Okay, that was too much, too verbal, too vocal. She didn’t want him giving words to this tug she felt. She would not allow herself to feel anything for this stranger—or for any man other than Jason. She straightened her shoulders. “So, I guess you’re going to feed me some line like that gigolo did about my incredible beauty being irresistible and wouldn’t I like to go for a drive? Excuse me, please. I must go.”
He let her pass and then kept step with her. “Shall I lie and call you plain?”
“Don’t call me anything.”
“Now, how have I offended you?”
She put one foot in front of the other, concentrating on the rough stones at her feet and not on him. She wouldn’t think of that presence at her side, that very male, very tall, too appealing presence.
“Well, you’re right,” he said, “but I did apologize for staring. And I won’t be ungentlemanly enough to remind you that you have stared back at me a few times. We’ve waved. Even smiled.”
“You didn’t smile this time.”
“I should have.”
All she had to do was ignore him. And get back to the convent.
“As I said, I won’t mention your stares.”
That stopped her. “You just did.”
“Only so you could find it in your heart to forgive me.”
The noise she made wasn’t at all complimentary—or particularly feminine. She walked on.
“No?”
She increased her pace.
He kept up with ease. Of course he did.
“Not very generous of you,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the grin spread. “You know…” he began.
Did she know what? She wouldn’t ask. She’d ignore him. Surely, he’d go away.
“I had an excellent vantage point.” His tone hinted at humor. “Even if I did stare. You should have seen your eyes laughing when you sent Adonis away.”
That brought her up short again. “Why did you call him that? Adonis, I mean.”
“That’s what he looked like, wasn’t it? Straight out of the myth, every girl’s dream?”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “I must have said it aloud.”
“Not that I heard.”
“A coincidence then.”
“Rina.” He sighed with a flourish. An attractive flourish, she had to admit, because those eyes were doing their dancing thing again. “You’re going to be such fun to know.”
She squinted at him. “Who said you’re going to know me? You’re as bad as that Italian.”
“But you’re getting me off the track. I was telling you why I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“I don’t think I want to hear your reasons. It’s been fun, but if you’ll excuse me, I turn here. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
She left him and spent the rest of the evening trying to concentrate on her journal and the book from Auntie Luze. But that night, his blue eyes haunted her dreams. Inches from her face, they frightened her into running. They morphed into the dark, dangerous eyes of the gunman from the train. Laughter mocked her. “You heard murder,” a voice that wasn’t his said.
She woke, tangled in the sheet. It took her a moment to remember where she was and to untangle not only her body, but also her thoughts. The dream had seemed so real, so immediate, and the memory of those noises on the train were horrific enough to stick with her into daylight.
The American—Arab?—now wanted friendship. Why? In spite of those quick hellos and waves, he hadn’t sought her out or spoken at the café. What had changed?
She didn’t need him for English conversation, not now that she’d met Acie, and friendship with him was out of the question, wasn’t it? Jason would be horrified.
She climbed from bed and headed over to her sink to douse cold water on her face. Drying it, she moved to the window to look out as the glow of dawn shifted to full daylight. A tremor of excitement began in her stomach as she picked up her hairbrush and pulled it through her long hair. The boundaries of her staid Southern life had begun to shift.
Acie lived here, with a sister and a slew of Italian relatives. Maybe, just maybe, Rina would be able to meet some of those and stretch those boundaries even more as she learned to speak their language. And in spite of what she owed Jason, in spite of the ring he’d given her—which was safely back in Morehead City—she hadn’t yet crossed the threshold with an “I do.” She still had time to enlarge her sphere of male acquaintances, didn’t she? Yes, the large American intimidated her—his size, his easy smile—but he also intrigued her. And shouldn’t she learn the art of easy conversation with other men before she promised to be solely Jason’s forever?
6
TONY
He spent Sunday morning on the computer, learning as much as he could about whatever he could as he waited on an answer from the always-working Zif. By afternoon, he couldn’t stand another moment inside and headed toward the town center to see who might be loitering there.
He’d certainly made a mess of things with the American girl. Rina. Interesting name. He liked it, and he liked her looks.
He’d acted like an ass.
Yeah, fine, he got it. When he’d first recognized her at Santino’s, he’d lowered his paper, intending to speak, but the two women had been so engrossed in their conversation he hadn’t wanted to interrupt. So, he’d eavesdropped. Part of his job description.
He’d been amused, maybe even surprised, when she’d rejected the Italian’s advances. And then there’d been the bit about the Englishman.
She said she’d heard the murder—and shared a compartment with an Arab. Of course he’d been intrigued. He needed to know who the Arab was. But was he so involved in this play-acting business that he’d lost all sense of what was appropriate? Had he actually imagined he could smooth things over if he accosted her near her pensione and then (brilliant strategy) accused her of following him? He’d been joking, but she hadn’t seemed amused.
Of course she hadn’t.
He glanced up at the heavens. If only he could climb off this merry-go-round so he could actually meet and enjoy a woman without tripping over himself to find out what she knew.
He’d turned onto Via Battisti when he heard footsteps hurrying behind him and a voice calling, “Tony!
He slowed to allow Yusuf to catch up. “Good afternoon.”
“Marhaba. Do you go to see the passeggiata? I find people-watching delightful, all the different nationalities. I was at a café when I first met Natalie, and we laughed at the same amusing scene, you see. I will walk with you, at least for part of the way.” And then with barely a pause, Yusuf asked, “How are you doing with your landlady’s daughter?”
Tony snorted. “I try not to walk the halls if I hear a female voice. The daughter herself seems harmless. It’s the mother who frightens me.”
“Then perhaps you have someone else in mind while you are here? This is a town with many to choose from.”
“I haven’t the time.”
“Oh, come now, how much would it take?”
“Or the inclination.” Tony shrugged. “I’m not in the market for something permanent, and I don’t want to play games.”
“I can understand that. Still, you would not find it difficult. Some of the foreign girls…” The other man kissed his fingertips. “You could provide excellent competition to the Italian men.”
“No, thank you.”
“This is a puzzle,” Yusuf said, double stepping to keep up. “Do you perhaps have a girl at home or in the Jordan?”
Tony slowed. “No.”
“Then?”
“Not interested.”
“But you are not…?”
Tony frowned at Yusuf. “I like girls just as much as the next guy,” he said. “Only what kind? I heard one say she considered Perugia a single girl’s treasure chest: open it up, and you could take your pick of the prizes. I don’t relish being thought of that way.”
“Oh my, n
o.” Yusuf wiped his forearm across his brow.
“So how are things between you and Natalie? I’m still looking forward to meeting her.”
“Ah, I am altogether fortunate. With us, it is very good. I do not know what she sees in me, how she can love someone hairless and with too much belly.” He patted his rounded midsection, his grin wide and friendly. “Yes, I am one of the lucky ones, though my family will not be pleased for me to marry a girl of a different faith. We will go to England, if ever I am able to finish my degree. Perhaps I should consider another profession.”
“Might be a good idea. And Abu Sadiq?”
“I can always help with recruiting in England. Natalie says there are many who are sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. As I told you, I cannot quite see myself on the other end of a gun.” Yusuf’s grin turned to a laugh. “So much safer.”
“You don’t see me in fatigues, do you?”
“But you are an American. You could not be expected to fight in the field.” The shorter man paused before saying, “I have wondered why you work with Abu Sadiq. It is very unusual, is it not?”
“Maybe. My parents came from Jerusalem.” The truth, but only half of it.
“Ah, and now they, too, are refugees, yes? One forgets that the fortunate ones made it to America when Israel took their homes. You must have had family there.”
“As you say, we were fortunate.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Yusuf continued. “I sometimes feel a qualm or two when I hear of others who have lost their lives for the cause while I stay far from the action. After all, when Israel is finally defeated, I too will benefit from the brave ones who fought for us.”
All Tony could manage was a grunt.
“You never worry about this?”
“I’m just sorry anyone has to die.”
“Of course, I am also. How much better if we could have a peaceful solution. But Israel does not seem willing to consider that. They want only to consume every inch of ground that belongs to us.”
Again, he didn’t answer. Yusuf’s ignorance had been cultivated by power mongers and in recent years by the Western press. There wasn’t much Tony could do to fix that.
“You are all right?”
“Fine.” He eased his lips into what he hoped looked like a smile. He was not an actor. He’d never wanted to be an actor. To pretend. They shouldn’t have put him in this position. “Yes, I’m fine,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck to relieve the growing tension.
“Natalie would lock me up before she would let me go into combat, or she would leave me if I ignored her pleas. It is very lucky for us that I am a coward.”
“Hah.”
“Truly. It is a character defect that I have failed to mention to the recruits.” Yusuf shrugged, a touch of humor still evident. “I could wish for you a woman as sweet as my Natalie, willing to follow our ways, if not our religion.”
“Ah.”
“I, myself, have never even owned a gun.” The other man looked sheepishly up at him. “Do not tell the others, will you? I have a position to uphold, and they would never let me live it down. I do not know why I am telling you. I see I have put myself at your mercy.”
“No one will hear it from me.”
“Shukran. For some reason, I feel I can trust you. Odd, isn’t it, after so short an acquaintance?”
“You honor me,” Tony said. “But I must turn here. Do you come this way?”
“Lesh la? Why not? I am to meet with one of our people who has family problems. This way to his room is as short. But, you still have not answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“About marriage. In all these years, there has been no one?”
In the face of such eager curiosity, Tony’s reserve melted. “I came close once, in graduate school. She was a beauty, almost black eyes, whipped-cream skin, half Asian, adopted by two Bostonians. Sheila Watson, doctoral candidate in mathematics.”
They walked single file up low stone steps, Yusuf double stepping, leaning forward to catch the words. “Then?”
“I discovered she was already engaged to some guy in California, bedding him whenever they could get together.” He kept his voice flat.
Yusuf caught up, put his hand on Tony’s arm to slow the pace. “And you, too?”
He shrugged. “I thought she was an innocent. I was a fool.”
“They have a sign for that around here,” Yusuf said. “Cornuto.”
“What's that?”
“Horned, like this.” Yusuf held up his hand, his index and pinkie fingers raised.
“I was naïve enough to have talked of marriage.”
“I would have killed her.” Yusuf spat on the steps, making a rude and very Italian gesture with one arm.
Tony doubted a man like Yusuf would kill anyone, but he’d heard such rhetoric often enough from the mouths of Arab men. No, Yusuf wouldn’t kill an unfaithful woman any more than he would. But he’d steer clear of the world’s Sheilas. For that matter, at this stage of his life, he needed to steer clear of most women. He really only wanted to talk to Rina, after all. See what she knew about a dead man—and do it in English.
What harm could there be in that?
At the end of class the next day, he closed his empty notebook and vowed to be more attentive from now on. He’d been distracted after finding Rina squeezed in between two other students, pointedly looking away from him. He intended to catch up with her as they left, but she zipped through the door before he could make it past a group blocking the stairs.
He emerged into the bright light of the Piazza Fortebraccio and paused to retrieve his sunglasses before heading to his favorite pizzeria on his way back to his room.
By the time Yusuf knocked on his door with two sodas in hand, Tony’d finished his lunch and booted up his computer. “Come in,” he said. “And shukran for the drink.”
“I have spoken with my Natalie. She must return to London for the funeral of her friend Andrew, so she will not come this week. I am full of sadness for her.” Yusuf sighed as he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “Perhaps you could read over this propaganda flyer for me?”
Tony set it on the table between them. “I’ll study it later.” Or never.
“I also have some news about our friend Ibrahim.”
“Ah.” Emails from his cousin had been limited to promises that they, including his contact in Rome were trying to pick up intel.
“You will perhaps find this hard to believe, but it seems that Ibrahim knows my younger sister, Yasmin, from the time she and his sister were schoolgirls together. Is it not amazing?”
A little too much so. Tony’s gorge rose, leaving a sour taste, as he imagined Ibrahim’s slimy hands touching a young girl.
“It seems he was impressed by her even then,” Yusuf said. “Our families are both from the occupied Golan, knew each other from before the exile, though I was unaware of this. If he does become a doctor, he would be able to care for her. An older man is often the best husband, especially for a beautiful girl who will need someone strong to protect her. My father, he was twenty-two years the senior of my mother.”
“And that worked?”
“Very well. But for Yasmin, I do not like to think of her married to someone in Abu Sadiq, putting her in any kind of danger, and himself, too. Perhaps leaving her an early widow without funds. A doctor, though, in a comfortable practice—that would be a good life.” Yusuf leaned closer, as if the walls might be listening. “To tell you the truth—just between us, of course—I am not completely comfortable with him.”
“Why not?”
“I think perhaps because he asks me so many questions about Natalie. As if he is suspicious of her because of her friend who has died.”
“Why would he be?”
“This is what I do not understand.” Yusuf finished his soda and dropped the can in the trash. “Now I must leave you. Would you be kind enough to let me know your thoughts on the flyer by
tomorrow?”
Not his real thoughts, not tomorrow nor at any time, but that remained unsaid. After closing the door, he listened to Yusuf’s footsteps retreating down the stone stairs before he sat down near his window-with-a-view, inserted his security device in his computer, and logged onto his email account.
Finally, a note had come from his cousin—along with a grainy photograph of one Kamal Abdul-Malik. Interesting. According to Zif, Kamal had been a person of interest in multiple assassinations, including a bombing in Paris about seven months back, but nothing had yet been proved.
He enlarged the image. Maybe two people had that identical scar across the forehead, the same brow and squashed nose. Maybe. After all, this wasn’t the clearest of images. But the man in that photograph was either Ibrahim or his twin.
Rubbing his palms down the sides of his jeans, he noted Zif’s next comment. “There were rumors in various circles of a woman Kamal lived with—his wife we assume—involving elements of sadism. The woman died, and Kamal remains at large. You’d best find out if he and Ibrahim are one and the same man.”
Exactly. That information would be crucial, not only for the sake of Yusuf’s sister and the girlfriend, Natalie, but also for anyone else in the man’s sights.
What to do with Yusuf? Happy-go-lucky, naïve Yusuf. What on earth was Yusuf doing recruiting terrorists? Or even playing at it?
He barked out a laugh. The kettle calling the pot? But he wasn’t at all naïve and not a bit carefree. He was just plain stupid. At least, it seemed so right then, when he found himself once more wondering why he had to like any of them. Why couldn’t they all be Ibrahims or Achmeds? Instead, he ended up with Bahir, his childhood best friend, and now Yusuf, nice guys who’d had a hard life and were making lousy choices.
Tony heaved a sigh. Too bad he didn’t have the gift of persuasion. And wisdom, please. But as he stood and looked out over tile roofs and gray stone buildings, he felt powerless.
And empty.
7
RINA
She tried to slip out of class without the American noticing, but he waved one of those long-fingered hands and called, “Hey, wait up. Can’t we grab a cup of coffee? Lunch?”
Two From Isaac's House Page 5