Zafir by Prue Mason

Author:Prue Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2015-01-28T05:00:00+00:00

‘It’s Abu Moussa!’ Zafir was the first to arrive at the door, closely followed by Ustaaz Farook, who was faster on his feet than he looked. Pops was just a step behind him.

‘Sayidi, sir, please, you must help. It’s my son, my second boy, Mohammed.’

‘What’s happened?’ Pops asked. He opened the gate and Abu Moussa almost fell inside. It was only then that they saw his gown was covered with a reddish brown stain.

‘My God, that is blood,’ said Ustaaz Farook. ‘Are you injured?’

Zafir was staring at the blood. Where had it all come from?

‘Sayidi, bismillah, in the name of Allah, I implore you. My son has been shot.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Pops.

‘Here.’ Abu Moussa pointed to the back seat of the taxi.

‘Good God in heaven,’ said Pops as he looked through the back window of the taxi. ‘He needs to get to a hospital. Now.’

Zafir peered into the taxi before anyone could stop him. Lying along the back seat was a young man with his eyes closed. He was holding a red towel to his stomach. Then Zafir realised it wasn’t a red towel. It was a blood-soaked towel.

Zafir felt his own stomach turn over. His knees buckled and he had to lean against the car so he didn’t fall.

‘He needs to be operated on immediately,’ said Pops.

‘One has heard they are arresting anyone who enters a hospital with gunshot wounds,’ said Ustaaz Farook.

‘My son will die if you do not help us,’ said Abu Moussa. ‘He is married and has three babies. Bismillah, sayidi. Only you can help us.’

‘Come back inside,’ said Tetah. She’d come out with Mum to see what was happening. Neither Zafir nor Pops moved.

‘Paul, you cannot get involved. He’s obviously been at the protests. It’s not our business.’

Now that they were outside the thick walls of the old house they could hear the popping sounds of gunshots and sirens wailing – the Red Crescent ambulances picking up those who had been wounded in this Friday’s protests.

‘Ya Allah, oh God!’ Mum clutched Pops’s arm.

‘Paulie, my son, I beg you, do not get involved,’ said Tetah, using the name she’d called him as a child, as if to coax him to her way of thinking.

‘Please, doctor. You have a son. You understand why I beg of you to save my son.’

Zafir knew what Pops would do. He was a doctor after all.

‘Of course I will do what I can,’ said Pops. ‘But we must go to the hospital. Dr Bassell will not like it but we must operate.’

‘Shukran, sayidi. Shukran. May Allah bless you for your kindness.’

‘We must hurry,’ said Pops. He quickly kissed Mum and Tetah and passed his hand over Zafir’s head in blessing. ‘I’ll call from the hospital when I can.’ He turned to Ustaaz Farook and shook his hand. ‘I will go much happier knowing you are here like a guardian angel for my family.’

‘Paulie, my son, please if you care at all for your mother then do not do this.’ Tetah’s face was white.

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