Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  "Does Sharif know about this?"

  "No, madame. All are afraid to tell him. And madame must be careful not to anger this one. She is more dangerous than a scorpion."

  "But Zenobia has no reason to hate me," Juliette said. "I assure you Sharif has no intention of favoring me."

  The few dark hairs that acted as Cassia's eyebrows raised and came together. "Madame must be careful," she repeated.

  And that was all she said before fluffing up the pillows on the bed. The next day Juliette began a daily routine that was to be repeated again and again. Cassia awakened her in the morning and, propped against pillows, Juliette was served breakfast.

  Fruit was common or precious juice or melons, and mint tea usually followed. Then she was taken down a marble stairway to the bath, consisting of two large underground tanks, one of warm water, and one of cool.

  She was bathed in these pools, first the warm, and then the cool and, from that first day, her toilet afterward became a routine social affair. There was no privacy in the harem, and Juliette found out there was nothing to do but accept the numbers of curious and not unfriendly eyes that watched her, that fingered her hair and then, more shyly, brushed her skin with their fingers, smiling and declaring she was beautiful, a warrior woman.

  "Mar'a muharibah," they said over and over and giggled self-consciously under her look.

  But Zenobia did not join this throng of admirers. Most of her time she spent in the harem's common room, separated from the other girls and reclining on a low couch in the midst of solicitous servants.

  She rarely spoke, and almost never to the other girls, who ignored her too except for an occasional wary glance. And after a time, Juliette lost any idea of becoming friendly with her, occupying herself instead by watching the numbers of jugglers and snake charmers and other entertainments that came to the harem.

  Indeed, exhausted from the journey across the desert, in a few days time Juliette had discovered the harem to be the essence of pleasurable boredom. The deprivations of the desert had given her a new appreciation of luxuries of every kind and she found the many savory delights prepared by the palace kitchens beyond comparison to the weeks of dried dates and mouflon. So, fed and pampered as constantly as Zenobia, Juliette felt herself seduced into laziness.

  For now there was no hope of escape, she told herself. Later she would decide what to do. So, for the first few weeks at least, Juliette found it was easy to forget about everything unpleasant.

  One lazy morning Juliette sat contentedly at her toilet, eyes closed as her hair was brushed. How good the bristles felt against her scalp, and how lovely the rose incense that' floated through the hall. But then her reverie was broken by the sound of footsteps and the voices of the girls dropping to an anxious murmur.

  She looked up, somehow not surprised to see Zenobia coming toward her, the other girls melting out of her path. The Arab girl's eyes were brimming with fury as she paused a few feet away, standing astride, arms akimbo, as she said, "Sharmuta," throwing the word like a knife. "It is you who has stolen my gold bracelet!"

  Another whisper rushed over the watching girls like a breeze in dried grass.

  Still sitting, Juliette faced the irate girl, her expression calm as she answered, "I have stolen nothing from you, Zenobia. I have no gold bracelet, nor do I want one."

  "I do not believe you. You have stolen my bracelet, the master's gift to me. You have taken it!" Fury flamed brighter in the girl's perfect brown face and, in an explosive gesture; she tossed back her long black hair. "It is true," she insisted. "You are a thief and a white she-devil! You rise up in the night in a cloud of mist and stalk through the palace bringing evil upon all true believers!" Zenobia stamped her small bare foot in a tinkling of ankle bracelets before crossing her arms and glowering at Juliette. "You have stolen what is mine and I will stand here until you give it back!"

  Now there was not a sound from anyone as the two women regarded each other.

  Juliette remained seated. "Please believe me, Zenobia. I would not steal what is yours. Besides, of what use would it be to me? I am told you have sharp eyes. If I stole something from you, I would never be able to wear it. So why would I take it from you?"

  The gathering of girls nodded in a fanning of head veils. The white mar'a muharibah was correct, no? The sharp eyes of Zenobia would prevent anyone from wearing her stolen jewelry. And of what use was a thing if one could not adorn one's self with it?

  Zenobia's rounded arm shot out like a sword as she pointed straight into Juliette's face with a henna-stained finger. "You would steal just for evilness. And the master will not allow stealing." She leaned forward so Juliette could smell her hot mint-scented breath.

  "He once sold a woman who stole from another. And she was never heard of again!"

  Still Juliette appeared unmoved by the venom of Zenobia's attack. "I have stolen nothing," she said. "Therefore the master has no reason to be angry."

  Zenobia's eyes constricted further and her face grew scarlet with anger as her neck stretched forward and down. "Infidel," she spat.

  And with a movement so swift and unexpected it couldn't be prevented, one of Zenobia's hands grabbed the neckline of Juliette's robe and with a jerk, split the garment to the waist.

  That was shock enough. But when Cassia jumped between them, Zenobia threw the girl sprawling with a slap across her face. Then she bent closer to Juliette. "The bracelet is mine. And you will give it back!" she finished with a hiss.

  This was too much! Amid shrieks of surprise, Juliette sprang forward capturing Zenobia's long hair and twisting her arm behind her. She tightened her hold, turning Zenobia's screams to sudden whimpers as Juliette's voice came short and angry. "I have not taken your bracelet, or anything else that belongs to you. And if you dare lay a hand on me or on Cassia again, I will cut off this fine hair of yours!"

  For effect, Juliette lifted a, pair of scissors from a nearby table and snapped them open and closed beside Zenobia's ear before releasing her with a shove.

  Now the fury in Zenobia's face was mixed with fear, and she made no further resistance, allowing herself to continue in the direction she had been pushed. Some distance away then she turned, her fingers splayed like claws. "I warn you," Zenobia said. "This is not over. You, whose mother copulated with the devil. Another time you will find I do not give up what is mine so easily."

  Zenobia faced her, panting. Then suddenly her face inexplicably changed, the ugly twist to her lips disappearing to reemerge a smile.

  Immediately Juliette realized it was not for her, but for whoever was behind her. And then the Arab girl was running with open arms and crying out, "Sayyid! Sayyid! At last you have come!"

  Chapter 66

  Indeed it was Sharif, striding into the room with panther like grace before settling himself on a large black cushion as his women gathered around. Immediately, Juliette whirled to face away, humiliation replacing fury as she realized he must have seen it all. Oh, what a good laugh this would give him, catching her brawling with his women, and over him! She gathered together what remained of her shredded robes and, head high, started for her own room.

  Unfortunately she had only taken a few steps when his voice rose above the happy chattering girls.

  "It pleases me for you to stay, Juliette."

  Juliette stopped, her back to him. What would he do if she didn't obey?-call the guard and have her physically deposited at his feet? And unwilling to go to him, yet not daring to risk his retaliation, Juliette lowered herself on a nearby cushion, a cold shoulder turned toward him.

  To Juliette's surprise he then ignored her, turning his attention to his women instead, speaking affectionately to them, as if they were children, and listening with a slight curve to his lips when they answered his questions in soft, sometimes shyly hesitant voices.

  Upon request one girl sang a short composition, accompanying herself on a mandolin like instrument, and another girl was asked to dance for him but this was cut short when a l
arge tray was brought in.

  Risking an eye in his direction, Juliette saw the tray was piled high with gifts and, when it was set down, Sharif distributed them offhandedly to each girl. There were jewels, carved ivory combs, new veils as fine as butterflies' wings, and feathers that all combined in a confusion of brilliant colors with shiny limbs and long swinging hair as each girl tried on her gift, modeling it before Sharif, and even shedding little tears of joy as they kissed his hands in gratitude.

  Sickening! Juliette thought. But at least he didn't expect her to participate in such a degrading spectacle. No, he seemed satisfied, at least for the moment, with demonstrating the completeness of his power over her. Well, perhaps this would show Zenobia and the rest of them how he really felt about her and stop this ridiculous gossip about Sharif making her the favorite, she told herself clenching her jaw tight.

  Yes, favorite, that's what they called it-like a horse or falcon-a favorite toy. And nothing could be further from the truth-everyone could see that now. But later, even knowing this, didn't prepare Juliette for the next shock.

  "A wife?" Juliette found herself repeating the following day when Farah, flushed with excitement, sat down among the women as the portions of glazed mutton were being served.

  "Yes, a wife," she repeated. "It has all been arranged. The master only just told me!"

  Zenobia was suddenly there too, her eyes flashing as she flung her hair onto her back with a toss of her chin. "It is not true! The master would not take you as wife before me. You are a fool, Farah, and, if you are lying, I will have you whipped!"

  Zenobia was as menacing as a coiled snake and Farah retreated. "But you do not understand, Zenobia. I am not to be the master's wife. He is giving me to one of his headmen-a man I once saw below the harem windows."

  Farah raised her face ecstatically to the ceiling and wrapped her own arms around herself. "Ah! And he is so handsome. How I hunger to feel his touch." Then she looked back to the others blushing slightly. "The master is generous, no? In times past I have pleased him and now, when his interest has wandered far from me, he does not sell me as another man would. He gives me in marriage so I can bear sons to my honor and the honor of my husband," she said, caressing the word husband with her small rosy mouth. "And all of you are just as fortunate. The master told me he is going away for many months to the north and, before he goes, he will make us all wives." She turned to Juliette. "Even you, madame. The master says you are to be given the finest husband of all."

  They all seemed overjoyed and Juliette realized only Zenobia and her was stunned by the news as the rest of the girls giggled with excitement and began to speculate about exactly to whom each of them might be given.

  Juliette felt turned to stone. He was getting rid of her. She knew too much and how much better-safer, to have her tucked away in the harem of another man where she could cause no trouble. It would be his ultimate revenge!

  "In sha'Allah," Cassia began later, watching her mistress walking up and down the carpets of her private room as if to wear a path. "Let the will of Allah be done. A person's fate is written in the book of Allah during the fortieth day after his conception. Nothing can alter this."

  The girl paused and looked sidelong at her mistress, who did not answer as twice more she passed by, her red gauzy robe dragging the carpet. "It has been true forever," she continued. "All men want to be a woman's first lover, while all women wish to be a man's last. It is a battle that women many times lose. But I would not worry yet, madame. The master may change his mind, and I think he cares for you more than you think."

  .

  But for all Cassia's words, and even the tea Juliette later drank that was supposed "to help her sleep," she couldn't contain the wrenching in her stomach, or the horrible feeling that it was true-that Sharif was returning to Europe and giving her away. And to add to her anxiety, a series of weddings full of pomp and finery began during the days that followed.

  Farah's was first, and amid raised voices praising her beauty and wishing her happiness, Juliette watched the radiant Arab girl being lifted onto a pallet and carried from the palace to the house of her new husband.

  Yes, fate-fate, In sha'Allah, Julliette said to herself. And what would be hers? When would her turn come? Certainly there were rumors if she cared to listen. One said she was to be given to the eldest son of the leader of the Assar, while another seemed certain it was to be a wealthy Ethiopian. But Juliette refused even to listen to the continuous speculation, and Sharif came no more either to confirm or deny anything.

  He's torturing me, she thought, twisting her fingers in a lock of shiny hair as if to choke it. But I won't let him. I won't think of this now when all I can do is waiting. But in spite of her determination not to care, the time crawled by unbearably slowly, more so with each day as she waited for fate to fix itself upon her. And to complicate matters, again Sharif was invading her dreams, caressing her silently, pressing his lips to her burning flesh before taking her with slow intense strokes that made her awaken breathless and perspiring beneath the thin coverlet.

  Yes, she was miserable, so miserable that, when one night she awakened to an unfamiliar sound, she wondered if she had finally been driven mad. Certainly she must be seeing things, though there it was, and continued to be, even when she rubbed her eyes-a little door near her bed.

  She had never noticed it before, so well did it fit into the wall. Only the flickering light from behind it outlined its shape and revealed it to her now. And as she listened, it seemed someone on the other side was groping for the bolt.

  There was a tiny click, and the beam of illumination widened to reveal a dwarf-no, a young boy of eight years or so, tiptoeing closer and bringing a finger across his lips to signal her silence before he said the impossible, "If madame pleases to escape, must follow me."

  "Escape?" Juliette questioned in an outlet of astonished breath. "Who are you? What do you mean escape?" Already she was scrambling up and throwing a robe around her shoulders. "Who sent you-Cassia?"

  The boy glanced over his shoulder and salaamed again before whispering, "I Ramad, madame. White man sends me, a many rich one. Horses be at city gates. He comes to save madame."

  "An Englishman?" Juliette asked, her eyes expanding larger.

  "Yes, madame. Many men. Guns."

  Juliette's mind raced. Rodney? No. Rodney was dead wasn’t he? Or was it possible that someone else had discovered her whereabouts and come to the rescue?

  "Come, madame. Must hurry." The boy motioned her to come.

  Escape, Juliette thought. Once she had pledged never to give up trying, but did she dare try now? On the other hand did she dare not to try? Another voice within her asked. If she stayed here Sharif would marry her to one of his followers.

  Before, unable to prevent anything Sharif wished to do she had avoided imagining such a future. But now with an alternative presented, her mind drew into focus an image of herself in the arms of a faceless man-a man even less civilized than Sharif, since few of his followers had any notion of Western customs.

  She would be the chattel of an Arab officer, bound by law and custom to serve his every whim and need, bearing his pleasure, his displeasure, and his children. And when she grew old, or if she should displease her husband, he could by law divorce her by simply saying he divorced her three times within her presence. Then her children would remain the property of her husband while she would be abandoned to the streets like a discarded toy.

  It was a picture that made her insides crawl. If only she could be rescued and reach civilization again. Even being an outcast of her own society seemed heaven by comparison to what awaited her here.

  She looked back to the boy. "Come, madame," he insisted. "It is dangerous for white friends to wait more. Must hurry."

  He handed her a burnoose of the common type worn in the street and watched as she flung it around her shoulders. Then crooking his finger for her to follow, he retraced his steps back through the doorway.

  Ev
en Juliette's whisper seemed to echo as they moved along the nearly airless tunnel. "Is this passage secret?" she asked.

  The boy held the candle high as they went. "Not secret, madame. Many know." He waved a short arm left. "That corridor leads to master. This passage used many time. But more only a few know. Man give me this because I know and bring you." Ramad's white teeth glowed in the semi light only less brilliantly than the diamond he displayed in his palm.

  "You surprised I know much. But think what surprise for sheik, eh?" He laughed childishly.

  Juliette opened her mouth to answer but he put a finger to his lips to keep her from speaking. "No talk now, madame. Ears close."

  So after that they were silent, though Juliette was burning to ask him a dozen questions. And later she would only remember a series of impressions-the dry airless smell of the low corridor, the ache in her bent back, the soft slapping of their feet upon the stone floor, the candle melting away the darkness and bobbing in rhythm with Ramad's steps and, at last, the crunching sound when Ramad pressed his hands to what appeared solid rock and it slid open to reveal yet another hallway where she could straighten up.