The Second Wave Read Online Free PDF Page B

you
and your husband.” He kept his voice down in case someone was
eavesdropping.
    The sound of a heavy bolt being removed
preceded a fractional opening of the door. The frightened face of a
woman was visible through the crack. She looked him up and down.
She looked at the freezing goats noisily expressing their
dissatisfaction with the temperature.
    “You came!” Her eyes, already appearing big
in her drawn face, widened in surprise. Hastily she unbolted the
lower part of the door to let him in.
    “As-salamu aleikum,” he greeted her, bowing
deep as was the custom, when he was inside and the door was locked
again.
    She was too excited to bother with any
ritualistic reception, but took hold of his cold hands and kissed
them. “You have come. Thank you, Sharif. I did not think you
would.”
    The apartment they lived in was but two
rooms, separated by a wooden partition panel. John saw a bed made
of straw and a hearth in a corner. Pots and pans sat neatly stacked
on the floor, a wash basin filled with water, and some wet clothing
hung from a washing line in the middle of the room. The woman
appeared to be alone.
    “I gave you my word, woman. I always keep to
it.”
    “Please, my name is Junah, Sharif. I fear I
have nothing to offer you except weak tea.”
    “Weak tea sounds like a dish from the Gods.
Where is your husband?”
    Junah busied herself with boiling water over
the fire, but she couldn’t help a defeated sigh escaping her lips.
She was beautiful, John could tell. Not young, and prematurely aged
from hunger and probably fear, but her eyes were bright and
intelligent, and she moved with grace, despite her swollen belly
evident underneath her clothes.
    “My husband, it pains me to say out loud, is
dead. He was killed not one week ago in a street fight.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. I only just got back
in town. I found the boots this morning and came as quickly as I
could. They are exceptionally well done.”
    “My husband was an exceptionally good
bootmaker,” she told him. There was a proud look on her face when
she turned around.
    John waited for the tea to be served and
listened as Junah told him what had happened. It wasn’t different a
story from what usually happened—people got in a fight, they shot
at each other, passers-by got killed. John had heard and witnessed
many of those incidents. It was the first time he felt sorry for
anyone, though. At one point, when Junah was drying her tears,
absentmindedly patting the taller goat’s head who walked up towards
her to press its forehead against her thigh, John even wondered if
the incident might have been avoided, had he been back sooner. It
was a ridiculous thought, he knew that; he shook it off almost
instantly, blaming the cold for his sudden melancholic
disposition.
    Junah, though saddened to no extent by her
husband’s death, seemed chipper enough. She served him tea, thanked
him in many words for the food he had brought, and was the most
pleasant company John had had the fortune to encounter in a long
time.
    “Please, you are most welcome to visit
anytime you want, Sharif,” she told him as he left.
    “I will,” he lied. He would, if he had any
intention of staying even one more day in Alexandria. But his time
was running out and he wanted a head start; even though the thought
of spending more time with Junah, maybe even sharing a bed with her
the next time, was tempting.
    He left his horse with Abdul-Wahid when he
left the city that night. He didn’t need one where he was going,
and the boat he used was too small to accommodate anything but him
and his kitbag.
    Wrapped in a thick cloak, the hood drawn deep
into his face, trying to shut out the icy sea wind, John pondered
where to go next. Anywhere, he decided, with a good black market,
to get a decent price for the ticket.
    * * * *

Chapter 9: All that Gets Left Behind
    One of the cities that had only recently lost
its atmospheric shield was Ryde. The whole of the Isle of Wight was
now