Spirit of a Mountain Wolf by Rosanne Hawke

the family. How could he do that here? His father’s honor would require him to kill Kazim. That was what his father would do. He would kill Kazim and set his son free. Razaq sighed. He was too tired to run away. When his strength built up he would try again, and this time he wouldn’t fall for stories from people like Aslam.
    Then, a surprising thing happened. One afternoon, Kazim told Razaq to have a rest. That evening, he said Razaq could help wait on the tables. It was a break from washing dishes and gave him a chance to watch the TV. It was amazing how one afternoon’s rest made Razaq feel almost chirpy. He set the plates of rice and bowls of curry on the tables and smiled at a man who was staring at him. If Kazim let him do this regularly, he would regain his strength in no time at all. Then he could find his uncle.
    By ten, most of the customers had gone but one man remained. He wore an expensive suit coat over his shalwar qameez and had a gold watch on his wrist and a gold chain as thick as a halter around his neck. His shoes were made of green leather.
    “Do you want more chai?” Razaq asked him in Urdu.
    “No, get me Kazim,” the man said without taking his eyes from Razaq.
    Kazim must have heard because he hurried over, wiping his hands on a cloth. “You see what I mean?” he said to the man.
    The man gave little away in his face, and Razaq wondered what Kazim meant.
    “How much?” the man said.
    Kazim spread his hands to encompass his poor restaurant. “One hundred and fifty thousand rupees.”
    The man chuckled. “You would match Ali Baba, you rogue. Only militants ask that much.” Then his face changed into hard lines. “I’ll give you a lakh, and nothing more.” He stood and handed Kazim a piece of paper.
    Kazim examined it. “It is good?”
    “As good as the boy.”
    Razaq looked at Kazim, alarmed. Was it happening again? One lakh was a hundred thousand rupees, enough money to build many houses in the mountains. Why was the man giving all that money to Kazim?
    Kazim pushed Razaq into the other room. “Get your things.”
    “What is happening?”
    “I can’t be worrying, waiting for when you’ll run again. Mr. Malik has a good opportunity for you. If you do what you’re told, you’ll have a good life.” Kazim grinned and Razaq shrank from the greed in his eyes. “I knew you would bring a fortune for me.”
    Kazim went back to Mr. Malik.
    “I told you he was biding his time,” Aslam said, “just waiting for the right customer.”
    “But I cannot be sold again.”
    “If I was as pretty as you, it would have been me. At least you will get good food and maybe a TV. A ride in a car sometimes.”
    “What do you know?” Razaq said. “Where am I going?”
    “Mr. Malik is a dala. He trains boys and girls for business.”
    Razaq paled.
    “Hurry up. Mr. Malik is leaving.” Kazim’s voice from the outside room sounded jaunty.
    “You have to help me,” Razaq whispered, but Aslam merely shrugged.
    “What can any of us do? Mr. Malik is a big businessman with many people working for him. No one crosses him.”
    Razaq put on his pakol, the green jacket, and his father’s sandals. He put the empty purse in his pocket. He walked to the door—there was no escaping.
    Mr. Malik smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes as smiles were meant to. “Come, beta. We have much to do. The first thing will be to give you a proper bath. Then we shall see what we have.”
    He looked as if finding out what he had was going to be pleasant, but Razaq only felt ill.

    Razaq stared out of the car window. Lights flashed into his eyes as they turned corners. The cinema, bright with lights and painted billboards of half-naked actresses and heroes caked with blood and mud, lit up a whole block. Hundreds of men stood around in the streets. It looked as if the city never slept. It should have been exciting—this was his first ride in a car—but the thought of what might happen to him stole his joy. He