by Jane Toombs
Grandmother Noorah was not in the room. Sahar, coming by, told her the older woman was with the king. “They’re old friends,” Sahar added. “Do come into the courtyard with me, many of those our age are eager to get to know Talal’s wife and to ask questions about America. Do you really live the way the movies and TV would have us believe?”
“Not exactly,” Linnea told her as she permitted herself to be led through an outer door into the courtyard.
A riot of flowers bloomed against a background of greenery. Palms and evergreens provided welcome shade while a fountain splashed soothingly in the background.
Seated in a lounge chair amid a bevy of young Zohir women, she spent the next hour fielding questions and trying to be tactful in her answers while still telling the truth about her country. When the questions turned more personal, she excused herself. What was between her and Talal she intended to share with no one, not even the tiniest detail.
Inside the hareem, she found Grandmother Zohir had returned to the suite. “Ya, Linnea,” the older woman said. “Happy, you, Inshallah.”
Linnea smiled. Nothing, she was learning, was taken for granted by the Kholis, everything was subject to God willing. Perhaps they were wiser than she knew.
“I’m happy,” she said, the truth as far as it went. “I’m curious about my clothes, though. Everything in my wardrobe seems to be new.”
“Trunk, old clothes, you,” Grandmother Noorah said. “Gone, truck.”
Assuming she meant the trunk with her clothes in it had gone back to her house, Linnea bit back a protest. She could hardly complain about receiving a closet full of new clothes in exchange for what she’d brought to Kholi. But those clothes were hers and familiar. She didn’t feel the same in the dress she was wearing; she half expected to look in the mirror and see the woman who’d taken her place for a while yesterday, the woman who’d survived the wedding ceremony.
“Hunting, Talal,” Grandmother Noorah said. “Soon catch Khaldun dog. Soon hold daughter, you.”
Linnea sighed, praying her words would come true. Soon.
As the days passed with, again, no word from Talal, Linnea grew restless. Though she’d begun to feel at ease with Sahar, she couldn’t feel comfortable in the hareem as even a temporary home. Many of the other women, including Sahar, went off on escorted shopping excursions and other jaunts that she wasn’t invited to join, which made her suspect the king had issued an edict restricting her to the palace.
“King Hakeem believes I can’t be trusted,” she fumed to Grandmother Noorah. “Does he think I’ll run off?”
“Ruthless, Khalduns,” the older women reminded her. “Not safe, you.”
“I’d stay with the others if I were allowed to go,” Linnea protested. “And I certainly wouldn’t dream of leaving the palace grounds by myself. Not after what happened at the Blue Café.” She shook her head. “Here I am, married because of that little misstep.”
“Careful, king.”
“But I’m beginning to feel like I’m in a cage,” Linnea cried. “And please don’t tell me patience is the key to solutions, even if it is true.”
Grandmother Noorah spread her hands. “No patience, youth. Wait, Linnea. Return victorious, Talal.”
“Yes, I know, but why can’t he call?”
“Hunter, Talal. Warrior. Battle first, wife later, warrior.”
In other words, first things first and wives came second. Still, did that mean he couldn’t pick up a phone? Where was he? Why couldn’t he come back to the palace at night? She might not be entirely happy about the marriage, but she missed him acutely at night. She could only assume he didn’t feel the same about her.
Time inched along, one day after another. By now Linnea understood why lions and tigers in zoos, deprived of their freedom, paced back and forth endlessly. If she were the falcon Talal had called her, she’d fly over the walls and search for him.
And then King Hakeem sent for her. Wearing a long, exquisitely fashioned white dress she found in her wardrobe and swathed in a white veil, she entered the main corridor of the palace, accompanied by Talal’s black-clad grandmother. While appreciating the variation in her restricted life, she fretted over the reason she was being summoned. Was the news good or bad?
Neither, as it turned out. The king greeted her graciously, announcing he was taking her to the far end of the palace compound. “No doubt you, an American woman accustomed to being active, grow bored with this sedentary life,” he said, “but you must be guarded until Talal is successful.”
Without giving her a chance to ask how close Talal might be to success, the king continued. “I’m taking you on an excursion to visit my birds. Are you familiar with falconry?”
“I know what it means,” she said. “I’ve never seen falconry practiced.”
“I regret I can’t take you on a hunt,” he told her. “Perhaps, later, Talal will. For now, you’ll meet my brave Sakar birds, keen hunters all.”
They rode through the grounds to the falconry on an electric cart driven by King Hakeem himself, four of the palace guard jogging alongside. Once there, the king strapped a thick leather band about his wrist and unleashed and unhooded a bird from its roost pedestal. He offered his wrist, and after moving back and forth on the perch, the bird half raised its wings, subsided, then hopped onto the leather wristlet.
Though smaller than the hawks Linnea had seen spiraling high along the Hudson River in New York, the Sakar falcon seen face-to-face impressed her. The fierce eyes glaring at her, the sharp talons and the cruel, hooked beak marked the falcon as a hunter of prey.
“How is it possible to train such a ferocious bird?” she asked the king.
“The falcon must first learn who is master, then be trained to respond to rewards. But the bird is never completely tamed. You see I hold the leash lest the falcon decide to fly without my order.” King Hakeem smiled. “The joy of owning a Sakar is to possess a wild falcon that responds to your command but is never meek or cowed. As did our Bedouin ancestors, we respect such a nature.”
Though Linnea enjoyed the outing, the king’s words haunted her after she’d returned to the hareem. To possess, to command, always holding the leash.
When Talal had called her his little wild falcon she’d taken it as an expression of affection, and she still hoped that was what he’d intended. She tried to thrust away the unpleasant possibility that she was responding to him much as the Sakars responded to their masters. His lovemaking rewarded her in ways she hadn’t dreamed of, but whether he intended it or not, was she being trained to accept him as her master?
She didn’t want to ever be possessed, to be commanded, to be leashed. But isn’t that exactly what Kholi husbands did to their wives?
To rid herself of her disturbing thoughts, she thrust open the outside door to the women’s courtyard and stepped into the gathering dusk. A few stars glittered in the evening blue of the sky, reminding her of Talal. She sighed and wandered along the meandering paths that all led, sooner or later, to the fountain. No other women were in the courtyard; this was the time they gathered in the main room to share their day and to tease one another about husbands. Tonight she didn’t feel like joining them.
Hearing the door open, she looked to see who was coming out. A slight figure stepped into the courtyard, closing the door behind her. In the dusk it was impossible for Linnea to tell which of the women it was. Not wanting company, she left the fountain area, where the splashing water was lit by colored lights, and walked deeper into the shadows.
Apparently the woman had seen her because, looking back, Linnea saw she was following her. Resigned, she stopped and waited, soon realizing it was a servant, not one of the Zohirs.
The girl thrust a sealed envelope at her and hurried away before Linnea could say a word. Back in the dim glow of the fountain lights, she read her name, Linnea, on the front of the envelope. Her heart leaped. Talal! He’d finally remembered she existed.
Chapter Thirteen
St
anding beside the fountain in the women’s courtyard, clutching the envelope to her heart, Linnea was torn between ripping it open immediately or waiting until she reached the privacy of the bridal suite to read the contents. Impatience almost won, but then she decided one of the women might look out a window, see her reading the message and ask what Talal had to say. She didn’t want to share a single word of his with anyone.
Reentering the quarter, she hurried along the corridors until she reached the locked door of her suite, which was not a part of the hareem. She unlocked the door and, once inside, crossed to sit on the bridal bed, where she tore open the envelope.
She scanned the first few words and frowned. The message wasn’t from Talal.
I will deliver your daughter to the palace tonight. Open the courtyard door to your quarters at midnight. Have money ready. Do not tell anyone or I will kill the child.
Though there was no signature, she knew who’d written it. Basheem Khaldun.
Linnea stared at the words, her heart hammering. Kill Yasmin? She shuddered. Did he mean it? She dare not take a chance. On the other hand, could she believe he actually would deliver Yasmin to her? Could she believe anything a Khaldun might promise?
She bit her lip in indecision. If only Talal were here. He must know Talal was not at the palace or he wouldn’t take such a risk. What should she do? Show the letter to the king so he could have the guards set a trap? She shook her head. Yasmin might be killed before they captured this dangerous cousin of Malik’s.
He must know I wouldn’t leave the grounds after what happened before, she reasoned, so he’d found a way to get inside. She couldn’t imagine how he could possibly manage to elude the guards to get in without being challenged, but he obviously believed he could. He must have bribed the servant who’d brought her the message. How? Linnea wished she’d paid more attention to the woman. As it was, she couldn’t possibly identify her.
What should she do? She ought to be safe enough within the palace grounds to risk doing what he asked. Except she hadn’t enough money with her to pay him what he must want. Her gaze fell on the velvet jewel cases atop one of the mahogany chests. Her bridal gifts. Gifts she hadn’t really wanted, at least in the case of the diamond-and-emerald necklace and earrings.
She shouldn’t even consider giving him the jewels. Yet Yasmin was worth the world to her. And the jewels were hers. How much of a risk would she be taking in the exchange? She’d have to be sure Yasmin was in her possession before handing him the jewels. Then he’d leave in a great hurry, anxious to escape before she could sound an alarm. Wouldn’t he? She drew in a shaky breath, twisting her hands together. How could she possibly decipher what might be going on in his mind?
If he had Yasmin, and she had no reason to believe he did not, she must keep that most important fact in focus. She didn’t see where she had any choice but to take a chance on doing as he asked.
In her anxiety for Yasmin’s safety, she couldn’t swallow a bite of the evening meal. Pacing back and forth in her room, she wondered how Basheem had been able to elude the national guard and all the others searching for him. She then began to worry how close Talal was. If Talal was hot on the trail, he might arrive at the palace before Yasmin had been safely delivered to her. What then?
A tapping at the door startled her. When she unlocked and opened it, Sahar stood there.
“We’re having a party,” she said. “In your honor. I’ve come to fetch you.”
The last thing Linnea wanted to do was attend a party, but a glance at her watch told her it was only eight. With four hours to get through, perhaps being with others might offer some distractions. Besides, she’d been avoiding Talal’s relatives lately due to her own restlessness. They’d done their best to make her feel welcome and the least she could do was attend a party held in her honor.
Indicating her casual cotton dress, she said, “Will this do?”
Sahar smiled. “What you’re wearing isn’t important—you’ ll see.”
When they reached the assembly hall, Linnea found all the furniture had been shoved down to one end of the room, leaving almost half of the room bare except for the carpets and a multitude of fat, colorful pillows lining the walls. The lights had been turned off in favor of candles burning in sconces on the walls.
Two women strummed the strings of exotic instruments resembling zithers. The scent of sandlewood incense swirled around her. Not seeing Grandmother Noorah nor Sahar, she sat down next to Huda.
A tattoo of drumbeats began, and Sahar slithered around the edge of a three-paneled screen near the door. Gone was her bright pink Western-style dress, her high heels. Barefoot, with bells chiming on ankle chains, she wriggled slowly, sensuously, toward the center of the part of the room that was in use. Her costume was similar to those worn by the belly dancers at the wedding, leaving her bare from just under her breasts to her lower abdomen.
Sahar’s transformation involved more than the change of clothes. She’d become some exotic creature from Kholi’s past. Or maybe not so very much past, Linnea amended, as two more costumed women slipped around the screen and wriggled their way toward Sahar. One was older, plumply attractive, the other a girl barely into her teens. Both carried tambourines, shaking them above their heads.
After they reached Sahar, she advanced toward Linnea, still dancing, and reached down and offered her hand. Uncertain what to do, Linnea put her hand in Sahar’s.
Sahar pulled Linnea to her feet, stopped dancing and urged her captive toward the screen. Once behind its concealment, Sahar lifted a gauzy garment from an open chest and handed it to Linnea, saying, “Please put this on.”
“This is a costume like yours,” Linnea protested. “I can’t belly dance.”
“That’s because you’ve never tried. All women can learn the dance, though some perform better than others. We’ll teach you.”
“But I don’t—”
“You must. How else can you keep your husband interested once the honeymoon ends?”
Taken aback, Linnea couldn’t immediately find an answer.
“No one will mind you’re a beginner,” Sahar insisted. “We all were once.”
Realizing she’d be labeled a poor sport if she didn’t at least make an effort to participate, Linnea nodded reluctantly. “I’ll try.”
With no mirror available, she had no idea how she looked as a belly dancer, but the costume was comfortable and she rather enjoyed the bells on her wrists and ankles jingling with the slightest motion. With more confidence than she felt inside, she emerged from behind the screen with Sahar.
Immediately all the women began clicking their tongues, making the same sound as at the wedding. The drum beat slowed. Linnea padded to the middle of the room feeling the invisible support of the women watching her, realizing they’d accepted her as one of them. She might make a fool of herself but suddenly that didn’t matter.
Doing her best to match the rhythm of the drummers, she tried to copy the sinuous movements of Sahar and the others, finding the dance was not as easy as it looked. After a time the young girl reached up and grasped Linnea’s hand, placing it across her abdomen as she gyrated. Startled for a moment, Linnea finally understood the girl was trying to show her what muscles to use. She smiled and nodded.
As she continued to try, to her surprise, she slipped into a more natural rhythm, one that seemed to well up from inside her. She began to imagine she was alone with Talal, dancing just for him, and her movements turned languorous. Applause from the watching women ended that fantasy and she paused.
“We can see you have the soul of a belly dancer,” Sahar told her. “Practice and you will become more and more accomplished.”
“Your reward will come from Talal,” Huba called. Her giggle was echoed by general laughter.
“It’s true,” the plump dancer insisted. “Why do you think I have five sons?”
The women insisted on offering her tea and a variety of fruits and other delicacies. To refuse would insult them,
she knew, so she ate what she could, then begged to be excused, thanking them for the lesson. On her way to the door, she retrieved her clothes, telling Sahar she’d return the costume later.
“No need, we had the dressmaker fashion it for you. The costume and the bangles are a gift from all of us, a gift from the heart. What is life if you can’t please your husband?”
Linnea returned to her suite, marveling at how the Kholi women’s lives revolved entirely around their husbands. Not that marriage wasn’t important, but spending a life confined to a hareem seemed impossibly constricting to her.
When she was back inside her suite, she locked the door, then glanced at the clock. Eleven. The belly dancing lesson had temporarily distracted her, but now tension tightened her muscles again. She plucked one of the jewel cases from the chest, opened it and lifted out the necklace and earrings, the diamonds and emeralds glimmering in the light. Wrong or right, she’d use them in place of money.
A servant had been in to draw the blinds and turn down her bed. Still holding the jewelry, she padded over to the door to the courtyard and peeked through the blinds, seeing only the few lights set here and there among the shrubbery. Turning off the lights, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the dark, then pulled open the blinds and stared through the glass of the sliding door again. Nothing moved in the darkness.
She had to change from the costume before midnight, but she lingered a moment to look at the stars in the night sky, sliding the bracelets from her wrists and tossing them on the table near the door. Was that constellation Orion? She unlocked the door and eased it open far enough to stick her head and shoulders out to see the sky more clearly, trying to remember what Talal had said about how to locate Orion. Warm air scented with gardenias washed over her, mingling with the artificially cooled air in the room.
Staring intently at the sky, she didn’t at first notice when the lights amid the shrubbery went out. When she did, alarmed, she started to draw back into the room. A hand grasped her arm and yanked her into the night. From behind, an arm hooked around her neck, choking her.