The Meeting Point

by Lucy Caldwell

  Her hands shook so much that she could barely scroll through the names in her contacts list. But she found Noor – Noor Anna was the hurried entry, which made her almost vomit when she saw it – and managed to jab the call button. After an agonising few seconds, the phone rang. It rang – wherever Noor was, her phone was still on: she was still reachable. Maybe all of this was a horrid mistake – maybe it could be a horrid mistake. But Noor did not answer. The line clicked, and there was Noor’s voice, flat and sullen, This is Noor, leave a message, as pop music played in the background. She hung up and tried again. The same. And then again. Please, Noor, she thought. Please, Noor, please, Noor, please. This time, the phone flipped to voicemail in the middle of a ring, after ringing only a few times. Noor was there. Somewhere, she was watching her phone ring, and not answering Ruth’s calls – and now she had just rejected a call. But she was there! Ruth dialled again – but the phone went straight to voicemail. What if Noor was trying to phone her back? she thought, but even as she thought it she knew it was not true. She rang again: answerphone. Again: answerphone. Noor had turned her phone off.

  They got in the car, then, and drove off looking for her. Round and round, a larger loop each time. Noor wouldn’t have had time to walk more than three miles, Farid calculated, in the time they’d been gone – and they had to remember she had Anna and presumably a bag or a suitcase with her, too. Whatever progress she made would be slow. There was nowhere for her to hide: he was sure they would find her walking down the side of some highway. Ruth felt sick at the thought of Anna, toddling along the verge of the highway, the huge cars thundering past. But she felt even sicker when they didn’t see them.

  What about buses, she suggested, could she not have taken a bus? But nobody took buses, Farid said, buses were for labourers or immigrant workers. She could have taken a taxi – but where would she have gone? One of the malls, maybe – in which case she would be forced to return home as soon as they closed for the night – or the family compound, but he did not think she would turn up there with Anna in tow. He phoned his stepmother, anyway, just to check – but of course she was not there. Don’t worry, he said, his hand on Ruth’s knee. Bahrain was small. She would be seen, she would be found. There was nowhere really for her to hide, nowhere she could go she would not be found.

  His words were meant to be reassuring. But Ruth began to shiver. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, nor hidden that will not be found. It was a warning, not a comfort.

  They drove in circles until dusk, when it was difficult to see any more. Then they went back to the compound, hoping against hope that Noor would have returned, that they would walk into the villa to find her there, hot and dusty after some foolhardy adventure. But the villa was even emptier than before.

  Farid went across to check the al-Husayns’, and then said he’d better phone his uncle.

  They sat on the veranda until Dr al-Husayn arrived, on the swinging chair, in silence. Images of Anna spooled through Ruth’s mind. Her little face, so sweet and trusting. Her warm smell, and fat cheeks, the way she’d clap her hands and giggle, the soft weight of her when she crawled into bed in the mornings. How can you do that to her? Noor had asked, and Noor was right. How could she? Anna had been an annoyance, an obstacle – she had been all too ready to hand her over, to be free of her. Now, she promised that when Anna was found – it was when, not if, she could not allow herself to think if – she would never let her out of her sight again, would never, ever do anything to hurt her.

  Now it was nightfall. It was night-time, and Anna was alone, lost and probably terrified, with an unstable teenager, goodness knew where. Farid tried to put his arm around her, but it was an unbearable weight. She shrugged him off, and he did not try again.

  Dr al-Husayn arrived. They did not tell him – not exactly – what had prompted Noor to take off with Anna. They did not show him the letter, either. They simply said they thought Noor was upset with them. He said nothing. But Ruth could feel him looking at her, judging her, sizing her up. She did not care, she realised. All of a sudden, she did not care who knew, or what anyone thought, so long as she got her daughter back.

  Dr al-Husayn begged her not to call the police – not yet, he said. The Bahraini police could be harsh, very harsh, and they would not make a distinction between adult and teenager. Noor had gone through a very hard time, lately – he was not making excuses, but please would Ruth understand – and he hoped the matter could be sorted out privately, and he and Noor’s mother would deal with Noor.

  Then his eyes narrowed. Besides, he added, he was sure she would not want the police involved. He looked her up and down as he said it. She tried to stare him down.

  ‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’ she asked.

  He shrugged, and she saw a hint of a smile. You bastard, she thought. She thought once more of Farid’s words: the police wouldn’t do anything unless they had an ulterior motive, or a specific complaint had been made. If she went to the police about Noor, he would tell them about her and Farid, force them to act. Would he do that, she thought, to his own nephew? Or was he only bluffing?

  The abruptness of his next question sent her reeling.

  ‘Where exactly is your husband right now?’ he said. There was no trace of a smile now, only a cold, calculating stare. He had her, and even if he did not know exactly how, he knew it, and he knew she knew it, too.

  She stammered out the Qatar line; visiting acquaintances, uncontactable – he had left his phone behind by mistake. This he had: though not by mistake. All of Euan’s things – his passport, wallet, mobile phone, the fish-shaped lapel pin he always wore – were in the combination safe in their bedroom. For the first time since Euan had been gone, she felt a real stab of fear for him, too, defenceless and illegal in Saudi Arabia. She could not call the police, she realised. Quite aside from protecting Noor – or herself, from the accusation of adultery – if the police were involved, they would check on Euan’s whereabouts, test out her Qatar line, and it would be exposed as a lie under the slightest pressure. A phone call or two would be all it took.

  But this was her daughter. This was Anna. That she might face imprisonment, that Farid might face lashes, hardly seemed significant in comparison.

  Noor had until the morning, Ruth said. If by first light she had not turned up, or been found, then Ruth was calling the police.

  She thought, suddenly, of the choice Euan had made: between them and his mission. Now, she knew: she would have to sacrifice him, and Christopher and Rosa, and all the others, and the Christians in Saudi Arabia, and who knew who else, all for the chance of getting Anna back. The Kingdom of God for her child.

  ‘This is my daughter we’re talking about,’ she said, as much to herself as to Dr al-Husayn. ‘My daughter.’

  Dr al-Husayn stared at her. ‘It is my daughter too,’ he said. ‘I love my daughter, and if anything happens to her, if she comes to any harm at your hands—’

  ‘Harm at my hands?’ Ruth felt her voice rising out of her control, almost breaking into a laugh.

  Farid, who had been standing silent to one side, stepped forward and put a hand on Ruth’s arm. She saw Dr al-Husayn notice it. He looked at her, then turned and spat on the ground.

  ‘Uncle,’ Farid said, and she knew he was speaking in English for her benefit. ‘Please, Uncle. Conflict will not solve anything, now.’ Dr al-Husayn turned back to them, and Farid spoke a long, urgent burst of Arabic. Whatever he said seemed to mollify the doctor: he turned away and climbed into his car, without another word.

  *

  Now, Farid went back out driving too, while she stayed in the villa, the door wide open, watching the compound, for Noor to return with Anna.

  The night passed so slowly it seemed not to pass at all. Each minute was a thousand years, each hour an eternity.

  At one point, the deadest part of the night, Ruth found herself on her knees praying, trying to strike a deal with God. If there is a God, she prayed, I
ask Him for help. It was better not to have known the way of righteousness, she knew, than to have known it and then to turn her back on the sacred command. If there was a God, He would not pity her. Like the rich man in Luke, looking up to Abraham and praying in vain for a fingertip of water, there was no comfort for her. She had received her good things, had her measure of earthly joy, and now there was a chasm between her and salvation. It was no good repenting. But nonetheless she tried.

  If you return Anna, she said in her mind. If you return Anna, I will never sin again. I will give up Farid, and go back to Ireland. If you return Anna.

  She knew that you did not – could not – make deals with God, that you should not presume to make deals with God. But still she tried, over and over, trying to fix her mind to God, to keep on praying, as to a light shining in a dark place, Peter had said, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

  If you return Anna, she said, I will believe in You again, or try to, to the best of my ability.

  If you return Anna, if you return Anna, if you return Anna.

  *

  Her phone rang at five that morning, just before dawn. Farid and Dr al-Husayn had rung at intervals during the night, but this was a new number, a Bahrain-coded number, a number she did not recognise.

  ‘Hello?’ she managed.

  ‘Good morning,’ a sing-song voice said at the other end. ‘Would that be Mrs Ruth Armstrong with whom I am speaking?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Paresh here, calling from the Elite Seef Residence, Avenue 38. Oh dear oh dear, Mrs Ruth Armstrong. You have two girls here in a bit of a sorry state. Are you able to come and collect them?’

  10

  Maundy Thursday, the Reverend Day’s sermon.

  The word maundy, he explains, comes from the Latin mandatum, from which we get our English mandate. Mandate: to give, to entrust, to order.

  On the sunlit hills of Galilee, by the silvery lapping waters, it is easy to hope, or to believe in hope, and the promise of a life to come. But in Jerusalem, in the fierce and unremitting midday heat, where the glare of the light on the bleached white walls and dusty pathways pains the sight and makes the eyes water, truth, like the light and the heat, begins to seem a stark and terrifying quality: it will skewer you, helpless and wriggling; sear you to nothing if you come too close. In the relief of the darkened rooms and the faint breezes of inner courtyards, people grow uneasy and defensive, and begin to speak mutinously against the man who talks of nothing but suffering and servitude.

  Faith is not gentle, and more than a gift it is a command, because it is a necessity, and it more than anything is the one thing God demands of us.

  Hope is not gentle, and it too is a command, a necessity.

  And Love: Love is the greatest and most terrifying commitment, and obligation, of all.

  *

  Anna on her lap, Euan beside her, both returned to her safely. She has no choice but to listen, as intently as possible, every fibre in her body quivering and straining to hear, to know, to understand. She is exhausted. Euan is exhausted. Both of them have new creases etched in their faces, from their separate trials; ever so faint, but there nonetheless, the sign of lines to come. Only Anna, thank God, seems unaffected by the last few days. And in four days’ time, Easter will be over and they will be going home.

  ‘You mean the world to me,’ Euan had said that morning, taking her into his arms and hugging her, almost crushing her, uncharacteristically tight. ‘You and Anna. If you have ever doubted, Ruth – and I know you have, I know you must have – then please know now. I love you. At one point’ – his voice caught – ‘I thought my number was up. I was baptising two young men and a woman, and suddenly the Mutaween were at the door. We heard their voices, and there was nowhere to go, and I thought that was it, we all thought that was it. One of the men went to answer the door, but by the time he got there they had moved on – and he thought at first it was a trick, a trap – but they really did go away, for no discernible reason, and we were saved. And all my thoughts were of you and Anna, and I just wanted to get back to you, then, and get you away from here.’

  His body, as he let himself collapse against her, had felt a dead weight, and she had felt herself stagger. She was certain, then, that she would have lost him: him and Anna.

  Now, she thinks to Euan beside her, to Anna: You are my life. Maybe another day, another moment, I will once again feel the way I did about my husband and my child: the ambivalence, the exasperation, the resentment, the burden of them. Maybe when life is restored it will seem to lose all value once more. But now, in this moment – and I must try and carry the memory of this moment inside me, always – in this moment, I know that they are all that matters.

  And all of a sudden she finds that thanks and relief and profound gratitude are streaming out of her, as if she is praying without trying to, praying without words, and she thinks: I promised to believe in you, God, and I want to believe in you, and maybe that’s as far as we can ever go. Prophecies will fail, tongues be stilled, knowledge will fade away, but love, somewhere, even if we cannot see or feel or apprehend or understand it, love, somehow, remains.

  *

  Graham Day is taking a different tack, now. And yet, he is saying, and yet: should it be complicated, should it be difficult, to love? Jesus’s final commandment, is it not?, is to love: Love one another, he says, even as I have loved you. Love your friends, love your enemies, love all who know you and those who do not. That is all: God is Love, and it is simple, and perfect; and perhaps it is we in our flawed and human anguish who demand to struggle and to suffer.

  *

  She has lost the thread of the sermon. What he said at first does not seem to relate to what he is saying now. She must not allow her thoughts to wander. She must not think of Farid.

  *

  They rise to sing, the sixty-third Psalm.

  O God, you are my God

  earnestly I seek you;

  my soul thirsts for you,

  my body longs for you,

  in a dry and weary land

  where there is no water.

  Everything is meaningful.

  *

  Tonight, when the service is over, they will go back to the villa, and Euan will tell her a little about Saudi Arabia, the people, the place, the Word. She will not tell him what has happened to her. She will never tell him. She has thought about it, briefly, but something tells her there is no need. She has learned what she needed to know. This is what she tells herself.

  Noor’s father has taken his daughter to the family compound, where there will be people to watch over her, until her mother arrives from England and they decide what should be done with her.

  Farid she will never see again. He had taken her to pick up Noor and Anna, he and Dr al-Husayn both. Afterwards, back in the villa, Anna bathed and safely asleep, she had told him she could never see him again. This time, he had not cried, or protested his love.

  ‘You can’t do this to me,’ he had said. ‘Again and again, Ruth, you have said it is over, then changed your mind, and I have come running. This time, I am serious. You tell me to go, and I will go, and you will never see me again.’

  She had looked at him, and for a moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. But she had made her promise.

  ‘I will always love you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he said, ‘damn you,’ as he turned and left.

  Friday, Good Friday, will be spent at church all day. Saturday packing. Easter Sunday, then last things on Monday, then Tuesday home. It was meant to be a fortnight on Tuesday – May – but Euan is glad to change their flights, when she suggests it, now that he has done what he needed to do. He is shaken, she can see, in ways that he will never fully explain to her. Both of them are; changed; both with their own silences.

  Home.

  *

  It does not happen quite like that. She does not see Farid again, but she does hear
from him. He rings and texts her on Easter Sunday, several times: she can feel the phone buzzing against her thigh, again and again, and she has to ignore it, to pretend to ignore it, because Euan is beside her, and even if she took it out to turn it off he would glance over and see the name, the volume of messages.

  It is a shock to realise that she has not quelled the habit of having her phone always on her, set to silent and vibrate, even after everything, all of her promises and resolutions. The Communion wafer is dust on her tongue, and sticks to the roof of her mouth.

  After the service (so joyful, the Bishop of Cyprus and the Gulf himself conducting, the purple cassock and ceremonial mitre, the exultant music, the congregation singing as if their hearts might burst, and Christ restored) she makes use of the jubilance and general confusion to slip outside, to the smooth marble courtyard and the white heat, and round the back of the building.

  Farid has left two voicemails on her phone, and several text messages. They are sending him away, is the gist of it. They have been too lax with him, his uncle has decided, too lenient; he is to go to some second cousins in Esfahan, Iran.

  ‘They will send me to Iran, Ruth’ – his voice cracks and pleads on her answerphone – ‘even though my mother fled from there in seventy-eight. That’s how angry they are, how little they care about me. They say I must leave Bahrain, next week. Please, Ruth. Please, we belong together, I know we do—’

  Shaking so violently she fears she might be sick, she cuts off the message and deletes it. If she listens to one more second, she knows, she might give in. She tries not to look at the text messages as she deletes them, too. Then she turns her phone off: she will leave it off, she vows, for the next two days, until they are back in Ireland.