Chapter 34: The Mountain Man - My Name Is Samim

Calais, France, autumn 2021

“We won’t give you the money,” I mumbled, dreading what would happen next.

“We don’t have money!” Zayn shouted.

“Oh no?” The red-beanie guy yelled. “Our guests are liars! How rude! We give you a place to sleep, we give you our food and protection, and you lie to us?”

“We don’t need your food and protection,” Zayn snarled. He planted his legs wide and thrust out his chest. I stood beside him.

The red-beanie guy walked right up to his face and kicked him in the stomach. Zayn crouched in pain.

The man with the missing teeth searched our bags inside the tent. Thankfully, he only found twenty euros; the rest of the money was hidden in our shoes.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take this instead then,” he said, taking the camera out of my bag. He hung it around his neck and searched our pockets. Zayn’s were empty, but the phone was in mine. The guy’s gums bared with a smile as he took the phone out.

“Give it back!” I shouted, but just as he was about to say something, his face whitened, staring at something behind our backs.

The mountain man loomed behind us, his enormous body casting a shadow over the trio of jackals. The white dog stood by his side, staring at its master as if waiting for a command. The man extended his hand, three fingers missing.

The toothless guy exchanged looks with his friends, who stood quietly, their heads bowed. With trembling hands, he placed my camera and phone into the man’s outstretched palm and stepped back.

The mountain man’s arm remained extended, muscles rippling beneath his skin. The toothless guy sighed, took the twenty euros out of his pocket, and handed it over.

Zayn and I stood frozen, gaping.

The mountain man handed me the camera, the phone and the money, and gestured with his thick, corded neck for us to follow him. We grabbed our bags and rushed after him.

His tent was a short distance away, flanked by another, smaller one. He gestured towards the smaller tent, indicating it was ours to take.

“Thank you,” Zayn said, stretching his hand out for a handshake.

The man glanced at him, then turned away and sat by the fire.

“Can we sit there too?” I asked, and he half nodded, paying no attention to either Zayn or me.

He tossed a stick for his dog to fetch, and a soft grin lifted his stubbly face as he ruffled the animal’s fur upon its return. It was a curious sight: this giant of a man, who was a storm cloud looming over others, yet a ray of sunshine for his loyal dog. I wondered whether the stories those guys had told us about him were a lie. But the man didn’t talk, so there was no way to find out.

The phone vibrated in my pocket. My chest warmed when I saw a message from Auntie Amina.

My heart pinched as I reread this message again and again.

I handed the phone to Zayn. He took it lazily, read the message and returned it to me.

“I’m going to look for Uncle Roshan and ask around if anyone knows a handler who works for Mustafa from Iran. Do you want to come with me?”

Zayn shook his head, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the campfire.

I sighed and left.

* * *

I spent the rest of that day running around the camp. But my questions about Uncle Roshan and Mustafa were met with blank stares and shrugged shoulders. As daylight faded, fires started flickering everywhere. It got bitterly cold, so I gave up and returned to our tent.

The mountain man was stirring canned beans in a metal pot over the fire. Zayn sat beside him.

I drew my jacket tighter and hunched by the fire too, stretching my frozen palms towards the orange blaze. The beans smelled like the best food in the world.

“Do you know a man from Ghazni called Roshan? He has a leg injury, so he could be limping,” I asked the mountain man.

A single shake of his head was the only response.

“What about a handler who works for Mustafa?”

Another shake, another dead end.

I sighed and dipped my head.

The mountain man ate half of the beans, scooped some onto a plastic plate for the dog, and left the rest in the pot. He stood up, stretched his enormous body and disappeared into his tent. The dog licked the last bit of food off its plate and followed him.

Zayn and I wolfed down the leftovers within seconds.

For the next few hours, we huddled by the fire, our fingers tracing faded constellations on our star map. Zayn remembered Scorpius best, because its stars curve into a scorpion’s tail.

Suddenly, our quiet was shattered by a man’s scream: “They’re coming! Run! They’re coming!”