Footprints in the Desert

by Maha Akhtar

  When Noura didn’t say anything, Fatmeh began cooing over Siran. “She looks like a little doll.”

  “I can’t believe it’s been a year,” Noura said. “Or almost a year.”

  After a few minutes of catching up on the daily goings on, Noura went to the bar to get something to drink. She helped herself to a glass of pomegranate juice.

  “Hello, Noura,” she heard a male voice behind her.

  She put the glass down and turned, her eyes tightly shut.

  “Please tell me it is you, Captain Nusair,” she said, putting her hands on his arms, smiling as she felt the thick cotton of his white sweater.

  “It is, dear girl.”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up, scared that someone was playing a joke on her and it wasn’t really the Yemeni captain. But the moment she looked into his broad, black face and his shining white smile, she threw her arms around him, her eyes filling with tears of happiness. Musa Nusair lifted her up off the floor, holding her tightly to him.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I wasn’t going to miss my little girl’s first birthday, was I?” he said, putting Noura back down on the floor.

  “But why didn’t you send word?” Noura asked.

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” Captain Nusair told her. “Anyhow, I came by the house earlier, but you were still upstairs and Salah told me to come here.”

  “I am very happy to see you.”

  “You look very well, Noura.” Musa Nusair looked down into her face. “You look very happy.”

  “I am,” Noura admitted.

  “You made a good decision coming here. Cairo suits you.”

  “Actually, the best decision I made was to come here to El-Khalili.”

  “Yes, Salah told me briefly about your huge success as a seamstress.”

  “Well … it’s all relative, Captain.” Noura blushed at Salah’s praise. “At the moment I’m only repairing military uniforms.”

  “Yes, but one step at a time, Noura,” Captain Nusair told her. “Look at how much you’ve already achieved in this past year … and how you’ve dealt with everything that happened … and how gracefully you’ve borne the pressure. Anyone else would have buckled under.”

  “Thank you,” Noura replied.

  “You’re a courageous woman, Noura … really courageous.”

  Both turned to see Salah walking over to them.

  “Having a nice time, brother?” Salah put his arm around Musa Nusair.

  “How can I not?” the Captain replied.

  “What do you think, Musa?” Salah winked at him. “Shall we do this?”

  Musa Nusair stepped out in the middle of the café.

  “Ahlan wa sahlan, everyone! Thank you all for coming to this party.”

  “What’s going on?” Fatmeh whispered to Rania.

  “What’s all this, Saydeh?” Yvonne gestured to Captain Nusair.

  “I don’t know.” Saydeh shook her head.

  “You didn’t orchestrate this?” Yvonne asked.

  “No! I swear I didn’t!” She looked at Yvonne. “Really!” She looked back and forth from Yvonne to Takla, while Rania winked knowingly at Fatmeh.

  “My name is Musa Nusair, and I am a sea captain,” Captain Nusair started off, telling the group how he knew both Salah and Noura and how he had been the one to bring Siran into the world. “As a matter of fact, where is my little goddaughter?”

  “Here you go.” Salah handed her to him.

  “And now here she is, growing up before our very eyes. She’s going to be a very special girl, given how special her mother is and how special Salah and Saydeh are.” Musa Nusair looked down at Siran, who was in the crook of his arm, looking from him to the crowd around her curiously, occasionally trying to reach up to grab Musa’s nose.

  “Ya, Allah!” Saydeh squealed, placing her hand to her heaving bosom, tears forming in her eyes.

  “And so we are here today to celebrate the birth of this very special little girl, but also something else …

  “And that is the engagement of my best friend, Salah Masri, to Noura,” the captain announced.

  Everyone started clapping and whooping with joy and the musical band began playing a jolly tune usually reserved for weddings. Shouts of “Mabrook, brother” went up as everyone began crowding around Salah, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Noura looked around and saw Rania coming toward her smiling, her arms open. Fatmeh came too, “Mabrook! Noura, I am so happy for you!”

  “Where’s Tante Saydeh?” Noura asked, trying to look for her in the crowd.

  “I don’t know, but I thought she was right behind us,” Fatmeh said.

  As they made their way through the little throng, they found Yvonne and Takla on the floor fanning Saydeh, who had fallen off the bench in excitement.

  “Tante Saydeh!” Noura immediately ran to her, falling to her knees, holding her hand. “What happened?”

  “She fell off her chair when the captain announced your engagement,” Yvonne said.

  “My dear child,” Saydeh said, smiling broadly, “my dear little habibti.” She caressed Noura’s head from her horizontal position on the floor. “I am so very happy for you both.” She pulled Noura down to her chest and hugged her.

  And that is how Salah found them, having dashed over when someone told him his mother had fallen on the floor and couldn’t get up.

  “Imme!” he was by her side. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, ibne,” she caressed his cheek, “nothing at all.”

  “But have you hurt yourself?” he asked, concerned, putting his hand under her head.

  “No …”

  “But, then, why are you still on the floor? And why are you crying?”

  “I’m just enjoying the moment,” Saydeh said.

  “Come on, imme,” Salah heaved her up. “You’re being a little dramatic!”

  Together the three of them walked over to the center of the café and stood with Musa Nusair as cheers went up and another round of congratulations was heaped on Saydeh and Noura.

  Outside, Charlie handed over the still-unconscious Sergeant Celik and Captain Demir to the British Army police. “Take them away. Keep an eye on this one,” Charlie said, pointing to Sergeant Celik. “He’s a slippery bugger.”

  Salah and Rabih were deep in concentration, playing backgammon in Saydeh’s kitchen. Suddenly, they heard the sound of females giggling, followed by soft footsteps, whispers, more giggling, and warnings to be quiet coming from Noura’s atelier. Salah looked at Rabih, who shrugged. Salah looked in on Siran in her bassinet. She was quiet. The two men went back to their game. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Salah saw movement. He looked up and saw three huddled women trying to walk very softly along the corridor, looking over their shoulders.

  “Masa al-khair, ladies,” Salah said in his deepest voice.

  There was a sharp cry and all three jumped and hid behind the door.

  Noura was the first to recover. “Salah!” She walked over and punched him playfully in the chest. “What are you trying to do? Have us all drop dead from fear?”

  “But what are you hiding from?” he asked.

  “Your mother … she’ll ask too many questions,” Noura replied.

  “About?”

  “Fatmeh … come on out,” Noura said.

  “She’s too nervous,” Rania’s voice came from behind the door.

  Rabih, who had been lounging on the diwan, shot up when he heard her voice.

  Rania poked her head from around the corner, “Noura …” She glared at her. “A little help please.”

  “Marhaba, Rania,” Rabih said.

  “Marhaba ya, Rabih,” she replied quickly before disappearing around the corner.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Noura said.

  Salah cocked his ear, trying to hear what was being said.

  “They sound like crickets.”


  “Let them be,” Rabih said.

  “Women! I swear, brother, for as long as I live I will never understand them.”

  “Come, let us continue with the game,” Rabih suggested.

  “Your move, Rabih!” Salah laughed. “Ha ha ha! I’m clobbering you, brother.” Suddenly, he did a double take. There at the entrance of the salon was a woman, flanked by Rania and Noura. Rabih’s mouth fell open and he dropped the backgammon piece. Salah was so flustered that he mistakenly hit the backgammon board with his knee and the pieces went flying everywhere, raining down over the salon.

  “Praise be to Allah!” Salah quickly got to his feet. “Ahlan, Madame!” he said, looking around for his turban. “Please … come in … ,” he said, flustered. “I apologize. It’s a bit messy … Rabih! Get up, for God’s sake and help me tidy up …”

  “Salah … ,” Noura said.

  “Perhaps … uh,” he ignored her, “you’d like to wait just a moment in the dining room. My mother should be here soon. I’m not sure where she went … ,” he continued to stammer.

  “Salah!” Noura said in a louder voice.

  Salah stopped and looked at her.

  “This, my darling fiancé, is Fatmeh.”

  Salah’s mouth fell open and his eyes opened wide. Rabih was equally shocked.

  “That … that’s Fatmeh?” he pointed at her, but looked at Noura in disbelief.

  Noura and Rania nodded, both women smiling broadly.

  “Our Fatmeh?”

  They nodded, while Fatmeh blushed and looked down at her shoes.

  “From Rania’s Café?” Salah approached her and walked around her.

  “She’s not a camel, Salah!” Rania hit him on the arm.

  “I … I know … it’s just that I don’t know what to say … I’m shocked,” Salah said. “What do you say, Rabih?”

  Rabih was still staring at Fatmeh.

  “I really am Fatmeh,” Fatmeh finally said, smiling at their reaction.

  Noura clapped her hands in excitement, as did Rania, and the two of them hugged each other, delighted they had accomplished their task.

  Fatmeh looked spectacular. Her dress was long, simple, and elegant. It was deep crimson silk satin that was soft and flowing, and gathered just above the waist in Grecian folds. The skirt billowed around her elegantly while the bodice was simple with a square neckline and sweet lace ruffles bordering it. The sleeves were long and bell shaped, with the same lace ruffle on the cuff. Noura had cut an extra swathe of crimson lace for Fatmeh to use as a wrap. She carried a small velvet pouch as a purse and wore Noura’s kitten-heel black shoes.

  Her face glowed. Rania had lined her eyes with kohl, brushed her thick, arched eyebrows, plucking off a few stray hairs to give them a better shape, and curled her already thick, long eyelashes. She’d used only the faintest dab of a translucent powder to get rid of the shine on her nose, pinched her cheeks for some color, and put some Vaseline on her lips to make them glisten. Her hair was brushed and shiny. Rania had curled it and put it up, letting the curls and ringlets fall naturally from her crown, and tied a thin scarf around her head to keep the hairdo in place.

  “Is it possible to ask where you’re going?” Salah asked, still shocked.

  “She’s going out,” Noura said.

  “Well someone needs to escort her. She can’t walk out like that by herself,” Salah said.

  “We have a plan,” Rania told him. “We are all going to wear the abaya and we will both walk with her and wait until …”

  “Until what?” Salah asked.

  “Until she’s ready to leave.”

  “Leave for what?”

  “Oh Salah,” Noura said. “Don’t you get it? Fatmeh has a rendezvous tonight.”

  “Right, come on, Noura! We have to go or Fatmeh will be late,” Rania said.

  Without any further ado, the three women stole through the alleyways and lanes.

  “I feel like we’re a group of thieves,” Fatmeh whispered as they hurried toward the Midan Al-Hussein. When they arrived at the archway that led to the square and main road ahead, they stopped.

  “Oh my God!” Fatmeh clutched Noura and Rania’s hands. “There he is!”

  All three of them looked over to see Charlie standing next to a shiny black car.

  “Now, let’s take a last look at you.” Noura inspected her, while Rania fiddled with the hijab around her head, untying it and fluffing her hairdo, which had flattened a little.

  “Now, hand me the abaya and off you go,” Noura said. “And remember, we want all the details tomorrow morning.”

  Fatmeh looked at the two women. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything,” Noura said.

  Quickly Fatmeh hugged them both. She stepped out onto the square and walked quickly to where a car was waiting.

  “She looks beautiful,” Noura remarked as they all hid under the archway and peeked behind the wall.

  “She does,” Rania agreed.

  As Fatmeh ran across the open square to Charlie, two shadowy figures watched her.

  “Follow them,” Colonel Erdogan said, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground. “I want the man who put Celik and Demir in jail.”

  “What about the woman with him?”

  “Kill them both. She’s dispensable.”

  “Yes, Sir. What about the other two women?”

  “Leave them to me. I have other plans for them.”

  “Where are we going?” Fatmeh asked shyly.

  “I thought we would enjoy this lovely evening and go for a drive,” Charlie said.

  “Yes.” Fatmeh smiled.

  “And perhaps if you’d like to have a nice cool drink … ?” he suggested cautiously. “But it’s entirely up to you,” he added quickly.

  He knew what a huge risk Fatmeh was taking coming out this evening. No matter the circumstances, she was still married and he had to respect that. It wouldn’t do for them to be seen together. That was why when she agreed to come out he had agonized over what to do and where to take her. He would have loved to have taken her to the British Officer’s Club for dinner, but he had no idea if it was something she would enjoy, and, given how shy she was, she would probably be much too intimidated by such a public place. So after much thought, he finally decided on a drive and a walk around the gardens of the Gezira Sporting Club.

  Fatmeh sat on the edge of the car seat with her two hands on the window looking out at the wide, tree-lined avenues and the Belle-Époque architecture of the apartment buildings of Wust el Balad. Well-dressed people were strolling in the twilight, looking in shop windows, occasionally stopping to greet acquaintances and friends before moving on, walking into brightly-lit cafés to quench their thirst. The women were all dressed in western outfits; long, elegant dresses and big, bold hats with ribbons and feathers and bows that looked more like pieces of art than something one would put on one’s head.

  “Different, isn’t it?” Charles moved over and sat next to her, his chin almost resting on her shoulder.

  “Yes … it is,” she laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s a very Europeanized section of Cairo,” he said, pointing out buildings that were replicas of their original counterparts in Paris.

  “People live in those buildings?” Fatmeh asked, sticking her head out of the window to get a better look. “But they are so big.”

  “Yes … and the apartments they live in are very big, too. Some of them live on an entire floor, for example.”

  “Really?”

  Charles sat back and smiled. She was so wonderfully innocent, so unlike some of his recent girlfriends; English girls, daughters of some of his commanding officers, who were spoiled and bratty and demanding. Fatmeh was so different. Perhaps it was because she didn’t know this other world. She had told him she had never ventured far from the souk and even her nursing skills had been learned directly from her father. So naturally, coming here would be like going to another coun
try.

  But it wasn’t just her innocence that appealed to him. It was her manner. She was gentle and kind. Being around her soothed him, made him calmer, somehow made life look much less brutal and chaotic.

  And she was beautiful and didn’t know it. Those eyes, which tonight shone with excitement, the wonder of a new discovery, were captivating.

  “Here we are!” he announced and got out of the car. He came around to open her door.

  Timidly, she took his hand and placed a foot on the ground and got out. But she was not used to the little heeled shoes she was wearing and stepped on a large stone and lost her balance. She let out a short cry and tried to daintily regain her balance. But she couldn’t. She fell. Charles, who had been holding her left hand, was immediately by her side, catching her in his arms. Dazed, she instinctively put her hands around his neck. Holding him tightly, she leaned against him, while he held her, his arms firmly around her waist.

  “Fatmeh! My God! Are you all right?” he searched her face anxiously.

  “Uh … ,” she murmured. “Yes … yes I think so.”

  “Can you stand? Are you sure you haven’t broken anything?”

  “Really … I’m fine.”

  “A sprain then?” he asked.

  “No, no.”

  Fatmeh took a couple of steps. A sharp pain shot through her foot when she put pressure on it, but she didn’t say anything, unwilling to spoil the moment.

  “Very well!” Charles said. “Shall we go?” he offered her his arm, which she took.

  Slowly, they walked across the Qasr-al Nil Bridge. Charles pointed out all kinds of rare birds that flew past in the early evening, exotic plants that grew along the riverbank, the colorful flowers, and the tall majestic magnolias that created a natural arbor, covering the pebbled path they took that wound down and around until they reached a tall hedge that prevented any views of the other side.

  Fatmeh looked questioningly at Charles. He patted her hand reassuringly and pointed to a small, rusty wrought iron gate hidden by creeping green plants that had grown over it. Fatmeh smiled, excited. Charles tried to push the gate open but it wouldn’t give. He tried shoving it with his shoulder, but it didn’t move. He stood back and looked at the gate, wondering what to do.

  “Charles, look!” Fatmeh pointed at a small lock that had been placed in the bolt inside.