Iqbal by Francesco D'Adamo & Ann Leonori

Author:Francesco D'Adamo & Ann Leonori
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SOC035000
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 2003-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

“No!” shouted Iqbal. “No!” And then he said something more that was lost in a clap of thunder.

“What’s happening?” the children behind me were asking. “What’s happening, Fatima?”

“I don’t understand. They’ve given Iqbal back to Hussain.”

“You mean they’re not going to arrest him?”

I could see Iqbal yelling and squirming as he tried to free himself from the mistress’s grip, until they disappeared into the house.

It began to pour. The policemen were in a hurry. Behind me everyone was talking, but I hardly heard them. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Hussain stuck his hand into the wide band he wore around his waist and brought out a big wad of banknotes. He counted out a small pile and gave it to the first policeman, then he counted out another small pile and gave it to the second. They both nodded, satisfied. Then they pulled at their mustaches, put the money in their pockets, and went away in the rain.

Down on the steps to the Tomb we were all silent. Inside the house Iqbal kept yelling, but it was no use.

The mistress came to send us back to work. We didn’t see Iqbal leave the house, but we heard all too well the bang of the grate of the Tomb as it closed over him.

The never-ending nightmare of our lives resumed. We did all the ordinary things, but almost without realizing it. Wake up, go to the bathroom (my little window was closed forever, but I didn’t feel like jumping anymore anyhow), eat breakfast, work work work until it was time to go to bed. I cried, thinking of Iqbal locked down in the Tomb. I’d fall into a heavy sleep, then wake up suddenly to find that nothing was changed. Rainwater was dripping through holes in the roof. I was still a prisoner. Iqbal was still down in the Tomb. And this time we couldn’t get out to help him.

I was afraid he would die.

Hussain Khan wasn’t there. A few hours after the policemen came, he had left on a business trip. He had called Karim, in front of all of us, and said, “When I get back, I’ll measure everybody’s work. Remember! You’re the only one responsible for what they will have done.”

“Yes, master! Yes, master!” Karim obeyed.

“And as for that one down there …”

“Yes?”

“Leave him there.”

“Yes, master!”

Karim was terrified and he didn’t give us a minute’s rest, a single minute’s distraction.

“You want to ruin me,” he repeated, “but I won’t let you. Get back to work! Work!”

I lost track of the time. How many days had passed? Four? Five? Six?

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