Читать книгу The Lost Puzzler - Eyal Kless - Страница 16

Rafik, would you please repeat what I just said?”

Rafik blinked and his eyes focused on the familiar classroom. Heads were already turned, and Rafik saw malicious smiles spreading across a few faces.

“What …?” was all he managed to utter, and a few boys giggled. From his place on the mat he could see the teacher’s feet, wrapped in cloth sandals. Rafik shook his head slowly; it felt almost too heavy to lift.

“Rafik Banishra,” Master Issak said, slowly punctuating every syllable, as if explaining the obvious, “Son of Sadre, could you please repeat the words of the Prophet Reborn, regarding the infidels?”

Rafik beamed, relieved. That was easy.

“They all burn in Hell, Master Issak,” he answered confidently.

There was a wave of laughter in the room and the teacher had to raise his voice to be heard.

“The exact words of the Prophet Reborn, Rafik, regarding the specific creatures of Satan, if you please?”

On any other day Rafik would have remembered the words of the new holy book, which the Prophet Reborn received from God before the Catastrophe and was filled with prophecies about the demise of the Tarakan infidels. Rafik knew many of the verses by heart—the ones about the unholy and the terrible justice that awaited them were his favourite by far—but not today. His head felt as heavy as stone and his thoughts were lost in a fog.

“Uh …” Rafik tried to buy time. “He … who … falls … into … temptation … will … go to Hell?”

Laughter swept the entire class again and fuelled Master Issak’s indignation.

“Rafik Banishra, on your feet and over here!” he shouted. Rafik rose unsteadily as the class shuffled to clear a path to the front of the room. Seeing another boy punished was much more interesting than reciting verse after holy verse.

Master Issak was dressed in white clothes of purity, but the look in his eyes was as dark as night. Even sitting down, he was taller than Rafik, and three times his width. The teacher shook his head as Rafik approached. When the boy stood two paces away the teacher brandished a short, flexible stick and watched with satisfaction as Rafik shuddered.

“Give me your hand,” he demanded.

Rafik was still for a moment, then he slowly raised his right hand towards the teacher.

Master Issak looked at the hand with disdain; it was full of scabs, red scratches, and bruises.

“What happened to your hand?”

“I fell, Master Issak,” Rafik said, unwilling to snitch about the boys’ argument over the Warrior and Infidels game, which had quickly turned into a scrap. Blushing did not help his lie, and the teacher let out a mirthless laugh before frowning again.

Master Isaak was quite fond of Rafik, who had a superb memory for the verses and was an enthusiastic student of the holy scripts. Perhaps under different circumstances Master Issak would have let the boy off with a stern warning, as he’d done before, when Rafik’s mischievousness had gotten him in trouble. But Rafik’s hopes were dashed when Master Issak took a deep breath filled with righteous rage. He grabbed the boy’s wounded hand and raised his stick. He began reciting the verses, delivering snapping blows with the stick every few words, Rafik wailed in pain with each accented word.

“Hear O the devout sons and daughters of Abraham. The Prophet Reborn, who rose from the days of fire, said; if you let temptation hold, you will fail your God. If you allow vanity and covet what humans must never have, you will fall the long way to all hells, where the impure are punished for their wish to be as powerful as the one God. You … shall … not … attach.”

Master Issak let go of Rafik’s bleeding hand and watched the boy walk unsteadily back to his mat and collapse. Eithan was already there, and the two boys huddled together.

After Rafik’s discipline, it was almost time for midday prayer, and the class needed to walk to the temple in the centre of the village. Master Isaak adjourned the class and stood by the door. As the boys walked up to him one by one, each kissed the book of the Prophet Reborn and bowed his head as the teacher inspected him for signs of the curse. Eithan fixed Master Issak with a defiant stare before bowing his head. Master Issak inspected him, then gave him a slap on the back of his head for good measure. Eithan suffered in silence, then stood by the open door and waited for Rafik, who was shuffling slowly and still holding his wounded hand.

Master Issak gently patted Rafik’s head. “Let it be a lesson to you, boy. You’re a good student, but forgetting the holy words of the Blessed Reborn demands retribution.”

Rafik nodded and pursed his lips. Master Issak noticed that blood still dripped to the floor from his wounded hand. A look of concern passed his eyes.

“You’re excused from prayer today, Rafik,” Master Issak said. “Go straight home. Let Eithan walk you there.”

He turned to Eithan. “You must swear by the Prophet to take him straight home and return immediately to prayer, understood?”

Eithan nodded. “Yes, Master Isaak. I swear by the Prophet Reborn.”

Satisfied, Master Issak turned and walked after the rest of the class without a glance back.

As soon as he was sure Master Isaak was out of earshot Eithan said, “Master Isaak was an ass to hit you like that.”

Rafik leaned heavily on the wooden wall of the class hut, feeling shaky and tired. “All the grown-ups are still angry at us for causing the alarm.”

“Yeah, I heard Cnaan got a good beating from his da. He said he didn’t but did you see the way he was sitti—” Eithan stopped midsentence and caught Rafik before he fell to the ground.

“Prophet. You look bad, blood brother,” Eithan put Rafik’s arm around his shoulder and an arm around his waist. “Come on, let’s go to your ma.”