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through the bone, until the leg gave way and he raised it to his fleshy lips, dripping great globs of grease that shone on his chin as the lamp made another pass. Holding the chicken leg in one hand, he picked at a tooth with the middle finger of the other. Again the flash of gold in the flickering light. Joseph shuddered and felt a great wave of nausea. Against his legs, he felt Isaiah tremble.
"Come, boy, come!" He pulled Isaiah through the crowd, following Ibrahim towards the door, pushing against the tide of people until at last they emerged onto the street and stood panting in the soaking rain. Joseph wrapped his arms around his son, as the rain pummeled their skin, and pulled the trembling little body close to him, as if to shield him from the memory of another hot sticky night four summers ago, when the rains came.
It was a Tuesday. A sunny day but with heavy clouds in the western sky. The rebels came to the house at about four in the afternoon. There were two of them, a fat man and a boy, carrying an axe. The boy was no more than thirteen, eight years older than Isaiah, the man about the same age as Papa. He wore a cap with a badge. Isaiah was sitting outside the house, drawing in the dirt with a stick, while Elizabeth read in the shade of the fig tree. Papa was at the table inside the house, the big black bible open in front of him. Isaiah wasn't scared of the men at first. Ibrahim was with them. Then he saw Ibrahim's eyes. He saw the gun in the man's hand. He looked to Elizabeth, who was already running towards him, shouting "Papa!" He looked up into the face of the man just as he grabbed him.
They walked quickly, the fat man waving his gun behind them and shouting for them to hurry up. The boy walked beside Isaiah, swinging his axe at anything they passed, an old tin can, a brick that split when he hit it, the windshield of an abandoned car, a dog, which swerved out of the way, then backed off snarling. The boy laughed. Ibrahim was talking quickly, asking questions. Where were they going? Why were they being taken? He had money. He would show them where it was. The man laughed at this. Beside him, Elizabeth sobbed softly. Isaiah looked up at Papa and saw his lips moving in prayer. He tried to pray too, but none of the familiar words would come to him.
They turned on to the main street. Isaiah saw more men and boys with guns. Some of them were shouting to each other in strange accents. Some were leaning against the buildings, drinking beer and watching as a small crowd formed around a fire in front of the car repair shop that belonged to Ibrahim's cousin, Ahmed. Dense black smoke rose straight up in the motionless air, filled with the acrid stench of burning rubber. As they approached, a boy ran out from the shop and threw two tires on to the fire, before disappearing back inside. Several other boys were standing around the burning tires, smoking cigarettes, kalashnikovs dangling carelessly from their shoulders.
The man shouted for them to stop. Isaiah felt Elizabeth's hand grip his and squeeze hard. He felt the heat of the fire on his face. The tires were thrown haphazardly in a circle and mixed in with them were a few burnt rags. The thick black smoke made it hard to see into the flames, but at the edge of the circle closest to him, Isaiah caught sight of a shoe.
The boy who had brought the tires out from the shop reappeared. With him were an old man and a young woman. Isaiah recognized the man. He sold water and Coca Cola from a cart that he pushed up and down the street. Once, when Isaiah was very small, he had got lost and the old man had let him sit in the shade of the big umbrella of his cart until his mother came for him. He had given him a Coke. He did not recognize the woman. She wore a bright red dress. The boy nudged her with his gun. She moved forward a little and stopped. The boy shouted at her. Still she didn't move. He shouted again. She stood rigid, eyes fixed on the ground. Suddenly, Isaiah felt himself pushed from behind. He almost fell, as the fat man shoved past him and strode up to the woman, pistol in hand. He put the pistol under the woman's chin. The woman was shaking violently now. The shouting of the boys died down. Only the crackling of the flames broke the silence. Still holding the pis
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