Gods and Soldiers by Rob Spillman

Author:Rob Spillman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

They heard the sunset azan when they began to look for the house without a garden wall which Zahra had told them about. But there were many houses like that; people built their homes and ran out of money by the time it came to build the garden wall. So they turned left off the asphalt road anyway when they reached El-Ma’moura, hoping that Manaal would be able to recognise the street or the house.

“Nothing looks familiar to you?” he asked.

“But everything looks different than the last time I was here,” she said. “All those new houses, it’s confusing.”

There were no roads, just tracks made by previous cars, hardly any pavements. They drove through dust and stones. The houses in various stages of construction stood in straight lines. In some parts the houses formed a square around a large empty area, as if marking a place which would always be empty, where houses would not be allowed to be built.

“Maybe it’s this house,” Manaal said. He parked, they rang the bell, but it was the wrong house.

Back in the car they drove through the different tracks and decided to ask around. How many foreigners were living in this area anyway? People were bound to know them.

Yassir asked a man sitting in front of his house, one knee against his chest, picking his toenails. Near him an elderly man was praying, using a newspaper as a mat. The man didn’t seem to know but he gave Yassir several elaborate suggestions.

Yassir asked some people who were walking past but again they didn’t know. This was taking a long time as everyone he asked seemed willing to engage him in conversation.

“It’s your turn,” he said to Manaal when they saw a woman coming out of her house.

She went towards the woman and stood talking to her. Sunset was nearly over by then, the western sky, the houses, the dusty roads were all one colour, like the flare that burns off the rig, he thought. Manaal stood, a dark silhouette against red and brick. One hand reached out to hold her hair from blowing and her thin elbows made an angle with her head and neck from which the light came through. This is what I would paint, Yassir thought, if I knew how, I would paint Manaal like this, with her elbows sticking out against the setting sun.

When she came back she seemed pleased. “We’re nearly there,” she said, “that woman knew them. First right, and it’s the second house.”

As soon as they turned right, Manaal recognised the one-storey house with the blue gate. She got out before him and rang the bell.

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