Footprints in the Desert

by Maha Akhtar

  “Hey!” one of them shouted. “Who are you?”

  Salah aimed and fired. He caught the man in the shoulder and he collapsed on the staircase. The other turned and ran.

  Suddenly, lights went on in the house, and doors on the first floor above them began to open as men poured out. Salah, Lawrence, and the four soldiers began firing at them, taking cover behind the round foyer table. Another group of men came running down another hallway off the entrance.

  “I’ll take them,” Salah shouted to Lawrence over the gunfire.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You two! Come with us,” Salah told a couple of the soldiers.

  The front door burst open and the four Englishmen from the garden came in and joined in the gunfight. Lawrence ordered them to cover the men in the foyer.

  Salah, Lawrence, and their group faced off with the men in the hallway. Slowly, they made headway and Salah reached a staircase that led downstairs to the basement.

  “Cover me,” he said to Lawrence, as he moved to run downstairs. Just then, the door at the bottom of the staircase opened and Omer Erdogan and Sergeant Celik emerged.

  “Masri! You bastard!” Erdogan swore and took a shot at Salah. The bullet grazed Salah’s arm as he quickly dove behind the banister. The Turks came running up the stairs firing. The English returned fire. Salah aimed and shot. He got Sergeant Celik in the leg, who doubled up and collapsed. But Erdogan kept coming. He killed a couple of the English before he aimed at Salah. He pointed directly and shot. His gun clicked. He was out of bullets. Erdogan looked shocked. He rustled around trying to find another weapon. He dove for one of the dead men’s guns, but Salah got there first.

  “Not your day, Erdogan,” he said. “Cuff him,” Salah ordered.

  Salah ran down the stairs, Lawrence close on his heels. In the basement, they discovered crates of dynamite stamped with the British Army insignia on it.

  “What the hell … ?” Lawrence stopped on the stairs. “This is all the British ammunition that was stolen from the depots a few days ago. This is what they used to bomb the El-Khalili.”

  “Right now, I don’t care, Lawrence! Where the hell is Nassim?” Salah swore.

  “Through there!” Lawrence pointed to a smaller door.

  Salah burst in and there on a pile of hay was the bloodied, battered body of Nassim. Salah ran to him and took him in his arms. Nassim’s entire face was swollen, his lips cut, his eyes were shut, and there was dried and fresh blood everywhere on his body.

  “Come on, son … we’re going home,” Salah said gently.

  Chapter Ten

  Carefully, Noura took a perfectly folded dress out of a bag and placed it on the table in the middle of Rania’s Café. Saydeh, Fatmeh, Takla, and Rania all sat around the table, holding their breath in anticipation. She opened it and held it up.

  They all stared at the dress.

  Noura’s brow furrowed with fear when no one said anything.

  “Well,” she started hesitantly, “what do you all think?” She looked around at the group. Fatmeh’s mouth dropped open and Saydeh and Takla’s eyes opened wide.

  “You made that?” Rania asked incredulously.

  Noura nodded.

  “Noura …” Rania ran her fingers over the silky skirt, “this is absolutely spectacular. It’s so elegant. And you put the tulle underneath.”

  “Thank you.” Noura smiled, letting out a huge sigh of relief. “Yes, this shape will be much more flattering on Madame Yvonne’s figure.”

  “I knew it! I knew you could do it!” Saydeh went and hugged her.

  Takla nodded approvingly. “She’s going to look so much better in that.”

  Noura looked at Fatmeh, waiting for her reaction.

  “I’m speechless, Noura,” Fatmeh said. “I just wish I could wear a dress like that.”

  The doorbell jingled and Yvonne walked in. Noura gasped, grabbed the dress and ran into the kitchen.

  “What?” Yvonne asked. “What has happened? Why does everyone look so scared?”

  “No, no, Madame Yvonne!” Rania jumped up. “Nothing has happened. Let me get you some coffee.”

  Yvonne sat down, placing her purse next to her. She looked up to see Takla, Fatmeh, and Saydeh all staring at her.

  “Why are all of you looking at me like that?” she cried. “Do I have something on my face?” She reached for her little compact mirror.

  “Madame Yvonne,” Noura approached hesitantly, with a brown paper packet in her hand, “this is for you.” She placed it in front of Yvonne.

  Yvonne didn’t say a word. She opened the packet and lifted the dress that Noura had re-folded.

  Everyone watched as Yvonne twirled the dress this way and that, inspecting it closely.

  “Well, Madame Yvonne?” Noura bit her lip nervously.

  “You put all the tulle under the skirt,” she said, lifting the hem.

  “Yes, Madame Yvonne,” Noura said, “it gives a little volume and lift to the skirt so it can hide any imperfections … you know …”

  “Imperfections … ? Are you suggesting that my figure is imperfect?”

  “Yvonne!” Saydeh clicked her tongue. “We all have imperfections … look at my big behind.”

  Yvonne glared.

  Rania came out from behind the bar with the coffee.

  “So, Madame Yvonne, do you like it?”

  “Of course, I have to try it on,” she said.

  Noura nodded. “Naturally, and I can make any adjustments that you wish.”

  “You should be a seamstress, Noura,” Rania suggested.

  Noura smiled shyly.

  “In all seriousness, though, I think you could do quite well,” Rania said.

  “I’ve never trained as a seamstress.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Rania said. “I never trained as a cook, and here I am with my own café.”

  “But what would I do?” Noura asked, looking around helplessly. “Would I have to open a shop?”

  “Look, I don’t think there is a seamstress in this alley or around here … so we all sort of do our own repairs,” Rania said, “and not everyone can sew.”

  Yvonne raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.

  “Madame Yvonne, please,” Rania put her hand up before the older woman could say anything. She turned back to Noura. “You can do repairs, alterations, or create new patterns … and not just clothes, maybe you could make curtains … anything to do with sewing. You clearly have the talent.”

  Noura nodded. Her great aunt had a sewing machine. She had used it to make Madame Yvonne’s dress. “Yes, I suppose I could take it all to Old Cairo.”

  Rania shook her finger and her head. “No,” she said. “If you are going to work for people here, you have to be here. What do you think Tante Saydeh?”

  Saydeh nodded. “Rania is right, habibti. You would need to be here.”

  “But how can I do that, Tante Saydeh?” Noura said. “I live in Old Cairo.”

  “You have a home right here in El-Khalili,” Saydeh said, tilting her head in the direction of her house down the street.

  “Tante Saydeh,” Noura answered, “I don’t want to be ungrateful, you and Salah have already done so much for me, but I can’t take advantage of you like that.”

  “Don’t be silly, Noura!” Saydeh said. “It would be a pleasure to have you and the baby. Remember I have the third floor free. Salah is supposedly on the second floor, but he’s not; he’s always in my apartment on the first floor.”

  Noura wrestled with the idea, wringing her hands. What would that mean? She would have to move out of Old Cairo. Would her great aunt be offended, even though she was not completely aware mentally? Would she even realize Noura had gone? And what about here? Living in the same house with Salah, the floor just above him? Oh Khaled … how would you feel about this? Would it be awkward? Would Tante Saydeh think it untoward? But then again, she wouldn’t have offered if she thought anything of it. Is it what I should do? Plea
se, Khaled, tell me what you think.

  It wasn’t the thought of working that bothered her. It was living in such close quarters with a man toward whom she had feelings … feelings she realized were going further than just friendship.

  “And you could put your sewing machine in the attic … ,” Saydeh began. “And that way, you would have a place to live and a place to work. Yes,” she nodded, agreeing with what she had just said, “it is always better to not live where you work, even if only one step separates you.”

  “But, Tante Saydeh, that is just too generous and I cannot in all good conscience …”

  “Why don’t you pay Saydeh rent if you feel so badly?” Yvonne jumped in.

  Taken aback, Noura turned to look at her.

  “Well?” Yvonne spread her hands. “It seems like a logical idea, doesn’t it? Saydeh has the space, you need the space; she wants you there and would give it to you for free, but you feel badly. So instead of feeling obligated to her, pay her rent.”

  “Which,” Takla suddenly interjected, “is a very good thing because then you won’t feel as though you are a permanent guest in Saydeh’s home. It will be yours too.”

  “It is her home … now, even though she won’t admit it,” Saydeh added.

  But Noura’s brain was whirring. Yes, paying Tante Saydeh rent would also make her feel independent and much better about herself. She didn’t want to accept anyone’s charity.

  “You can pay her with the money you earn from the sewing,” Yvonne advised her. “Obviously don’t give her everything! Keep some for you and your daughter.”

  Noura nodded. It really wasn’t such a bad idea. And this way, she could come here to live and work in the El-Khalili just like all these women around her. She had to admit that she was much happier here. It was so much more lively and dramatic. Old Cairo was lonely. Besides Salah was here. Noura’s heart skipped a beat when she thought of him. Stop it, Noura!

  “So?” Rania leaned her hands on the table. “Are you going to come here?”

  “I would love to have you,” Saydeh added. “And I know Salah would agree with me.”

  Noura looked at her.

  “Why the hesitation?” Yvonne asked. “Why not just say yes?”

  Rania nodded enthusiastically “I agree, Noura. Take the chance. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Change is always good, and it’s scary at first but it is always for the better. You’ll be happy here.”

  Noura looked around the table. They were all waiting expectantly for her to say something. Yes, she liked all these women. Despite the fights and the arguments, they supported each other.

  “Yes, I think I will be happier here too,” she finally said.

  “So you’ll come?” Saydeh asked, hopeful.

  Noura bit her bottom lip. And quickly before she lost her nerve and found an excuse to change her mind, she nodded.

  Ahmad Jemmal was at his desk in the Grand Serail Palace in Damascus when he was told about the arrest of Erdogan and his men in Cairo.

  “Bloody idiot!” he swore loudly. “What the hell was he thinking?”

  His secretary stood calmly in front of him. “Would you like me to do anything, Pasha?”

  “Get me the military governor on the phone. I have to get Erdogan out of the hands of the British.”

  “Yes, Pasha.”

  “And in the meantime, send in another team to Cairo to watch Masri.”

  “Yes, Sir. Anyone in particular?”

  Ahmad Jemmal glowered at his secretary.

  “Someone competent.”

  Salah and Lawrence were at the British High Command in Cairo going over the details of a shipment to Faisal.

  Faisal had recently put Salah in charge of liaising with the British to make sure that he received everything as promised and on time. As luck would have it, Lawrence was the man the British general had put in charge of organizing British supplies to the Arabs.

  “It’s going to be easier to get supplies and troops to Faisal now that he controls the Red Sea ports,” Lawrence remarked as they walked toward a warehouse on the British Army cantonment.

  “Yes, but it’s been such slow going, Lawrence.”

  “Look, those tribesmen are struggling against fifteen thousand well-armed and trained Ottoman troops that were just moved to the Hejaz … it’s not easy.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Come on ol’ boy … chin up,” Lawrence said as they walked into the warehouse. “Now, what have we here?”

  “Twenty thousand pounds of gold for the tribesmen, ten thousand guns,” Lawrence read off his sheet.

  “And where is the artillery coming from this time?” Salah asked.

  “Three pieces of artillery are coming from the Sudan.”

  “With Egyptian gunners?”

  “Yes … the boys will ship out on a seaplane carrier from Suez,” Lawrence said.

  Salah began inspecting the crates filled with ammunition.

  “So are you breathing a little easier now that Erdogan is in jail?” Lawrence glanced up at him.

  “I suppose I am,” Salah replied. “But they got very close Lawrence … my mother, Rania, Nassim, Noura.”

  “Yes, but it’s all over and done with. And now you’ve got Charlie looking over your shoulder.”

  “You know, Lawrence, I’ve said this often enough, but I never signed up for it and now I’m up to my neck in it,” Salah said.

  “Indeed you are. Perhaps one day you will tell your grandchildren about it.”

  Salah glared at him.

  “I must be off. Thank you, Lawrence.” Salah shook his hand. “I’ll be at Suez to take charge of the consignment.”

  “Who’s taking you to Jeddah?”

  “Nusair.”

  Salah left the British Army barracks and headed to Rania’s Café. He knocked at the back door. When there was no answer, he opened it and went in. The café was full. Salah heard Rania taking orders. He tiptoed through the kitchen and went directly to the cellar.

  “How are you feeling, brother?” Salah asked Rabih, who was sitting up.

  “Much, much better.”

  “Rabih, listen, I’m heading to the Hejaz with some supplies for Faisal and Abdallah’s army. I want you to come with me.”

  “Count on it, Salah. When do we go?”

  “Tomorrow all right with you? Charlie’s going to come with us and Lawrence will meet us in Jeddah.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “And when we come back, you’re moving in to my mother’s house,” Salah told him. “You can’t live in Rania’s cellar.”

  “I was going to talk to you about that,” Rabih said.

  Just outside the brick wall in the kitchen, Rania was talking to Fatmeh about a similar topic.

  “So?” Fatmeh asked, smiling mischievously. “How’s it going with Rabih?”

  “Well …”

  “That doesn’t sound good. You were over the moon the last time we talked.”

  “I was,” Rania said. “And I like him … I just … don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been thinking, and I think I need to slow down, Fatmeh. I just feel that it’s all going a little too quickly. After all, Adel’s only been gone a year.”

  “I understand. But Rabih is a good man, Rania, and men like him don’t come around that often.”

  “I know. I just don’t want to jump in with both feet,” Rania said. “I’m only just starting to come to terms with being on my own. And it’s taken a while. I want to be a whole person before I start anything with anyone else … not the broken one I was after Adel died.”

  “Maybe you are right.”

  “I spoke to Salah. He will move in with him and Saydeh.”

  “Well he won’t be too far away.”

  A few days later, Salah, Rabih, and Charlie, along with a small group of British soldiers, boarded the train to Suez, riding in the same car as the crates of ammunition, food, and medicines that were going
to Faisal’s army.

  Nusair was at the port of Suez waiting to receive the cargo, and as soon as they loaded up, they pushed off down the Gulf of Suez toward Sharm el-Sheikh and Cape Mohammad.

  Masri, Farhat, and British ammunition on Yemeni boat headed for Jeddah.

  Ahmad Jemmal smiled sadistically as he read the communiqué. This time Masri was not going to escape.

  “Shall I tell German naval command to blow up the ship, Sir?”

  “They could do,” Ahmed Jemmal said, “since they are carrying British ammunition … but no … I want Masri and Farhat alive.

  “Tell German naval command to intercept the Tree of Life,” he instructed his secretary. “They are to arrest Masri and Farhat and deliver them to me. After that, they can blow the ship out of the Red Sea if they want.”

  Salah was away when Noura arrived at the Khan el-Khalili bazaar. Her daughter was in her arms and her battered brown suitcase and the black case that held her great aunt’s sewing machine were next to her on the pavement when Saydeh opened the door.

  “Noura! Habibti!” She opened her arms when she saw her, waddling over to hug her and Siran.

  “It’s good to see you.” Noura kissed the old woman.

  “Come! Let’s get you upstairs and we can have a nice coffee after you’ve settled in,” Saydeh said as she led the way up to the first floor. “Now, I have cleaned the third floor and the attic, and I had Salah re-organize some furniture before he left, but you will see how you want to set it up.”

  “Thank you, Tante … I am very grateful. But where is Salah?”

  “Oh … that boy. He’s off again. This time, he took Rabih to the desert.”

  Noura was disappointed. Not only had she been looking forward to seeing Salah, she wanted to apologize for her last outburst … she also wanted to apologize for her behavior in general over the past several months. She’d taken her anger and frustration out on Salah, including blaming him for Khaled’s death, and that was not fair. But now she would have to wait until he returned.

  “He’ll be back soon,” Saydeh assured her.