Mario Reading - The Nostradamus prophecies

‘I don’t understand.’

Yola sighed impatiently. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. ‘The only reason you are still alive today is that my brother made you his phral. His blood brother. He also told you to come back here amongst us and ask for a Kriss. You did this. We then had no choice but to honour his dying wish. For what a dying man asks for, he must get. And my brother knew that he would die when he did this thing to you.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘He hated payos – Frenchmen – more even than he detested gadjes . He would never have asked one to be a brother to him except in the most extreme of circumstances.’

‘But I’m not a payo. Okay, my mother’s French, but my father’s American and I was born and brought up in the United States.’

‘But you speak perfect French. My brother would have judged you on that.’

Sabir shook his head in bewilderment.

Yola’s cousin was now addressing the assembly. But even with his fluent command of French, Sabir was having difficulty making out what was being said.

‘What language is that?’

‘Sinto.’

‘Great. Could you please tell me what he is saying?’

‘That you killed my brother. That you have come amongst us to steal something that belongs to our family. That you are an evil man and that God visited this recent illness on you to prove that you are not telling the truth about what happened to Babel. He also says that it is because of you that the police have come amongst us and that you are a disciple of the Devil.’

‘And you say he likes me?’

Yola nodded. ‘Alexi thinks you are telling the truth. He looked into your eyes when you thought that you were about to die and he saw your soul. It seemed white to him, not black.’

‘Then why is he saying all this stuff about me?’

‘You should be pleased. He is exaggerating terribly. Many of us here feel that you did not kill my brother. They will hope that the Bulibasha gets angry with what is being said and pronounces you innocent.’

‘And do you think I killed your brother?’

‘I will only know this when the Bulibasha gives his verdict.’

Sabir tried to look away from what was happening in front of him, but couldn’t. Yola’s cousin Alexi was giving a masterclass in applied histrionics. If this was someone secretly on his side, then Sabir decided that he would rather sup with the Devil and have done with it.

Alexi was on his knees in front of the assembled judges, weeping and tearing at his hair. His face and body were covered with dirt and his shirt was torn open, revealing three gold necklaces and a crucifix.

Sabir glanced at the Bulibasha’s face for any signs that he was becoming impatient with Alexi’s dramatics, but, to all intents and purposes, he seemed to be drinking the stuff in. One of the younger children, whom Sabir assumed must be one of the Bulibasha’s daughters, had even crept on to his capacious lap and was bouncing up and down in her excitement.

‘Do I get to say my piece?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone else will talk for you.’

‘Who, for Christ’s sake? Everybody here seems to want me killed.’

‘Me. I will speak for you.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘I have told you. It was my brother’s dying wish.’

Sabir realised that Yola didn’t want to be drawn any further. ‘What’s happening now?’

‘The Bulibasha is asking whether my brother’s family would be happy if you paid them gold for his life.’

‘And what are they saying?’

‘No. They want to cut your throat.’

Sabir allowed his mind to wander briefly into a fantasy of escape. With everybody concentrating on Alexi, he might at least manage a five-yard head start before they brought him down at the edge of the camp. Action, not reaction – wasn’t that how they trained soldiers to respond to an ambush?

Alexi got up off the ground, shook himself and walked past Sabir, grinning. He even winked.

‘He seems to think he put that over rather well.’

‘Do not joke. The Bulibasha is talking to the other judges. Asking their opinion. At this stage it is important how he begins to think.’ She stood up. ‘Now I shall speak for you.’

‘You’re not going to do all that breast-beating stuff?’

‘I don’t know what I shall do. It will come to me.’

Sabir dropped his head on to his knees. Part of him still refused to believe that anyone was taking this seriously. Perhaps it was all some gigantic joke perpetrated on him by a tontine of disgruntled readers?

He looked up when he heard Yola’s voice. She was dressed in a green silk blouse, buttoned to one side across her chest and her heavy red cotton dress reached down to just above her ankles, interleaved with numerous petticoats. She wore no jewellery as an unmarried woman and her uncovered hair was bunched in ringlets over her ears, with ribbons alongside and sewn into, the chignon at the back of her head. Sabir underwent a strange emotion as he watched her – as if he was indeed related to her in her some way and that this intense recognition was in some sense relevant in a manner beyond his understanding.

She turned to him and pointed. Then she pointed down to her hand. She was asking the Bulibasha something and the Bulibasha was answering.

Sabir glanced around at the two surrounding groups. The women were all intent on the Bulibasha’s words, but some of the men in Alexi’s group were watching him intently, although seemingly without malevolence – almost as though he were a puzzle they were being forced to confront against their wills, something curious that had been imposed on them from the outside and which they were nevertheless forced to factor in to whatever equation was ruling their lives.

Two of the men helped raise the Bulibasha to his feet. One of them passed him a bottle and he drank from it and then sprinkled some of the liquid in an arc out in front of him.

Yola came back to Sabir’s side and helped him rise to his feet.

‘Don’t tell me. It’s verdict time.’

She paid him no mind, but stood, a little back from him, watching the Bulibasha.

‘You. Payo. You say you did not kill Babel?’

‘That is correct.’

‘And yet the police are hunting for you. How can they be wrong?’

‘They found my blood on Babel, for reasons that I have already explained to you. The man who tortured and killed him must have told them about me, for Babel knew my name. I am innocent of any crime against him and his family.’

He turned to Alexi. ‘You believe this man killed your cousin?’

‘Until another man confesses to the crime, yes. Kill him and the blood score will be settled.’

‘But Yola has no brother now. Her father and mother are dead. She says that this man is Babel’s phral. That he will take Babel’s place. She is unmarried. It is important that she has a brother to protect her. To ensure that no one shames her.’

‘That is true.’

‘Do you all agree to abide by the Kristinori’s rule?’

There was a communal affirmative from around the camp.

‘Then we will leave it to the knife to decide in this vendetta.’

‘Jesus. They don’t want me to fight somebody?’

‘No.’

‘Then what the Hell do they want?’

‘The Bulibasha has been very wise. He has decided that the knife will decide in this case. A wooden board will be set-up. You will lay the hand that you killed Babel with on to it. Alexi will represent my family. He will take a knife and throw it at your hand. If the blade, or any other part of the knife, strikes your hand, it will mean that O Del says you are guilty. Then you will be killed. If the knife misses you, you are innocent. You will then become my brother.’