“For once he wasn’t foolish,” said Grearson.
“It was a good idea,” said the Arab. He added: “I’m glad we took the precautions we did.”
Immediately Grearson picked up a telephone and was connected at once to Paris. It was a brief conversation.
“The major, Evans, has made contact,” he said. “He’s got a unit ready.”
“Good,” said Azziz.
13
Karen was aware of his concern as soon as Levy came into her bedroom.
“What is it?” she said.
“The boy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
She waited, wanting a small victory. After a moment he said, “Can you help?”
Because of the permanently closed shutters in her room she had grown accustomed to the darkness. As she followed the Israeli along the corridor she realized it was still only half light. The carefully made resolution about winding her watch had been forgotten and it had stopped at one o’clock; she didn’t know whether that had been day or night.
Two men were already in Azziz’s room. Greening was uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. Leiberwitz turned at their entry and said, “He’s shamming. There’s nothing wrong.”
Karen pushed past him. The boy stared up at her, dull-eyed but aware of what was going on around him. The bruising had developed so that his cheeks and lips were black, fading at the edge into a yellow colour, as if they had been treated with iodine. He was greased in perspiration, hair lank and sticking to his forehead. His bedding was damp from his body and the room was pungent with his smell; periodically, almost at timed intervals, he shuddered convulsively, as if he were cold. Karen reached out hesitantly, touching his wet forehead.
“He’s not shamming,” she said to Leiberwitz.
“Who asked you?” demanded the bearded man belligerently.
“He did,” she said, indicating Levy. What would she have done if it had been her child? A simple answer: get a doctor.
“We can’t leave him like this,” she said to Levy.
“It’s probably only flu.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No doctor,” he insisted. “You do something.”
“I don’t know what to do!” she protested. Illness repelled her, made her feel nervous and unclean. Her father had been killed outright in a traffic accident when she was ten, the injuries too severe for anyone to view the body, and by the time her mother became ill she had already left Pretoria and was in her second year at the London School of Economics. None of the family had realized how quick it would be; by the time she got back to South Africa, her mother was dead. It had been her younger sister who had coped with the blanket baths and the bedpans. Secretly-a secret she kept even from Richard because she was ashamed of it-she was glad she had got back too late.
“It’s only a fever.” Levy was adamant.
“Cold water then,” she said doubtfully. Greening went to get it. “Get his clothes off. And fresh bedding.”
She stood back while Levy and Leiberwitz took off Azziz’s stinking clothing. The boy put up a feeble resistance and they left him with his underpants. They rolled him back and forth to clear the bed-covering and replaced it with some linen from the bottom of the wardrobe. The man who brought the water came with a towel and Karen attempted to dry Azziz’s perspiration, trying to prevent her fingers actually coming into contact with the boy’s skin, but at the same time making sure no one else noticed her squeamishness. She discarded one towel and demanded another, using it to wipe Azziz after she had sponged him with cold water. When she was wiping his face their eyes held briefly, and the boy managed a half-smile. The perspiration broke out afresh the moment she cleaned him.
“I think he should be covered,” she said uncertainly. “Sweat it out.”
Greening returned almost at once with more blankets; as soon as they were put on him, Azziz attempted to thrust them away.
“And water,” Karen said. “He should have a lot of liquid.” She was grateful it was Greening who lifted Azziz’s head and held the cup to the boy’s mouth.
Karen pulled back from the bed, wanting to get away as soon as possible.
“Thank you,” said Levy.
“I still think he should see a doctor.”
“No.”
“What happens if he dies?”
“He won’t die. It’s a chill, nothing else.”
“A little while ago you thought it was flu.” She looked around the room. “I want a bath,” she said.
Levy led her to the bathroom and entered ahead of her, taking the key from inside the lock; there was still a pushbolt, which secured it from the inside.
“I shall be right outside the door,” he said. “If I hear the bolt go across, I’ll break it down.”
She noticed that the small window was unbarred, even lifted, to let in about three inches of early morning light. The drop to the ground would be about twelve feet, she guessed, maybe a little more. She said nothing, staring at Levy and waiting for him to go back into the corridor.
“Right outside,” he said, as if fearing she hadn’t understood.
Karen needed to use the toilet but didn’t want Levy to hear. She started to run the bath, turning the taps full so that the water splashed loudly into it. The heating worked by an ancient mechanism that operated the gas jets automatically when the hot-water tap was turned. It exploded into life, frightening her. Everything was loud and echoing and she was sure Levy wouldn’t hear a thing. Afterwards she crouched at the window, not opening it farther in case he heard the sash creak; it was like looking through a letter box.
The window overlooked the front of the house and the lane beyond. Their exercise area was to the left; dew still whitened the grass and hung in droplets from the summer spiders’ webs which skeined the bisecting hedge. By straining, she could pick out the fields and the sloping hill beyond where she had seen the labourers working. Already it was touched by the first warm fingers of sun and pockets of mist were forming, like uncertain smoke. Fairy fires, she thought; that’s how she would describe it to her babies when they grew old enough to want stories. She often thought of phrases and simple little plots. When the time came she wanted them to be her stories, not somebody else’s.
Beyond the bordering hedge the lane ran straight and black, still shadowed by the clustered hills. She strained again, in the other direction this time, trying to see some neighbouring houses or farms; there were a lot of thickhaired trees and, as she watched, a clock bell struck, unexpectedly counting off a quarter-hour. She couldn’t see the tower but it hadn’t sounded far away.
“You all right?” Levy’s voice made her jump.
“Fine,” she said.
She undressed and got into the bath, consciously making plenty of noise. She stood to soap herself completely, welcoming the feel of the water after so many days. It was not until she sat down that she looked sideways and saw the empty keyhole practically level with the edge of the bath. He wouldn’t, she thought at once. And immediately questioned her certainty. Why not? What justification did she have for investing him with any sort of decent feeling? But she still didn’t think he would have looked. She was careful to dry herself standing to the side, where she would not be visible through the tiny opening, regretting that she had no perfume or cologne. Until that moment she hadn’t realized something else that had been taken from her, the right to be feminine.