by Sidney Wood
“This was not your fault Fatima,” he said to comfort her. “You could not have known she would wander." She looked up at him with glistening eyes.
“But what if she did not? What if I moved away from her?” she asked. “I mean it, husband! What if she tried to keep up and I lost her?”
Mahmoud grunted and waved a hand to dismiss her question. “Armand said she wandered off, just as you first thought she must have. Stop questioning yourself. It is getting tiresome." He looked at his watch and sighed. Jena’s father Najid, Mahmoud’s younger brother, was still not home and it was nearly midnight. He understood, of course. Losing a child in this way is worse, in some ways, than losing them to death. At least when they are killed you know their suffering is over.
Mahmoud gently lifted Fatima to her feet and guided her to the bedroom. “Sleep, Fatima. There is nothing more you can do tonight. I will wait up for Najid." He helped her lay on the bed and carefully removed her slippers for her. He placed them on the floor at the foot of the bed as he left the room and closed the door.
Mahmoud returned to the kitchen and made a pot of strong Texas coffee. “Texas coffee made with one hundred percent Arabic beans,” he read aloud. He grunted as he scooped it into the filter, adding two extra scoops. He expected to be up for at least a few more hours. He pulled out a chair and sat at the table quietly. Secretly he blamed himself for allowing Fatima to take Jena to the bazaar without a proper man escorting them. He should have been there to watch over his niece. Mahmoud held his face in his hands and rested his elbows on the table. “Allahu Akbar,” he said with conviction. “Allah save this child, or grant me revenge on the men who took her."
Two hours later the front door opened. Mahmoud wiped his tired eyes with the heels of his hands and stood to greet his brother Najid. “Any word brother?” he asked.
Najid didn’t speak. He closed the door behind him and shook his head sullenly. He looked utterly defeated. Mahmoud stepped forward and held him a strong embrace. The two men cried as they stood like that for several minutes. Finally, Najid kissed his brother’s cheek and said he needed to go sleep. Mahmoud let go and watched his brother walk up the stairs and into his room. He walked to the table and picked up his new Texas coffee cup. He stared at it for a moment and then took it to the sink. He dumped the half-full cup out and set it in the bottom of the sink. Silently, he walked down the hall and went to his own room to sleep.
On the other side of the world Jena’s mother, Fouzia, was boarding a flight to Iran. She was beyond tired after working a double shift at the hospital and was barely holding it together. When she finally settled into her seat, near the back of the plane, she pulled out her phone and looked at the home screen. Tears came unbidden and she dabbed at them with one of the tissues she carried continuously since hearing the news. The picture was one of her favorites. It was taken earlier in the summer by Najid. The picture was of Jena, Sarah, and Fouzia in their front yard before one of Jena’s overnights at Sarah’s house. “She looked so happy,” Fouzia thought as she stared at her daughter’s smiling face. Then reality came barging in and she was reminded that her daughter was missing. She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to picture her Little Bird scared, hurt and alone, or worse. The images she most feared flooded her mind anyway and she felt like screaming.
A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she looked up, startled. The flight attendant pointed at Fouzia’s phone and smiled apologetically. She was a pretty young woman with a little too much makeup on, but with kind eyes and a winning smile. Her name-tag said Melissa. Fouzia nodded and held the power button down to power it off. She wiped her eyes again and placed the phone in her purse. Melissa moved on to continue her pre-flight checks.
Fouzia needed a distraction. She was exhausted, but sleep would not come easy. “Besides,” she thought. “Only nightmares await me." She pulled the newspaper she had purchased out of her bag and began reading. The front page story was about the landmark nuclear deal the US and its allies had made with Iran. “How is it even possible?” she wondered aloud. “Don’t they know who they are dealing with?" Fouzia watched the news and knew the talks were underway, but she believed that the US government would stand strong and deny any deal until Iran denounced terrorism and stopped calling for the destruction of the US and Israel. “At least we could have demanded the American prisoners be released and force some reforms concerning women’s rights." Fouzia put the paper down and closed her eyes. It was all too much. “Allah, how can you let these things happen? How can you allow these evil men to be so hateful in your name? Help me understand why my daughter is less important because she is a girl." Tears streamed down her face as she prayed silently. “Forgive me, but I do not understand!" Two words skittered and coursed through her conscious mind: “Masha’ Allah." Stubbornly, Fouzia refused to acknowledge them.
Fouzia opened her eyes and looked out the window. It was mid-afternoon and raining. The sky was overcast and gray like her mood. Fouzia mentally recounted the last two days at the hospital. She evaluated every case, recalled every patient, and replayed each situation in as much detail as she could muster. She carefully avoided the time surrounding the phone call from Najid. Fouzia concentrated on her life as a doctor and pushed “Mother and Wife” to the back of her mind. She just had to get through the next few hours without breaking apart.
Chapter Six
Jen awoke in a haze of subdued lights and sounds. Her head throbbed and her body ached, but she couldn’t remember why or how. She forced her heavy eyelids to open and the lights became more vibrant and the hazy images became clearer. The pounding in her head quickly gained momentum and she shut her eyes. She groaned and tried to raise her hands to touch her head. Her arms refused to obey. “What?” she said with a slur. Confusion set in as she began to process sensory information. “Am I drunk?” she thought.
The light she saw was streaming in from a window or an opening with some sort of flapping curtain. The images she saw were of bundled clothing and sacks of something near her on the floor. She heard a rumbling noise and felt vibrations; there was an inconsistent rocking and bumping feeling as if the whole building was moving. Jen carefully opened her eyes again and tried to understand what she saw. Realization slowly set in.
She was not in a building. She was in the back of a truck, rumbling and bouncing down a dirt road. What she assumed were bundles of clothing and sacks of something were actually bodies. She was one of many people lying in the back of a truck.
She gasped.
Jen tried to sit up and realized that her hands were tied behind her back. She remembered the taxi driver and the two men from the van and made the connection. “I’ve been kidnapped!” she thought. She quickly looked to the front of the truck to see if anyone was watching. There was no window or opening between the truck bed she and the others rode in and the cab of the truck. Although her head was pounding furiously, Jen managed to sit up. Each of the others in the truck looked to be young girls. Most of them looked even younger than her.
Jen laid back and brought her knees up. She forced her hands below her feet and brought them up in front of her. She turned over onto her knees and scooted toward the flap at the back of the truck and peered out. They were traveling through nondescript terrain. She could only see rocks, dirt, and a few trees, but no buildings or power lines. There were some large rocky formations in the distance, but there was nothing to indicate where they actually were.
The truck lurched and Jen was knocked onto her side. The truck engine slowed and they came to a stop. “What is happening?” Jen fretted silently. The engine shut off and she heard the truck doors open and slam shut. The crunching of boots on gravel indicated that people were walking on either side of the truck from the front to the rear. The flap was thrown aside and a bearded face peered into the truck bed. The man had dark bushy eyebrows and his eyes seemed sunken deep in his head. His scowl frightened Jen.
Jen pushed herself away from him, roughly worming backward over the
other girls. Her bound hands were held in front of her as she kicked her feet and rocked side to side with her hips and shoulders to create more distance. She wanted to scream, “Stay away from me!” but she remembered something her mom once told her about blending in.
“Jena,” she said. “You have an advantage when traveling. Your Iranian heritage gives you the ability to blend in, as long as you don’t speak. Being an American is usually not an asset when traveling abroad. Keep it to yourself when you can."
The man said something harsh in Arabic, and the tailgate dropped. He and another man began pulling the girls out of the truck and setting them beside the road. The young girls began stirring and making soft sounds as they came out of the drug induced stupor they had all been subjected to. Jen stayed as far to the front of the truck bed as she could. The old man kept gesturing to come out, and saying the same phrase. Jen shook her head no and hugged her knees. Finally, the other man, who was both younger and clean shaven, climbed into the truck bed and dragged her out.
When her feet hit the ground Jen tried to run, but the old man was ready. He cuffed her hard on the back of the neck, sending her sprawling forward to the ground. Jen’s hands stung from scraping on the gravel as she broke her fall. She skinned her knee as well. She pushed herself to a kneeling position and stared defiantly up at the men with hate in her eyes. The older man reached for her arm and she spit at him. A boot caught her in the side of the head and she fell back to the ground senseless.
A cool cloth touched her forehead and Jen startled awake. “Shhhh,” said a girl’s voice. Jen opened her eyes to see a teenage girl, about her own age, cradling her head and gently wiping her brow with a wet rag. Jen gently pushed her hand away and sat up. Her head hurt, but she ignored it.
She was still among the group of girls from the truck. They were all awake now, and huddled together on the side of the road. Jen saw some of them nibbling on pieces of what looked to be flat bread. Some girls had to feed others, whose hands were tied behind their backs, like Jen’s had been before. A water bottle was passed and Jen leaned forward and accepted it when it came near. She took a mouthful and swallowed. She was incredibly thirsty, and although she could have taken it all, she passed it along. The next young girl smiled at her as she took it. Jen smiled back briefly and then looked to the truck. The two men were sitting on the ground in the shade of the old yellow truck eating some sort of finger food out of a metal lunch box. They also shared a bottle of water.
The same young girl that Jen passed the water to touched her arm. Jen turned to her and accepted the small piece of bread she was offering. The girl was probably eight or nine years old, and had large brown eyes. She was light skinned, even more-so than Jen. Her hijab was black, and didn’t quite cover all of her dark brown hair. “She’ll be beautiful when she gets older,” thought Jen. “If she gets older."
The older man said something in Farsi to the group of girls, and they all looked at him. No one else moved, so Jen sat still as well. He repeated the words and pointed to the truck. The younger girls looked toward her and one of the older girls, but still no one moved. Jen gingerly got to her feet. Her head still throbbed, and she was feeling unsteady. The other girls began moving once she stood up. Soon they were all standing and the group began shuffling toward the bed of the truck.
As Jen approached the tailgate, the old man grinned, exposing large gaps between his yellowed teeth. “Eeew, gross!” she thought. “Was he born like that? She dropped her gaze and tried to ignore him as she climbed up and into the back of the truck. It was difficult to get in, and she felt a hand on her rear, give her a boost, and then linger just a little too long. Jen turned around angrily and saw the same gap-toothed grin. She shoved her disdain aside and reached out to help the other girls up. The men were lifting up those who still had their hands tied behind them. Jen noticed the men were smiling as they did it. She suspected it had something to do with where they placed their hands as they helped. Both men were at least forty, and most of the girls were not even teens. She felt like throwing up.
The little girl with light skin, who had been sitting next to Jen reached for her hands, but the old man stepped between them. He said something quietly to the little girl and placed his hands on her hips. He picked her up and spun her around, seating her on the truck bed. He leaned closer and spoke softly again. She quickly scrambled and turned onto all fours to crawl away from him into the truck. His hands snaked out and grasped her around the hips and pulled her back toward him, changing grip to hold her under the armpits. His fingers covered her chest and he acted as if he were merely helping her. The girl froze, unsure what to do. Jen took hold of her and pulled her into the truck away from the disgusting old man. She felt such anger, fear, and disgust all at once that she didn’t know what to do. She trembled and prayed silently.
Moments later the flap was down and Jen heard the truck doors slam shut. The engine sputtered to life and the old yellow truck lurched forward. The girls were silent as they resumed their bumpy, swaying journey toward uncertainty. “Wherever we’re headed, it won’t be good,” Jen thought. The little girl with light skin locked eyes with her and Jen tried to smile reassuringly. Jen spoke softly, unsure if the girl could hear and less sure that she would understand. “I don’t know where they are taking us or what they are going to do with us, but I promise you that I will watch over you if I can." Jen held out her hand and the little girl scooted closer and took hold of it. To Jen’s surprise she leaned her head against Jen and closed her brown eyes. A sudden longing for her mom hit Jen in the center of the chest. She put her other arm around the girl and closed her eyes. Jen leaned her head against the side of the truck and tried to fall asleep. Her head still throbbed, and her body still ached, but now that she had someone else to look after, she didn’t feel quite so scared or lonely.
The truck rumbled and growled across the countryside for hours before stopping again. It was dark when the engine stopped and Jen heard the familiar sound of boots crunching on gravel. The flap was thrown back and the same two men appeared at the back of the truck. This time all of the girls eagerly hopped out and moved in a tight group next to the road as soon as the tailgate was opened. The younger of the two men brought them a few rolls and two bottles of water to share, and then returned to sit with the older man by the front of the truck.
Jen surveyed their surroundings by the faint moonlight and felt completely lost. There were no lights and no points of reference to measure distance. Beyond the immediate area of the truck, there was only darkness.
A dog barked nearby and Jen jumped. “What is that?” she wondered. “Is it a wild dog, or is it someone’s pet? Is there someone nearby that might help us?" Jen stood up and looked in the direction of the noise. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the weak moonlight as she struggled to see beyond their group. Soon, she could make out the outline of a hill against the night sky. Then she was able to see boulders and other organic shapes such as bushes and small trees. She couldn’t see the dog, but she heard it moving in the darkness and hoped it wasn’t dangerous. Jen sat back down and partook of the water and bread. She looked over her shoulder every few minutes to make sure the dog wasn’t behind her.
The girls all needed to pee, but no one wanted to go into the darkness alone. Jen was no exception. A couple of the girls pulled up their dresses and squatted just outside their huddle. The men took notice and although Jen couldn’t understand the language, she understood the suggestive tone and crude laughter. Jen gathered a few stones from the ground near her feet and stood up. She looked around the circle and motioned for the other girls to follow. All of them had their hands bound in the front now. The older girls had helped each other, and then the younger girls, bring their hands under their feet and to the front during the truck ride. Jen walked slowly away from the truck and farther into the darkness. Some of the others followed, but a few stayed. When they were far enough away for some sort of privacy, Jen stopped and dropped the rocks at her feet. Keeping alert
for noises, and watching all around, she unfastened her jeans and lifted her tunic. She pretended she was just out camping and ignored the fact that there were dangerous men, and perhaps dangerous animals around. Jen did what she needed to do and the others did as well. Once her jeans were fastened and she was feeling better, she picked up the rocks and waited for the rest to finish. She kept watch, turning in a slow circle. That is how she saw the approaching truck before anyone else.
The truck rumbled and whined slowly up the road from the direction they were heading. As it approached, the men watching them also heard it and stood up. They watched the approaching headlights and spoke to each other quietly. The younger man reached into the cab of the old yellow truck and turned the headlights on and then off one time. The other truck stopped for a moment and then continued forward even more slowly.
“Maybe it’s the police!” hoped Jen. “Or maybe it’s the army!" Then, running with that thought, she wondered, “Maybe it’s the US Army or maybe the CIA!”
It took ten minutes before the other truck reached the pull off where they had stopped to rest. It pulled off the road ahead of the yellow truck and the engine stopped. Jen’s heart raced as the front doors opened. “Please, God!” she prayed. “Please let it be someone to save us and take us home!”
The men who stepped out of the other truck were younger than the two men who had brought the girls this far. They were dressed in light colored robes and wore head dresses, or hats that reminded Jen of pastries, or a large skinny doughnuts. They had stringy facial hair and their bodies were thin. Even in the poor light, Jen could tell they were darker than the two older men. To Jen’s horror, the younger men embraced the older men and shared slaps on the back. This was obviously not a rescue.