“Mr. Bashir, we wanted to be prepared in the event you found a hostile reception,” said Yosef. “As a great American once said, “Trust, but verify.””
“You are quite right, Colonel,” Bashir replied seriously. Turning to President Alneuf, he said, “Mr. President, this is the elder of the village, Said Sami Abdel Yefsah, and these other two fine individuals are my cousins Memmi Baghat and Nawar Abu Nathir.”
The men bowed their heads to President Alneuf, who shook each man’s hand. The village elder, Said Yefsah, smiled broadly, displaying a deep cavern for a mouth devoid of teeth except for a lone horse-length tooth at the front.
“There was a visit by soldiers earlier today,” said Bashir. “They searched the village, warning everyone about the consequence of harboring fugitives from the corrupt regime of Alneuf — my apologies, Mr. President — and the criminal military of the old government. Then they took eleven of the young men — who were slow to hide — for volunteer service in the new Algerian People’s Army. Said Yefsah expects the young men to return soon.”
“That explains the quiet when we arrived,” Yosef said. It was a plausible explanation, but it seemed too plausible. The lives of the president and his men depended on him.
“Yes, Colonel, that plus the villagers expect more visits. When? They don’t know,” Bashir said, shrugging his shoulders.
“So,” Bashir added. “Mr. President, does tea, coffee, cool water, platters of roasted lamb followed by fresh fruit sound attractive?”
President Alneuf looked at Yosef. “Colonel, should we accompany Mr. Bashir?”
“I think, Mr. President, that we have little choice.”
Bashir’s booming laughter broke the stillness of the night again. “Oh, Colonel, you are so precious! Come on, we don’t have far to go and the truck will be all right here.” He scratched under his arm and nodded at his relatives.
One of the cousin-nephews hopped up into the back of the truck to help down the woman and baby, whose cries increased with renewed vigor.
Bashir started to lead the way, stopped, turned, and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Sergeant!” Bashir shouted. “You and your four comrades should really get out of that ditch. It is where our sewage runs to the sea!”
Bashir turned to Yosef and in a confiding voice said, “It’s why the grass is so much greener on that side than the hill you were hiding behind. Personally, I prefer the hill.”
Bashir found this amusing. He burst into laughter, entertaining himself, as he led the group toward the center of the small village.
The sergeant and his men rose, brushed themselves off, and scrambled over the ditch in their hurry to catch up with the group, Bashir’s laughter guiding the way.
“Why are the lights off?” President Alneuf asked.
“The electricity is only turned on during certain times as the government repairs the damages to the grid system. The radio says any time now the electricity will be restored and we will have even better electricity than during your government, President Alneuf. Under the new government, we will receive people’s electricity instead of just public electricity.
But between you and me, Mr. President, I suspect the people’s electricity will cost more.”
“Bashir, I detect your distrust of all governments. I know from our discussions the dissatisfaction you had for mine.”
“No offense, my dear President, but governments are all alike. They are made up of people who crave power. Few politicians in today’s world have the balls to do useful things with power because they’re afraid they will offend someone and lose their precious position,” said Bashir as they stopped in front of a two-story building. “But that is a subject requiring a long discussion, of which we lack the time. Here is where Sami Abdel Yefsah conducts the municipal business of this small community.”
The village elder ran forward. Standing in front of the small, aged wooden door, Yefsah made a big production of reaching down the front of his aba to pull out a large skeleton key that hung from a leather thong around his neck. He held it up for all to see. A wide grin broke the weather-beaten wrinkles across his face, his lone tobacco-stained tooth dull in the faint starlight. Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, Yefsah turned and slowly inserted the huge iron key into the ancient lock. Once it was firmly in the lock, he brushed his hands on his frock before reaching forward to turn the key. The ancient tumblers fell slowly into place, making a metallic creaking sound as they withdrew. Yefsah removed the key, dropped it down his cotton undershirt, and turned the iron handle. The door opened noisily to reveal a dark interior.
“Thank you so very very much, Said Yefsah,” Bashir said respectfully as he brushed the small man aside.
Bashir squeezed through the doorway, ducking slightly to avoid the low rafter. “Wait until I have turned on a lantern!”
Rumbling sounds of the big man stumbling over things came from inside the room. A round of un-Islamic-like curses filtered through the door.
Yefsah took a deep breath, threw his hands out wide, looked at Yosef, and shook his head before he, too, disappeared into the dark.
Several seconds passed before a small light appeared in the far corner of the room. It rapidly grew brighter as Yefsah turned the wick up.
Yefsah motioned Yosef and the men at the door inside. Bashir was pulling himself up from a tangle of folding chairs. Yefsah moved around the room lighting other gas lanterns.
“Ah, my friends,” said Bashir as he brushed himself off. “Yefsah has once again come to our aid.” He shoved the chairs aside and pulled the tail of his headdress forward to blow his nose in it. He tossed the tail over his shoulder, where it fluttered down against his back.
Bashir grabbed a few of the folding chairs and began handing them out.
“As you can see, Mr. President, we lack the grandeur of the palace here.”
Then realizing he was doing manual labor, Bashir shouted to his nephews-cousins, “Here, you lazy oafs! Finish setting up these chairs so the president and our friends can sit down.”
The young men hastened to where Bashir stood and began to unfold chairs, placing them haphazardly around the room.
Yefsah pulled from his pocket a huge key ring, packed with an assortment of keys, at least a hundred, ranging in size from ones that looked like they were for small briefcases to giant skeleton keys that looked ancient, as if they would open a castle door. He immediately picked out a small key and opened a nearby cabinet. From the cabinet, he began throwing out cushions. Cushions of various sizes decorated with a myriad of bright crimson colors. When finished, he leaned far inside the cabinet to where only his butt stuck out and, with a lot of grunting and mumbling, pulled out a crepe-covered package. Squatting on his haunches, he undid the wrapping to reveal an ancient Turkish water pipe that, from the wear on the mouthpiece, had seen many decades of use and thousands of teeth.
“Mr. Bashir,” Yosef said. “I want to put my men out to watch the roads.”
“No, no, no, Colonel,” Bashir objected, waving his finger back and forth. “First, there is only one road, not roads, and second, I have already sent one nephew and a cousin west for two kilometers where they will watch unobserved and see anything approaching from ten kilometers in that direction. To the east, I have sent one cousin and a relative of Yefsah to watch for patrols coming from that direction. You and your men are tired. You have an opportunity to sleep and rest while we provide protection.” He slapped his chest.
“Thank you, Mr. Bashir, but I must insist.”
“Fine, you may insist, but allow us to feed your men first. Yefsah’s wives are, even as we speak, cooking a fine meal. Soon, you will have steaming platters of foule mudumas, humus bitahinna, and roasted lamb along with warm milk and hot bread. Maybe some feta covered with olive oil — no meal is complete without a little feta, don’t you think?”