Rand glanced back at the car, where the driver was unloading their bags and Omar’s carpet from the trunk. Omar called out to him in Turkish and the rolled carpet was returned to the trunk. “It’s safer there,” he told Rand. “Aytekin will call for us in the morning and drive us to the camel fights.”
“He’s not staying here?”
“There are friends in the village.” He smiled. “A woman, I think.”
The innkeeper’s wife proved to be a charming half-English woman named Beth who was an excellent cook. She and Leila became instant friends, discussing their mixed heritage, and after dinner they helped clean up together while Beth’s husband supplied cigars for the men. Rand demurred, but Omar lit one with their host. He leaned back in his chair as if still at the dinner party in Alexandria where Rand and his wife had first met him.
“This is so relaxing,” he told the innkeeper. “But Mr. Berk has not yet appeared. I fear it may have been him in that accident we passed.”
“That would be unfortunate,” Sevret told them. “He was to take part in the ceremonies.”
“Perhaps I can fill in,” Omar suggested. “I have a carpet in the trunk of our hired car. It has some value, and I plan to offer it as a prize.”
Sevret nodded slowly. “That would be most kind of you, Mr. Goncah. My wife and I have been working all day at food preparation and there has been little time to plan the ceremonies, informal as they are.”
Rand and Leila retired early, and in the morning they were awakened by the sound of buses passing in front of the inn. When Omar joined them he commented on the sunshine. “This is perfect weather for a camel fight, with the temperature in the forties. Sunny days are rare here in January.”
Beth Sevret brought them breakfast and stayed to chat. “The buses come each Sunday during the fighting season, bringing thousands of fans from other villages. It is good for our business. There is a makeshift arena a few miles down the road and the fans set up picnic tables. When the fighting starts they watch from the surrounding hillsides. They have most of their own food, but they always need extra salads or kebabs or yogurt. And, of course, they need raki. It is the national drink here, very potent. Sevret and I will be at the fights to fill all their needs.”
“Do you have any trouble with Kurds?” Rand asked her.
“Kurds? Not in this part of the country. They are in the eastern regions.”
The hired limousine arrived shortly after they’d finished breakfast. Rand noticed Omar checking the trunk to make certain his carpet was still there. Then they set off down the road, following a line of buses.
They parked in a field near the arena, some distance from where the buses were lined up. The arena was a large circle formed by a roll of metal fencing, and a curly-haired Turk wearing a padded woolen vest was leading a suitably adorned camel into the enclosure as they approached. “Mehmet!” Omar called out. “It is good to see you again.”
The man leading the camel turned and smiled. “Omar Goncah! Do you have a carpet for us today?”
“Don’t I always bring one, my friend?” They embraced, and Omar took a closer look at the camel. Rand was impressed by the size of the beast, made even larger by colorful padding, mirrored blankets, bells, and pompoms. “They often weigh a ton or more,” Omar told him, as if reading the question in Rand’s mind.
Leila was also impressed. “We don’t grow them this bulky back in Egypt.”
“Their owners treat them well. There is great prestige in owning a good fighting camel.”
“All this to win a carpet?”
“The owners are paid about two hundred dollars for entering each competition, but that hardly covers the cost of raising and transporting the animal. It is the sport that is important. Mehmet’s family has trained fighting camels for more than a century. He carries on the tradition when he is not working at his government job.”
Omar instructed his driver to bring the carpet from the trunk of the car and hang it over the fence for all to see. The camel owners clustered around, enthralled. Rather than the machine-made carpets Rand and Leila could see on display, this was an intricate hand-woven square creation with what appeared to Rand to be a geometric tree-of-life design, complete with birds. “It goes to the winner of the last fight,” Omar announced, and his words were immediately translated for those who spoke no English.
Rand and Leila wandered among the crowd, watching as they ate and drank in preparation for the day’s events. Rand noticed that many families had brought a carpet with them, and when the Sevrets arrived he asked Beth about it. “In earlier times, carpets lined the insides of tents for the nomadic people,” she explained. “When the tribes converted to Islam they acquired a new function as prayer rugs. They are an important part of life here.”
Finally it was time for the first fight. An announcer with a portable public-address system said something in Turkish and the spectators cheered as two bulky camels were led into the arena. Rand observed last-minute bets being made all around. Then the owners brought them closer, face-to-face, and moved quickly out of the way. “Sometimes a camel will bolt at this moment,” Omar explained, joining them on the hillside above the arena. “If he runs away, he forfeits the match.”
But neither of these beasts showed any reluctance to fight. After hesitating for only a moment, they slammed into each other with the force of two locomotives, each pushing and shoving to gain the advantage. The owners, in their padded vests, stood nearby, ready to move in if necessary. Cheers went up from the crowd. The announcer grew more excited. Then, within minutes, one of the camels was pushed to the ground and the fight was over. The losing owner ran out to examine his animal while the winner was paraded around the arena in triumph. The announcer presented the winning owner with a pale green carpet whose pattern was hardly a thing of beauty.
Leila purchased some food from Sevret and his wife, and she and Rand settled down with Omar for a snack before the next fight. “Do these go on all afternoon?” she asked him.
“It depends on the number of entries. The animals are pampered and fight only once a week, about twelve times in a season. Usually there are at least eight fights here at Selçuk, sometimes more.”
It was about this time, as the camels for the second fight were being led into the arena, that a van from the Turkish police pulled off the road and parked at the foot of the hill. Two men in suits and topcoats emerged, accompanied by a pair of uniformed officers. They waited near the announcer until the second fight came to an end, after about ten minutes, and then one of the men took the microphone for an announcement. He said it first in Turkish and then repeated it in English. “We are seeking anyone who might have come here from Istanbul yesterday, especially anyone who might be acquainted with Rolf Thadder, a press attaché at the Norwegian consulate. Mr. Thadder was killed in a highway accident yesterday on his way here. Please raise your hands if you traveled from Istanbul yesterday afternoon.”
Some of the spectators exchanged glances, but none raised their hands until Rand and Leila did. Then Omar followed suit, and one of the camel owners did so too. Rand recognized Jobar, the truck driver they’d passed on the road. The government police fanned out, one man coming to Leila and him, one to Omar, and one to the camel owner. The fourth officer walked over to speak with Sevret and his wife.
“You saw the accident?” the detective asked Rand, but it was Leila who answered.
“We saw the aftermath. The officer at the scene said it had been a car bomb with a timer.”