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a woman in childbirth. ‘Are you going to? I wish you’d get on with it then. I’m certainly not able to defend myself – like that time you had me tied up and were going to castrate me. You’re just as safe now. I can’t even raise my hand to ward you off.’
    ‘Just like my brother.’
    ‘I didn’t kill your brother. How many times do I have to tell you? I met him once. He attacked me. God knows why. Then he told me to come here.’
    ‘Why did you wink at me like that?’
    ‘It was the only way I could think of to communicate my innocence to you.’
    ‘But it angered me. I nearly killed you then.’
    ‘I had to risk that. There was no other way.’
    She sat back, considering.
    ‘Is it you that’s been treating me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Funny way to behave to someone you intend to kill.’
    ‘I didn’t say I intended to kill you. I said I was thinking about it.’
    ‘What would you do with me? With my body?’
    ‘The men would joint you, like a pig. Then we’d burn you.’
    There was an uncomfortable silence. Sabir fell to wondering how he had managed to get himself into a position like this. And for what? ‘How long have I been here?’
    ‘Three days.’
    ‘Jesus.’ He reached down and lifted his bad hand with his good. ‘What was wrong with me? Is wrong with me?’
    ‘Blood poisoning. I treated you with herbs and kaolin poultices. The infection had moved to your lungs. But you’ll live.’
    ‘Are you quite sure of that?’ Sabir immediately sensed that his effort at sarcasm had entirely passed her by.
    ‘I spoke to the pharmacist.’
    ‘The who?’
    ‘The woman who treated your cuts. The name of where she worked was in the newspaper. I went to Paris to collect some of my brother’s hair. Now we are going to bury him.’
    ‘What did the woman say?’
    ‘That you are telling the truth.’
    ‘So who do you think killed your brother.’
    ‘You. Or another man.’
    ‘Still me?’
    ‘The other man, perhaps. But you were part of it.’
    ‘So why don’t you kill me now and have done with it? Joint me like a sucking pig?’
    ‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’ She slipped the knife back underneath her dress. ‘You will see.’

19
    Later that same night they helped Sabir out of the caravan and into the clearing. A couple of the men had constructed a litter and they lifted him on to it and carried him out into the forest and along a moonlit track.
    Samana’s sister walked beside him as if she owned him, or had some other vested interest in his presence. Which I suppose she does, thought Sabir to himself. I’m her insurance policy against having to think.
    A squirrel ran across the track in front of them and the women began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves.
    ‘What’s that all about?’
    ‘A squirrel is a lucky omen.’
    ‘What’s a bad one?’
    She shot a look at him, then decided that he was not being flippant… ‘An owl.’ She lowered her voice. ‘A snake. The worst is a rat.’
    ‘Why’s that?’ He found that he was lowering his voice too.
    ‘They are mahrime. Polluted. It is better not to mention them.’
    ‘Ah.’
    By this time they had reached another clearing, furnished with candles and flowers.
    ‘So we’re burying your brother?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But you haven’t got his body? Just his hair?’
    ‘Shh. We no longer talk about him. Or mention his name.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The close family does not talk of its dead. Only other people do that. For the next month his name will not be mentioned amongst us.’
    An old man came up to Yola and presented her with a tray, on which was a wad of banknotes, a comb, a scarf, a small mirror, a shaving kit, a knife, a pack of cards and a syringe. Another man brought food, wrapped up in a waxed paper parcel. Another brought wine, water and green coffee beans.
    Two men were digging a small hole near to an oak tree. Yola made the trip to the hole three times, laying one item neatly over another. Some children came up behind her and