Hamar yanked free and shot back out of the hole. Blinded by the light, he frantically squinted all around for any returning men.
But where to run!, – the alley was a dead end! He could squeeze into the thin gap between the two buildings opposite, – but he’d be trapped! He remembered about a club, – the knife.
He shot across into the crack!
The men burst back into the alley just as the man behind the high wall shouted out, “Our friend has need of a woman’s scarf, eh!” waving it over his head for them to mock this last thing Hamar had of his mother. The man kept excavating and next tossed over to them the dirty tattered rag that had once been Hamar’s infant blanket, the embroidered horoscope on it mostly in strings. When it opened out on the paving stones in front of them they jumped away fast!
Hamar squeezed his ribs deeper into the crack between the two buildings, the walls so tight he could only sip air, but at least he was hidden in the dark. Should he face the awful sight of them coming at him through the opening, or should he look the other way? – he wouldn’t be able to turn his head again!
They were baying even louder for him now, the fusty scent of his goods raising a blood lust, – for sure they’d sniff out every crack and crevice in the alley!
His head was clamped for the first face to appear in the crack. Would their club reach him? The knife? What if they thought to get a hook! A dead beggar would only be thrown down the garbage-ditch for dogs to finally pull his blackened bones apart. Through the split he could see the men’s shadows trotting nearer along the opposite wall of the alley! Hamar shivered like a moth in a web.
Suddenly his hand fell back through the masonry. Mercifully there was a fissure in one of the walls! But it was too low, he was pinned, no way to stoop to it!
In desperation he twisted hard, let out all his air, pushed hard on the wall and shot his feet backwards through the hole, his forehead skinning down the plaster to the ground.
Just then a black silhouette shut out the light from the alley! Hamar was face-down with his head and coil of hair left showing on the floor, and he froze, his hands exactly spread against the dirt, not daring to breathe in case the man saw dust blow apart under his nose. For an age the spectre of the man remained panting, but then he finally left in disgust, his shoemaker eyes apparently not good enough for the job.
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