Open Sesame (18 page)

Akram made up a name and address, put on his uniform and followed the manager out into the kitchen area. The work as explained to him didn’t seem arduous or distasteful, at least compared with some of the things he’d had to do in his previous career, and there was something about his new colleagues that made him feel immediately at home. It was only after an hour or so that he realised what it was. The scars.

‘This one,’ explained Gladstone, the assistant manager, ‘was where this bloke slashed me with a bottle, and this one was a razor, and this one was where this girl tried to stub her fag out in me eye ‘cos she reckoned I gave her the wrong relish on the dips. And this one …’

‘I see,’ Akram said aloud; to himself he was groaning; Oh bugger it, Butch Cassidy. Still, it was worth a try, and maybe if he was alert and concentrated very, very hard on getting out of the way, he wouldn’t have to kill anybody for weeks.

The part of the job that involved preparing and retailing food turned out to be almost pleasant; and as for the other aspect, there seemed to be something about Akram’s manner that deterred the blade-wielding fun-lovers and made them take their place in one of the other queues. After he’d been there a month, in fact, the place had become virtually fun-free, and rumour had it that the district’s principal fun-lovers had blacklisted the establishment and were taking their custom to Neptune’s Larder, three hundred yards down the road. When he heard this, Akram was afraid he’d lose his job for driving away customers, but the manager didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact, when Gladstone the assistant manager got into a lively debate with a tenaciously loyal fun-lover and was signed off work for nine months in consequence, Akram was promoted to take his place.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really’

‘Gosh.’ Akram was lost for words. ‘What, really}’

The manager looked at him. ‘I’m glad you’re so pleased,’ he said. ‘Actually, it’s not an awful lot more money, but—’

‘More money?’

The manager took half a step backwards. He’d been there nearly eighteen months, and knew from experience that working there took its toll in many different ways. ‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘Not a fortune, by any means, but we do like to reward…’

‘Gosh. But I scarcely know what to do with all of what I get already. I’m not sure I ought to - I mean, I’m not sure it’d feel right, somehow.’

‘Go on,’ muttered the manager. ‘Force yourself.’

There was, of course, a downside. There is a dignity doth hedge an assistant manager, even a temporary acting one; his place is on the quarterdeck rather than in the engine room, and it would be inconsistent with that dignity for him to slice onions, defrost coleslaw or top up the french-fries hopper. Henceforth, there would be no more shifts in the kitchen; a pity, because he had come to love the smell and texture of the food, which to someone who had spent his lives in Old Baghdad was tantalising and exotic. In Old Baghdad, what you ate depended entirely on who you were, and there were just two standard menus: banquets and scraps. Since the latter was only the former two days later, it all tended to get a bit monotonous, and Bar-B-Q Bacon Belt-Bustas, thick shakes and the Chicken Danish Brunch were like a glimpse through the curtain at the dining-tables of paradise.

‘You like it here,’ Tanya said, one night during a lull. It wasn’t a question, more a bewildered statement of fact. Akram nodded.

‘Best job I ever had,’ he replied.

Tanya looked at him; and he was more than happy to reciprocate. A couple of months ago, if you’d have told Akram that women like Tanya existed, he’d have laughed in your face. She was completely different. She wasn’t sloe-eyed and hourglass-shaped. Her glances didn’t smoulder; and although Akram had no way of telling because her apron was in the way, he’d have been prepared to bet a year’s wages that she didn’t have a diamond jammed in her belly-button. True, there was enough of her to have made two of what Akram thought of as the standard-issue model, and still have plenty left over for spares; but so, as Akram told himself as he stood and gazed at her, what? The best thing about her, the bit that really shook him to the marrow, was that she was different. She did things that the girls back home wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to do. Such as think.

‘Really?’

Akram nodded. ‘You bet,’ he said.

‘Right. So what was it you used to do?’

‘I… ‘ Although he’d known all along that the question would be asked sooner or later, he’d always shied away from the task of fabricating a reply. Somehow, even thinking about his past activities made him feel depressed and nervous, as if to admit that he’d had a previous existence could jeopardise his new one. ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ he said, looking down at the counter. ‘If that’s all right,’ he added.

‘Sure.’

There you go, thoughtfulness again. Consideration for the feelings of others. The desire to avoid pain and embarrassment. God, thought Akram, I love it here, I’m not ever going back.

Tanya didn’t say anything, and then a customer came in and ordered a Chicken Danish Brunch, so that the moment passed. As Akram got the order - a chicken burger sitting on half a bread roll crowned with a splodge of red sauce and some sort of plant - he stole a glance at Tanya out of the corner of his eye, and deep inside him somewhere a little voice said Yes, but why not? And the rest of him couldn’t immediately think of any good reason.

‘So,’ Hanif muttered, sitting down on a flat rock and putting his head between his hands, ‘that’s it, then.’

Aziz nodded, unable to speak. A hundred yards or so in front of them was the border; the customs post, Jim’s Diner, the wire. He felt utterly wretched.

‘Let’s face it,’ Hanif went on, ‘we’ve looked everywhere. Everywhere,’ he repeated unnecessarily. ‘And he’s not there. Which can only mean—’

‘All right,’ Aziz growled, ‘you’ve made your bloody point.’

Faisal shook his head, dislodging a few organisms. ‘Still can’t see why he’d do such a thing,’ he sighed. ‘I mean, run out on us. Abandon us like that. You just wouldn’t believe it.’

It was a hot day, they’d been on the road since an hour before dawn, and nobody had the energy to answer. Finally having to accept that the Skip was gone and was unlikely ever to come back was like trying to come to terms with God leaving the answering machine on even though you know perfectly well he’s at home. There was a vast hole in the side of their universe; they could ignore it, or else fall through.

‘Maybe he’s in the caff,’ said Hassan. ‘I mean, we haven’t actually looked.’

‘Might as well,’ Aziz replied. ‘They may have seen him, anyhow.’

‘I think,’ said Mushtaq, youngest and most gauche of the Thirty-Nine Thieves, ‘that he’s gone on a special mission to the other side to steal something, you know, something really, really valuable, and as soon as he’s pulled it off he’ll come back, and …’

‘Mushtaq.’

‘Yes, Skip?’

‘Don’t, there’s a good lad.’

‘Don’t what, Skip?’

Aziz sighed. ‘Just don’t, that’s all. I’m not in the mood. All right,’ he went on, standing up and rubbing his cheeks with his palms, ‘Hassan, Farouk, you come with me and we’ll check out the caff. The rest of you —’

He couldn’t be bothered to finish the order. There was no point; after all, apart from sitting aimlessly in the shade with their knees drawn up to their chins, what else was there that they could possibly find to do? He beckoned to his two chosen followers and trudged slowly towards Jim’s Diner.

Inside, it was at least a little bit cooler. They walked up to the counter, flopped down onto barstools and ordered three quarts of goat’s milk and three club sandwiches. Ten minutes and a good deal of noise later, they were in a much better state to ask penetratingly shrewd questions.

‘Here, miss,’ said Aziz. ‘You seen Akram the Terrible round here lately?’

The barmaid - dear God, where did he find them? Under flat stones, probably - looked up from the glass she was polishing. ‘You just missed him,’ she said.

Hassan stood up at once and started for the door, but Aziz waved him back. He’d been in Jim’s before, and knew that Time here wasn’t only relative, it was third-cousin-twiceremoved. ‘How long since he was here?’ he asked.

The barmaid shrugged. ‘Couple of months, maybe three. He left with a bear.’ ^

Aziz managed to silence Farouk before he could ask with a bare what and get them all thrown out. ‘Oh yes?’ he replied, as nonchalantly as possible. To be painfully honest, Aziz was to nonchalance as a pterodactyl in Selfridges’ is to looking inconspicuous, but he gave it his best shot. ‘This bear,’ he added, ‘Wouldn’t happen to be in here, would he?’

The barmaid shook her head. ‘You just missed him,’ she replied.

‘Don’t tell me,’ muttered Aziz. ‘He left with Akram the Terrible, right?’

‘If you know, why ask?’

Aziz got up. ‘Not to worry,’ he sighed. ‘Look, if you see this bear, tell him we’d like a word, okay?’

‘Why not tell him yourself?’ the barmaid said. ‘I can tell you where to find him.’

In many lifetimes of violence and mayhem, Aziz had never hit a woman, mostly because they wouldn’t keep still; but he wasn’t one of those narrow-minded types who shrink away from new experiences. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘fine. Could you please tell me where …?’

The barmaid thought about it for a moment. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Go back out the way you came about seven leagues and you’ll come to a big forest, right? Take the main road, then second on your left, third right past the charcoal burner’s, then follow your nose and you’ll come to a little cottage.’

Aziz squirmed a little in his seat. ‘Brightly painted red door? Shiny brass knocker? Red and white curtains with pretty flowers and stuff?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Big mat with Welcome? Climbing roses round the porch? Little goldfish pond out front with a couple of rustic benches?’

‘You know the place, then?’

Aziz nodded. He knew the place all right. He’d be able to picture it in his mind’s eye for the rest of his life as the house where he single-handedly killed the ferocious bear. ‘This bear he went off with,’ he said, his voice sounding odd because of the dryness of the roof of his mouth. ‘Lady bear, was it?’

‘No. Gentleman bear - I mean, it was a male. Great big brute, huge claws.’

‘Ah.’

‘Real nice personality, mind. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Called Derek.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can’t say as much for his friends, though. Very pally with some really heavy types, if you know what I mean.’

‘Fat people?’

The barmaid shook her head. She didn’t speak, but she mouthed the words the mob so distinctly that a lip-reader would have asked her not to shout. ‘Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that lot,’ she added with a grimace. ‘That Derek was in here one time, these pirates jogged his elbow, made him spill his condensed milk. Three months later, they fished what was left of ‘em out of a lime pit out behind Tom Thumb’s place. Only able to identify them from the dental records.’

‘I see.’

‘This bear,’ the barmaid said, studying Aziz’s face as if expecting to have to pick it out of a lineup at some later stage. ‘What you want him for, anyway?’

‘We’re friends of Ak— hey, watch it, Skip, that was my ankle.’

‘Wrong bear,’ said Aziz loudly. ‘Not the one we were thinking of, was it, lads? I mean, the bear we were thinking of is small. Honey-coloured. Lives in an abandoned sawmill over by the Hundred Acre Wood. Well, thanks for the milk.’

By the time they were out of Jim’s and back in the fresh air, Aziz was as white as a sheet. A very dirty sheet, from the bed of someone who never washes, but white nevertheless.

‘Okay, lads,’ he said. ‘I think we may be in a bit of trouble here.’

‘Trouble, Skip?’

Aziz shuddered. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he replied. ‘I just reckon it might be sensible if we found something like a cave or a very deep hole, just for a year or so. That’d make a nice change, wouldn’t it?’

‘But Skip, what about finding Ak—?’

‘ShutupF

‘Sorry, I’m sure.’

Aziz mopped his face with his shirt tails. ‘Anybody know of anywhere like that?’ he asked. ‘Near here, preferably. In fact, as near as possible?’

Hanif frowned. ‘You okay, Skip?’ he asked, concerned. ‘You seem a bit edgy.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Shamir. ‘Like a bear with a sore—’

‘Quiet!’ Aziz snapped, and then took a deep breath. On reflection, he told himself, belay that last instinct. It was no earthly use trying to hide from Them; after all, wherever he led his wretched followers in Storybook land, they’d be strangers, out of place in some other folks’ story, conspicuous as a goldfish in a lemon meringue pie. So; they couldn’t hide. Popular theory would have them believe that as a viable alternative they could run, but Aziz wasn’t too sure about that; not in curly-toed slippers, at any rate. Well, now; if you can’t hide and you can’t run, what can you do?

Whimper?

Sham dead?

Forget the second alternative, in case Death is attracted to the sincerest form of flattery. Aziz reached a decision. He’d try whimpering. After all, it wasn’t as if they were spoilt for choice, and in the final analysis they had nothing to lose but a complete set of limbs and their lives.

‘Wait there, I may be gone some time,’ he said, and went back inside.

‘You again,’ said the barmaid.

Aziz nodded. ‘You said something about the bear having, um, friends,’ he said. ‘I’d like to meet them.’

‘You would?’

‘Yes,’ said Aziz. ‘Please,’ he added, remembering his manners.

The barmaid stared at him, as if speculating how he’d look in one of those fancy jackets with long sleeves that do up at the back. ‘Why?’ she said.

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Aren’t they all?’

‘That depends,’ Aziz replied. For his part, he had the feeling that his own particular narrative was in serious danger of being cut down into an anecdote. ‘Don’t change the subject. How do I meet these guys?’

The barmaid shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Go back out the way you came about three leagues and you’ll come to a ruined castle. After that, you take the first right then second on your left, second right past the little pigs’ house, straight on up the hill until you come to a crossroads, you’ll see a long drive leading up to a big house. Say Rosa from Jim’s sent you, but it’s nothing to do with her. Okay?’