SVEA-14 Male of Marrakech

Excerpt

It hadn’t been a very long ride, and the lorries swung into the barracks in the suburbs of Tangier. It had once been a palace, and as Omar was pushed out of the lorry and stood in the courtyard, he saw a uniformed man get out of the front of the lorry and march importantly up the chipped mozaic steps and disappear inside. He was very fat, and his chest was covered with medals. He had a thin moustache, and his small, piggy eyes glanced sharply at Omar as he went past. After about half an hour of waiting in the dark courtyard, a soldier caught him by the arm and pushed him up the steps through the carved wooden door and into the room beyond. The soldier then retreated, leaving him alone with the fat man who sat behind a desk. He had removed his peaked cap, to reveal a semibald head. His swarthy face was perspiring, the enclosed room being very warm, and he dabbed his forehead with a very white handkerchief.

Omar, his eyes blinking in the strong light, stood in front of the desk and waited. He had been wearing his djellaba when they had been attacked, which was similar to the salham he was wearing at the moment, except that it had sleeves and fitted much more closely to the body. He had pulled the hood over his head, and tried not to tremble as the fat man got up from his seat and came towards him. With a swift tug the man pulled the hood off his head, and then returned to his seat.

“So, you are the sole survivor. Allah has been kind. I would have been angry if my soldiers had killed one so young.”

Omar said nothing, but he could feel uncontrollable anger rising inside him. The man in front of him was responsible for his father’s death. His eyes flickered around the small room, looking for a suitable weapon with which to avenge his father, and his eyes lighted on a paper-knife on the desk. However, he didn’t try to grab it immediately, he was standing too far away. He would wait his opportunity. The man’s next words surprised him. “Take off your djellaba,” he commanded. Uncertainly Omar pulled the garment over his head and dropped it on the floor. Underneath he was wearing nothing but pantaloon trousers, being naked from the waist. Although only fifteen at the time, he was well built, and the brown skin of his muscular body gleamed under the electric light.

The nomadic life he had led with his father had developed his physique beyond his years, and he knew he looked older than he actually was. Only his lips gave him away. They were well shaped, but soft, like a girl’s.