Page 120 of Never
Abdul saw Hakim come out of the compound looking cross. He was followed by Wahed, the father-in-law of Esma. Hakim stopped and the two men had a conversation, Wahed pleading and Hakim refusing. Abdul could not hear the words but guessed they were arguing about the extra money for the guide. Hakim made a dismissive gesture and walked away, but Wahed followed him, hands spread out in supplication; then Hakim stopped and turned around and spoke aggressively before walking away again. Abdul made a grimace of distaste: Hakim’s behaviour was brutish and Wahed’s was undignified. Abdul was offended by the entire scene.
Hakim slouched across the dusty ground towards the well, and Esma came out of the compound and walked briskly after him.
They stood at the well to talk, as people had done for thousands of years. Abdul could not see them, but he could hear their conversation clearly, and he was practised at understanding their rapid colloquial Arabic.
Esma said: ‘My father is very upset.’
Hakim said: ‘What’s that to me?’
‘We can’t pay the extra. We have the money we must give you when we get to Libya, the balance of the fare. But no more.’
Hakim pretended to be indifferent. ‘Then you will just have to stay here in this village,’ he said.
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ she said.
Of course it didn’t, Abdul thought. What was Hakim up to?
Esma went on: ‘In a few days’ time, we will pay you two thousand five hundred dollars. Would you really lose that for twenty?’
‘Sixty,’ he said. ‘Twenty for you, twenty for your mother-in-law, and twenty for the old man.’
A quibble, Abdul thought.
Esma said: ‘We don’t have it, but we can get it when we reach Tripoli. We will ask my husband to send more money from Nice – I promise.’
‘I don’t want promises. The Toubou don’t accept them as payment.’
‘Then we have no choice,’ she said in baffled exasperation. ‘We will have to stay here until someone comes along who can give us a ride back to Lake Chad. We will have wasted the money my husband earned building all those walls for rich French people.’ She sounded utterly miserable.
Hakim said: ‘Unless you can think of another way to pay me – you pretty little thing.’
‘What are you doing? Don’t touch me like that!’
Abdul tensed. His instinct was to intervene. He suppressed the impulse.
Hakim said: ‘As you wish. I’m just trying to help you. Be nice to me, why not?’
This has been Hakim’s agenda all along, Abdul thought. I should not be surprised.
Esma said: ‘Are you trying to tell me that you will accept sex instead of money?’
‘Don’t speak so crudely, please.’
The prudishness of the sexual bully, Abdul thought. He doesn’t like to hear the name of what he wants to make her do. A dismal irony.
Hakim said: ‘Well?’
There was a long silence.
This was what Hakim really wanted, Abdul thought. He did not really care about the sixty bucks. He was insisting on it only as a way of getting her to accept the alternative.
Abdul wondered how many other women had been offered this grim choice.
Esma said: ‘My husband would kill you.’
Hakim laughed. ‘No, he wouldn’t. He might kill you.’
At last Esma said: ‘All right. But only with my hand.’
