The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [53]
He touched his ears with his hands, then clasped his hands in front of him, the left within the right. He bowed, then knelt down. Touching his forehead to the floor at appropriate moments, he recited the el-fatha:
“In the name of God the merciful and compassionate. Praise be to God, the lord of the worlds, the merciful and compassionate, the Prince of the day of judgment; Thee we serve, and to Thee we pray for help; lead us in the right way, the way of those to whom Thou hast shown mercy, upon whom no wrath resteth, and who go not astray.”
He looked over his right shoulder, then his left, to greet the two recording angels who wrote down his good and bad acts.
When he looked over his left shoulder, he saw Abdullah.
Without interrupting his prayer the thief smiled broadly, showing his steel tooth.
Wolff got up and went out. He stopped outside to put on his sandals, and Abdullah came waddling after him. They shook hands.
“You are a devout man, like myself,” Abdullah said. “I knew you would come, sooner or later, to your father’s mosque.”
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“Many people are looking for you.”
Together they walked away from the mosque. Abdullah said: “Knowing you to be a True Believer, I could not betray you to the British, even for so large a sum of money; so I told Major Vandam that I knew nobody by the name of Alex Wolff, or Achmed Rahmha.”
Wolff stopped abruptly. So they were still hunting him. He had started to feel safe—too soon. He took Abdullah by the arm and steered him into an Arab café. They sat down.
Wolff said: “He knows my Arab name.”
“He knows all about you—except where to find you.”
Wolff felt worried, and at the same time intensely curious. “What is this major like?” he asked.
Abdullah shrugged. “An Englishman. No subtlety. No manners. Khaki shorts and a face the color of a tomato.”
“You can do better than that.”
Abdullah nodded. “This man is patient and determined. If I were you, I should be afraid of him.”
Suddenly Wolff was afraid.
He said: “What has he been doing?”
“He has found out all about your family. He has talked to all your brothers. They said they knew nothing of you.”
The café proprietor brought each of them a dish of mashed fava beans and a flat loaf of coarse bread. Wolff broke his bread and dipped it into the beans. Flies began to gather around the bowls. Both men ignored them.
Abdullah spoke through a mouthful of food. “Vandam is offering one hundred pounds for your address. Ha! As if we would betray one of our own for money.”
Wolff swallowed. “Even if you knew my address.”
Abdullah shrugged. “It would be a small thing to find out.”
“I know,” Wolff said. “So I am going to tell you, as a sign of my faith in your friendship. I am living at Shepheard’s Hotel.”
Abdullah looked hurt. “My friend, I know this is not true. It is the first place the British would look—”
“You misunderstand me.” Wolff smiled. “I am not a guest there. I work in the kitchens, cleaning pots, and at the end of the day I lie down on the floor with a dozen or so others and sleep there.”
“So cunning!” Abdullah grinned: he was pleased with the idea and delighted to have the information. “You hide under their very noses!”
“I know you will keep this secret,” Wolff said. “And, as a sign of my gratitude for your friendship, I hope you will accept from me a gift of one hundred pounds.”
“But this is not necessary—”
“I insist.”
Abdullah sighed and gave in reluctantly. “Very well.”
“I will have the money sent to your house.”
Abdullah wiped his empty bowl with the last of his bread. “I must leave you now,” he said. “Allow me to pay for your breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
“Ah! But I have come with no money. A thousand pardons—”
“It’s nothing,” Wolff said. “Alallah—in God’s care.”
Abdullah replied conventionally: “Allah yisallimak—may God protect thee.” He went out.
Wolff called for coffee and thought about Abdullah. The thief would betray Wolff for a lot less than a hundred pounds, of course. What had stopped him so far was