The Honey Thief Read Online Free PDF Page A

order to sell them. Americans had thousands of cars for sale, of many different colours and shapes. Abbas was able to tell the old man the names of the cars in English, such as De Soto and Oldsmobile and Chrysler and Dodge. He said the greatest of all cars for the Americans was the one called Cadillac. The old man put the tips of his fingers on the picture of the golden Cadillac, but very cautiously.
    ‘Americans have such a number of cars,’ he said, ‘and yet they speak the language of another people!’
    The old man was suffering in his chest, and had to cough painfully. Nevertheless, his eyes remained bright and he thanked Abbas many times for bringing home the magazine. He was interested in all the pictures that were not of cars also, and the one that fascinated him most was of a woman in a dress of the sort that is worn in America. She was smiling as she stood beside what Abbas said was an oven powered by electricity. The oven was white and shining. Inside the oven, a huge chicken was cooking. The old man said that it was the strangest thing of all for the Americans to use ovens that were so white.
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    Early one morning the following spring Abbas went to the pastures after bringing the old man his breakfast. He released the sheep from the fold and saw that two ewes had lambed since the previous day. The new lambs kept close to their mothers and tried to feed even as they tottered along on their unsteady legs. The ewes would not let the lambs feed until the pastures were reached, and the lambs made small bleating sounds of protest.
    When the light of sunrise reached the mountainside, Abbas looked down towards the boulder above the little stream to see if the old wolf had returned for the lambing season. He saw nothing. Even when the sun rose higher, there was no sign that the wolf had returned.
    Towards the close of the day, when the sheep were back in the fold, Abbas called to his dog and called a second time. The dog was off the path, sniffing at something amongst the rocks. Abbas walked over to the dog, calling, ‘Hi! Come when I call you!’ The dog turned its head and looked at Abbas but didn’t come to him. Then Abbas saw that it was standing over a dead creature, a grey wolf. Abbas hurried to the carcass, suddenly sick with fear. The wolf lay with its lips drawn back from its teeth. It may have been the old wolf but it was impossible to say. Abbas put his hand on its flank. There was still a little warmth in the carcass, showing that the wolf had died only a few hours earlier.
    Abbas waited no longer but began running along the path in the failing light, taking no care if he should miss his footing and fall. He ran with his chest burning at each gulp of air and kept running until he emerged from the uneven ground above his village onto the plateau. He then plunged across the creek without going further downstream to the stone bridge. He stopped to regain his breath only when he was within sight of his father’s house, bent over with his hands on his knees. The dog licked his face, puzzled and pleased at the same time over this strange behaviour.
    When Abbas’ chest had ceased heaving, he walked slowly to the house, knowing before he reached the door that the old man had died. He could hear the sobbing of his sisters, of his mother and his aunts, and their cries of lament.
    It was his father who noticed him first. He rose from the floor of the room in which the old man was laid out on a low table, his arms straight and his hands at his sides with the fingers spread. His white beard had been combed and looked much neater than it had in life. He seemed younger, too, than he had in the morning when Abbas had brought him his breakfast. He had not yet been dressed in his funeral gown but still wore the long shirt and loose trousers that kept him warm in bed.
    Abbas’ father said, ‘Son, do not shame yourself.’ He meant, ‘Don’t weep like a girl.’ Abbas knew his responsibilities without being