not to argue with him. The logic of the elderly and simple-minded has a way of robbing you of your own, so it’s better not to quarrel with them over convictions they’ve held all their lives. After all, no matter what you say, they’re too old to change their minds!
As though he’d noticed something, he said unexpectedly, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Seeing how late it had got, I said, ‘That’s right. It’s nearly nightfall!’
As he went ahead of me to the car, I cast a parting glance at the barren valleys. I’d concluded now for sure that I really did hate this bridge and that whatever curiosity I’d had about it was dead and gone, just like my hope of meeting up with this man that I’d spent over two hours searching for in vain.
My sadness was made all the more acute by an overpowering sense of disappointment, since I’d lost the crazy bet I’d made with Fate.
Had I arrived too early for love, or too late? Or, rather than my having been too early or too late, had Fate’s timing been right on the mark, the way Death’s is?
I was suddenly wrenched out of my reverie by the sound of gun shots. The report shook me with such force, it was as though the bullets had gone right through me.
I jumped. Terrified, I looked behind me. All I saw was a young man, now a few metres away from me, shooting like an arrow through the crowd and disappearing down a side street.
I looked for Uncle Ahmad, but I didn’t see him in the car or anywhere else. I took a few steps in the other direction, and what should I find but his body sprawled on the ground, with blood oozing out of his head and his chest.
I felt as though I was about to faint. At least, I wished I could faint so that I wouldn’t have to see anything that was happening around me.
I saw the pool of blood spreading, and felt my voice escaping from me.
Passersby began gathering around, and someone asked me what had happened. Others had no need to ask, since they’d either witnessed it or figured it out for themselves.
I heard some of them uttering prayers for God’s forgiveness as they shook their heads in disapproval, cursing a government that would let armed men roam so freely, while others stood looking on in silence. As for me, I was dumbstruck. A police car finally drove up and two officers got out and made their way through the crowd, their siren still screaming.
All I could think of to say when they asked me what had happened was, ‘Take him to the hospital. Please!’
Seeing that he had a bullet in his head and another in his chest, they called an ambulance even though, as one of them put it, ‘He won’t make it.’
The officers were visibly tense. Both of them were young and clutched their pistols nervously. It was as though, now that they knew there was no hope of saving this man’s life, their sole concern was to escape from the circle of human beings gathered around them, in the midst of whom might lurk another murderer only too happy to bag a policeman.
One of them began examining the car, and took a close look at its number plate. From this he easily concluded what rank and position its owner had occupied. He then went over to the body lying on the ground and extricated the keys from its closed fist. It was as though Uncle Ahmad had been in a hurry to open the car and whisk me away from the danger he had percieved with his military sixth sense, or as though, like a good soldier, he’d wanted to die in the line of duty, weapon in hand.
All of a sudden this government car had become more important than the person who’d driven it for years, and making away with it more important than saving the life of a man who lay dying in a pool of blood.
I don’t know how long it took the ambulance to get there, but as far as I could tell, it was taking its sweet time. As we waited, one of the two policemen stood near the wounded man brandishing his pistol and ordering the crowd to scatter, while the other inspected the car and its contents. When
As though he’d noticed something, he said unexpectedly, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Seeing how late it had got, I said, ‘That’s right. It’s nearly nightfall!’
As he went ahead of me to the car, I cast a parting glance at the barren valleys. I’d concluded now for sure that I really did hate this bridge and that whatever curiosity I’d had about it was dead and gone, just like my hope of meeting up with this man that I’d spent over two hours searching for in vain.
My sadness was made all the more acute by an overpowering sense of disappointment, since I’d lost the crazy bet I’d made with Fate.
Had I arrived too early for love, or too late? Or, rather than my having been too early or too late, had Fate’s timing been right on the mark, the way Death’s is?
I was suddenly wrenched out of my reverie by the sound of gun shots. The report shook me with such force, it was as though the bullets had gone right through me.
I jumped. Terrified, I looked behind me. All I saw was a young man, now a few metres away from me, shooting like an arrow through the crowd and disappearing down a side street.
I looked for Uncle Ahmad, but I didn’t see him in the car or anywhere else. I took a few steps in the other direction, and what should I find but his body sprawled on the ground, with blood oozing out of his head and his chest.
I felt as though I was about to faint. At least, I wished I could faint so that I wouldn’t have to see anything that was happening around me.
I saw the pool of blood spreading, and felt my voice escaping from me.
Passersby began gathering around, and someone asked me what had happened. Others had no need to ask, since they’d either witnessed it or figured it out for themselves.
I heard some of them uttering prayers for God’s forgiveness as they shook their heads in disapproval, cursing a government that would let armed men roam so freely, while others stood looking on in silence. As for me, I was dumbstruck. A police car finally drove up and two officers got out and made their way through the crowd, their siren still screaming.
All I could think of to say when they asked me what had happened was, ‘Take him to the hospital. Please!’
Seeing that he had a bullet in his head and another in his chest, they called an ambulance even though, as one of them put it, ‘He won’t make it.’
The officers were visibly tense. Both of them were young and clutched their pistols nervously. It was as though, now that they knew there was no hope of saving this man’s life, their sole concern was to escape from the circle of human beings gathered around them, in the midst of whom might lurk another murderer only too happy to bag a policeman.
One of them began examining the car, and took a close look at its number plate. From this he easily concluded what rank and position its owner had occupied. He then went over to the body lying on the ground and extricated the keys from its closed fist. It was as though Uncle Ahmad had been in a hurry to open the car and whisk me away from the danger he had percieved with his military sixth sense, or as though, like a good soldier, he’d wanted to die in the line of duty, weapon in hand.
All of a sudden this government car had become more important than the person who’d driven it for years, and making away with it more important than saving the life of a man who lay dying in a pool of blood.
I don’t know how long it took the ambulance to get there, but as far as I could tell, it was taking its sweet time. As we waited, one of the two policemen stood near the wounded man brandishing his pistol and ordering the crowd to scatter, while the other inspected the car and its contents. When
Similar Books
