The Beekeeper of Aleppo(64)

Reluctantly I led Afra to the table where the man was now slurping the last of his coffee.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said in Arabic.

The man looked up as if he hadn’t been expecting anyone. Then without saying anything he took the lid off his coffee and stuck his fingers into the plastic cup, trying to get an ice cube.

‘I’m Nuri and this is Afra. You’re supposed to be expecting us.’

The man managed to get hold of the ice cube and threw it into his mouth, biting down on it.

‘Do you not speak Arabic?’ I said.

‘Sit down,’ he said in Arabic.

We both took a seat, and maybe I was nervous, or maybe there was something about this man’s silence, but I began to ramble. ‘We met Baram in the square, he said you could help us, he called you yesterday and he said to bring our passports, which I have done, they’re right here.’

‘Not yet,’ he said abruptly. His words stopped my hand in its tracks. He smiled, probably at my sudden obedience, then crunched harder into the ice cube, grimacing in a way that made his face take on the appearance of a nine-year-old boy. It was amazing how much power this man-child had; in normal life he would probably have been struggling to make ends meet in some back-alley greengrocer’s in Damascus. There was a glint of something dark and desperate in his eyes, like the men in the woods.

‘This is your wife?’ he said.

‘Yes, I am Afra.’

‘You’re blind?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply, but with a hint of sarcasm in her voice that only I could pick up on, and I could almost hear her follow it with: ‘Clever man.’

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Poor blind woman – less suspicious. You’ll have to take off that hijab and dye your hair blonde. Not much we can do with you,’ he said to me, ‘but you’re not a complete lost cause. Good shave, clean shirt. Work on your expression.’

On the table the man’s phone vibrated and flashed. He glanced at the screen and his face changed, a twitch in his cheek, a clenched jaw. He turned the phone face down on the table.

‘So where is it you want to get to?’

‘England.’

‘Ha!’

‘Everybody laughs,’ I said.

‘Ambitious. Expensive.’

I lowered my face, the money in my rucksack making me nervous. It felt as if I was carrying a bag full of eggs.

‘Two thousand euros for Denmark. Three thousand for Germany,’ the smuggler said. Then he paused. ‘You’re much better off going to one of those.’

‘How much to England?’

‘Seven thousand for both of you.’

‘Seven thousand!’ Afra said. ‘That’s crazy! How much does it cost to get a flight from here to England?’

The man laughed again, and she scrunched up her face and turned away.

‘This isn’t a trip to England,’ he said. ‘You are paying for our services. England is a special place – you will be safer, and it’s harder for us to get you there; that’s the additional cost.’

Afra looked as if she wanted to spit on him. I nudged her foot with mine.

‘That’s why we want to go there,’ I said. ‘We’re tired, really tired now. But we just don’t have that kind of money.’

‘How much do you have?’

‘Five thousand.’

‘In cash?’

I looked over my shoulder.

The man raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re walking around with that amount of cash on you?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I have some in cash and the rest is in a private account. I’ll do anything, I’ll find work to make up the money. I’ll pick up rubbish, clean cars or windows or anything.’

‘Ha! Where do you think you are? Even the locals can’t find work.’

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Afra said, standing up to leave. I grabbed her arm. Seeing my desperation, the man smiled.

‘You can do some work for me,’ he said.

‘What kind of work?’

‘Just deliveries.’

‘Just?’

‘The others are kids, can’t drive yet. I need someone who can drive. Can you drive?’

I nodded.

‘You can work for me for three weeks. If you behave yourself, then we’ll say five thousand euros for the two of you.’

‘OK,’ I said, and held out my hand to shake his, but instead he gave me a huge grin and chuckled.

Afra was quiet again, but I could feel her anger.

‘You’ll have to come and stay with me,’ the man said.

‘Why?’

‘To ensure that you don’t run off with the car and the packages.’

The rest of the ice in the plastic cup had melted now and he leant forward, taking the straw in his mouth and slurping as he’d done before.

‘And that way I’ll know you won’t run off because I’ll have Afra – that was your name, wasn’t it?’ Before she could reply, he raised his hand and asked the waiter for a piece of paper and a pen to write down an address.

‘Meet me here tomorrow at 10 p.m. If you don’t turn up, I’ll assume you’ve changed your mind.’

It was early afternoon when we got back to the park. Children were playing with a ball in the open area between the tents and blankets. Others were squabbling over marbles. Two children had made a village on the ground with stones and leaves. The thought of leaving this place filled me with energy, gave me hope, but later I found myself scanning the crowds of children, hoping to see Mohammed among them. Those black eyes, the way they filled with fear and questions, I could almost see him in front of me. It was Sami who had disappeared in my mind, and no matter how much I tried to bring him to life, to conjure an image of him, I couldn’t.