feet away as I approached. Bounding up and down on my tiptoes, I attempted to look over the passing crowd and stay on track towards Eshek. It made me feel like a fishing bobber in a moving stream. For a moment it appeared that Eshek looked at me and saw my approach, but just as I thought I caught his glance toward me, two huge bazaar shoppers rudely knocked me sideways. As I struggled to regain my balance and lock on to Esheks’ position, he was gone.
It was at that time that I felt a sharp pain in my left side, just slightly under my rib cage. I initially ignored it, but it occurred again. With innate reflexes, I reached down to the area that was exhibiting the pain, and I discovered that it wasn’t being internally caused.
My discovery was someone’s finger poking at me. With my left hand, I grabbed the right wrist of the offender and with my right hand I grabbed the index finger that was jabbing my side. Then scanned the crowd to see who was wincing in the resultant pain. To my astonishment, nobody visibly writhed. I applied more reverse angle on the finger, which elicited a groan, two people deep. Pulling the arm forward I was able to draw the attacker toward me. I estimated that if he were to stand at perfect attention, he might break the five-foot mark. For his size, he sure had an annoyingly sharp finger. Having been distracted by his probing made me realize that perhaps this was a ruse to steal my computer. I decided that the small bruise that would form would be a minimal expense to pay if my laptop were stolen. So, I released his hand and finger, and swiftly felt for my carrying case. Thankfully, it was still there.
The little man that was causing me such an annoyance stepped forward, massaging his wrist and visibly displaying that I had inflicted some sort of retaliatory pain on his finger. As a precautionary maneuver, I began to step back in case he was accelerating to a frontal, less cloaked, attack.
He looked up at me, and through squinting eyes and clenched teeth said, “Hey, why did you do that to me?”
Staying on guard, I kept my hands close to my side, at the ready position to defend myself in case he leapt toward me.
“All I was trying to do was get your attention. You were so focused looking in the other direction that I couldn’t get a response from you. So, I poked you in the side. You didn’t need to amputate my finger.”
With throngs of people still swirling around us, I felt his conciliatory tone ease the tension of the moment. I lowered my guard, but only just slightly. His wince turned into a half smile. Being as I am a six-foot man, looking down at this short, stocky fellow, meant that I would have to redirect my precautionary peripheral vision dangerously away from the crowd flowing about me. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to do that. So I glanced at him, as I threw a terse response back, “Who are you? And why are you poking me in my ribs?” I immediately looked back up again, always the defensive position in this unfriendly environment.
“I told you, I wanted to get your attention, but you wouldn’t look at me,” came his sarcastic response.
“Wouldn’t look at you,” I found myself responding defensively. “Sir, I couldn’t even see you in this mob.” I nearly had to shout at him in the din of noisy bazaar bargain shoppers. Every concessionaire seemed to have three or four people haggling with him at once. It was a wonder that any business ever was transacted. Furthermore, how could these vendors ever make a profit if no one ever paid list price? I made a note to myself that I should do a story on that some day.
“Oh, is that a joke about short people?” was his wry response.
“No, of course not. It was the truth.” I couldn’t believe that I was actually stooping, in more ways than one, to talk to this man. “You have to admit, you are not a giant among men.”
“That hurts, sir. We have only just met, and now you are poking fun at me, belittling me and my stature.”
“I am merely returning a jab for a jab,” I said, amused at how I was so witty at a time like this. Now I was really off guard, and sort of taken by this man. So, I asked, “What did you want from me anyway?”
“I saw you bouncing through the bazaar. You appeared to be by yourself. Foreigners shouldn’t be at this bazaar alone, at least if you want to keep your money, watch and even clothing. It is very dangerous. And that laptop you think you are hiding, everybody within Bethlehem can see that you have it. You’re lucky it’s still in your possession.” Immediately, I felt my hands reach for my side where the computer was hanging. Thank goodness, it was still there. I was beginning to warm up to him. He had an air of innocence that was alluring. Yet, he appeared to be quite astute to the situation and the surroundings. There is a difference between innocence and naiveté, and he came across more on the innocent side.
“So, what is your name anyway, Shorty?” I responded without thinking. I really couldn’t resist. His face was so disarming and friendly that I felt as if I had known him for a long time, and I could poke at him without thinking it would hurt his feelings.
With a scowl he responded, “I think I have made a poor choice, I think I will just leave you to the bazaar wolves and go about my own day. I have plenty of things to do without having to put up with a strangers insults.” Dropping his look from my face, he lowered his head and began to make a left turn away from me. I reached out, placed my hand on his right shoulder and exerted enough negative force to prevent him from fully turning from me.
“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “Let’s start over.” This man could be a godsend and perhaps even a great asset if I work it right. Perhaps he can lead me to Amal, and the additional resources that I was going to need if I was to get the background information for my assignment.
“My name is Steve Stanton, I am a journalist for the World Observe Gazette. I am here on an assignment.” Pointing my index finger at him, I asked, “And you are . . . ?”
“I help foreigners. They usually slip me a little help in the form of coins.” He still spoke in a pouty tone and stared down at his feet. He was definitely playing on my conscience and was doing a good job. It was obvious that his drama was designed to elicit a few more “sympathy” coins, a sort of penance for my offence, and he was working me well.
Reaching into my pocket, I felt for some coins and retrieved them. Without counting the amount, I reached my closed fisted hand out to him and offered the un-audited amount to him, “Okay, here are a few Drachmas for your assistance.”
His open right hand reached out to intercept my gift. The rattling of the coins dropping into his hand appeared to have a direct electrical connection to his face, as it lit up at the clinking sound, like people in Vegas when a jackpot is paying out. He now turned full-faced towards me and asked, “Where would you like to go my friend?”
“Well, for starters, ‘my friend,’ friends usually know each other’s names. You know mine, now, what do your friends call you?” I felt a bit smug, and even a little more in control.
“I am Ashar. I live here in Bethlehem, and I work wherever I can. Right now, I am working for you. What’s next? Where do we go? Who do we see? When can we get started? You know the meter is running now, and the coins you gave me will soon run out.” With that he reached his hand out to my arm and grabbed hold of my sleeve as if he were going to guide me through the throngs of shoppers. But I had not given him directions of any kind to go anywhere yet.
“Whoa, Ashar, hold on!” I shouted as I stopped him short of pulling me over. My voice attracted a number of sets of eyes to look my way. All of the sudden I felt extremely uncomfortable. “Ashar, I need a shower. Help me find a hotel room. Then I will spell out our plan.” Cracking half a friendly smile, I looked at those who were staring at me. It seemed to assuage their concerns, and they went back about their business.
