Gravel Heart(70)

The young man hesitated and then shrugged, not believing that I did not understand what he had said. He glanced over my shoulder and then his eyes slid away. I guessed that Saida must have appeared behind me. Perhaps she had heard him say Amir’s name.

‘He says Amir has been taken away,’ I said, turning to see her standing behind me and still adjusting her kanga, lowering my voice as if conveying delicate information. ‘But he won’t say who has taken him. A white Datsun with government plates.’

The young man nodded, satisfied now that his message had been delivered. We all knew that a white Datsun with government plates meant the security service so why ask who had taken him? I was being ridiculous because of my anxiety, or in case there was a kinder explanation.

‘Is that all you can tell us?’ Saida asked. ‘Where did it happen? Can you tell us any more?’ The young man shook his head at so many pointless questions and mounted his bicycle. ‘Are you a friend of Amir?’ Saida asked him.

The young man said: ‘I work outside, in the garden. Two men came and spoke to him, and then they took him to the car. I think one of them was armed. He had his hand in his pocket, like this,’ he said, demonstrating the bulge in his pocket, his eyes bright again as he gave the details.

‘We thank you for coming to tell us,’ Saida said because she could see the young man was poised to cycle away. ‘Could you also tell us your name?’

‘Bakari,’ the young man said reluctantly.

After Bakari rode away, disappearing round the bend of the lane in an instant, Saida sat at the table in silence for a few moments and I sat opposite her, waiting. I was stunned by the news and confused about what to say or do. People were detained and released, or sometimes not, regularly over the years, but no one close to me had been taken before. Despite everything that had happened, no one had stood in front of me and threatened me with arrest. We had learnt to gratify the powerful with timorous obedience. Why arrest Amir? It is strange how you can deliberate even in times of danger, because I found myself putting this new event into everything I knew about him and trying to guess what he could have done to offend, as if there was time for careful calculation.

‘I was thinking about when they came for my father,’ Saida said in the end. ‘We knew they were arresting everyone who was important in the other party. It was the revolution. What could Amir have done to annoy these people?’

I shook my head to say I had no idea. ‘I thought there was something,’ I said in the end. ‘Some excitement was happening to him. Then I thought maybe it was the new hotel job, that he was excited about that. But I suppose he could be involved in something we don’t know about.’

‘What something?’ Saida said wearily. She did not like to hear one wrong word said about Amir. ‘You are always ready to believe the worst of him,’ she said.

I shook my head again because that was not true. ‘Don’t say that,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anything about these things. He could have got involved in politics. We don’t really know who his friends are or anything like that any more. Or he could have offended someone, they are very touchy, some of these powerful people.’

We talked for a while about what to do and decided that I would go to the hotel to see if I could find out any more. Usually I never went to places like that, hotels and bars and clubs. They were places for foreigners and those who wanted to be like them. At least it was like that then. Now there are so many places like that for the tourists and everybody goes everywhere. So when I said I would go and find out, I really had no idea how I would do that because those tourist hotels were unknown places to me. Bakari said he worked in the gardens, which meant he was a gardener or a labourer who cleaned up the grounds, someone who would be powerless and afraid of being found out as the bearer of such news. From the look of him, he probably needed the job too much to tell us more than he had already done. It was surprising enough that he had come to tell us. Perhaps Amir had done him a kindness and this was Bakari’s way of doing one himself.

Anyway, I set off for the hotel to see if I could find out anything more from someone else. I had seen in films – I used to go to films a lot when I was younger, I told you – how unhappy guests always asked to see the manager, so perhaps I would have to do that if all else failed. I asked the man at the reception desk if he knew anything about what had happened to my brother Amir, and the man said he had no idea that anything had happened to him. I knew him by sight, this man. He had droopy eyes that made him conspicuous but I did not know his name. I told him we had received word that Amir was taken away by two men in a white Datsun. The man asked me who had told us that and I said it was something a neighbour said he had heard, a rumour. The neighbour came to ask if there was any more news, that was the first we heard of it. I did not mention Bakari’s name. The receptionist with droopy eyes said if that was so, then it was all news to him. He was not there when it happened and had nothing to add. It was then that I asked to see the manager and Droopy Eyes looked at me with interest, assessing if I perhaps knew someone important. He went into an office behind the reception counter and after a short delay I was shown into the manager’s office.

The manager was a stony-faced man in his thirties, a stranger from somewhere, with a trimmed moustache and a chin that came to a sharp point. He was one of those creamy-faced men who smell of perfume but whose eyes are like daggers and whose build and bearing betray them as thugs. He had the hardened stillness of a man capable of doing dirty work. He looked at me from under lowered eyebrows and shook hands while still seated. Then he pointed me to a chair. I understood from all this that I was to be intimidated by this trusty flunkey of corrupt money. Because even someone like me could tell that this unpleasant-looking man was not the one who cooked the books and signed the cheques. The manager said he knew nothing further about the incident except that two men in a government car took Amir away. They could have been friends of his who had come to pick him up for a picnic for all anyone knew. The manager was not there when it happened. He would wait for clarification from the authorities. In the meantime, he sincerely hoped that everything would be resolved happily. He was concerned for his employee, of course, but he was also anxious that the matter should have no detrimental effect on the business. If there was anything further he could do to help … After that, he stood up, shook hands with me, and showed me out of the office. From the reception area, which was now empty – Droopy Eyes had gone – I could see a section of the swimming pool and some European children splashing noisily in it, having fun in the sun. I don’t know why exactly, but even now after all this time that image revolts me.