The Grub Hunter by Amir Tag Elsir

Author:Amir Tag Elsir [Elsir, Amir Tag]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803288772
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Chapter Ten

‘Ikept her under close surveillance that morning. I was standing at the corner of the street opposite the building where she worked as a secretary for the Delta Noon Livestock Export Company. I wore a tunic with sleeves I had torn myself. I had donned a pair of Persol sunglasses after smashing one of the lenses to make them look old. A beggar carrying a palm leaf basket on his back passed and asked for alms, but I didn’t give him anything. He entered the building. A woman wearing a lot of gold around her neck and arms passed me and said, “As-salam alaykum”, and entered. A man got out of an old taxi with a broken door. The driver didn’t look like a real cabby because he wore green velvet pants and was playing a tape of one of the new singers. I heard the song “Bahdala . . . affront”, which had become popular recently, coming from his taxi. The man entered the building, and the sham cabby drove off. Two hours later the secretary Sh.N. left the building, holding an apple with about three bites taken from it. She was accompanied by the beggar, the woman wearing all the gold, and the man who had climbed out of the taxi. They were laughing, but suddenly Sh.N. turned towards me at a time when the street was becoming more congested, because many firms are located in that area. She stopped laughing, and I clearly heard her tell her comrades that there would be “no sugar in the coffee today”. I didn’t understand her phrase and guessed it was a predetermined code. I watched them separate, each going his own way. Then the secretary went back into the building again. I stood there until noon brooding about her cryptic phrase and waiting for her to emerge, but she didn’t. I came back the next morning, this time wearing dapper clothing – a blue shirt with black trousers and a red necktie. I carried the day’s edition of the newspaper The Parrot, which specialises in criticism of the government and is printed and distributed clandestinely, although we know how. The beggar appeared again and requested alms, which I gave him this time. The woman with all the gold arrived, dressed in a gauzy violet thaub with a white stripe at the hem to show it was an expensive number from Rad. The man disembarked from the same taxi with the broken door, and the tape of the song “Bahdala . . . affront” was still playing. The man entered the building, and the driver moved off. I vacillated for some time between entering the building or continuing my stake-out. I wasn’t able to pull my walkie-talkie from inside my clothing to consult the agency for fear of attracting attention . . . and . . .’

‘Just a minute . . . please stop, Harfash-Farfar.’

The novelist A.T. was addressing me in a quavering voice, and I noticed then the frightened look in his eyes.

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