Hilal’s home the other day. He did vaguely recall the case. A dispute between a shopowner who happened to be Coptic and a customer who happened to be Muslim sparked off a riot in which hundreds of shops and houses in a town in Upper Egypt were burned to the ground. Twenty-one people were killed.
‘They never caught the culprits, did they?’
‘Who can expect justice when the police themselves took part?’
The bell was ringing to announce the end of the round. Not just the round, but the whole bout. Blood was pouring from the loser’s nose and mouth. Father Macarius held up the hand of the victor, who looked hungry enough to take on another six opponents before calling it a day.
‘You shouldn’t come round here with all your snooping about.’
‘That’s exactly the kind of thing a guilty man might say.’
‘Guilty, me?’ he reared back.
‘What’s your name?’ Makana moved along studying the pictures pasted to the wall.
‘Me? I’m Botrous.’
Makana paused, his eye drawn to a particular face. It was the face of a younger man. The lopsided eye was less pronounced, but there was something nasty about that face which was unmistakable. He tapped the picture.
‘So, Botrous. This man here. What can you tell me about him?’
‘That’s Rocky. Everybody knows Rocky,’ he grunted. ‘Ahmed Rakuba. You don’t want to have anything to do with him. Believe me.’
‘Is he from round here?’
Botrous thought about this for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He used to help out. I remember him from when I was a boy. He used to work with Father Macarius. Then he disappeared.’
‘How do I find him?’
Botrous laughed. ‘You don’t look for someone like Rocky. If he wants you, he’ll find you, but you’d better pray that he doesn’t.’
Makana watched the heavyset young man as he moved away to join the rest of the gang. They looked as if they had their work cut out making the world a better place. Others fell aside to give them a wide berth. Ishaq had vanished.
Coming towards him, weighed down under a sheet of folded canvas, was the nervous boy Makana had seen with Father Macarius on his previous visit. His eyes widened when he stepped into his path, despite the smile Makana had hoped would put him at ease.
‘Antun, maybe you can help me,’ Makana said.
The boy’s eyes roved about the room as if he had just fallen out of an alien spacecraft and had no idea where he was. He tried to speak, failed, and then backed away, still stuttering, until the canvas fell from his arms and he turned and darted off. As Makana watched him go a voice behind him spoke.
‘Ah, there you are. I was hoping you might show up.’ Father Macarius, still buzzing from the excitement around him. ‘We need all the support we can get. It’s hard to drum up interest in something so crude as boxing, yet what else could be more suitable?’
The evening’s bouts were over and the audience was slowly making its way out into the street. As they shook hands, Makana nodded at the departing figure.
‘He seems to help out a lot.’
‘Antun is very special. He was left in our charge as a baby. The church is all he knows.’ Macarius gestured at the walls around them. ‘He is a very talented artist. He paints and does wood carvings. The angels up there.’
‘They are very good.’
Macarius took hold of Makana’s arm and led him outside through the open doorway into the yard where the air was cooler. ‘Where is your reporter friend? I was hoping he would write a story about our situation.’
‘I came alone. Father, I understand Meera used to help out here.’
‘That’s right. After she lost her job at the university she would come here to give the children classes in English and Mathematics. Basic skills. The boys were very fond of her.’ Father Macarius shook his head. ‘Such a good woman. It’s a tragedy for all of us.’
‘I didn’t know she was a religious woman.’
‘The truth is she wasn’t, not really.’ Father Macarius smiled. ‘You don’t have to be religious to want to help disadvantaged children. She came here because she believed we do good work.’
Makana nodded. ‘I understand you basically built this church up from ruins.’
‘Well, not quite ruins. But it’s true, when I came here the church was in a very bad state. We had no funds of course and no materials, but we managed. That was twelve long years ago.’