Lost Riders

Extract

Riding a racing camel was not at all like the riding exercises that Abu Nazir had put the boys through in preparation for the big day. There was a terrible muddle and confusion. The camels were crowded and nervy, jammed together, their tiny frightened jockeys flailing their whips wildly. Rashid was horribly confused by the noise. Above the roar of the camel owners’ powerful vehicles, careering along beside the running camels, was the crackle and spit of the radio on his chest. He could barely take in Abu Nazir’s screaming instructions at first, and was only aware of a stream of curses.
It took a few terrifying moments to settle into the rhythm of the run.
‘Whip him, you little idiot! On the neck! The neck!’ came Abu Nazir’s voice from his chest.
He leaned forward, trying to obey. The camel on his right veered suddenly towards him, almost colliding with Hamlul. Rashid’s whip, raised to obey Abu Nazir, flicked the other jockey’s knee. The boy turned a shocked face to him and swayed alarmingly on his saddle, but there was no time to look at him again. Hamlul had swerved away. He was slowing down, losing pace. Rashid could feel it.
‘I’ll kill you! Kill you! On the rump! Whip him!’
Rashid took a deep breath and lifted the whip again. He managed this time to bring it down with a good crack. Hamlul shot forward. The camels had spread out. Three or four were already well ahead, running smoothly and fast down the straight, their necks stretched out, flecks of foam flying from their rubbery lips. Several no-hopers had dropped behind. Hamlul was in the middle bunch. The first long stretch of the course was behind them already, and they were near the curve at the far end. Rashid’s panic had begun to subside. He was starting to feel in control, to sense what Hamlul was feeling.
He wants to stay running in the middle of this lot. He wants to be one of the gang. He doesn’t want to get ahead, he thought.
‘On the neck! The neck!’ shrieked his earpiece.
He’s wrong. That won’t work, Rashid thought. It’ll make him swerve again.
He gave the camel’s neck a small swipe to show that he’d heard, then shifted his weight, rising up and leaning forward, and whacked at Hamlul’s rump.
It was as if the camel had read his mind too. He quickened his pace, accepting that he had to run ahead of the pack.
They were round the curve now and the straight run back to the finish was ahead. Hamlul was out on his own, away from the middle bunch. He was still far behind the leaders but was slowly gaining on them, closing the gap, and Rashid, sensing him run with new enthusiasm, felt an uprush of excitement, a sense of power he’d never known before.
I’m flying, he thought. I can fly!
The gap was too great to close altogether. The winner had passed the finishing line. The race was over, and Hamlul had only come fourth. Rashid let him slow to a canter as they approached the end, and looked to see if one of his own uzba’s jockeys was in the first three. Only Lashmi, ridden by Puppo, was ahead of him, but he had come second.He was already being led back to the holding pen by Salman.
Rashid’s knees buckled under him as he slid to the ground beside Puppo. He felt shaky, as if his body was only just catching up with the fear and excitement of the race. Iqbal and Amal straggled in and dismounted in dejected silence.
Salman and Haji Faroukh started working at once on the camels, rubbing them down, blanketing them and clearing the foam from their nostrils. Rashid suddenly felt desperately thirsty.
‘Salman, have you got some water? I need a drink.’
Salman shook his head.
‘No water on race day.’
‘Please, Salman.’
Salman looked away from him.
‘I tell you, Yasser. No drink. Water make you heavy. No bother me now.’
Syed Ali and Abu Nazir came hurrying into the pen.
‘What happened to Lashmi?’ Syed Ali asked Haji Faroukh. ‘He was ahead in that race. Should have kept the lead in the final straight.’
‘He would have done if this stupid kid hadn’t messed up,’ Abu Nazir said through tight lips, hauling Puppo up by his arm and hitting him hard across the back with his other hand. He dropped Puppo, who crawled quickly away, out of reach.
‘And you,’ Abu Nazir went on, shooting out a finger to point at Rashid, who was mercifully out of reach. ‘What was all that mess about at the start? Hamlul should have been out ahead of the pack before the first curve.’
‘It’s Yasser’s first ever race,’ Haji Faroukh said quietly.
‘Yes, and he did quite well.’ To Rashid’s relief, Syed Ali was smiling at him, and even patting him on the shoulder. ‘A promising start. We’ll see how you shape up in the next race. Half an hour, boys. Rest now.’
Iqbal, relieved to have escaped without being noticed, slipped off at once towards the side of the pen where the other jockeys were already congregating.
Amal walked slowly behind him. Rashid set off after them. Puppo ran up alongside and tried to put his hand into Rashid’s but Rashid shook him off so that he could undo the strap of his helmet. He was tired already, hungry and very thirsty, and it was only the start of the day.