by Maha Akhtar
She paused and looked out at the river before looking back down at her hands.
“And when I found you again, here in Cairo … oh! It gladdened my heart, Salah … just to see you. And now, every day, I look forward to seeing your face, listening to your voice, watching you look after Siran … It’s because of you, your patience, your kindness to me, that I have been able to move on from Khaled.
“I just don’t know what I would do without you, Salah … I need you in my life.”
Noura’s voice cracked.
“Oh Noura …” Salah gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead, caressing her hair. “Do you know why I was always traveling?”
“No,” Noura shook her head against his chest.
Salah sighed. “I went away, Noura, because I had to. Because to be so close to you and not hold you, not tell you how beautiful you are to me, not be able to look after you as I wanted, was more than I could bear. And I knew it was impossible. You were Khaled’s wife and he was my best friend and I would never, could never, betray him. But it was torture every time I had to come to dinner, it was agony when you came over to my house and helped me decorate and cooked for me …”
“Salah … ,” Noura whispered. “I never knew.”
“And I couldn’t tell you … at least not until now.”
Noura took his hands in hers and kissed both of them.
“You know I hadn’t planned on making this speech tonight,” Salah admitted.
“I’m glad you did.”
“Look at those stars.” Salah looked up still cradling Noura in his arms. “It’s magical, isn’t it … the sky at night? What do you think is up there?”
“I don’t know … God, Allah, Saint Peter … who knows?”
“If Khaled is up there, do you think he’s watching us?”
“Probably.” Noura shrugged.
“Were you happy with him?”
“Yes,” Noura replied. “I was. It was a different kind of happiness to the one I feel now. For some reason, this feels more complete.”
“Do you miss him?” he asked.
“I did … very, very much in the beginning,” Noura admitted. “And I still do. But the waves of sadness have receded and I feel as though I can remember him now without breaking down.”
“Khaled was one of the smartest men I knew,” Salah said. “He was a serious fellow and he didn’t have a trail of girls chasing after him.”
“You mean he wasn’t like Wissam.” Noura smiled forlornly.
“No,” Salah confirmed. “Wissam, he was not. And he didn’t take love frivolously. He didn’t fall in and out of it like some of us did back then. He always said that when he found the right girl, he would marry her and love her forever.”
Tears welled up in Noura’s eyes.
“And that’s what happened with you.” Salah took Noura’s hand in his. “He fell in love with you and he married you and it was going to be forever. In fact, I remember when he started to talk about you: it was always Noura this and Noura that … but it was the way he talked about you … it just felt different … special. And then one day I came out and asked him.
“‘I think I quite like her, Salah,’ he said in that serious way of his. And I knew that he had fallen. Khaled always took a long time committing to something because he always thought everything through ten times, looking at it from every angle possible. He was not spontaneous, but once he committed, he usually stuck with it through to the end.
“And … he was the most faithful and loyal man I knew … to his friends, to his family … you could always count on Khaled.”
Salah wiped a tear from his eye.
“That is why I could never show my feelings for you, Noura,” Salah continued. “I could never have betrayed Khaled. I would have let you go before I betrayed him.”
“You loved him very much, didn’t you?” Noura said.
“I did.” Salah’s voice broke for a moment before he regained his composure. “He was my best friend, my brother …”
“Some part of me will always love him, Salah,” Noura said in the dark.
“I know that.”
Noura sat forward and put her hands together on her knees and closed her eyes.
Salah makes me happy, Khaled … just like you once did. And if there was anyone you would entrust Siran and me to, it would be to Salah. I know you would.
“Think he’s angry?” Salah chuckled in the darkness. “That his wife and his best friend are together?”
“No. I think he’s smiling and giving us his blessing,” Noura replied.
“Good! Because I am now going to do something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” Salah said. He bent down and placed his lips on Noura’s in a gentle, soft, and loving kiss.
“Mr. Masri,” Noura said when they pulled away. “That was quite a cheeky thing to do.”
“Well, Mrs. Shadid, it was thoroughly enjoyable.”
“Yes it was … Salah … ,” Noura began.
“I love you, Noura,” Salah whispered against her forehead. “Always have. Always will.”
Noura adjusted her abaya and headscarf in the mirror in the hallway on the first floor. While she was not a Muslim, it provided the perfect cover. It had been Salah’s idea, and while she had balked at it in the beginning, insisting that no one would come after her, she had finally given in. She pulled her veil across her mouth and nose, hoisted her bag of clean uniforms on her shoulder, and opened the door. She looked right and left and walked out. As she approached the top of the lane she saw a man leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette.
He looked at her carefully. Noura held his gaze boldly and continued on her way. As she made her way through the cloth sellers’ lane, she occasionally stopped to touch a bolt or two. She glanced back. The man was there. And from the way he was dressed, he was definitely Turkish. Should she try and give him the slip? Or what if I confront him? Let’s see what he does.
Noura turned and walked toward the Turk. When he saw her coming, he stood up straight. He looked uncomfortable. Noura kept walking toward him. Suddenly, the man turned and fled in the opposite direction.
“So, Celik, where is Noura Shadid?” Colonel Erdogan asked.
“She is definitely in the El-Khalili. But we think she is dressing in an abaya, so we have not been able to ascertain that the woman we think is her is, indeed, her.”
“So tear off the veil,” Erdogan said.
“You want me to tear off the veil of a Muslim woman in the El-Khalili, Sir?”
“Well, do something! I don’t care how you find out!” Erdogan said. “I want to be sure of it. I don’t want a case of mistaken identity.”
“What do we do with her, Sir?”
“What do you think, Celik? Kidnap her, of course. Masri will come to rescue her and we will get him then.”
Christmas 1916 came and went. In Europe, the two biggest and bloodiest battles of Verdun and Somme were finally over. Over a million men were lost during the Somme offensives, and close to the same at Verdun. No one knew what the New Year would bring in the West, but there was talk of the United States entering the war on the side of the Allies.
In Cairo, the British Military Command was planning the Palestine and Mesopotamia Campaigns. T.E. Lawrence was now completely ensconced in the Arab Revolt and Salah was deep into planning the attacks on the Hejaz Railway that were about to come into play.
Shortly after the New Year of 1917, Salah, Lawrence, Rabih, and Charlie were in the inner courtyard of the Al-Hussein Mosque.
“Wejh … here on the coast,” Salah pointed to a place on the map, “will be the base of attacks on the Hejaz Railway.”
“Why?” Lawrence asked.
“It is the midway point of the railway, so we can go north or south,” Salah said. “Also, I think Faisal should base himself at Wejh. It is a short march from there into Ottoman Syria.”
“He’s about to begin the march north.”
“He should take the coastal ro
ute,” Salah said.
“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “That is what I have told him.”
“What are his two brothers doing?” Rabih asked.
“Ali is launching nightly raids into Medina and Abdullah has begun raiding Ottoman military depots,” Charlie said. “He just captured a convoy in the desert. I think he got twenty thousand pounds’ worth of gold coins.”
“So, as soon as Faisal starts north, the guerilla forces will start blowing up tracks of the unguarded sections of the railway.”
“Very well,” Lawrence said. “I’m looking forward to lighting up Ottoman skies. I’ll send the orders to my ‘irregulars’ to launch the attacks on the tracks, and Charlie and I will leave in a couple of weeks. I need to square away some monies from my bosses.”
Siran’s birthday was still three months away in April, but Saydeh was in a tizzy.
“Noura!” she shouted up the stairs.
“There’s my mother.” Salah was upstairs in Noura’s atelier.
“Noura!”
“I think you’re in trouble.”
“Why?”
“My mother wants to talk to you about Siran’s first birthday party.”
“What? But it’s months away.”
“How would you feel celebrating it a little early?”
“Why?”
“Because we could make a little announcement of our own before I have to go back to the Hejaz.”
“I don’t want you to go, Salah. Why do you have to go? Why don’t you send them the information?”
“I have to go,” Salah insisted.
Noura pulled away from Salah. “I hate this.”
“Noura … let me finish what I started.”
Noura wrung her hands. “I don’t even know what to say. Nothing is going to change your mind, is it?”
Salah smiled wanly.
“So,” he tried, “why don’t we have a party and celebrate Siran’s birthday and announce our engagement?”
“Why the rush?” Noura asked. “Are you planning on not coming back?”
“Noura,” Salah soothingly took her hand in his, “no rush, just feels right. Besides I want to do this more often and not feel guilty.” With that, he bent his head and kissed her tenderly.
“Tante!” Noura called as she came down the stairs.
“In the salon, habibti,” she heard Saydeh’s voice.
“Tante Saydeh, I am so sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Noura came into the salon and sat down. “I have several uniforms to get through before the end of the day.”
Saydeh clicked her tongue. “We have more important things to discuss … it’s much too depressing to talk about military uniforms because it just reminds me how many of our boys are out there fighting with the British.”
“Yes,” Noura agreed. Saydeh was indeed right. Every time Noura repaired a uniform, she would embroider the name of the soldier on the inner pocket. These were all names, but there were men behind those names. Who were they? She would wonder as she sat bent over her work? Were they married? Did they have a family? A wife? Children? Would they come back safe and sound to them? Often, when she ironed the uniform before sending it back to its owner, she always said a little prayer over it, hoping that the new uniform would bring the soldier luck.
“Anyway!” Saydeh brightened up. “Let the men deal with the war … and let’s you and I look after our families and friends, which is much more important.”
“Yes!” Noura sat forward on the low divan.
“Now … I know it’s only January, but I wanted to talk to you about celebrating Siran’s first birthday early in February before Salah has to go back to the Hejaz.”
Noura nodded. “Tante Saydeh,” she added. “I was thinking … how would you feel if we had the party at Rania’s?”
“Why? Isn’t it going to be just us?”
“Well … ,” Noura started, “I thought it would be nice to invite Madame Yvonne and Tante Takla … and, of course, Fatmeh and Rania … and maybe even Magdi and his sons, and, you know, open it up a bit.”
“But why?” Saydeh looked at Noura quizzically.
Haraam! Noura thought. She knows what Salah and I want to do. But how would she know?
“It’s only because … well … ,” Noura searched for a plausible excuse, “because I now feel part of this community and I would like to thank everyone properly for welcoming me in and being so good to me …”
Chapter Thirteen
Sergeant Mehmet Celik and a young captain peeked in through one of the side windows of Rania’s Café.
It looked wonderfully festive. The lanterns gave off a lovely soft glow, their colored panes throwing shades of pink and green and red around where they hung. The colored tablecloths had been starched and ironed and all the tables had little posies of flowers and small candles. The farmhouse table in the middle groaned with the weight of all the dishes Saydeh had piled on top, and the bar was filled with drinks of all kinds. Everything looked beautiful.
“This is perfect,” Celik whispered. “Captain Demir, go now to Colonel Erdogan. Tell him there is an event at the café. I’ll start placing the dynamite.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hurry, Demir. Ask him if he wants to come or if we should go ahead without him.”
The party was in full swing. The little quartet of musicians, which included a violinist, an oud player, a tambourine player, and a bongo player, had set up in a corner and filled the room with the sounds of popular folk songs.
Everyone was there, including Magdi, the fruitseller, with his wife, Hala, and their sons. Rania looked beautiful in a dark red dress that suited her complexion and set off her hair. Fatmeh was still in her abaya, but had let Rania line her eyes with kohl that made her fair skin look even brighter. Takla had given up her usual black for an olive green dress and tied her thick, curly, salt-and-pepper hair back in a neat bun, making her long neck even more swanlike. Yvonne wore the dusky gold silk-satin dress Noura had made for her.
“This is a birthday party, Yvonne, not a wedding,” Takla remarked when Yvonne swanned in, cooling herself with a little gold fan.
“I think she looks very elegant,” Rania said.
“I do too,” Fatmeh chimed in.
Yvonne smiled at them, gave Takla a haughty look, and helped herself to a glass of her special lime juice.
“Where are the birthday girl and her mother?” Yvonne looked around.
“If you don’t see them, they’re obviously still not here,” Takla said.
“Tante Takla, today is a happy day … ,” Rania reminded her. “So, please, perhaps we could all join in the gaiety?”
Takla sighed heavily in acquiescence.
“Marhaba, everyone!” Saydeh came out from the kitchen. She was wearing a turquoise and green printed long loose tunic and a matching hijab. And since they were all en famille, she had decided not to wear her abaya. “Besides, who’s going to look at me,” she had told Rania earlier. “I’m past the age of cat calls!”
“You look lovely, Saydeh,” Takla remarked. “Nice change from the black.”
“I think she looks beautiful.” Rania put her arm around her.
“She does.” Fatmeh put her arm around her other shoulder, the two younger women flanking her.
“She looks like a proud mother,” Fatmeh said.
“And grandmother.” Rabih approached the group, his eyes on Rania.
“Come here!” Saydeh extricated herself from Rania and Fatmeh and gestured for Rabih to come over. “Look how handsome you look today!” she exclaimed, holding him to her bosom. “Indeed, today I am a proud mother … with my new family.”
The shrill ring of the doorbell broke the spell. Rania looked up to see a burly black man walk in.
Saydeh screeched with delight. “Captain Nusair!” she went toward him to greet him with a big hug, kissing him on either cheek.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he smiled down at Saydeh. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing the party.”
“I would have been insulted had you not come,” Saydeh said.
“I was actually just at your house and Salah told me to come over here … that he would be right over.”
“Is he on his way?” Saydeh asked.
“Yes … I think he was waiting for Noura and Siran. She was still upstairs.”
Saydeh nodded. “In the meantime, come, what can I offer you to eat or drink?”
With all the music, conversation, and people moving around and helping themselves to the buffet of food, no one saw Sergeant Mehmet Celik lurking around outside placing sticks of dynamite outside the café. Where the hell is Demir? He should have been back by now.
When he finished, he stood up to survey the work when suddenly, out of nowhere, someone punched him in the face. Celik was momentarily disoriented. His attacker grabbed him from behind, coiling his right arm around his neck. Slowly he squeezed. Celik lost consciousness and fell to the ground.
“Sergeant! Sergeant!” A young man came running down the lane. He knelt by the sergeant and felt for his pulse.
He felt a sharp blow on the back of his neck and fell on top of the sergeant.
Inside the café, silence fell on the room. Everyone turned to the doorway. There stood Salah, with his arm around Noura, who held Siran in her arms.
“Marhaba, everyone!” Salah said in his deep, grave voice. Noura looked around the room and smiled. She was wearing a simple, long, off-white dress accented with red roses. Siran was in a new white cotton dress with pink and white gingham piping that her mother had made for her. On her feet were little white socks and white shoes.
Salah walked in first and went around the room, hugging and kissing and shaking hands with everyone. Noura walked toward her group of friends, who all looked at her questioningly, but didn’t say anything. There was a mildly awkward silence for a moment as they all waited for Noura to say something.