by Maha Akhtar
The third floor of Saydeh’s house was small, but open and airy. There was a narrow entrance area just off the landing that led into a room with two tall French doors that gave onto a side alley below. There was a low, off-white divan against the wall, a small rug, and a wooden table on which stood a shiny copper jug filled with a huge bouquet of creamy roses. On either side of the divan stood two ornately carved wooden Syrian armchairs painted silver. There were light white cotton curtains on the windows to keep out the glare, but not the bright sunlight. Down a narrow corridor was a wooden double door to a small bedroom and next to that, a bit further down, was a tiny bathroom with just about enough room to wash. There was no kitchen. The only one in the house was in Saydeh’s apartment.
Noura looked around. The wooden floors were clean and there was no sign of dust anywhere.
“How beautiful!” Noura said as she bent over to smell the roses. “Thank you, Tante.”
“So what do you think, Siran?” Noura walked around the room, stopping at the French doors to look out on the street. “What do you think of our new home?”
The infant gurgled, smiling up at her mother.
“Yes … I think we’ll be very happy here.” Noura set her down in a small cot.
“I have another little surprise,” Saydeh said.
“What is it?” Noura smiled with excitement.
“Follow me!” Saydeh took the lead up the spiral staircase to the attic.
Noura followed her. In the attic, Saydeh turned and smiled and made a wide gesture with her hands. Noura’s mouth dropped open as she took in the scene in front of her. Some old furniture had been tidied away in a corner and covered with sheets, as had some trunks and small wooden crates, creating a space that led directly out onto a terrace and was incredibly bright, with sunlight streaming in through the skylights in the pitched roof.
Against the wall, next to the terrace door, was a wooden table on which Noura’s great aunt’s Singer sewing machine could sit proudly. Directly above the table there were shelves within arm’s reach that could be used for keeping spools of thread, boxes of pins, notepads, pencils, chalk, and other tools Noura might need. There were also a couple of bigger shelves a little further away for bales of cloth. Next to the desk was an old tailor’s mannequin and around its neck hung a measuring tape. In a corner was a cast iron for ironing clothes. In the middle of the room directly under one of the skylights was a square wooden table that could be used for cutting fabric.
Noura couldn’t believe it. It was a little tailor’s atelier. She looked at Saydeh, speechless.
“Do you like it?” Saydeh asked tentatively.
“Like it?” she cried. “I love it.”
Saydeh came forward with a small brown paper packet wrapped with string.
“For me?” Noura’s eyes filled with tears as she held the packet to her chest.
“Open it,” Saydeh urged.
Inside was a navy blue velvet pouch in the shape of an envelope. Noura opened the flap and gasped. There were two pairs of brand new scissors in different sizes, a couple of thimbles, a pretty purple pincushion, and some new needles.
“I don’t know what to say,” She choked back tears.
“It was Salah’s idea,” Saydeh said. “And the roses downstairs … ,” she reminded Noura.
Suddenly, the tears that Noura had been holding back spilled out without warning. She turned toward the wall and reached quickly for her handkerchief. She didn’t want Saydeh to see her sob. She was overwhelmed … her great aunt’s kindness over the past six months and now Saydeh’s warm welcome and generosity … it was all too much and Noura’s shoulders started to shake. Her mind turned yet again, as it had done so many times in the recent past, to Khaled. “I am so proud of you,” she heard him say. “You must move on, Noura. I will always love you. But you have to live another life now.”
“Come, child,” Saydeh put her hands on her shoulder and turned her around to take her in her arms. “Hush now, there is nothing to cry about,” she consoled.
Saydeh held Noura until she stopped crying and the sobs turned into little hiccups.
“I’m sorry, Tante,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I feel like such a child.”
“It’s all right,” Saydeh whispered.
“Now I have to work hard and make sure I have enough money to pay you the rent.”
“Don’t worry about that, habibti … if you don’t make it,” Saydeh said reassuringly, “I won’t throw you out.”
“No, Tante Saydeh,” Noura said firmly. “I will pay you the rent every month.”
“Insha’Allah, everything will work out, child … now how about some coffee and something sweet to make these salty tears disappear?”
Captain Nusair was on the bridge. It was particularly rough going around Cape Mohammad today and the ship was heavy. He peered into the distance. He grabbed his binoculars and tried to focus on the dark shadow just under the surface of the water.
“How’s it going?” Charlie interrupted.
“Here look, what do you think that is?” he handed him the binoculars and pointed out in the distance.
Charlie took the binoculars.
“Holy shit, Nusair … we have to move! That’s a fucking U-Boat!”
“What?”
“Move this ship, Captain,” Charlie said. “If they know we’re carrying ammunition and guns, we’re done for. We’ll be a military target and the Germans will blow us out of the water.”
“What the hell are the Germans doing in the Red Sea?” Musa grabbed the ship’s wheel. “Give me everything you have!” he said to the men down in the engine room.
“What’s going on?” Salah came running in, with Rabih just behind him.
“Germans.”
“Shit!” Salah swore. “We must hide the guns.”
“Where are you going to hide five thousand guns?” Charlie asked.
“Nusair?” Salah said. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a secret hold on this ship.”
“There’s a hold under the main hold,” Nusair said, handing Salah a key. “There’s a secret door through the kitchen galleys.
“Come on!” Salah said and Charlie and Rabih rushed out with him.
“You don’t have much time!” Musa yelled. “I’ve just spotted another U-Boat … Come on! Come on! Give me a little more steam! Put that boiler on full!” he shouted into the receiver to the engine room.
But the Tree of Life was no match for the Germans.
“Stop your engines!”
Musa looked around at his crew on the bridge. He picked up the receiver and gave the order to the engine room. “Go find Salah,” he told one of his men. “Tell him the Germans are coming onboard and to stay hidden.”
“Guten tag, mein Kapitan,” the tall, blonde German naval officer haughtily addressed Musa. “We have received a communiqué that you are carrying military cargo.”
“I am not,” Musa replied.
“Really? Then you would not mind if we searched the ship?”
“Not at all.”
“Komm! Gehen wir!” the German said to his men. “Look into every nook and cranny of this ship.”
Musa’s heart was beating hard. There was no way Salah had moved all those crates in time.
The German sailors fanned out.
Musa sat down, the German commander paced. Everyone waited. An hour later, a German lieutenant returned.
“Nothing, mein Kommandant,” he reported to his Captain.
“What do you mean, nothing? Impossible!”
“I assure you, Sir, we have looked everywhere.”
The German commander turned to Musa. “Where is your cargo?”
“In the cargo hold,” Musa replied, “where I normally keep it.”
“What is your cargo?”
“Food and medicine.”
“Is he telling the truth?” the German turned to his first officer.
“Yes.”
Suddenly, shouts came from outside. “We have
him! We have him!”
The Germans rushed outside, with Musa following closely behind.
It was Charlie, standing with his hands tied behind his back.
“Where is Salah Masri?” the German asked him.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said calmly.
The German came up very close to Charlie.
“Get him out of my sight!” He ordered. “Take him onboard! Let us see how he feels when he is standing in front of Jemmal Pasha in Damascus.”
He whipped around to face Musa. “You’re lucky we didn’t find any contraband on your boat, Yemeni. I would love nothing more than to torpedo you out of the water.”
Musa shrugged.
“You be careful, Yemeni. We’re going to keep a close eye on you.”
Charlie was pushed into a small dinghy, his hands still tied. Musa and his crew watched as the dinghy and the Germans pulled away. Charlie looked up at Musa and winked. Musa put two fingers to his captain’s hat and saluted him. The Germans hurriedly disembarked, rowing towards the U-Boat.
When they were half way to the German submarine, a trap door on the deck opened and Salah and Rabih came through, hiding behind the crowd of sailors. They all stood quietly watching as the submarine’s motors started up and the gigantic steel vessel dove deep into the waters of the Red Sea.
When the submarine had completely disappeared, the crew went back to their posts. Musa, Salah, and Rabih were left standing at the railing of the deck.
“He’ll be all right,” Salah said, his voice gruffer than usual. “This is what Charlie is trained for.”
No one said anything. Salah and Rabih lit up cigarettes and Musa his pipe.
“How am I going to tell Lawrence?” Salah muttered.
No one answered.
“Do you think they’re going to blow up the ship?” Rabih finally asked.
“They didn’t find any cause,” Salah said.
Musa rolled his eyes. “They don’t need cause. If they want, they can blow us up and invent a cause.”
Rabih and Salah exchanged a glance before looking out at the water.
After a while, Musa looked at them, nodded and went back up to the bridge.
“What does this mean?” Ahmed Jemmal shouted at the German officer who presented him with a note from the German naval commander that said neither ammunition nor Masri or Farhat were on board the Tree of Life. “You people are bloody idiots! Get out! Get out of my sight!”
“Would you still like for us to destroy the Yemeni freighter, mein Pasha?” the young German asked, his gaze squarely on the window behind the Turkish commander.
“Didn’t I order you to get out of my sight?” Ahmed Jemmal snarled.
The German saluted, clicked his heels and walked out.
Ahmed Jemmal tapped his fingers on his desk, his nostrils flaring in anger.
A harrowing few days followed. U-Boats hovered around the Tree of Life, some even fired a torpedo or two, but they were mostly meant as scare tactics because none came close enough to do any damage.
The Tree of Life docked at Jeddah a couple of days later.
“Salah!” Lawrence greeted him as he walked down the gangplank.
“Lawrence, listen,” Salah put an arm around him. “I have some difficult news.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid it’s about Charlie.”
“What has happened?”
“Well … we had a run-in with a U-Boat around Cape Mohammad …”
“Hello, Salah!” a familiar voice said, before he could continue.
Salah whipped around and came face to face with Charlie.
“Oh thank God!” Salah grabbed him and engulfed him in his arms. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Careful, Salah … I survived the Germans, but I may not survive you!” Charlie laughed.
“Hackett, you old bastard!” Musa Nusair came up and hugged him.
“You are a cat with nine lives!” Rabih shook Charlie’s hand warmly.
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you.” Salah let him go. “What happened?”
“Well, it was not all fun and games, but the U-Boat got stuck on the ocean floor near Aqaba. While everyone was busy trying to get us out of the mess, they left a young engine room boy to watch me. Poor kid, he was scared. I managed to break free, disarmed him, which wasn’t hard, and attached myself to the divers who were going out to fix the problem. I don’t know how, but I managed to swim away, got to shore, and took your Hejaz Railway all the way down here.”
“Well I hope it was comfortable!” Salah laughed.
Charlie punched him affectionately.
“All right, let’s get these cases off the boat!” Salah ordered. “Then we can celebrate before we head out to Mecca tonight! Lawrence here is buying!”
“I am?”
“The British Army can pay!”
Chapter Eleven
In Mecca, the Arabs were preparing to attack Medina. Despite the disaster in June four months earlier, Faisal’s British military advisors were pushing for a second assault.
“Prince,” Salah began, “with all due respect, I disagree.”
“I think it’s a sound idea,” Faisal retorted.
“Sir, the Ottomans have their best men in Medina. They want to show that even though they lost Mecca, they are not going to give up on Medina.”
“We need Medina,” Faisal said. “My father is in agreement with the British. The Ottomans are desecrating one of Islam’s holiest cities … we can use that against them to further justify the revolt.”
“Prince, please reconsider,” Salah pleaded.
Faisal shook his head. “We attack Medina this week. The sharif has given his blessing. Will you ride with me, Salah?”
Salah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Faisal smiled. “No, you don’t. What’s the matter, Salah? Why so mistrusting of the British?”
“There are stories, Prince, rumors.”
“About what?” Faisal stroked his beard.
“That British strategy has nothing to do with the Arab strategy … or your dream of an Arab nation. They are using us to tie the Ottomans down, nothing more. If there was no Arab Revolt, the Ottomans would either deploy their forces to Western Europe or use them to attack the Suez Canal, which would be a huge problem for the British,” Salah argued. “Instead, the British are using us to fight the Ottomans for them here in Arabia, while they focus on Western Europe and keeping India safe.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I do not believe they will ultimately give us what you want.”
“Salah, we cannot turn back. We must go forward.”
“And what will we have in the end?”
“We will have our pride.”
“Prince, look, if there is even a remote chance of your getting what you want, there is only one Englishman whose word I trust and whom I would like you to meet.”
“Why?”
“Because this one really believes in your cause,” Salah said. “He believes that the Arabs should be free and have their own land and he thinks that he is the one who will give it to them.”
“I have noticed, Brother Salah, that you never refer to the cause as ‘our cause.’”
“Prince, I have never hidden the fact that I’m a reluctant revolutionary … I have gotten involved out of loyalty to you and perhaps a misplaced sense of duty to finish what my friends began.”
“And for that, I thank you,” Faisal said. “Now, who is this Englishman you trust.”
“His name is T.E. Lawrence. Until now, he has been in charge of the supplies the British Army is sending us. If anybody can get you Arab independence, he can.”
“Well then we should meet him.”
As Salah predicted, the second Arab attack on Medina was a disaster. The Arab forces were pushed back in a bloody counter attack that led to many of the tribesmen renouncing their allegiance to the revolt.
&n
bsp; “What the hell happened?” Prince Faisal fumed at the English officers in his tent. “This was a surefire bet.”
“I’m not sure …” Colonel Cyril Wilson hesitated. “The Ottomans are fighting on the defensive. They are well supplied.”
“I don’t care how they are fighting! And I too have supplies … yours! I want answers, Colonel!” Faisal exploded. “This is a catastrophe in every way. We have lost men, allies, not to mention the propaganda war.”
The British officers remained quiet. Prince Faisal paced his tent.
“Prince … ,” Salah said, “I have an idea.”
“Well … spit it out, Masri.”
“We have to get to the Ottoman supply line,” Salah began. “If we can slow it down or break it, I think we can make some inroads.”
“What do you propose?”
“Guerilla warfare, Prince,” Salah said. “Attack the Ottoman supply lines so that they would be constantly engaged in repairing or protecting it.”
Faisal stared at him for a minute as the idea took root.
“You think it could work?”
Salah nodded. “It doesn’t hurt to try.”
“Where do we start?” Faisal said.
Salah turned to Rabih as they all pored over a map of the Hejaz. “Do you remember the details of the railway line just east of Aqaba near Yiza?”
Rabih nodded.
“Let’s start there.”
Slowly a plan began to emerge. Salah and Rabih were to strategize the attacks and Lawrence was to execute them.
In late November, Salah and Rabih returned to Cairo. Charlie asked for a few days off and went back with them. Lawrence, who was fast becoming Faisal’s confidante, stayed behind in the desert.
Rania inserted her key into the front door of the café and walked in. She was glad it was empty. She wanted to be by herself and didn’t want to have to smile or speak, if only for a few minutes before she knew she had to open. This anniversary was a tough one. The trip to the cemetery brought back all the memories of loss and tragedy she had tried to drown. She draped her shawl around a chair and looked around. She was so thankful to have this place. No matter how shabby, it was hers. It had given her a roof over her head and it had given her independence and confidence, and a means of supporting herself. And for that, she had to thank her dead husband.