Yalo Read Online Free PDF Page B

to Sweden and had never been heard from again; nor was there a brother or sister.
    â€œThere are just three of us,” is what Yalo told the interrogator when he was asked about his family.
    â€œWe are a family of just three persons: Abo, Bro, and Ruho Qadisho. I’m Bro.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Do you think I’m joking?” shouted the interrogator.
    â€œNo, sir, but my Black Grandfather talked that way. He’s Syriac, even though I think he’s really Kurdish, but I don’t know which is his strange mix. That’s what we are, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My mother is the Holy Spirit, that’s what I learned when I was little, but my grandfather stopped calling me Bro, he said I was not a good Bro, because the Bro is the Christ, and I was growing up like Judas, a crook, a good-for-nothing, and that’s why he started calling me Yalo, and when he heard my mother calling me Bro, he shouted at her and told her to stop it.”
    Why didn’t Yalo tell the interrogator these things?
    When the interrogator asked him about his family, he did not know how to respond. He closed his eyes as if he did not hear.
    â€œConfess!” shouted the interrogator.
    Yalo decided to confess, and he said: “Yes, but that isn’t the way it happened.”
    â€œWhat happened? Tell us.”
    Yalo said that Shirin had not been in the car with Emile but with another man.
    â€œLiar! Why didn’t you say that when Mr. Emile was sitting here?”
    Silence fell.
    Yalo felt the silence pervading his whole body, a complete silence swallowinghim, and his voice, and his ears. That is how he had felt when he got to the villa. The lawyer had told him, “Come,” and he brought him from Paris to his dwelling. And there, in the village of Ballouna, he heard the voice of silence, and got used to it, and it became a part of him. He discovered that the night had a body, and that the body of night swooped down on him and covered him.
    A night like a black coat, a silence like silence, and stars spread out above him as if they were the opening to eternity, an eternity taking him to the end of fear.
    Michel Salloum, the lawyer, said that he had taken him here in order to guard the Villa Gardenia. He said that he had brought a Kalashnikov rifle and a box of ammunition and guided him to the cottage below the villa, where he lived.
    â€œYes, yes,” said Yalo.
    â€œGo down to the house, clean yourself up, and then follow me up so I can introduce you to my wife, Madame Randa, and to my daughter, Ghada.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Yalo.
    â€œHave a bath – the water’s hot – and change your clothes. I bought you fresh clothes. And then follow me.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Yalo.
    â€œI don’t want any tricks, you understand? The rifle is not to be used unless something happens, God forbid. I don’t want anyone seeing the rifle, and I don’t want my wife to know.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Yalo.
    â€œMy wife’s afraid of dogs, otherwise we would have gotten a watchdog, I mean, to help you, but she’s afraid, that’s why you can’t trust anyone. Just trust in God and yourself.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Yalo.
    Yalo went down to the cottage below the villa owned by Monsieur MichelSalloum. The house was small and lovely, but to Yalo it felt like a palace – that’s what he thought once he found himself alone in his new home. A spacious rectangular room, about forty meters square, walls painted white, the floor carpeted in green. To the right was a wide wooden bed covered with a blue blanket, and to the left was an old flowery sofa beside a wooden table and three rattan chairs. A single bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. There was an iron wardrobe to the left, which Yalo opened and saw three pairs of new pants, several old but clean and ironed shirts, and an olive green woolen sweater. Off the room to