logo on the flyer which was a reproduction of the angel mural on the wall.
‘The Seraph?’ The big priest frowned, unclasped his hands behind his back and folded his arms over his broad chest. Makana wondered if priests were allowed to play sports. There didn’t seem to be any real reason why not.
‘The word means, Those Who Burn . The seraph is a creature that lives in heaven, close to God. They have eyes all over their bodies and are said to be like dragons, or snakes, with six wings. Amongst the angels they rank most highly.’
‘What are those?’ Sami pointed at the wooden figures suspended from the girders supporting the roof.
‘Oh, yes, they are quite unique,’ said Macarius. ‘You can read their names: Hassan, Safwat, Ali and Kamal. I am afraid that Antun has not finished carving the latest victim, Amir.’
Following his gaze, Makana spotted the boy who had been carrying the laundry. He was now seated in the far corner, whittling away at a lump of wood.
‘You mean, these figures are angels representing the boys who were murdered?’
‘You may have heard that there has been something of a miracle here recently. The sighting of an angel?’
‘It was in the papers,’ said Sami.
‘You mean, people really believe there is an angel floating around up there?’ Makana asked.
‘It brings comfort to a lot of people,’ said Father Macarius.
It made as much sense as anything, thought Makana, as he reached for his cigarettes. He wondered what the implications were of murdered Muslim children being turned into Christian angels. His old distaste for religious belief rose in him. Angels and demons seemed a perfect excuse to keep people on their knees with their eyes shut and their hands clasped together in the dark.
‘Not in here, please,’ Macarius shook a finger in front of Makana’s nose. ‘I try to discourage the boys from such habits.’
Makana watched a young boy pummelling a punchbag. He was skinny, a collarbone sticking out through the arms of his worn singlet as sharply as a knife.
‘Earlier you said the police haven’t paid much attention to these murders,’ said Makana.
‘None at all,’ said Father Macarius. ‘It’s as if they don’t care. If it was their children things would be different.’
‘I’m sure,’ nodded Makana. ‘Did some of the victims stay here?’
‘All of them, as far as I know, passed through at some time.’
‘Do you think these killings could in some way be directed at the church?’
‘A way of paying us back for trying to help? Yes, it is possible. Everyone is afraid. Muslim and Christian. This is not a good time. This whole area could explode at any moment and when it does, God help us all.’ Father Macarius shook his head in dismay. ‘I understand your point of view, Mr Makana, perhaps better than you think. I too, ask myself why the Almighty puts these terrible trials before us, and the only answer I have is that it is to test us, to make us ask ourselves what kind of men we are.’ The fierce gaze bored into Makana as he shook his hand. ‘That is the only question that matters: what kind of man are you?’
Chapter Nine
The ghostly outline of the Binbashi was lit up by strings of coloured lights, making the steamer resemble a sketch by an artist with an unsteady hand. Like Makana’s awama , it was more a floating building than a ship. The entrance was reinforced by a wall and a gate complete with a collection of doormen deep in earnest discussion who duly ignored Makana as he entered. A path led down to a short gangway that brought him into a lobby, gaudily decorated with coloured tinsel, mirrors and a revolving glass ball hanging from the ceiling. Music played over speakers everywhere you went, providing a non-stop soundtrack to your experience. Makana counted the names of four restaurants, but he had an idea there were more of them hidden around the vessel somewhere. He followed the signs to the upper deck and entered a long stately room
‘The Seraph?’ The big priest frowned, unclasped his hands behind his back and folded his arms over his broad chest. Makana wondered if priests were allowed to play sports. There didn’t seem to be any real reason why not.
‘The word means, Those Who Burn . The seraph is a creature that lives in heaven, close to God. They have eyes all over their bodies and are said to be like dragons, or snakes, with six wings. Amongst the angels they rank most highly.’
‘What are those?’ Sami pointed at the wooden figures suspended from the girders supporting the roof.
‘Oh, yes, they are quite unique,’ said Macarius. ‘You can read their names: Hassan, Safwat, Ali and Kamal. I am afraid that Antun has not finished carving the latest victim, Amir.’
Following his gaze, Makana spotted the boy who had been carrying the laundry. He was now seated in the far corner, whittling away at a lump of wood.
‘You mean, these figures are angels representing the boys who were murdered?’
‘You may have heard that there has been something of a miracle here recently. The sighting of an angel?’
‘It was in the papers,’ said Sami.
‘You mean, people really believe there is an angel floating around up there?’ Makana asked.
‘It brings comfort to a lot of people,’ said Father Macarius.
It made as much sense as anything, thought Makana, as he reached for his cigarettes. He wondered what the implications were of murdered Muslim children being turned into Christian angels. His old distaste for religious belief rose in him. Angels and demons seemed a perfect excuse to keep people on their knees with their eyes shut and their hands clasped together in the dark.
‘Not in here, please,’ Macarius shook a finger in front of Makana’s nose. ‘I try to discourage the boys from such habits.’
Makana watched a young boy pummelling a punchbag. He was skinny, a collarbone sticking out through the arms of his worn singlet as sharply as a knife.
‘Earlier you said the police haven’t paid much attention to these murders,’ said Makana.
‘None at all,’ said Father Macarius. ‘It’s as if they don’t care. If it was their children things would be different.’
‘I’m sure,’ nodded Makana. ‘Did some of the victims stay here?’
‘All of them, as far as I know, passed through at some time.’
‘Do you think these killings could in some way be directed at the church?’
‘A way of paying us back for trying to help? Yes, it is possible. Everyone is afraid. Muslim and Christian. This is not a good time. This whole area could explode at any moment and when it does, God help us all.’ Father Macarius shook his head in dismay. ‘I understand your point of view, Mr Makana, perhaps better than you think. I too, ask myself why the Almighty puts these terrible trials before us, and the only answer I have is that it is to test us, to make us ask ourselves what kind of men we are.’ The fierce gaze bored into Makana as he shook his hand. ‘That is the only question that matters: what kind of man are you?’
Chapter Nine
The ghostly outline of the Binbashi was lit up by strings of coloured lights, making the steamer resemble a sketch by an artist with an unsteady hand. Like Makana’s awama , it was more a floating building than a ship. The entrance was reinforced by a wall and a gate complete with a collection of doormen deep in earnest discussion who duly ignored Makana as he entered. A path led down to a short gangway that brought him into a lobby, gaudily decorated with coloured tinsel, mirrors and a revolving glass ball hanging from the ceiling. Music played over speakers everywhere you went, providing a non-stop soundtrack to your experience. Makana counted the names of four restaurants, but he had an idea there were more of them hidden around the vessel somewhere. He followed the signs to the upper deck and entered a long stately room
Similar Books
