The Day of the Scorpion Read Online Free PDF Page A

whereabouts aren’t to be made known, and this restriction must unfortunately apply in the case of your family. They will write to you care of Government House, and your own letters will automatically come here. I hope, Mr Kasim, that occasionally you will think of writing personally to me.’
    ‘Thank you. Am I to be allowed newspapers?’
    ‘I shall give the necessary instructions.’
    ‘Then I’ll say goodbye.’
    ‘Goodbye, Mr Kasim.’
    Kasim bowed his head, hesitated, and then walked towards the double doors behind which, he knew, the young police officer to whom the senior man had handed him over, and two British military policemen, would be waiting. But just before he reached the doors he heard the Governor call his name, and turned. The Governor was still standing behind the desk. He made a gesture with both hands, indicating the desk, the papers on it.
    ‘May I send you away with an interesting thought that has suddenly struck me?’
    ‘What is that, your Excellency?’
    ‘That one day this desk will probably be yours.’
    Kasim smiled, looked round the room. The thought, just at that moment, was almost sickening. He said, ‘Yes. You are probably right,’ and, still smiling, turned and took the last few paces to his more immediate prison.
*
    At dusk Mr Kasim was taken from the upstairs room wherehe had been kept all day and driven to the sidings of the railway station at Ranpur cantonment. Here he was transferred to a carriage of the kind used to transport troops, most of whose windows had been blocked by steel shutters. The young officer in charge of him was joined by another. An armed sentry stood guard at the only door of the carriage that was still in use. When approaching the carriage Kasim saw that it was uncoupled. There were other soldiers and police in the vicinity. When he entered the carriage he expected to find other occupants, friends, ex-colleagues; but he was alone. The two young officers talked to each other in low voices and mostly in monosyllables. He made up his bed on one of the wooden benches. A tray was brought in with his dinner: soup, chicken and vegetables, and rice pudding with jam – obviously chosen from the European style menu at the station restaurant. While he ate it one of the officers went for his own dinner. Half an hour later he returned and his companion went for his. Kasim’s tray was taken by a British MP. Another armed sentry joined the first. At about nine o’clock the carriage was coupled to others, and the other officer returned from the restaurant. The two officers settled in the middle of the carriage leaving the guards at one end and Mr Kasim at the other. The train started. Kasim read. The officers continued to talk in low voices. They smoked cigarettes. Occasionally they shared a joke. A ten o’clock while the train was still moving slowly, uncertainly, picking its way across points and iron bridges, Mr Kasim gave the officers a start by rising suddenly and opening his suitcase. He sensed that they touched their holsters to make sure their revolvers were still there. From the suitcase he took out his prayer mat, then turned to them.
    ‘I suppose neither of you can tell me which direction west is?’ He smiled, was rewarded with vague, uncomprehending but not totally unfriendly negative replies, and then unrolled the mat on the floor, stood for a moment and composed himself in order to begin saying his Isha prayers in a peaceable frame of mind. He then performed in full the four Rak’ahs prescribed.
    During the night he woke several times. The officers and the guards were taking it in turns to doze. He observed theirfaces: slack, remote in the dim pools of light from the overhead bulbs that had been left on. The light scarcely reached the end of the carriage where he lay and once, because he had moved and attracted the attention of the officer whose turn it was to keep watch, he returned the man’s incurious, dispassionate, half-dreaming gaze for what