Lost Riders Read online

  ‘Uncle Bilal!’ he was shouting. ‘Shari’s ill! You’ve got to help him! His masoul says he’s going to die!’

  He reached the men and skidded to a halt, staring at his uncle. Bilal looked different. In the last months he seemed to have grown. Hard work on a building site had made his shoulders broader and put heavy muscles on his arms. He was no longer a slim youth with a light fuzz on his chin and upper lip. He had a man’s strong black stubble, and he was standing up to Gaman Khan as if he didn’t fear him at all. He was actually shouting, his face red with rage.

  ‘What kind of a man are you? Shari’s no more than a baby! After all you promised! You’ve seen what that masoul’s done to him. It’s disgusting! A disgrace!’

  It worked! Rashid thought triumphantly. That woman must have phoned.

  ‘Have you been to see Shari then, Uncle Bilal?’ he asked. ‘Are you going to look after him now?’

  No one seemed to hear him. Gaman Khan, looking uneasily at Haji Faroukh, said something soothing and spread out his hands.

  ‘Wait till they hear about this at home!’ Bilal raged on. ‘No one will ever do business with you again!’

  Haji Faroukh was staring from him to Gaman Khan and back again.

  ‘What is all this?’ he said. ‘Who is this? Gaman Sahib, is this man causing you trouble?’

  ‘No, no!’ Gaman Khan tried to put a comradely arm round Bilal’s shoulders, but Bilal shook him off. ‘This is my friend, Bilal. His nephew’s here, in your uzba.’

  Haji Faroukh’s eyes narrowed as he recognized Bilal, then he smiled warily.

  ‘I remember. Yasser’s uncle. Your nephew’s doing very well. No need to worry about him. He’s just won the golden sword in Abu Dhabi. Earned some good tips too. Is that what you’ve come for? His money? I have it safe for him here. He’s a good boy. No trouble.’

  Bilal was shaking his head angrily.

  ‘Not Yasser! Shari!’ He stabbed an accusing finger at Gaman Khan. ‘Starved, neglected - his fever’s so high he’s delirious!’

  Rashid had crept up to stand beside Bilal, but a sound from inside the car caught his attention. The back window of the SUV was so high that he had to stand on tiptoe to see inside.

  Shari lay on the back seat, his grubby blanket slipping off him. His eyes were half shut and his lips cracked with dryness. In the full light of day Rashid could see how desperately ill he was. He grabbed the door handle, wrenched it open and climbed inside.

  ‘Shari! It’s me!’

  Shari seemed barely conscious. His breath was coming in short gasps.

  Rashid backed out of the car.

  ‘Uncle Bilal! He’s going to die! Uncle Bilal!’

  He was sobbing hysterically.

  The adults broke off and crowded round to look in through the windows of the car.

  ‘The ambulance is coming,’ Gaman Khan said defensively. ‘I called them half an hour ago. Look, Bilal, I’m doing what I can. Whatever you say, I’m not a monster. How was I to know what that man would do to him? Look at Yasser. He’s flourishing, isn’t he? I thought Shari would be fine too.’

  The other boys, with Salman and the hired men, had now finished seeing to the camels and were crowding round the car. Gaman Khan was biting his lip and looking uneasily from side to side.

  Rashid was back inside the car, kneeling down by the seat.

  ‘Shari! Stop looking like that! Open your eyes!’ he was crying.

  He didn’t hear the sound of another vehicle arrive, and was indignant when a pair of strong hands plucked him out of the car and his place was taken by two men in white jackets. But then he saw them lift Shari out of the SUV, and carry him tenderly across to the ambulance, and he watched, almost faint with relief, as one of them listened to Shari’s chest through a stethoscope, and the other calmly set up a drip and worked over Shari’s arm.

  ‘Seriously dehydrated. Never seen anything like it. And, look, the little chap’s arm’s broken. A bad fracture too,’ he heard one of the ambulance men say with disgust.

  ‘Ready?’ said the other. He turned to the watching crowd. ‘Who’s accompanying him?’

  Rashid looked up beseechingly at Haji Faroukh, but Bilal was already saying, ‘I am. I’m his uncle,’ and was stepping into the ambulance.

  ‘Is he going to die then, or not?’ Rashid shouted, as the ambulance doors closed, but no one answered, and a moment later the big white vehicle had disappeared and the purr of its engine was fading away down the lane.

  Gaman Khan had recovered his composure and was shaking his head sorrowfully.

  ‘That Bilal!’ he said, with a sidelong glance at Haji Faroukh. ‘So ignorant. You do what you can for these people. I admit the child’s masoul seems to have gone too far. A really cruel taskmaster. I won’t supply him again. But if these kids had stayed in Pakistan, they’d have starved to death by now. I tell you, Haji—’

  But Rashid could see that one of Haji Faroukh’s rages was descending on him. Iqbal and Amal had already backed cautiously away. He retreated quietly too.

  ‘I’m sick of it!’ Haji Faroukh roared. ‘I’ve had enough of all this! Children injured, children killed! You think it gives me pleasure to see them thrown off and trampled by stampeding camels? You think I enjoy seeing them stick thin and hungry all the time?’

  ‘Come now, Haji,’ Gaman Khan said calmly. ‘You benefit from the system as much as any of us. I’m sure you’ve got a nice little pile of savings stashed away. It does most of the boys no lasting harm. We’re doing them a favour - you know we are. They’ll go home soon enough, when they get too big for all this, and their families will have prospered on their earnings. As for young Shari, he’s a tough kid. The trouble I had with him, bringing him over here, you’ve no idea. Now he’s getting proper treatment he’ll be better in no time. But we have some business to do. Syed Ali tells me you need a replacement jockey. A young one.’

  Haji Faroukh’s anger had blown itself out already. He seemed to the eyes of the fascinated boys to deflate like a slowly puncturing tyre.

  ‘A young one,’ he said flatly. ‘Yes, I suppose we do. Come into the guest house, Gaman Sahib.’ He raised his voice. ‘Salman! Coffee! Hurry up! You boys –’ he assumed for the children’s benefit an expression of ferocity that sent them falling over each other as they retreated even further - ‘eat your breakfast, then start cleaning this place up. It’s a disgrace.’

  20

  It was Haji Faroukh who told Rashid that Shari was

  getting better.

  ‘You’ve got Syed Ali to thank,’ he said, nodding impressively. ‘He’s even paying the hospital bills.’

  Rashid, light-headed with relief, hadn’t known how to show his feelings. When Haji Faroukh had turned round, he scampered crazily about, then stood on his head, and fell over on his back, choked with laughter.

  ‘Is he still in hospital, Haji?’ he asked later, when he’d had time to think about it. ‘When can I see him? When’s he going back to his uzba?’

  ‘He’s not going back to that place at all.’ Haji Faroukh scowled over Rashid’s shoulder as if something in the distance was angering him, but he said no more, and Rashid didn’t dare ask again.

  Salman brought more momentous news. He had been serving coffee in the guest house to Syed Ali and Gaman Khan, who had returned for yet another visit.

  ‘Your little brother,’ he told Rashid. ‘He coming here. New jockey for us. Take place of Puppo.’

  Rashid gaped at him.

  ‘Shari? Here?’

  Salman nodded.

  ‘I hear them talk. Your trafficker, he say no good any more bring new boys from Pakistan. Police careful. Too many arrest at the border. Question, question all the time.’

  ‘But Shari can’t work here, Salman. He’s useless at riding camels. He’ll only fall off again.’

  ‘Need only training, I hear Abu Nazir say. Then maybe he turn out like you. Champion brother, after all.’

  ‘But he’s too sick! And his arm’s
broken!’

  ‘Better soon, after a few week. Arm good again. He can ride little camel, new, young camel. Syed Ali, he buying new camel now.’

  This news, once he’d digested it, made Rashid feel grown-up and important. He was not only the acknowledged star jockey of the uzba, the favourite of Syed Ali, the winner of the golden sword. Soon he would also be a big brother again, with a little ally and follower all of his own to protect and lead.

  But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that it wasn’t only someone to boss around that he wanted. He needed Shari’s friendship too. It was always complicated now with Iqbal. The boy he’d so admired was often surly and sometimes, Rashid thought to himself daringly, mean and unfair. Once he’d acknowledged the weakness in his hero, he no longer yearned for his approval. When Iqbal said something ill-natured, Rashid could turn away with a shrug, instead of wanting to burst into tears. Sometimes he even answered with an insult of his own.

  It was Amal, oddly, who kept the peace between them. Withdrawn though he was, he became so distressed when an argument broke out between the other two that they learned to back away from each other. In any case, they were too busy and too tired to spend their energy on real fights. In their precious hours of freedom they would lose their bad feelings in a bout of football, or make up long, complicated games involving the few remaining marbles and surviving playing cards, with the little toy car in pride of place.

  It was three weeks before Shari came at last, brought in a taxi in the heat of the early afternoon by Bilal. He slid off the back seat on to the sand, looking around shyly, but when he saw the large, ponderous figure of Haji Faroukh approach, he gasped with fright and hid behind Bilal, clutching at his uncle’s trousers.

  Rashid, coming out as usual to see who had arrived, shouted ‘Shari!’ and dashed forward. Shari peeped out and saw him, and his face split open into a smile.

  He was no longer the broken waif of a few weeks earlier. His trimmed hair was clean and glossy and his face, though still stark and thin, had filled out a little. In the place of his dirty rags he wore a blue top with a picture of Superman on the front, and some clean tracksuit trousers. The shadows under his eyes, though still large, were no longer the purple pools they had been. A plaster cast covered one arm from the fingers to the elbow.

  ‘Hello, Rashid,’ Shari said, but his smile had faded and his voice was only a whisper. His eyes were still fixed on Haji Faroukh, and when the masoul turned to look at him, he put up his hands to cover his head and cowered back behind Bilal, as if he was expecting a blow.

  Haji Faroukh cleared his throat.

  ‘There’s no need for that, young man. You do what you’re told and you won’t suffer here. Rashid, take your brother and show him where he’ll sleep. He doesn’t need to help out today. Still very peaky, I must say. And there’s not much he can do till that arm’s out of plaster. Just make sure he stays out of mischief, that’s all.’

  Shari stuck closely to Rashid’s side, hanging on to his sleeve. Rashid could feel him trembling.

  ‘Is boss coming today, to take me back?’ he asked.

  Rashid stared down at him.

  ‘Your old boss? Didn’t they tell you? He’s gone to prison, for being cruel to you.’

  ‘Did Imran go too?’

  ‘I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. He didn’t do anything wrong, did he? I don’t know about Imran.’

  ‘No, but when am I going back?’

  ‘You’re not going back, Shari. Get that into your head. You’re going to stay here with me. I thought Uncle Bilal would have told you.’

  ‘I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘No.’

  Rashid stopped walking and bent down so that his face was on a level with Shari’s.

  ‘Look at me, Shari. I’m telling you. It’s the truth. You’re never going back there again. Forget about it. That masoul, your boss, he’s gone. You’re here now. Here! With me and Iqbal and Amal and Salman. Now do you believe me?’

  Shari’s huge eyes stared solemnly back at him.

  ‘I’m telling you the truth!’ Rashid said, exasperated. ‘Listen, back then, in your tent, I said you weren’t going to die, didn’t I?’

  Shari nodded.

  ‘And you didn’t die, did you?’

  Shari shook his head.

  ‘Well then. You can believe me.’

  ‘You said you had a red car,’ Shari said with sudden shrewdness. ‘You said you were going to let me play with it.’

  The look in his eye, funny and knowing, was suddenly so like the old Shari that Rashid burst out laughing.

  ‘You little –’ he began, but Shari had seen Salman approaching. Instantly, fear turned him back into a petrified little animal again, and he darted behind Rashid.

  ‘It’s only Salman. He’s our friend. You don’t have to be scared of him,’ Rashid said, and Shari, impressed by his lordly confidence, peeped out, daring to take another look, then hastily retreated, scared all over again at the sight of Salman’s blind, milky eye.

  For the first few days after he had arrived, Shari stuck to Rashid like a shadow. He watched Iqbal and Amal curiously, but shrank into himself if they spoke to him.

  Iqbal treated him with the magnificent condescension that had so impressed Rashid when he had first arrived at the uzba. It had the same effect on Shari, and from the safety of Rashid’s side, he gazed in awe and admiration at the older boy.

  By the end of the week, he had grown used to the other children and even to Salman, but if Rashid was out of sight for more than a few minutes, his mouth would turn down at the corners and he would wait anxiously, staring around wide-eyed until Rashid returned.

  Rashid had been afraid that Shari would embarrass him by putting on his old screaming tantrums, but he soon saw that there was no danger of it. Now, when Shari was upset, he cried silently, seeming to expect to be punished for it. He would crawl away and hide under the water tower, or creep inside the sleeping shed, even though it was stuffy and almost unbearably hot during the day. He would curl up there, furiously sucking his thumb.

  The nights, though, were another matter. Shari would shout and cry in his sleep, thrashing about in the grip of nightmares. At first the others woke and were annoyed with him, but after a while they learned to sleep through the noise, tired out as they were. Several times, Shari wet himself in the night. Rashid scolded him for it.

  ‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t! it was Amal!’ Shari would say, panting with fright.

  ‘Amal? Don’t be daft. Look, you’re all wet down the front,’ Rashid would shout at him. But it was useless. Shari did it again and again. The shelter began to smell, and when Haji Faroukh passed by and caught a sniff of it, the mattress that Rashid and Shari had shared was taken out and a mat laid down, which could be taken up and washed.

  Everyone was being kind to him. Not only was he allowed to stay in bed while the others went out on night exercise, he was even given extra food, although he had no appetite for it.

  ‘Nice bit of chicken for you, Shari,’ Salman would say, putting a whole drumstick into his bowl, and Rashid, looking up, would be amazed to see Haji Faroukh nod with grave approval as he stood and watched the boys from the entrance to the guest house. It was all the more infuriating to see Shari take no more than a couple of bites of the succulent flesh, and drop the still meaty bone back in his bowl, while the others looked on with frustrated envy.

  Even Syed Ali seemed to take a special interest in Shari. He tried to coax him out from behind Rashid, and laughed when Shari wouldn’t respond.

  ‘I can’t understand you, cousin,’ Abu Nazir said to him one morning, as they walked across to the pen to inspect Soudani, whose left hind foot was worryingly swollen. ‘You paid the kid’s hospital bills and now you’re letting Faroukh spoil him here. We’re not running a children’s charity, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Where’s your heart, cousin?’ Syed Ali said, shaking his head. ‘The boy ne
arly died. Anyway, think about it. If he’s anything like his brother, we’ll have another champion jockey.’

  ‘We won’t have any jockeys at all if the new rules go through,’ Abu Nazir responded.

  It was a Friday, and Rashid was waiting nearby for the others to get ready for prayers at the mosque.

  What are they talking about? he thought, puzzling over the men’s conversation. No jockeys?

  ‘All this talk of robot jockeys! They’ll never work,’ Abu Nazir continued bitterly. ‘Without the boys, the sport will die.’

  Robots again, Rashid thought, losing interest.

  The others appeared, ready to set off. As they walked out through the entrance, Shari clung so closely to Rashid’s side that he was in danger of tripping them both up.

  ‘Knock it off, Shari,’ Rashid grumbled at him. ‘Walk on your own. What are you so scared of, anyway? We’re only going to the mosque.’ Shari didn’t answer, and only increased his grip on Rashid’s hand.

  ‘He’s worried about that boss of his,’ Amal said, with one of his flashes of insight. ‘Thinks he’s going to meet him out here.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about him, Shari,’ Iqbal said grandly. ‘There are five of us and only one of him.’

  He puffed out his chest and tried to make himself look taller.

  ‘That man in prison,’ Salman said. ‘Anyway, bad man like him never go to mosque. Never pray to God.’

  They walked on in silence. Salman’s words had made Rashid feel solemn. An odd sense of duty was weighing on him. He ought, he knew, to be teaching Shari his religious duties, but he didn’t know what to say.

  ‘You have to be quiet in the mosque and sit still,’ he began, remembering Puppo’s restless wrigglings. ‘And you have to copy what we do. Wash yourself, and kneel down and stand up like us.’

  He knew that something important was missing, but didn’t know what it was.

  Salman helped him out.

  ‘In the mosque good thing is to pray to God. You know what God do for you?’

  Shari, looking worried, shook his head.

  ‘Why you not die,’ Salman asked earnestly, ‘when you so ill with fever?’