Free Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Page B

all right.”
    â€œDid you talk to him?”
    â€œI didn’t have the chance.”
    â€œI’ll go and find him, then.”
    â€œGive me two minutes. I’ll come along.”
    I waited for him and we set off towards Muhammad’s shelter. Away from the lamps of the hospital you could see almost nothing. We walked in silence. O’Rourke seemed relaxed here. He wasgoing to be fine. Muhammad greeted us, waiting for us at his door. He led us to where the family were staying. We stood a little distance away while he went to the hut. A candle was burning outside. The father came stooping out adjusting his robes; he looked weaker than he had that morning. He and Muhammad talked in low voices. Muhammad called us over and the father took O’Rourke by the hand, shaking it and talking emotionally. Then he shook my hand too, and other members of the family followed and joined in. It was a bit like being a celebrity in the West.
    Finally we all went inside. There was one lamp, made out of a dried milk can. A woman was making coffee over some embers. O’Rourke and I sat on the bed. Muhammad sat opposite and began to question the father. Three sleepy toddlers were sitting in a line on the floor. They didn’t move or make a sound for forty minutes. I couldn’t imagine kids doing that in England. I once asked Muhammad why the children were so well behaved here. He said if they made a noise in the home they got hit with a stick.
    The man spoke rapidly, in short bursts, his eyes focused on the middle distance. Every now and then he paused and made a little humming noise in his throat.
    â€œHe is saying that he left his village because his child was sick. The rest of the people have no food but they are waiting for the harvest. Only he has seen that the locusts are hatching around the riverbed and so he is afraid that these locusts will come before the harvest.”
    â€œAnd what about the other villagers?”
    â€œThey are afraid but they are making ready to protect the harvest with sticks and with fire.”
    â€œDon’t they have any pesticides at all?” I asked.
    â€œNo. None.”
    On the way back, O’Rourke said, “I think they’ve been sent here to raise the alarm, and got sicker than they thought on the way. I don’t have the impression he needed to come.”
    â€œNot yet, anyway,” I said.
    â€œYou may be right,” said Muhammad.
    When we got back to the Toyota, a small crowd had gathered. Word had evidently spread about the arrivals. There were twoofficials of RESOK, the Keftian relief association, wanting to talk to me. They spoke to Muhammad first.
    â€œThey want to know what it means for them,” he said.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThey do not want their brothers to be turned away, but there is not enough food. They want to know when the ship is coming.”
    I wanted to know when the ship was coming too. This was not the time to be running low on supplies.
    â€œCould you say that I see things very much as they do and will do what I can? There is no need to be afraid.”
    At this O’Rourke let out a disapproving tsking noise, which surprised me.
    There was more point-making from the RESOK guys. The mood was restless and uncomfortable.
    â€œI don’t think this is the moment for a discussion group,” I said quietly to Muhammad. He nodded and said something to the group and they let us go. As we started up the hill I caught sight of Liben Alye standing at the side of the road, still holding Hazawi, who was sleeping now. He held up his hand and waved.

    â€œOooh, I haven’t had pâté for eighteen months and then it was more of a terrine, which I’m not so keen on. It’s the lumps of fat I can take or leave,” Betty was gushing.
    The pâté was a present from O’Rourke. It turned out that he had brought a large crate of goodies as well as his one bag. The fridge was now full of exotic