apprehensively towards the ranks of armed men. Only Jah Hora, the and
happen ancient abbot, was unaware of anything untow ing. Completely
absorbed in his devotions, he continued kneeling before re the doors of
the maqdas, the Holy of Holies, his quavering voice the lonely cry of a
lost soul.
In the silence Co nel Nogo marched down the centre of the nave kicking
the kneeling monks out of his way.
When he came up behind Jah Hora he seized him by his skinny black
shoulder and threw him roughly to the ground. The tinsel crown flew from
his silvered pate and rolled across the slabs with a brassy clatter.
Nogo, left him sprawling and turned to face the rows Of monks in their
white shammw, addressing them imperioUsly in Amharic.
'I am here to search this church and the or-her buildings of this
monastery, on suspicion that there are dissident other bandits harboured
here.' He paused and rebels and surveyed the cowering holy men haughtily
and threateningly. 'I must warn you that any attempt to prevent my men
performing their duties will be regarded as an act of banditry and
provocation. It will be met with force.'
JaIi Hora crawled to his knees and then, using one of the embroidered
hangings for support, Slowly hoisted himself to his feet. Still clinging
to the tapestry of the Virgin and child, he gathered himself with an
effort.
'These are hallowed precincts,' he cried, in a surprisingly clear and
strong voice. 'We are dedicated to the service and worship of almighty
God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.'
'silence? Nogo bellowed at him. He unbuckled the flap of the webbing
holster on his hip and placed his hand threateningly on the grip of the
Tokarev pistol it contained.
at. 'We are holy men in a
)a1i Hora ignored the thre place of God. There are no shufta here. There
are no lawthe most high, I breakers amongst US. In the name of God leave
us to our prayers and our call upon you to be gone) to worship, and not
to desecrate Nogo drew the pistol and in the same movement swung the
black steel barrel into the abbot's face with a outh burst open vicious
back-handed blow. jah Hora's like the rind of a ripe pomegranate; the
red juice burst from front of his tattered his crushed lips and flooded
down the velvet vestments. A low moan of horror went up from the ranks
of squatting monks.
Still clinging to the tapestry, Jah Hora kept his feet, but he was
swaying and teetering wildly. He opened his shattered mouth to speak
again, but the only sound that came from it was a high-pitched cawing,
like that of a dying crow, and the blood splattered in bright droplets
from his lips.
Nogo laughed and kicked his legs from under him. Jah Hora. collapsed
like a heap of dirty laundry and lay on the paving, groaning in his own
blood and Spittle.
'Where is your God now, you old baboon? Bleat to him as loud as you
will, and he will never answer you,'
Nogo, chuckled.
