. ‘I’m sure an old sailor like yourself can get hold of just about anything he sets his mind on.’
‘You might just be right about that,’ Adam grinned toothlessly.
By noon they had a car. An old Peugeot
504
estate. Five doors and enough room in it to comfortably seat a football team. It might once have been blue but was now a rainbow-coloured history of replacement parts. One door was ruby, the other was ochre, the front wing a battered white. The bulk of it was a faded sky-blue, rubbed clear through to shining steel here and there. The bonnet was military green. Just by looking at it you might be forgiven for wondering if it was capable of moving one more metre, but mechanically it seemed sound. Adam sat grinning behind the wheel. The car belonged to a brother-in-law, he said, who used to drive it as a taxi until his leg was amputated last winter. Smoking. Diabetes. A litany of complaints that kept Adam muttering and rolling his head at the foolishness of man and the cruelty of fate. Such cars were worth their weight in gold according to him and were exchanged for astronomical sums. They were just waiting for the right time to sell. Better not wait too long, thought Makana to himself as he climbed in. The passenger-seat door was held closed with a loop of frayed nylon cord. The rear end seemed to be jacked unnaturally high up in the air and the tyres were smooth enough to write on. To Makana, it resembled a coffin on wheels. The air was warm and once they had managed to negotiate their way through the town’s traffic they hit the open road. The green strip of irrigated fields and trees running along opposite banks of the river gave way to dusty emptiness. The open windows blew gusts of hot dry air into Makana’s face as he rested his arm on the juddering door, careful not to lean too much of his weight on it.