Michael Asher by The Real Bravo Two Zero Read Free Book Online Page B

slope into it, dogs began to bark. I came up into a dusty .driveway set among withered stone-pine, euca�lyptus and mesquite trees that were obviously having a hard time coping with moisture loss. The house was exactly 600 hundred metres from the lying-up point, and close up it was huge and spartan, with concrete pillars supporting a wide verandah that ran the whole length of its fa�e. In the shade of the verandah stood a huge earthenware pot full of water, and on the wall was what looked like the stuffed head of a wolf. There were other outbuildings hidden behind it that I could not see prop�erly, but the water-storage tank I had noticed from the wadi was obviously an antique � rusted to pieces and full of holes. A veiled woman in loose brown robes was work�ing around the corner of the verandah, and when I called out to her, As-salaam alaykum � Peace be on you,' she returned my greeting and invited me to come into the shade and sit down. Soon children of every age, dressed in dishdashas and shamaghs, were buzzing around me like flies. Carpets were rolled out on the verandah and cushions brought, and soon I was being offered cool water from the earthenware pot and, very shortly, glasses of sweet tea. The reception was familiar to me and although I was a complete stranger here I felt at home. I knew instinctively that these people were Bedouin � there were a thousand tell-tale signs: their graciousness, the way they dressed and moved, their spontaneous welcome to a guest. Bedouin customs are universal all over the Middle East and North Africa, and one of the most sacred is hospi�tality. Their code holds that anyone is welcome in a Bedouin home for three days, and in that time the host is duty-bound to give him the best of what he has to eat and drink, and to protect him from harm, even against his own family. This code holds even if the guest is an enemy with whom the family has a blood feud, and in that case, even when the guest has left, the host and his family can�not pursue him until the bread and salt he has eaten in the house is reckoned to have passed out of his system. One of the worst insults that can be lodged against a Bedouin is that he 'did not know a guest', and since the Bedouin live by the cult of reputation rather than possessions, fam�ilies and individuals actually compete with one another to gain renown for open-handedness. Eventually a rugged-looking young man with curly hair and a blue stubble appeared and shook hands. He looked about twenty years old, and wore a dirty white dishdasha with no headcloth. We exchanged greetings and he sat down next to me self-consciously. No Bedouin will ask directly what your business is, but as the polite small talk petered out I explained that I was British, and had come to enquire about a gun-battle that I thought had taken place near here ten years ago. The youth grinned at me, showing crooked teeth. 'There was such a battle,' he said at once. 'I was only a boy then, but my family was living here at the time.' A pulse of hope shot through me. If this boy's family had been here in 1991, there was a good chance they knew all about Bravo Two Zero. 'Can you tell me what happened?' I asked. He shook his head. 'There were some foreign comman�dos hiding in the wadi,' he said. 'And my uncle saw them.' `Your uncle? I understood it was a shepherd-boy who saw them.' `All I know is that there was shooting � I only heard about it from my Uncle Abbas. He isn't here today but he will be back tomorrow. He can tell you all you want to know' It was tantalizing, but for the moment I had to be content with that. AFTER DARK, WHILE THE MINDERS, film-crew and drivers put their tents up on a patch of flat ground near the road, I made my way to the LUP and rolled out my sleeping-bag and poncho, intending to spend the night there. Perhaps no one, not even a shepherd, had slept here since 24 January 1991, when this place had last been home to Bravo Two Zero. As I lay in