by Maha Akhtar
Noura sobbed, her palms covering her eyes. Dear God! Please don’t let him have suffered. As the anguish of the imagined pain suffered by her husband when they hung him in Burj Square overtook her, she curled up on the bed and buried her face into the pillow to muffle the sounds of her grief. How could this have happened? And why?
Her cries mixed with those of her newborn daughter, Siran, who was sleeping in a cot next to her and who had woken upon hearing her mother’s distress.
Noura quickly jumped out of bed and picked up her daughter to soothe her. It was five o’clock in the morning and she didn’t want to disturb Samar, her close friend and Wissam’s wife, to whose home she and Khaled had come when they arrived in Beirut. Like Noura, Samar was distraught over Wissam’s execution alongside Khaled, and Noura had held and consoled her until an hour before when she’d finally fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Noura wished that she too could sink into the bliss of oblivion. But she couldn’t. She had a little baby in her arms who was smiling and gurgling at her, fascinated with the gold medallion of the Virgin Mary that hung around her neck. Noura sat down in an armchair next to the window with Siran, staring out at the dark shapes of trees and bushes against the sky, which was beginning to lighten.
The next thing she knew, the sky was bright blue and the sound of cicadas had given way to birds. Noura looked down to see Siran cozily asleep in her arms, her little thumb in her mouth. Tears appeared in Noura’s eyes. But she blinked them back, took a deep breath, and slowly got up, doing her best not to jostle her baby. She placed her carefully in the cot and covered her with a cotton blanket. She stood for a moment looking down at her, caressing her soft head. Four agonizing weeks had passed since Khaled’s death. Now, her grief would have to wait. There were important decisions she needed to make: like where she and Siran were going to live … but more importantly, how and on what?
Noura was twenty-eight years old. Slim, but strong, at five feet six inches, she was tall for a Lebanese woman. She had an ample bosom and a small waist. And while she wasn’t classically beautiful, she was considered pretty enough. She had an oval face with high cheekbones, and a thick mane of dark brown curly hair that was always tied back and rolled at the base of her neck. Her dark brown eyes, fringed with thick black eyelashes, drooped slightly downward, giving her a certain doll-like innocence. Her mouth was small, but her lips were sensual and rosy. Her two slightly crooked front teeth made her lips plumper and more alluring, even though she was always embarrassed about her smile. A round brown mole near her left eye drew attention to her eyes, which were always bright.
She washed up quickly, dressing in the long navy blue skirt, blue and white striped shirt, and sensible low-heeled shoes she had traveled in, and left Siran with Samar. She walked toward the port of Beirut, just east of the Saint George Bay, where Saint George is believed to have slain the dragon. She was going to a small pawnshop where Samar had told her she might have some luck selling her rings and pendant. While Samar had her parents to return to in the northern Bekaa valley, Noura had no one. Both her parents had passed away, her father dying just after she and Khaled were married. And she had no money. Khaled’s salary was frozen and the house in Izmir belonged to the government.
She picked her way through the squalid streets until she arrived at a small square with a fountain in the middle. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked around, her small handbag clutched tightly in her hand. Now where? She took out the small piece of paper on which she had written the directions. “Opposite the fountain,” Samar had told her. But there was nothing here. No shops of any kind, just a dusty square and small streets. She knew she was near the port. She could smell the salty air and hear the seagulls screeching loudly as they flew overhead. Disappointed, she turned back.
“Noura?” she heard someone call her name.
She knew that voice.
“Noura?” the male voice said again.
Noura whipped around. Her eyes grew large and a big smile broke out on her face when she saw Musa Nusair, the man who’d brought them to Beirut. She walked toward him while he quickly closed the gap between them, holding his arms out to her. Noura hugged him with all the strength she had. And though she didn’t want to, she began to cry.
“I am so happy to see you, Captain.” She finally looked up at him, trying to smile through her tears.
“Noura … I don’t have the right words. I … I don’t know what to say about …”
“Please,” Noura interrupted quickly. “Not now.”
“Come,” he put his arm around her, “let us go and have some tea.”
“Thank you.” She fished out her handkerchief.
“How is my little Siran?” he asked.
Noura smiled, remembering her labor in Musa’s cramped quarters. “She is fine. Healthy, happy, and innocent.”
“I wish we could all be that way.”
Minutes later, they were sitting at a quiet table in a corner near the window in a small harbor café, looking out at the hustle and bustle of the port. It was a beautiful and bright, warm morning.
But Noura’s world was dark. She fought tears. Seeing Musa flooded her mind with memories of the morning she and Khaled had left Izmir: how they’d left the house under cover of night, how worried she’d been about giving birth on the way, how nervous Khaled had been. She remembered Khaled walking up to Musa on the quay, offering him a wad of bills. She remembered going into labor on the ship and how Musa had delivered Siran, and Khaled’s face when he held their daughter for the first time. She clasped her hands together to try and stop them from trembling. She felt as though her heart was being squeezed and she couldn’t breathe. She began taking quick, shallow breaths.
“Take your time, Noura.”
Noura squeezed her eyes shut.
“He’s gone, Captain,” Noura said, her eyes moist again.
Musa nodded.
“I cannot imagine how you feel, Noura.”
“The pain is unbearable,” she whispered, hunched over, staring down at her hands.
Musa nodded silently.
“I don’t what I am going to do,” she added. “I have nothing … I have no money, nowhere to live … absolutely nothing.”
“Please … let me help …”
“No!” Noura interrupted. “I mean, thank you,” she graciously added, “but I will find a way. I have to. If not for my sake, then for Siran’s.”
“Well I am here to help you, Noura … all you have to do is ask.”
“Captain … do you have any idea why Khaled brought us back to Beirut?” Noura asked. “If he was in trouble with the Turks, why not go somewhere where they couldn’t touch him or us?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“And why didn’t he tell me anything? I was his wife, for God’s sake!”
She shook her head in anger and began to cry. Through her tears, she began rummaging around in her handbag for her handkerchief.
“Damn it!” she swore when she couldn’t find one.
Musa took his and gave it to her.
“Thank you, Captain.” Noura wiped her eyes and her nose. “I’m just so … I don’t even know what to feel … I’m so angry … at Khaled, at the Turks, at the war … at everything. And I’m heartbroken and I’m sad and bereft. I don’t know … I’m so confused.”
Musa squeezed her hand.
“I have to leave Beirut. I can’t stay here. There are too many bad memories … it’s my hometown, it’s where I was born … but I can’t stay. I don’t want to bring Siran up in a city run with this kind of cruelty.”
“I can understand.”
“But where do I go?” Noura looked out of the window pensively.
“What about your family?” the captain asked.
“All I have left is my great aunt in Cairo.”
“Can you stay with her?”
Noura nodded. “She is elderly, but we can stay there for a while, I suppose. I will send her a telegram.”
/> “Look, Noura, Cairo is a good idea,” Musa said. “It’s a British protectorate.”
“How do I get there?”
“I have to go to the Yemen in a few days … but I will be back in about a month and then I will be going to Alexandria. I’d be happy to take you with me. Will you be all right until then?”
Noura nodded.
“But I have no money, Captain.”
“You can pay me when you have the money,” he reassured her.
“I can’t take advantage of your generosity like that.”
“Look upon it as a loan.”
“Why don’t I give you these in exchange?” She took out a small pouch and opened it revealing the rings and pendant.
“Don’t be silly, Noura.”
“Please, Captain! I insist,” she said. “I don’t like having debts.”
“Keep them, Noura … give them to Siran.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Noura said. “This is the second time you have saved my life.”
At the end of July 1916, Noura boarded the Tree of Life, her daughter in one arm and her small, battered, brown suitcase in the other.
Despite all of Captain Nusair’s assurances, she was nervous about the voyage. The naval war between Britain and Germany had escalated. The newspapers were filled with stories of German U-boats torpedoing and sinking merchant vessels even vaguely suspected of carrying military cargo for the British. After all, the sinking of the civilian RMS Lusitania off the coast of Ireland, which the Germans claimed was a military target a year before, was still very fresh in people’s minds.
And here they were in the Eastern Mediterranean, which was swarming with German U-boats. Despite having spotted two of them shortly after they set out to sea, the journey passed without any mishaps and a couple of days later, Noura stood on deck, dressed in her navy skirt and white striped shirt, holding Siran in her arms as the ship approached the port in Alexandria.
The harbor was teeming with shipping vessels of all kinds: there were cargo ships, and passenger ships, but the majority were British warships and a few French ones. Noura took a deep breath when she saw the cannons, a reminder that while Egypt was a British protectorate, it was not a war-free zone. The British were using Egypt as a staging ground for all their military activities in the Middle East, while at the same time protecting the Suez Canal and the shortcut to India.
“Look, Siran,” she said to the infant, “this is going to be our new home.”
Siran cooed, gurgling and smiling.
We will have a fresh start here, insha’Allah.
Although Noura was trying to stay positive, she was nervous. She was in a country she didn’t know, going to live in a city she’d only visited once years ago. She had very little money that Samar had given her, just enough to get her to Cairo … What am I going to do here? I have to find a job. But what? She hugged her daughter close, clutched the pendant around her neck and said a little prayer.
“So what does my little girl think of this country?” Captain Nusair took Siran from her mother.
“We still have to make it to Cairo,” Noura said.
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” he said calmly, swinging the child up in the air.
“Captain …” Noura shook her finger at him playfully. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
“Who? Me?” he said, balancing Siran on his hip. “Nothing, Madame! Nothing at all!” He twirled around the deck with Siran, singing to her as he did.
Noura watched the sailors from the Tree of Life lower the gangplank. As she walked down, her earlier anxiety returned. Worried about what the future was going to bring, she felt herself shaking, clinging to the ropes along the gangplank as she cautiously made her way down. Behind her came Captain Nusair carrying Siran in one arm and her suitcase in the other.
“Come, Noura, follow me,” Captain Nusair said when they got to the bottom.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve arranged for an official in the customs house to give you Egyptian papers.”
“Honestly, Captain, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Let us hurry,” Musa urged.
Once inside, Musa began looking around before finally leading her to a small, empty, windowless office.
“Who are you looking for, Captain?” Noura asked, confused.
“Just a moment, Noura … wait here.”
Noura looked around wondering what was going on. But Siran was starting to cry and she had to give the infant her complete attention.
“Noura,” she heard the captain’s voice.
“Yes.” She turned to see Captain Nusair standing with a man as tall as himself, but bigger and broader. He was wearing a long white cotton tunic with thin dark red and saffron yellow stripes that sat snugly across his middle. His head was covered with a taupe-colored cotton fabric, wrapped around like a turban and drawn across his face, covering his eyes almost completely.
Noura looked at him. Who is this man? she wondered.
“Sabah al-khair, Madame,” said a gruff, gravelly voice from behind the cloth.
Noura nodded, acknowledging him. She looked at Captain Nusair, her eyes questioning.
“Do you not recognize me?” the man continued.
Noura shook her head, smiling with embarrassment.
“My dear lady …” The man bent down and pulled the cloth from his face, revealing his eyes. They were brown and they twinkled. Suddenly, he winked.
Noura’s eyes opened wide. She quickly handed Siran to the captain.
“Salah! Oh my God!” She threw herself into his arms.
Her mind flashed back to when Khaled had first introduced her to him. “Salah, this is the woman I’m going to marry,” he’d said and Noura had looked at him, shocked, considering they were not even engaged at the time. “And, Noura, this is my best friend, Salah,” he’d added. “We’ve known each other since we were ten years old.” Noura remembered smiling shyly, still blushing from the last comment. “And don’t worry about his bear-like appearance, he’s really a pussy cat … who wears too much cologne!” Khaled had teased him.
Noura remembered that first evening with Salah and how well they had all gotten along, especially the instant connection she had felt with her husband’s friend. Salah had her laughing all through dinner, insisting on showing her his dancing moves. “I promise to dance at the wedding!” He’d winked at her. “I’ve never seen Khaled like this before,” he’d said to Noura when Khaled got up for a moment to go and get them more drinks. “He’s had his share of girlfriends, but you’re different.” Noura had smiled shyly. “There will be a wedding soon … trust me.”
Ever since, Salah had been in their lives. They would often meet for dinner, with Wissam and Samar sometimes joining in, and Rafic too when he was in town from Damascus. Salah was one of the three best men at the wedding. Shortly after, Khaled was offered a job as lawyer at the Chemin de Fer Imperial Office in Izmir. He had accepted immediately, knowing that Salah was already there.
And when they moved to Izmir, Salah helped them find a house that was close to his apartment and Noura often dropped by. Occasionally, Salah would come by and ask her to sew on a button or fix a tear in his pants or jacket. And Khaled was delighted to see the budding friendship between his wife and best friend.
Noura was so happy to see Salah that she wouldn’t let go of him. He had to pry her hands from behind his neck and carefully put her down on the ground.
“I am so happy to see you, Noura,” Salah said. “It has been too long. The last time I saw you was last year in September at that lovely birthday dinner you had for Khaled,” he reminisced. “My God! It’s been almost a year.”
Noura looked down at the tips of her shoes; she pursed her lips in a tight line, holding back the tears that came with the images of that idyllic evening in their garden in Izmir. She remembered how that morning the doctor had confirmed her suspicions that she was pregnant. She remembered how excited and happy she was and how
she was going to tell Khaled. She remembered waiting until all the guests had left and over a piece of cake and a glass of champagne, she had told him. She remembered the look on his face and how the initial shock had given way to a huge bright smile that lit up his whole face. He had taken her in his arms, hugging her, holding her, kissing her and he had told her how happy he was, how happy she made him and how much marrying her was the best thing he’d ever done. And he had told her he loved her. Khaled! Where have you gone?
Salah put his arm around her and hugged her. “Courage,” he said.
Noura bit her lip, nodding, pushing back her tears.
“I can’t believe you didn’t immediately recognize my voice,” Salah said quickly.
“Oh Salah, I am sorry. It’s all so overwhelming.”
“Yes … ,” he said. “I know … look, Noura …”
“No Salah,” she interrupted him, knowing he was going to say something about Khaled. “Not yet.”
Salah nodded, respecting her wishes.
“Well now,” Captain Nusair jumped in, “we need to get going. I have a very short turnaround time in this slip, only to unload and then I have to move on.”
“Noura … ,” Salah began. “I have to explain our plan to get you into Cairo safely.”
Salah and Musa exchanged a conspiratorial look.
“What do you mean?” Noura looked at them suspiciously.
“I have a horse taxi waiting outside. The driver is one of my friends. He will take you to the station and get you and Siran on the train.”
“What about you?”
“I will meet you in Cairo.”
“I don’t understand.” Noura shook her head. “What happens when I get to the station in Cairo?”
“Another one of my boys will pick you up and take you to my mother’s house.”
“And I suppose that is where you will be?”
Salah nodded.
“Why the subterfuge?”
“The Turks are looking for me.”
“Why?”
“Because Khaled, Wissam, and Rafic were my friends.”
“Were you involved with them too?”
“Noura … it doesn’t matter. They think I was.”