When the Apricots Bloom

by Gina Wilkinson

  “Come back here,” he said. “Lie down.”

  He looked at her, and her secrets lined up at the back of her throat, ready to leap out her mouth. She turned away and rummaged in the wardrobe again. Rania and Huda were right—she shouldn’t tell Tom. Then if anything went wrong, he could truthfully tell the ambassador he hadn’t known about their plan.

  You can tell him all you want, as soon as everyone is safe, Huda had said. Is it really lying, if you’re honest in the end?

  As Ally pretended to search her dresser drawers, she wondered if Huda had always had such an elastic take on the truth, or was it the sort of motto that informants learned on the job? Did she repeat it in her head each time she invited Ally for a cup of coffee and a chat? When she said their friendship was real, was that another lie? Or was she just doing what was needed to survive?

  “I admit, I’m glad you’re getting out of Baghdad,” said Tom. “But I didn’t think it would be this sudden.”

  Ally gripped the edge of the dresser. He was too hard to resist, sprawled on the mattress, hand extended to her. Her body swayed toward him like the tide.

  “Let’s go for a walk.” She retreated to the door. “I’ve been packing all day. I need to get out and clear my head.”

  Another lie. She didn’t want to clear her head. She wanted to stuff it full of honking cars, and amber traffic signals flashing on and off. She wanted to replace all those clamoring secrets with carpet sellers offering tea, men playing backgammon outside the coffee shops, and boys riding donkey carts. She wanted sound, and light, and distractions. Anything but her and Tom, alone, with her lies on the tip of her tongue.

  Out in the street, Tom took her hand and guided her past a pothole. It was still busy, and every minute or so a taxi driver slowed, tapped his horn, and called for them to get in. Ally scanned the sidewalk for Mohammad, but there was no sign of the little boy.

  “You know the newspaper vendor and her son?” She clutched Tom’s hand tight. “Will you drop some food off for them while I’m gone? Promise me you won’t forget.”

  “Okay, I promise.” Tom laughed. “I think you’re going to miss your little friend more than me.”

  Ally smiled wanly. Up ahead, at the coffee shop, men were smoking nargilah. Ally recognized a taxi driver out front, leaning against his car.

  “That guy is friends with Hatim, the driver I use every now and again. He might know if he’s working tonight. I’d like to say goodbye before I leave.”

  “Hello!” She picked her way across the sidewalk. “Have you seen my friend, Mr. Hatim?”

  Behind his glasses, the taxi driver’s eyes bulged. He hurled his cigarette on the ground and raced around the far side of his car.

  “He must think we want a ride,” Ally whispered to Tom.

  The driver clambered into the driver’s seat and fumbled for his keys. Ally bent down and tapped on the window.

  “I’m looking for Hatim,” she called through the glass.

  The driver stamped his foot on the accelerator. His taxi lurched into the traffic and disappeared around the next corner. Ally glanced at Tom in surprise.

  “Do I smell bad?”

  Abdul Amir strode across the sidewalk, appearing as if from nowhere. Ally’s heart accelerated. Huda had said she wasn’t going to tell him their plan, but secrets had a very short life in Baghdad.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Tom?” Behind Abdul Amir’s shoulder, the men at the backgammon tables lay down their dice and eyed them sternly.

  “You need to go somewhere?” Abdul Amir waved them back in the direction they’d come from. “I can take you. My car is parked around the corner.”

  “Thanks, but there’s no need,” said Tom. “We’re just stretching our legs.”

  Ally tried to copy Tom’s diplomat smile, but it wouldn’t stick to her lips. She knew Huda might be an unwilling informant, but she doubted Abdul Amir was losing sleep over it. Or was she wrong? The shadows under his eyes were purple as a bruise. His gaze flicked left and right and back again.

  “Are you okay, Abdul Amir?” said Tom.

  His green eyes continued to flick back and forth between them and a man in the doorway of a juice bar. Even without his leather jacket, Ally recognized mukhabarat keeping watch.

  “Maybe we should go home.” She tugged at Tom’s arm. “I’ve got a few things to do.”

  Tom had spotted the mukhabarat too and was eyeing him from under his lids.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

  As Abdul Amir herded them toward the Corolla, Ally glanced over her shoulder. It seemed like every man in the street was watching them, all with that same dead-eyed stare. Goose bumps prickled her arms.

  Ally realized that Baghdad would never reveal all its secrets to her. But she had the answer she’d come for—she knew why her mother lost her smile. Ally would have to carry that terrible knowledge with her, across the ancient rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates, through the baking Mesopotamian plains, and on, always. Even if Ally wanted to exile truth from her mind, she couldn’t purge it, no more than Baghdad could expel every tiny pearl of desert sand. But, if fortune was on her side, she could help to write her story a new ending.

  CHAPTER 28

  Huda lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The blades of the fan whistled overhead. Next to her, Abdul Amir stirred.

  “No,” he muttered. “Don’t, don’t . . .”

  He slurred something Huda couldn’t make out. He’d barely slept all night. He’d wanted to talk to Khalid before he came to bed, to pass on some fatherly words of courage before his son supposedly set off for Basra. Huda convinced him it was too risky. Khalid might let it slip to Bakr, then Bakr might tell his parents or a friend, and who knew where it would end. A secret is like a dove, she’d whispered, once it leaves your hand it flies where it wants.

  Now, as Abdul Amir moaned, guilt spread its wings in Huda’s chest. Could she really deprive her husband of his son? Abdul Amir cried out again. The sound bruised her insides. She reached over and turned the alarm clock off before it had a chance to chime.

  Abdul Amir jerked awake.

  “Is it time already?”

  “Stay in bed,” she whispered. “I’ll go make us coffee.”

  “I want to come to the bus station with you.” He dragged his hands across his face. “Khalid will notice that he’s getting on a bus to Basra, not Lake Habbaniyah. When he does, I want to talk to him, man to man, father to son.”

  “No, you need to stay here in case the mukhabarat come by,” Huda whispered in his ear. “You can pick the car up tonight, but in the meanwhile tell anyone who asks that I’ve gone on a day trip. When they work out that . . .” She shuddered, and forced herself to continue. “Please, tell them you knew nothing. Tell them you’re furious. Tell them you’ll divorce me. Say anything, but, please, don’t try to take the blame. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Huda swung her legs off the bed and slipped out of her nightgown.

  “Huda, wait.” Abdul Amir’s fingers brushed against the curve of her back. “Lie down with me for just a few minutes more.”

  Huda quivered. Sixteen years of marriage was not something she could steal away from, without even a kiss goodbye. She slipped back under the sheets.

  “Don’t cry.” He tightened his arm around her. “We’re doing the right thing for our son.”

  She nestled alongside his chest, so close she could hear the echo of his heart. Should she tell him the truth? she asked herself. Surely he’d understand that Basra wasn’t safe, that there was nowhere to hide in Iraq. Abdul Amir rolled over and stared at her with a tenderness Huda had thought long dead. Abruptly, love plunged its dagger into doubt.

  “I’m not going to Basra.” She held her breath for a moment, then continued on, her words tiptoeing out as quiet as ghosts. “I’m not going to the village either. I’m taking Khalid to Jordan. It’s the only way he’ll be safe.”

  Abdul Amir’s eyes went round with shock.

&
nbsp; “We are Iraqi. We don’t abandon our country.” He spoke too loud. They both flinched.

  “I love our country too,” Huda murmured into his ear. “But we need to go someplace the mukhabarat can’t find us. If we stay in Iraq, they’ll hunt us down. You know that.”

  “Khalid is Iraqi,” he whispered. “This is his home.”

  “An innocent man has been murdered.” She levered herself onto her elbows and stared into Abdul Amir’s sea-green eyes. “I can see the guilt in your face. I know it’s like acid eating you inside. Do you want that for your son? Do you want him in the fedayeen? Do you want him to become a man like the Bolt Cutter?”

  “Of course not.” Abdul Amir shook his head, like he was still trapped in his bad dream.

  “Then you either help me to get our son to safety.” She bit her lip. “Or you can tell the mukhabarat everything and leave Khalid without a mother.”

  He shook his head.

  “Khalid belongs in Iraq.”

  “Until now, I did what the mukhabarat asked. I did what you asked too.” She leaned close, breath brushing against his ear. “I ignored what my heart was telling me, and it only led to tears. Listen to yours now. Listen to your heart, I beg you.”

  * * *

  Huda sunk deep into the front seat of the embassy Land Cruiser. In the side mirror, she could see Ghassan waiting outside Ally’s gate. He hadn’t yet noticed it was her behind the wheel. She squinted into the early-morning haze, and searched for the mukhabarat stationed in the vacant house next door.

  “Mom, why are you looking so weird?” said Khalid.

  “Me?” Huda glanced in the rearview mirror. “Weird?”

  Khalid ran his hands over the soft leather of the back seat.

  “The way you’re smiling reminds me of the Joker.”

  “The Joker?”

  “One of Batman’s enemies.” He rested his hands behind his head. “We’re really traveling in style to Lake Habbaniyah. You’d think you’d be happy, but you’re looking all weird instead.”

  The gate rattled. Ally hurried onto the sidewalk. Ghassan reached for her small suitcase, but she waved him off and strode stiffly on, head down, arms pumping like an automaton. She threw open the door and shoved her suitcase into the Land Cruiser.

  “Let’s go.” She scrambled into the passenger’s seat. “Now.”

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I’ll tell you, but first, let’s go.”

  Ally glanced past her, her mouth a frightened circle. Ghassan rapped his knuckles on the window by Huda’s ear. She waved at him, but the way that she raised her hand looked less like a greeting than an attempt to ward off a blow. The Land Cruiser jerked away from the curb. A pickup honked and swerved out of the way.

  In the periphery of her vision, Huda spotted the mukhabarat spy lumber out of the neighboring yard. He watched the Land Cruiser circle past. Ally saw him too. Her eyes sparkled with fear. Huda could tell every nerve in her body was popping, just like hers.

  The girl tugged a portable CD player from her handbag.

  “Hey, Khalid.” Her hand trembled as she passed her headphones to him. “I’ve got the new album by Usher. Why don’t you have a listen?”

  “Usher? Thanks, Mrs. Wilson.”

  They waited till Khalid slid the headphones over his ears and began to nod his head in time with the music. Ally leaned across the cabin.

  “Abdul Amir called the house. He wanted to speak to Tom. When I asked him what it was about, he refused to tell me.”

  Huda’s breath jammed in her throat.

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I hung up on him and then I left the phone off the hook. We better hope Tom doesn’t notice and put it back on.”

  “When did he call?”

  “About five minutes before you arrived.”

  Huda had thought she’d convinced Abdul Amir that Khalid wouldn’t be safe in Iraq. But as they loaded the backpacks into the car, she saw doubt multiply in his eyes. Was Tom the only one he’d called? Was he phoning the mukhabarat right now?

  Ally glanced over her shoulder again.

  “Ghassan is talking to that creepy guy next door. They don’t look happy.” Her fingers knotted and unknotted in her lap. “Please tell me I’m being paranoid.”

  Huda said nothing, and accelerated past the blinking traffic lights.

  CHAPTER 29

  In Rania’s garden, the eucalypts quivered. She paced back and forth, unable to still herself as the wind tugged at her hair. At the picnic table, Hanan pushed a fried egg around her plate.

  “Eat your breakfast,” she said. “We have to go soon.”

  With a clang, Hanan dropped her fork and covered her swollen eyes. A bolt of pain ran through Rania with all the force of an ax splitting wood. She wanted to wrap her daughter in her arms, throw her head back, and wail at the sky. But all she allowed herself was a brief squeeze of Hanan’s shoulder. Even that felt dangerous, like it might send them both over the edge.

  “You must be strong,” she muttered, to herself as much as Hanan. “Tears will only give us away.”

  There had been many tears last night, out in the garden, under the watchful eye of the bronze mother curled around her child. The moon had been bright, so bright she could almost see her daughter’s childhood ending, word by word, whisper by whisper.

  “Don’t send me away,” Hanan had cried. “I’ll behave. I swear, I’ll be good.”

  “None of this is your fault.” Rania’s voice cracked. “And no one could wish for a better daughter.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  Rania hugged her tight, so tight she could feel Hanan’s heart hammering in her chest. Her bones felt as easily crushed as a bird’s.

  “I promise,” said Rania, “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  “Why, Mom? Why is this happening to us?”

  Rania didn’t know what to say or how to explain. Hanan’s enormous amber stare kept her silent, pinned like a butterfly under glass. As the stars looked on, Rania had cursed Malik, and Uday, and his father. How many families had they torn apart? How many had they forced into exile? How many tears would Iraq’s daughters have to weep?

  The bell rang at the gate, jolting Rania back to the present.

  “Try to finish that egg, darling.” The words caught in her raw throat, and she hurried across the dry lawn.

  Huda was alone at the gate. As Rania hustled her in off the sidewalk, she caught a glimpse of Ally in the front of the Land Cruiser, eyes wide as a lake, and Khalid in the backseat, bobbing his head back and forth.

  “I can’t eat this.” Hanan appeared on the path, holding her plate of eggs. “If I do, I’ll throw up.”

  The girl glanced at Huda and tried to smile, but her lips wobbled and tears flooded her eyes. Rania felt that ax again, the blade cleaving her in two. She put an arm around Hanan’s shoulders and guided her toward the front door.

  “Darling, go inside and freshen up,” she said. “Splash some water on your face, then we’ll leave.”

  Hanan sniffed and stumbled indoors. Huda shot Rania an irritated glance.

  “I thought we agreed not to say anything until we got to Lake Habbaniyah.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Listen to me,” said Huda. “It’s not too late for you. We can go together. All of us.”

  “I can’t leave my mother.” Rania knit her fingers together anxiously and rubbed her scarred thumb. An engine purred outside. A few moments later, a car door slammed. Ally barged through the gate.

  “A man just drove past,” she hissed. “He was staring at me.”

  “Plenty of men stare at you,” said Huda.

  “I don’t like this,” said Ally. “Maybe we should call it all off.”

  Rania glanced at Huda. The look in her eyes made her wonder, does she feel the same as me, like a woman about to hurl herself from a bridge? After so many years and so much bad blood
, Rania realized Huda was probably the only person who understood how she felt right now. But could she trust her and Ally to keep Hanan safe?

  “Get Khalid into my car.” She dug the keys to her old Volvo from her pocket and handed them to Ally. “I’ll get Hanan ready.”

  She hurried down the hallway to her studio. The president watched from the easel, with his hunting rifle tucked under his arm. She fought back tears as she dug Hanan’s backpack from its hiding place in her storeroom of art supplies.

  A floorboard creaked. Huda slipped through the door. In her peripheral vision, Rania saw her recoil at the sight of the painting. Would the portrait pay enough for Hanan’s new life? Or would Malik laugh and declare the honor of painting the president reward enough? Rania hunched her shoulders and wondered, If Huda touched her arm, would she feel the shame burning beneath her skin?

  “The man who commissioned this painting is one of his men.” She gestured at the oil-paint Uday lurking by his father’s side. “He’s demanded a viewing this afternoon.”

  Her absence would surely raise Malik’s suspicions. Rania had to stay here, perform as demanded, tell him stories and flatter his pride. God willing, that would earn her daughter enough time to escape.

  CHAPTER 30

  The tang of turpentine and the muddy scent of oil paint made it hard for Huda to breathe. She tried not to look at the painting of the president and his sons as Rania carried the backpack out to the hall. Hanan was waiting for them. She spotted the bag, and her lip twitched. Rania kissed her daughter’s forehead, then bent close and whispered in her ear.

  “Huda’s son doesn’t know everything that you do. She’s going to tell him at Lake Habbaniyah.” She rested her hands on Hanan’s shoulders and stared into her face. “Remember, if anyone asks, this is simply a day trip. Understand?”

  Hanan closed her eyes and gave a small nod of assent.