The Devil Is a Black Dog by Sandor Jaszberenyi Read Free Book Online Page A

until finally Badr al-Din and his group appeared on the main road. They wore rough baize jackets and scarves tied around their heads. Safiy-Allah led a mule loaded up with gear. They greeted us with a “Peace be upon you.” Abdelkarim handed me a shoulder bag. His wife had packed me some salted goat meat, onion, and bread. Off we went.
    It was cold, and we had already reached the hills by the time the sun appeared. We didn’t speak much along the way. Badr al-Din asked if I wanted a gun. When I said yes, he handed me an old World War I rifle. I thanked him and rested its rust-covered barrel on my shoulder.
    After a three-hour walk we arrived at where Abdul Muhyi’s body had been found. Animals were grazing there on the grasses that grew between the cliffs. The boy’s blood had already dried in the sun; only the carcass of a goat with its throat torn out marked where the shepherd had been attacked.
    Badr al-Din examined the tracks for some time. They ran north and turned off the dirt path. We followed them under the fiery, mercilessly hot sun. Sweat flowed into my eyes, and my shirt stuck to my skin. Safiy-Allah’s teenage son gave me his scarf to tie around my head.
    Badr al-Din lost the dog’s tracks on a plateau. It was decided that we would ambush the animal there. It was a good place, because we could hide behind the rocks that abutted the hill, and the wind would carry the smell of blood in the direction the dog had headed. Each man grabbed a weapon from Badr al-Din as he unpacked the mule: modern Egyptian AK-47s, their barrels shining with oil. After we got situated, Safiy-Allah led the mule to about a hundred feet in the distance and tied it to a brittle, dead tree. Hetook his knife out and cut lengthwise into the animal’s flank. The wound wasn’t deep, but enough blood flowed for predators to smell. For two hours we lay on our stomachs between the rocks, waiting for something to happen, but the blood just drew flies, which flew in and out of the mule’s open wound. The two teenage boys next to me began to chatter. Safiy-Allah and Badr al-Din ate the food they had brought. Time moved forward slowly. The moon appeared, and again we could see our breath as the rocks crackled with cold. Badr al-Din said that we would wait half an hour longer. The two teenage boys were already asleep in between the jutting rocks. I leaned against a boulder and gazed up at the moon. It appeared bigger than I had ever seen it. I could clearly make out the craters. Everything looked good bathed in its light.
    First we heard a howling, then another in response. Soon, the night was filled with jackals calling to one another. The mule nervously clomped its hooves and pulled at its tie. I caught sight of five jackals approaching, their heads dropped cunningly, stalking the smell of fresh blood.
    The men clutched their guns and waited. The animals were still too far away to get off a good shot. But before the jackals could attack, a large-bodied dog appeared on the hillside. Its huge silhouette stood out against the moon, and we could see the gleam of its tusklike fangs. When it began to bark, its breath came out in puffs that looked like smoke. At the sound, the jackals began to beat their tails. We watched, stunned. Badr al-Din was the first to regain composure.
    “God is great!” he shouted, then began to fire. The others followed.
    A barrage of gunfire scorched the incline. The cliffs showered stones—the mule was hit—but the black dog stood unmoving. He waited until the men emptied their cartridges, then skulked back into the darkness from which it had come.
    “God is great! God is great!” the men cried in terrified voices.
    Stumbling on the rocks, we started back to town, leaving the mule’s corpse behind. Nobody had an explanation for what had happened.
    Abdelkarim was still awake when I got back; he had been waiting for me. I explained to him what happened, then fell into bed fully clothed.
    The next morning I found him