The Golden Scales by Parker Bilal Read Free Book Online Page B

place was a European woman who was sitting alone on the far side, virtually invisible against the brown-tiled wall. Thin and bony, in her forties, her appearance suggested someone who was down on her luck. Personal hygiene appeared not to be high on her list of priorities. Her hair was unkempt and her clothes dirty. She was chewing her nails and smoking a cigarette, all at the same time.
    ‘What about her?’ Makana dipped some bread into the sauce and chewed.
    ‘Well, you know, it’s a strange thing . . . I’ve seen her before. This is not the first time.’
    ‘Maybe she likes your cooking. Is she always alone?’
    ‘Always.’
    Makana took another look. The woman appeared to be talking to herself. She stared into the air above her head, muttering, and then began scribbling in a notebook on the table in front of her. As he watched she suddenly began scratching out whatever was written there with furious slashes of her pen, grinding it back and forth across the page.
    ‘A writer,’ Makana concluded, ‘she’s including your establishment in a guide. You will be inundated with foreign customers in no time.’
    ‘ Ya salam , some detective you are!’ Aswani leaned his elbows on the table. ‘We get all sorts in here. Believe me, I’ve seen some of the craziest ones, but none ever disturbed me like this one does. I swear on my mother’s grave.’ He clutched Makana’s arm. ‘I’m afraid she’s going to do something.’
    ‘Something like what?’ He widened his eyes dramatically.
    ‘I can’t say. It’s just a feeling I have. She looks . . . lost. You know what will happen if a European woman gets herself into trouble? It will be bad for all of us.’
    ‘I see.’ Makana extricated his arm and reached for another piece of bread. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’
    Aswani tilted his head. ‘Perhaps you could just have a word with her.’
    Makana chewed in silence as Aswani went on, ‘Since you speak English and everything, you could just ask her what she is doing. If she’s all right, then fine, no harm done. But if something happens to her it will be on my soul until Judgement Day.’
    ‘Tell me, Ali, do you worry about all your customers like this?’
    ‘You know I do,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Now let me go and see about your kofta, and eat what you want today. It’s not going on the account.’
    Makana sighed and pushed back his chair. It wasn’t as if he needed a free meal at this point, or further distraction, but Ali had seen him through some dark times and if it would make him feel happier then Makana was obliged to make the effort.
    ‘Excuse me,’ he said, feeling rather foolish. The table was littered with tobacco and broken cigarettes. Ash was scattered over everything. There were several notebooks and sheafs of paper. The woman was lighting another cigarette as he spoke. She stiffened perceptibly. He smiled amiably. ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you seem worried about something . . .’ Makana felt like a complete fool, realising as he spoke that this approach could easily be misconstrued. ‘Is there some way I could help?’
    The woman blew smoke away from her face. Her eyes fixed on him coldly. ‘You speak very good English.’
    ‘Well, thank you . . .’ Makana gave a small bow.
    ‘And so you will understand perfectly when I tell you to get lost, you creep?’
    Makana’s face was an awkward mask by now. Still, he managed to step back and dip his head gracefully. ‘I understand perfectly. Sorry to bother you.’ Then he spun on his heel and went back to his food. The woman could go to hell. At least he had done right by Ali . . . although, having seen her close up, he was convinced the cook had not been wrong. There was something the matter with that woman; she was clearly insane. Aswani arrived hotfoot from the grill, bearing Makana’s reward, a huge mound of freshly grilled skewers of lamb.
    ‘How did you get on?’ He kept his voice low.
    ‘You don’t