But no such incident occurs just now. The traffic eases and they move on.
Malik says, “Tell me what you really think of my plan.”
“There is no benefit in provoking BigBeard unnecessarily,” Qasiir says. “Grandpa, who knew him all his life, always advised me to give him a wide berth.”
“He ruined my visit on my first day, and I won’t forgive myself if I do not do a little to disrupt the flow of his life and then write about it,” Malik says.
Malik thinks that if civil wars are an affront to common sense and Qasiir has known nothing but the affrontery resulting from civil wars, then he may not understand why it matters to see BigBeard a day after the Courts have been ousted. No need to reiterate that in the old dispensation, when the Courts were in charge, BigBeard doubled as a customs officer in addition to running a computer shop. He is Malik’s idea of a corrupt Courts bureaucrat, although it occurs to him that, along with those determined to profit themselves, there must also have been a core of well-meaning, hardworking, honest individuals.
“I hope we find him at the shop,” Malik says.
Qasiir says, “I hope we don’t.”
“You think talking to him may put us in danger?”
“Not immediately,” Qasiir says.
“But it might put us in danger eventually?”
“It might,” Qasiir says.
Still, Qasiir’s warning doesn’t deter Malik. Maybe he is making up for missing out on interviewing TheSheikh when he had the chance to do so. Once upon a time, he did what he pleased. How he loved the lure of danger when he was younger, when he had no wife and no child. “We’ve become a father,” he said when his child was born, a smile adorning his lips. In a way, he thinks, war correspondents have no business being family people, since that will deter them from pursuing their vocation without worry or fear. Isn’t that what journalists do when they cover wars — endanger their lives? Malik recalls an Austrian poet and editor who described the breed as “heroes of obtrusiveness.” Is there anywhere on earth where the intrusive, inquisitive, danger-courting journalist is as conspicuous as he is in Somalia? Yes, we’ve become a father.
“We’ll just have to be careful with BigBeard. That’s all,” Qasiir says, and he reverses into a parking spot that has fallen vacant.
It takes them longer than necessary to walk to the computer shop, in part because Qasiir drags it out, clearly opposed to the idea of the encounter. He doesn’t have daring in the marrow of his bones. But neither is he bold enough to challenge Malik outright, reminding himself of his responsibility to Grandpa, who is still warm in his grave and would be upset if Qasiir upset Malik. He remembers, too, that Dajaal was fond of the militaristic motto “Orders from high up are orders from high up, and they must be obeyed.” He stays in close contact with Malik, who is reflecting that life here is built on quicksand. Alive one minute, dead the next, and buried in the blink of an eye, no postmortem, not even an entry in a ledger.
The shop is busy, with lots of customers standing around, ordering items and waiting for them to be delivered from the back. When it is Malik and Qasiir’s turn, Malik says that he wants to see BigBeard. At the mention of the nickname, a hush descends among the staff. A tall, thin man separates himself from the others.
He asks Malik, “Why do you want to see him?”
Malik says, “I bought a computer from this shop a few days back and it is malfunctioning. The manager told me to come and see him personally anytime if there was a problem with the machine.”
“Where is the computer?” the man asks.
But Malik only repeats, “Is BigBeard here?”
The man stands statue still, as if reflecting on Malik’s request, and then he is gone for a long time. Meanwhile, the shop empties, and one of the younger salesmen posts himself at the entrance to tell people wanting to enter the shop that it is no longer open for business that day, and to bid them to come back tomorrow.
A man emerges from the back of the shop. He is identical to Malik’s memory of BigBeard, except that he is wearing a suit and he is beardless. He waits for one of the salesmen to point out the person who has asked for him, even though Malik and Qasiir are now the only customers left.
“What can I do for you?” BigBeard asks, not a trace of recognition in his eyes, no tension in his body, no fear or worry evident anywhere in him.
Malik says, “My computer is malfunctioning.”
Then, as if he recognizes Malik’s face or remembers the sound of his voice, BigBeard’s easy composure wears off. He starts to look hard-pressed. He stares at Malik, as if taking his measure in an effort to determine what course of action is open to him. His eyes prowl the shop, like an eagle on the lookout for prey to pounce on. But when his wandering eyes land on Qasiir, he seems to regain his composure with a forced effort. He says to Qasiir, “I hadn’t realized you were here, in the shop. No one has told me. Please, please accept my condolences. And, please, please greet your mother and tell her how sorry I am to hear of your grandfather’s death.”
A quiet hush descends. He turns to Malik and asks, “Did you bring the machine with you that you say is now malfunctioning?”
Malik shakes his head.
BigBeard says, “Bring it and we’ll fix it.”
He turns to go.
Malik calls him back. “Haven’t we met before?”
BigBeard pauses briefly, then replies, “I am often mistaken for other people with whom I share a family resemblance. Maybe you’ve met one of my cousins. He used to work here.”
Qasiir, meanwhile, has put a bit of distance between himself and Malik, the way teenagers stand to one side and look away in embarrassment when their parents start plying their friends with stories about them.
Malik says to BigBeard, keeping his voice low, “I am not mistaking you for anyone else. I know who you are: you confiscated my computer, deleted the photograph of my daughter, and then poisoned my machine with a venomous virus, which ruined it. Do you remember any of that?”
“You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
They look hard into each other’s eyes, neither blinking. It is as if they are testing each other’s mettle. BigBeard seems almost buoyant, though, as if a victory is nigh; Malik’s confidence is fueled by his rage.
“What exactly do you want?” BigBeard asks at length.
“I would like my machine back.”
In the silence that follows, Qasiir rallies his inner strength and says quietly to Malik, “Please let us go.”
But nothing will move Malik from where he is.
BigBeard says, “You are an impetuous man and a fool and you do not know what is good for you. If you value your life, you will go out of here this instant. If you don’t…!”
“What, if I don’t?”
BigBeard pulls his coat aside to reveal the butt of his Magnum. “You’ll die a painful death. I will make certain of that. And remember, I know where you live. I know everything about you.”