Читать книгу Choices - Jeff Edwards - Страница 6

‘Don’t drink too much,’ smiled Habib Bashir in his heavily accented English as he ushered his guests to the gate of his family compound in Sanur.

‘We promise to be good,’ laughed his friend. ‘There are waves off Bali waiting for us and we intend to catch more than our fair share.’

‘I’ll have the boat at the dock at the usual time,’ Bashir told the trio of Australians. ‘Don’t keep me waiting.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said the second of his guests. ‘I’ll make sure they’re out of bed in time. Remember what you promised us tonight. Tamara is to go to university. She’s too bright for you to simply marry off.’

‘Are you sure our boards will be alright?’ asked the third.

‘I know how much that particular board of yours means to you,’ smiled Bashir. ‘I’ve stored them all below deck. No one will touch them.’

‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’

Bashir watched as the three men made their way out of his compound and onto the streets of the Balinese village. They had arrived with gifts for his eldest child Tamara, who was celebrating her birthday, and he had invited them to join the family’s evening meal.

As a Muslim he had been unable to offer them any alcohol to go with their food and he knew they were now eager to rectify this situation by joining their surfing friends at the local tourist bar.

Bashir had known these three Australians for several years. He was the owner of a sports store located near the beach specialising in selling and renting surfing and diving equipment to tourists. He was also the owner of several charter boats which the surfers hired to take them to the waves which formed out to sea off the coral reefs. These men had come to him for many seasons and he had formed a close friendship with them. He especially liked their easygoing manner, and the way that they treated all those they met as equals. Others treated Bashir and his crew as servants, but these three were different. They were not above helping out on deck when the need arose and paid their bills in cash, in US dollars, which meant a higher profit margin for Bashir.

‘Will you do what they ask?’ enquired Bashir’s wife as he returned to the table.

‘I’ll think about it. Perhaps Tamara should continue with her schooling. The Australians presented strong arguments in favour of doing so.’

His wife nodded in agreement, but knew the choice would be for Bashir alone to make.

* * *

‘What do you think? Did we convince him?’

‘He’s a businessman, and we put it to him as a business proposition. He’ll see it our way.’

‘Yeah. I’d hate to see him marry her off as soon as she comes of age. She’s extremely bright and deserves better.’

Having done their good deed for the day, the men’s conversation turned to more immediate matters—surfing and drinking.

With the lively banter continuing between them, the trio turned a corner and headed down the town’s main road toward the sea. Ahead of them twinkled the bright lights of Murphy’s Bar which was located in a prime location overlooking the beach and from where the sound of loud music and laughter beckoned.

Their steps quickened in anticipation, but were forced to step aside when a small delivery van sped past them and squealed to a halt at the bottom of the street.

‘A bit late for a delivery,’ commented the largest of the Australians gruffly.

‘Shit!’ cried his friend, as the driver of the van threw open his door and sprinted away, abandoning his vehicle with the door wide open. The same awful thought occurred instantly to each of them.

‘Oh Christ!’ yelled the third surfer as the van exploded.

Murphy’s Bar and everyone inside caught the full force of the blast.

The explosion blinded and deafened the three friends. They were knocked off their feet, and as they staggered to rise they became aware that they were now covered with their own blood from a myriad of small cuts. But not even these stinging wounds could distract them from the scene of carnage that the quickly settling dust now revealed to them.

Silently praying that reality might prove less horrible than what they imagined, they hobbled toward the pile of rubble that had been Murphy’s Bar where flames now replaced the welcoming lights and screams of distress and agony the former sounds of music and laughter.