Sun of the Sleepless by Patrick Horne Read Free Book Online Page A

It was only partially attached because the blunt lower edge of the metal bodywork on the right side of the tram had managed to gouge through the flesh and some of the bone and the fresh meat dripped blood freely.
    The driver slowly placed his palm against the side of the tram and indecisively peeped around the corner to the front. He could see a large bundle of something or other, maybe rags, wrapped up in a long winter coat and wedged under the front of the tram compressed by the large flat metal plate that was supposed to act as the safety plough. The right arm of the coat was splayed out pointing in the direction of the tracks with what seemed like a human hand with rings on the fingers reaching out of it and resting inertly on the cobblestones, just short of the large wooden ring handles of a discarded shopping bag. He crouched slightly and could see more clearly, the lower right limb was scrunched under the left at an awkward angle and poking out of the top of the coat was a mass of intertwined wires, a braided mix of what appeared to be the finest steel and copper threads. It was a confusing sight.
    The driver was suddenly aware of sounds, not from beneath the tram but from right next to him. He heard gasps and murmurs and then felt a shove as he was pushed aside. He saw a man was kneeling down in front of him, touching the coat, the braided wires, crawling down to get under the tram to retrieve the bundle. The driver was affronted, that was his job, he was the tram driver and he would remove the rubbish that had been so recklessly thrown into the street and that had jammed under his tram.
    He made to move but then realised that he could not. He then realised once and for all that it was not a bundle of rags or a bag of rubbish that the tram had bluntly sliced into; the partially severed lower leg, the crushed and lifeless body, the bloody morass of braided hair that covered a contorted and battered face, this was a human being - an old woman.
    Rey had heard and seen the incident first; Frans was absorbed in watching the book seller and keeping a second eye on Akosua's position amongst the stalls. His attention was caught by the sudden movement of heads turning to look in the direction of the parliament buildings, but not at the parliament itself, they were all turning to stare at a tram that had stopped at a pedestrian crossing as it headed away from their position, a tram with a tumult of passengers now spilling out from the doors and milling about in front of it.
    'What?' queried Frans as he turned.
    'I think the tram just hit somebody.'
    Rey squinted as the plangent wailing of a woman rose up above the murmuring coming from the direction of the tram. He was momentarily distracted by the shriek of a siren from his left and he became aware of the heavy revving of an engine. The 4x4 of the police team watching the American Embassy roared passed and within fifty metres had passed the carriages of the tram to quickly pull up and brake to a halt across the tracks, the officers scrambling out to deal with the situation.
    Looking to the book seller, Rey could see that the girl had stopped unpacking and was also staring at the burgeoning scene. He thought that he could sense an anxious exhalation from her as she brought her hands up as if in prayer and cupped them over her nose and mouth as if stifling a sneeze.
    She was now slowly walking around her stall to the pavement alongside the road, still covering her face. She kept moving, taking small steps, then suddenly stopped, exclaiming a winded grunt and choking forward as if she had been punched in the stomach. She launched into a rapid jog and as she neared the crowd milling about the tram, started calling, quietly at first.
    ' Mevrouw Korteweg ! Mevrouw Korteweg !'
    Akosua had seen the shift in the people of the market, the movement of heads and focus of attention to something that was happening in the road beyond the stalls. From her vantage point she could not see what