A Fire in the Sun (26 page)

I listened to the judgment and the commentary, and then I pressed L for the lines. What it all amounted to was a warning that I was in a difficult period, and that if I tried to force my way toward my goal, I'd encounter a lot of conflict. I didn't need a pocket computer to tell me that.

The image was "Heaven above the waters," and I was advised to stay close to home. The problem was that it was just a little too late for that. "If you determine to confront the difficulties," the mechanical woman cautioned, "you'll make minor progress that will soon be reversed, leaving you in a worse situation than before. Sidestep this trouble by tending your garden and ignoring your powerful adversaries."

Well, hell, I would have loved to do just that. I could have forgotten all about Abu Adil and all about Jawarski, just written Shaknahyi off as a painful tragedy, and let Papa deal with Umm Saad by ordering the Stones That Speak to twist her devious head off. I could have left my mother a fat envelope of cash, kissed Chiriga's club goodbye, and caught the next bus out of the city.

Unfortunately, none of that was possible. I stared at the toy / Ching ruefully, then remembered that the changing lines gave me a second hexagram that might indicate where events were leading. I pressed CH.

"Hexagram Seventeen. Sui. Following. Thunder in the lake." Whatever that meant. I was told that I was coming into very positive circumstances. All I had to do was attune my actions into harmony with the personalities of the people I had to deal with. I just had to adapt my own desires to the needs of the times.

"Okay," I said, "that's just what 111 do. I just need someone to tell me what 'the needs of the times' are."

"Such fortune telling is blasphemous," said Kmuzu. "Every orthodox religion in the world forbids it." I hadn't heard him come into my room.

"The idea of synchronicity makes a certain logical sense," I said. Actually, I felt pretty much about the / Ching as he did, but I felt it was my job to bait him as much as possible. Maybe something would get him to loosen up a little.

"You are dealing with dangerous people, yaa Sidi," he said. "Surely your actions must be governed by reason, not by this child's plaything."

I tossed Yasmin's gimmick to him. "You're right, Kmuzu. Something like that could be dangerous, in the hands of a gullible fool."

"I'll return it to Miss Yasmin tomorrow."

"Fine," I said,

"Will you need anything more tonight?"

"No, Kmuzu, I'm just gonna make some notes to myself, and then I'll get some sleep."

"Then goodnight, yaa Sidi."

"Goodnight, Kmuzu." He closed the door to my bedroom behind him.

I got up and undressed, then pulled back the covers on my bed and laid down again. I began listing names in my notebook: Friedlander Bey, Reda Abu Adil and Umar Abdul-Qawy, Paul Jawarski, Umm Saad, Lieutenant Haj-jar. The bad guys. Then I made a list of the good guys: me.

I remembered a proverb I'd heard as a child in Algiers. "Fleeing when it is not necessary is better than not fleeing when it is necessary." A quick trip to Shanghai or Venice seemed like the only reasonable response to this situation.

I suppose I fell asleep thinking about stuffing a bag full of clothes and money and running off into the honeysuckle-scented night. I was having a bizarre dream about Chiriga's. Lieutenant Hajjar seemed to be running the place, and I went in looking for somebody who might have been Yasmin or possibly Fayza, one of my adolescent 'oves. There was some kind of argument with my mother bout whether or not I'd brought in a case of bottled sherbet, and then I was in school without any clothes on, and I hadn't studied for some important exam.

Someone was shaking me and shouting. "Wake up, yaa Sidi!"

"What is it, Kmuzu?" I said blearily. "What's the matter?"

"The house is on fire!" he said. He pulled on my arm until I got out of bed.

"I don't see any fire." I could smell the smoke, though.

"This whole floor is burning. We don't have much time. We've got to get out."

I was completely awake now. I could see a heavy layer of smoke hanging in the bright moonlight that slanted in through the lattice-covered windows. "I'm all right, Kmuzu," I said. "I'll wake Friedlander Bey. Do you think the whole house is on fire, or just this wing?" "I'm not sure, yaa Sidi."

"Then run over to the east wing and wake my mother. Make sure she gets out all right." "And Umm Saad as well."

"Yeah, you right." He hurried out of my room. Before I went out into the hall, I stopped td find the telephone on my desk. I punched the city's emergency number, but the line was busy. I muttered a curse and tried again. Still the line was busy. I kept calling and calling; it seemed like hours went by before a woman's voice answered. "Fire," I cried. I was frantic by that time. "The Friedlander Bey estate near the Christian Quarter."

"Thank you, sir," said the woman. "The fire brigade is on its way."

The air had gotten very bad, and the acrid smoke burned my nose and throat as I bent lower trying to breathe. I paused at the entrance to the suite, and then ran back to find my jeans. I know you're supposed to get out of a burning building as quickly as possible, but I still hadn't seen any actual flames and I didn't feel as if I were in any immediate danger. It turned out that I was wrong; while I stopped to pull on my jeans, I was already being burned by the hot ash in the air. I didn't feel it at the time, but I was getting second-degree burns on my head, neck, and shoulders, which were bare. My hair was badly

singed, but my beard protected my face. I've since promised myself that I'm never going to shave it off again.

I first saw flames in the corridor. The heat was intense. I ran with my arms around my head, trying to shield my face and eyes. The soles of my feet were badly scorched within ten feet of my apartment. I pounded on Papa's door, sure that I was going to die right there, bravely but foolishly attempting to rescue an old man who was likely already dead. A stray thought lodged in my consciousness, the memory of Friedlander Bey asking me if I had the courage to fill my lungs again with fire.

There was no response. I knocked louder. The fire was blistering the skin on my back and arms, and I'd begun to choke. I took a step back, raised my right leg, and kicked the door as hard as I could. Nothing happened. It was locked, and the bolt had probably expanded in the heat. I kicked again, and this time the wooden frame around the lock splintered. One more kick and the door sprang back, slamming in against the wall of Papa's parlor. "O Shaykh!" I shouted. The smoke billowed even more densely here. There was the sharp smell of burning plastic in the air, and I knew that I had to get Papa out quickly, before he and I were overcome by poisonous fumes. That made me even less hopeful of finding Fried-;nder Bey alive. His bedroom was back and to the left, dnd that door was closed and locked too. I kicked it in, paying no attention to the stabbing pain that shot through my ankle and shin. I'd have time to nurse my injuries later —if I lived.

Papa was awake, lying on his back in bed, his hands clutching the sheet that covered him. I ran to him, and his eyes followed my every movement. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He raised one hand ebly. I didn't have time for whatever he was trying to communicate. I just threw back the covers and scooped him up as if he'd been a child. He was not a tall man, but e'd put on a moderate amount of weight since the days of ;s athletic prime. It didn't matter; I carried him out of -ie bedroom with a maniac strength that I knew wouldn't ;st very long. "Fire!" I shouted as I crossed the parlor jain. "Fire! Fire!" The Stones That Speak had their )oms adjoining Papa's. I didn't dare set him down to

 rouse the Stones. I had to keep fighting my way through the flames toward safety.

Just as I reached the far end of the corridor, the two huge men came up behind me. Neither said a word. They were both as naked as the day they'd been born, but that didn't seem to bother them. One of them took Fried-lander Bey from me. The other picked me up and carried me the rest of the way, down the stairs and out into the clean, fresh air.

The Stone must have realized how badly I was hurt, how exhausted I was, and how close to collapse I'd come. I was terrifically grateful to him, but I didn't have the strength to thank him. I promised myself that I'd do something for the Stones as soon as I was able—maybe buy them a few infidels to torture. I mean, what do you get the Gog and Magog who have everything?

The firemen were already setting up their equipment when Kmuzu came to see how I was. "Your mother is safe," he said. "There was no fire in the east wing."

"Thank you, Kmuzu," I said. The inside of my nose was raw and painful, and my throat hurt.

One of the firemen rinsed me with sterile water, then wrapped me in a sheet and rinsed me again. "Here," he said, handing me a glass of water. "This'll make your mouth and throat feel better. You're gonna have to go to the hospital."

"Why?" I asked. I hadn't yet realized how badly I was burned.

"I will go with you, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu.

"Papa?" I said.

"He also needs immediate medical attention," said Kmuzu.

"We'll go together then," I said.

The firemen led me to an ambulance. Friedlander Bey had already been put on a stretcher and lifted inside. Kmuzu helped me up into the vehicle. He beckoned toward me, and I leaned down toward him. "While you're recuperating in the hospital," he said softly, "I will see if I can learn who set this fire."

I looked at him for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. I blinked and realized that all my eyelashes had been burned off. "You think it's arson?" I said.

The ambulance driver closed one of the rear doors. "I have proof," said Kmuzu. Then the driver closed the second door. A moment later, Papa and I were speeding through the constricted streets, siren screaming. Papa didn't move on his stretcher. He looked pitifully frail. I didn't feel so well myself. I suppose it was my punishment for laughing at Hexagram Six.

Chapter 13

My mother had brought me pistachio nuts and fresh figs, but I was still having some trouble swallowing. "Then have some of this," she said. "I even brought a spoon." She took the lid from a plastic bowl and set it on the hospital tray table. She was very self-conscious about this visit.

I was sedated, but not as sedated as I could have been. Still, a mild dose of Sonneine from a perfusor is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Of course, I own an experimental daddy that blocks pain, and I could have chipped it in and stayed completely clearheaded and lucid. I just didn't want to use it. I hadn't told my doctors and nurses about it, because I'd rather have the drug. Hospitals are too tedious to endure sober.

I lifted my head from the pillow. "What is it?" I asked in a hoarse voice. I leaned forward and took the plastic bowl.

"Curdled camel's milk," said my mother. "You used to love that when you were sick. When you were little." I thought I detected an uncharacteristic softness in her voice.

Curdled camel's milk doesn't sound like something that could get you to jump out of bed with glee. It isn't, and I didn't. I picked up the spoon, however, and made a show of enjoying it just to please her. Maybe if I ate some of the stuff, she'd be satisfied and leave. Then I could call for another shot of Sonneine and take a nice nap. That's what was worst about being in the hospital: reassuring all the visitors and listening to the histories of their own illnesses and accidents, which were always of far more traumatic proportions than yours.

"You were really worried about me, Marîd?" she asked.

"Course I was," I said, letting my head fall back to the pillow. "That's why I sent Kmuzu to make sure you were safe."

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "Maybe you'd be happier if I'd burned up in the fire. Then you wouldn't be embarrassed about me no more."

"Don't worry about it, Mom."

"Okay, honey," she said. She looked at me in silence for a long moment. "How are your burns?"

I shrugged, and that made me wince. "They still hurt. The nurses come in and slather this white gunk on me a couple of times a day."

"Well, I suppose it's good for you. You just let 'em do what they want."

"Right, Mom."

There was another awkward silence. "I suppose there's things I ought to tell you," she said at last. "I ain't been completely honest with you."

"Oh?" This wasn't any surprise, but I thought I'd swallow the sarcastic comments that came to mind, and let her tell her story her own way.

She stared down at her hands, which were twisting a frayed linen handkerchief in her lap. "I know a lot more about Friedlander Bey and Reda Abu Adil than I told you."

"Ah," I said.

She glanced up at me. "I known both of 'em from before. From even before you was born, when I was a young girl. I was a lot better looking in those days. I wanted to get out of Sidi-bel-Abbes, maybe go someplace like Cairo or Jerusalem, be a holoshow star. Maybe get wired and make some moddies, not sex moddies like Honey Pilar, but something classy and respectable."

"So did Papa or Abu Adil promise to make you a star?"

She looked back down at her hands. "I came here, to the city. I didn't have no money when I got here, and I went hungry for a while. Then I met somebody who took care of me for a while, and he introduced me to Abu Adil."

"And what did Abu Adil do for you?"

Again she looked up, but now tears were slipping down her cheeks. "What do you think?" she said in a bitter voice.

"He promise to marry you?" She just shook her head. "He get you pregnant?"

"No. In the end, he just laughed at me and handed me this bus ticket back to Sidi-bel-Abbes." Her expression grew fierce. "I hate him, Marîd."

I nodded. I was sorry now that she'd begun this confession. "So you're not telling me that Abu Adil is my father, right? What about Friedlander Bey?"

"Papa was always good to me when I first came to the city. That's why even though I was so mad at you for finding me in Algiers, I was glad to hear that Papa was taking care of you."