The Spider King's Daughter Read Online Free Page A

for me to speak.

    Chapter  6
     
     
    ‘I didn’t think cars like this could break down.’
    I looked at the car, trying to see it through the hawker’s eyes. It is shiny and big and black, almost monstrous when compared with some of the things on the road.
    ‘I suppose there’s a first time for everything.’
    The sack balanced on his shoulder dripped water down his face. I followed a droplet as it slid down his temple. It was held up by an anomalous spot before rolling under his chin and disappearing into his shirt.
    ‘How was school?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘How was school?’
    ‘It was fine. How was hawking today?’
    ‘Fine.’
    The next silence seemed less awkward.
    ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Seventeen,’ I said.
    ‘I guessed so.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I don’t know. You just look like a seventeen-year-old.’
    ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Eighteen.’
    ‘I guessed so too.’
    He smiled and his white teeth suddenly contrasted with his skin.
    ‘Do you enjoy hawking?’
    He made a ‘Mm’ sound.
    ‘Have you been hawking for long?’
    He nodded but said nothing.
    ‘How did you become a hawker?’
    He opened his mouth then he shut it.
    ‘You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.’
    ‘No it’s not that. I . . .’
    His words trailed off. Maybe this was not going to work. Hassan could not have gone far. If I called him, he would be back in five minutes. One last try then I was leaving.
    ‘We can sit on the car and talk.’
    ‘What about this?’ He pointed at the bag of ice cream propped against his thigh.
    I hoisted it up. It was heavier and colder than I expected but I continued. ‘This can come with us.’
    I set it on the bonnet, which had cooled, and climbed on in what I hoped was a delicate but unconsciously seductive manner. I waited to see if he would follow. Finally he said, ‘If a customer drives by I’ll have to go.’
    ‘OK,’ I said, leaning backwards on to the windscreen. ‘So back to how you became a hawker.’
    * * *
    Intermittently he would jump down to chase after a car, returning with a fraction of what I had in my wallet. He spoke pidgin to some of his customers but the English he used with me was confident and without traces of the grammar you expect from drivers, hawkers, etcetera. His manners too were those of a host. He offered me an ice cream and when I tried to pay, he waved my money away. I was even glad he had been reluctant to speak to me at first. It was the natural reaction to someone he had only known for two and a half weeks.
       
     
    ‘Where was I,’ he said for what seemed like the fiftieth time that afternoon.
    ‘You were just going to tell me about your aunty.’
    ‘Yes. Aunty Precious. She is my— I think your driver is back.’
    Behind Hassan trailed a man in oil-stained overalls.
    ‘Aunty, this is the mechanic.’
    ‘Good afternoon.’
    We slid off the car front to let him look inside. Leaning in, he shook his head and made a clicking sound.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘The carburettor.’
    I played along.
    ‘Can you fix it?’
    ‘I will try my best. It might take me some time.’
    For ten minutes, I watched the quack bang a spanner in the hood of my car. Finally he slammed the bonnet shut and said, ‘Test it.’
    As expected, the car hummed beautifully.
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Fifteen hundred.’
    We both knew that there was nothing wrong with my jeep. Yet arguing over money with this ragged man would not look good. I brought out my wallet and counted out the sum.
       
     
    As Hassan started the car I remembered something.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    After he told me, I waited for him to ask for mine. When he didn’t, I wound up my window and nodded to Hassan. It probably wouldn’t have been worth it. After all he is a hawker.
    ‘What’s yours?’
    I slid the window down again.
    ‘Abikẹ. Abikẹ Johnson.’
       
     
    The first proper sentence I say to her and the only thing I could think of was ‘I didn’t think cars like this could break