Evan's Gallipoli by Kerry Greenwood Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t find Father. I was frantic. I know I ought to have more faith in God, but I haven’t. I even wondered if we were looking under the wrong tree, but our swags were still there. We searched for ages and at last found him drinking tea with a most peculiar man under a different tree.
    The man looked up and said, ‘Shalom,’ which is Hebrew for peace. He was old with a white beard. He was dressed in bright colours, red and purple and blue, all worn and tattered. He was leaning against a big flat peddler’s pack. A merchant, then. I had met pack peddlers in Australia. They were always cheerful men who brought news and nice things to the lonely farms. This trader and Father were drinking real tea, not mint. Abdul scowled at him. I smiled.
    â€˜He is a Jew,’ Abdul said to me.
    â€˜So?’ I asked.
    He gave me a strange look and went away. I sat down next to the man. Father gave me a vague look as though he sort of remembered who I was, then he said in English, ‘Evan, my son.’ The man said, ‘Isaiah,’ and gave me a cup of tea. It tasted wonderful. I sipped it slowly. I hadn’t tasted real tea for so long. It reminded me of home. Father and Isaiah talked in Hebrew. I don’t understand it but they sounded cordial. I finished the tea and was about to go and find Abdul and ask what was wrong with him when Isaiah seized my sleeve, as if to say, quite clearly, ‘Don’t go.’ So I stayed.
    July 23rd
    We are ten miles further along the road now. Isaiah knows where the border is. He is going there, too. All Abdul said when I asked him what was wrong was that Isaiah was a Jew, which is true but not helpful. I am not pleased with him. He walks along behind us, trying to look like he doesn’t know us, and growling that we walk too slowly and in bad company. Isaiah is an old man and he does not walk fast but neither does Father and they seem to like each other. Besides, Isaiah is carrying that heavy pack. When we camped last night he told me that Father needed to get out of Turkey and that we might like to travel with him as far as a place called Kadikay. As that was where Abdul was intending to go, I agreed. Abdul was angry with me, but he still won’t tell me why. Father does not seem to care where we go. He is now reciting the beatitudes: ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.’ I can’t see any way for us to make peace with the great nations which are intent on killing everyone. I cooked my bean stew and Isaiah liked it too. He gave us more tea. I suddenly missed Australia so badly that I had to turn my face away. No one was trying to kill us in Australia. Abdul wouldn’t join in the storytelling but the old man told us about Ezekiel and the burning fiery chariot. Father seemed to be listening, too.
    July 24th
    The old man says that we are coming into the fast of Ramadan, which starts at the rising of the new moon. We must not be seen to be eating or drinking during the day or everyone will know instantly that we are not Muslims. Sick people and children are not expected to fast. Everyone else refrains from food and water while it is daylight; they have big meals at night and before dawn so they can manage. This must be hard on soldiers. The reason for the fast is to remind people that they should be mindful of the hungry and poor. This is very virtuous, I suppose. Considering that they are pagans. Abdul should have told us that it was Ramadan. He isn’t talking to me. Surely not because of Isaiah? That would be foolish and I hadn’t thought that Abdul was foolish.
    July 25th
    It is indeed Ramadan. We saw the goat herds go out with their flock and they weren’t carrying their bags and flasks. Isaiah stopped at a farmhouse and bargained with the lady for needles and pins. He speaks fluent Turkish. She finally got her needles for a reasonable price—a scrawny chicken and a pot of yoghurt. She