Read Online Shadow of the Rock (Spike Sanguinetti) by Thomas Mogford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas Mogford
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shiny-backed beetles. A woman in a headscarf sat cross-legged on the mud, shelling pods with a knife as a child played nearby with a food wrapper. The cables feeding the naked bulb looped away over corrugated roofs – illegally siphoned electricity, Spike supposed. ‘ Zahra, por favor? ’ he called, holding out the photograph of the girl.
The child stared up, open-mouthed, as her mother continued shelling. One of the card-players crooked a fingertip to the left. Spike gave a nod, hearing urgent, whispered rasps as he walked away.
Of the twenty minutes Spike had asked the driver to wait, five had elapsed. A thicker, more faecal smell began to coat the back of his throat as he turned into a gap between the huts. Through an open door he saw the flicker of a TV, a rag-draped figure prostrate before it on a camp bed.
Despite the condition of the buildings, Chinatown appeared to follow a grid system of sorts: parallel roads intersected by narrow alleyways. Spike continued left. Scrawled on a door was a painting of some rapt children with the words École Primaire Mohammad VI . The dark, plastic-sheeted windows were too murky to see through. Spike glanced up to the sky: the last of the sunlight had gone.
On the opposite side of the road, a bulb gleamed from an open-fronted shack. A youth appeared by Spike as he crossed over, cycling tight against him, aligning his wheels in the tyre tracks scored in the dried mud. He was staring so fixedly at Spike that his front axle caught in the furrow and he almost fell.
The facade of the shack was made of sliced-up plastic pallets. A man was sitting inside, eating with his fingers as a TV blared out Al-Jazeera news. A balding parrot clattered above him in a cage.
‘ Hola? ’
The man suspended his fingers by his lips as Spike drew closer. ‘ Zahra la beduina? ’ he said. ‘ Dónde? ’
‘ À gauche ,’ the man said. ‘ Gauche, gauche .’ He crammed his fingers to his mouth. The parrot chewed at the bars of its cage.
The moon was visible, just a nail clip of white in the hazy, blue-black sky. Ahead in the street, Spike saw the boy on the bicycle joined by four other youths. They were all watching him too.
He turned into the next alley. Some sort of shop, a rack of exhausted-looking vegetables outside and an old, aproned woman hunched on a stool, serving a girl. As Spike drew closer, the girl glanced round. Then she picked up her plastic bag and walked quickly away.
Chapter 20
Spike kept ten metres behind the girl. Her black kaftan flowed outwards, a sequinned headscarf concealing her face as she glanced around, increasing her speed. They were one behind the other now, following the raised, mud-packed ridge between the tyre tracks.
‘I’m a friend of Esperanza’s,’ Spike called out.
The girl crossed the road beside a half-built breeze-block wall.
‘I’ve spoken to Tatiana.’
She dropped a handle of the plastic bag. Tomatoes and aubergines bounced to the ground. She cursed, crouching as Spike loomed above. Behind, a vehicle began to glide silently along the road. Spike turned to look: a jeep. He took a step closer to the girl. ‘I’ve been to the Sundowner Club.’
She continued gathering groceries.
‘You’re Zahra, aren’t you?’
‘Why don’t you fuck off back to Ángel?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Or I’ll scream,’ she added in surprisingly clear English.
A tin can had rolled into the tyre tracks; as Spike bent down for it, he glimpsed the girl’s tight denim jeans stretch beneath her kaftan. The sequins on her headscarf began to glitter in a beam of light; the jeep had performed a U-turn and was peeling back towards them. It traversed the road until it was facing the girl, stopping twenty metres shy, engine on, headlights blazing through a bull-bar bumper.
Spike picked up the tin can, then heard the engine rev. ‘Zahra!’
The girl snapped up her head as the jeep roared towards her. Sprinting over the road, Spike launched himself into the
The child stared up, open-mouthed, as her mother continued shelling. One of the card-players crooked a fingertip to the left. Spike gave a nod, hearing urgent, whispered rasps as he walked away.
Of the twenty minutes Spike had asked the driver to wait, five had elapsed. A thicker, more faecal smell began to coat the back of his throat as he turned into a gap between the huts. Through an open door he saw the flicker of a TV, a rag-draped figure prostrate before it on a camp bed.
Despite the condition of the buildings, Chinatown appeared to follow a grid system of sorts: parallel roads intersected by narrow alleyways. Spike continued left. Scrawled on a door was a painting of some rapt children with the words École Primaire Mohammad VI . The dark, plastic-sheeted windows were too murky to see through. Spike glanced up to the sky: the last of the sunlight had gone.
On the opposite side of the road, a bulb gleamed from an open-fronted shack. A youth appeared by Spike as he crossed over, cycling tight against him, aligning his wheels in the tyre tracks scored in the dried mud. He was staring so fixedly at Spike that his front axle caught in the furrow and he almost fell.
The facade of the shack was made of sliced-up plastic pallets. A man was sitting inside, eating with his fingers as a TV blared out Al-Jazeera news. A balding parrot clattered above him in a cage.
‘ Hola? ’
The man suspended his fingers by his lips as Spike drew closer. ‘ Zahra la beduina? ’ he said. ‘ Dónde? ’
‘ À gauche ,’ the man said. ‘ Gauche, gauche .’ He crammed his fingers to his mouth. The parrot chewed at the bars of its cage.
The moon was visible, just a nail clip of white in the hazy, blue-black sky. Ahead in the street, Spike saw the boy on the bicycle joined by four other youths. They were all watching him too.
He turned into the next alley. Some sort of shop, a rack of exhausted-looking vegetables outside and an old, aproned woman hunched on a stool, serving a girl. As Spike drew closer, the girl glanced round. Then she picked up her plastic bag and walked quickly away.
Chapter 20
Spike kept ten metres behind the girl. Her black kaftan flowed outwards, a sequinned headscarf concealing her face as she glanced around, increasing her speed. They were one behind the other now, following the raised, mud-packed ridge between the tyre tracks.
‘I’m a friend of Esperanza’s,’ Spike called out.
The girl crossed the road beside a half-built breeze-block wall.
‘I’ve spoken to Tatiana.’
She dropped a handle of the plastic bag. Tomatoes and aubergines bounced to the ground. She cursed, crouching as Spike loomed above. Behind, a vehicle began to glide silently along the road. Spike turned to look: a jeep. He took a step closer to the girl. ‘I’ve been to the Sundowner Club.’
She continued gathering groceries.
‘You’re Zahra, aren’t you?’
‘Why don’t you fuck off back to Ángel?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Or I’ll scream,’ she added in surprisingly clear English.
A tin can had rolled into the tyre tracks; as Spike bent down for it, he glimpsed the girl’s tight denim jeans stretch beneath her kaftan. The sequins on her headscarf began to glitter in a beam of light; the jeep had performed a U-turn and was peeling back towards them. It traversed the road until it was facing the girl, stopping twenty metres shy, engine on, headlights blazing through a bull-bar bumper.
Spike picked up the tin can, then heard the engine rev. ‘Zahra!’
The girl snapped up her head as the jeep roared towards her. Sprinting over the road, Spike launched himself into the
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