by Rose Fox
“Oh, Naima, you’re saving the day.”
“Really?!” she laughed, suddenly feeling that someone was relating to her personally.
“What happened? Did someone resign or leave you in the lurch?”
“Lutfi can’t lead the tour to the south and…”
“Why Lutfi, of all people?!”
“Look, the man just got married. That’s right; it’s difficult to replace a guide like him but, now that you…”
“Did you say he got married?!”
She recalled the dark-skinned guide she had shared impressions and itineraries with and from whom she had learned so much and asked:
“Tell me the destination of the tour he gave up to get married.”
“Oh, it’s a thrilling three-day trip to the foothills of the Caucasus. The tourists are from the Middle East, just tailor-made for you! Only you could take this on and do as good a job as our bridegroom.”
“Hmm… to the slopes of the Caucasus? With pleasure,” she exclaimed as she was already revising her knowledge of the beautiful mountainous terrain of Southern Iran in her memory. A thought flashed through her mind that the trip there might offer her an incredible opportunity to look for accommodation that would suit her concept of “home”.
At six o’clock in the morning, everyone had gathered at the regular meeting point at the cable car station.
The group included women clothed in galabiyas and hijabs alongside bare-headed women wearing jeans. They conversed in Arabic and English and, to her amazement, she heard some of them talking Hebrew. Abigail strained her ear to hear the language that had been an integral part of her life and was so familiar to her that it hurt.
The first two days passed uneventfully and they slept in the hostels booked by their office. On the third day, the tour was almost over and the sun was about to set. Abigail heard the familiar laughter of a woman and, a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and embraced her tightly.
“Hi, Naima!! How did you get here?” and her laughter pealed out like ringing bells.
Abigail turned round and looked at the jubilant woman and remembered meeting her when she flew to Iran, almost a year ago. She was the young wife of the Ambassador of Azerbaijan to Israel. She even recalled the sad story of her baby that died but, as hard as she tried, she could not remember her name.
“Wow! We met for four or five hours on our flight. How did you remember me?!” she exclaimed, trying all the while to recall her name.
“You have no idea how much you influenced me!” the woman said, “I thought over the things you said for many days after the flight. Besides, how can anyone forget someone like you?”
“Is that so?!”
“Yes, and especially with eyes like yours!” she laughed.
“I told my husband about us,” and she whispered: “Not everything we spoke about.”
She pulled her over to a dark-skinned man, whose mustache gave him the appearance of a playboy. Abigail was embarrassed because the man had been staring at her from a distance for several minutes. Now, when he came towards her with his arm extended and shook her hand, she modestly lowered her eyes.
“Hello, I’m Karim. Oh, I have heard so much about you from Alice, my wife. I thank you for encouraging her.” He held Abigail’s arms with both palms of his hands and when she tried to free herself, he increased the pressure. He did not hurt her but signaled something with his grip that caused Abigail’s cheeks to burn with embarrassment.
Where are you going after this tour?” Alice asked. Karim smiled and added: “In short, where do you live?” Finally, he let go of her arm. Alice embraced Abigail’s shoulders and moved away from the group with her.
“Listen, why don’t you come and live in our neighborhood, in Azerbaijan, ha?” She looked at her and added: “I think we will both have a lot to gain from it.”
“Let’s see,” Abigail said evasively. She was having second thoughts about her husband, the Ambassador and was a little wary of his effusive attention. Her doubts were reflected in her facial expression.
“What does it depend on and why are you hesitant?”
Abigail let out quietly:
“I was involved with a man, who left and went away,” and was surprised at her unusual openness. She had surrendered to the warmth that Alice showered on her. It had been many years since Abigail had enjoyed the close friendship of a woman and she mused on the extent to which she had missed what Alice was offering her.
“How long have you been alone? When did this man leave?”
“Oh, about eight months ago.”
“Ah, I understand then that the relationship really is over,” she remarked, and could not understand why a shiver passed through Abigail’s body. Alice suspected that this was not the only reason, so she wrapped her arm under Abigail’s forearm and walked to one side with her.
“Tell me, Naima. Is it a matter of money? If it is, the problem can easily be solved.” She whispered as if sharing a secret.
“No, no, I really am looking for a place to live,” Abigail replied and lowered her voice. “The truth is that I would prefer to live in the mountains and not in a large city.”
“Great! There is no place better than these beautiful Caucuses. We live here, too,” Alice enthused and also lowered her voice.
“Then I have a special offer for you. I, myself, will look for a home for you and we can go and see it, together. What do you think, ah?” Abigail laughed. She didn‘t notice that this, perhaps, was the first time in a very long time that she had laughed and she gazed at Alice, who seemed willing to do anything to have her close by.
Suddenly she remembered that the two of them would almost never be at home because of their position and she asked:
“When do you intend returning to your post at the Embassy? I understand that you will be leaving Azerbaijan again.”
“Oh, that’s right, but we will have enough time. At present, we‘re home on leave for three weeks. We will go back to the Middle East for another year or two and that will be that. This period of our lives will come to an end.” She immediately summed things up:
“So, it’s decided, right? Are we looking for an apartment in the Caucuses?” Abigail pursed her lips and heard with delight how Alice whispered excitedly:
“You can be sure that no one will be happier than me to live near a friend like you!”
When a few weeks went by and Abigail did not hear from her, she believed that it had all just been idle talk. She had almost forgotten about it when one day the phone rang and she heard Alice’s voice.
“Hey, Naima, it’s been a while and in the meantime I have found several apartments that I think you will like.”
“Oh, Alice, I see that you are taking the matter seriously.”
“Yes, of course. It’s Sunday tomorrow and you are free and have no tours, right?” She asked and continued at once:
“A taxi will pick you up and bring you to us.”
Alice had three addresses prepared for her, but already at the first one, Abigail delayed and appeared to be very impressed with what she saw. Indeed, the place needed refurbishing but the yard was breathtaking. It was bordered with bushes that needed trimming, yet surrounded the whole area. Large tiles had been laid in a wide arc and led from the gateless entrance to wooden steps that went up to a verandah in front of the house. It looked like a patio, shaded by the roof that was pulled over it in a soft arc like a pagoda.
Abigail leaned her arms on the wooden railing and looked into the distance, at the densely forested slopes of the mountains, enjoying the light breeze that crept in under the verandah roof. Some rebellious curls, peeping out from under her hijab, waved softly in the wind and tickled her skin.
“The Caspian Sea is there in the East, behind those tall mountains,” she heard Alice’s voice behind her and Abigail nodded.
“Come, Naima, it’s almost noon, we should look at the other places I have prepared for you.” But, Abigail smiled, still leaning on the wooden railing, a
nd declared:
“This is it, I like it, and I will make my home here.”
The meeting with the owner was arranged for the same day.
A small figure of a woman came to the house. She was clad in black and her eyes peeped through the strip of black netting. They shook hands and Abigail heard her name, which was announced in a weak voice:
“Hanin.”
Karim approached them.
“Ladies, Could I, perhaps, help you make a deal?” he suggested.
Abigail was not interested in having someone take over the negotiations and she heard him intervene:
“Hanin was widowed a few months ago and I, as an Ambassador of Azerbaijan, am familiar with bureaucracy and am able to open doors with greater ease. What do you say?” He said to Abigail and winked at her. He was certain he would be able to get a better deal.
“Thank you, Karim, I believe that you are uniquely placed to help, but let me try. Trust me, there is a good chance that we will work it out.”
She immediately turned to ask her gently:
“Where are you living now, Hanin?”
“Oh, for lack of choice, I have returned to our clan in the Azeri town of Wan. What could I do? It isn’t easy to bring up children on one’s own.”
The woman glanced around to see where Karim had gotten to and, as he was not in sight, she raised her veil and revealed her face. She didn’t look old, but her face was as wrinkled as parchment and Abigail wondered how she had aged so much before her time.
“I led a beautiful life here. This place is quite unique and everything that happens here is wonderful.”
Abigail remained silent, allowing her to speak, and she continued.
“It’s difficult to describe how hard it is for me to give it up, but I have no choice. So I’ve decided to sell it.”
“What’s to be done,” Abigail added, “life leads us ever onwards. How much are you asking for the house?”
“I will part with this house and its wondrous grounds for four and a half million rials,” Hanin proposed, and Abigail calculated that the sum she was asking was worth more than seven hundred dollars. The truth was that she found the price high for this property but her ingrained business sense was aroused and she remarked quietly as she gazed into her eyes.
“Yes, Hanin, it is a really lovely place, but you know it needs a lot of work.”
“You’re right. I was so busy nursing my Farouk and I had no time to trim the bushes and they’re out of shape.”
“Hmmm,” Abigail replied.
“Okay, it also needs a coat of paint and some changes in the kitchen, but you should know that the cupboards are quite new.”
“Really? How long has it been since you renewed them?”
“If I remember correctly, we changed them when our Hamid was born, meaning: less than four or five years ago.”
“Very nice. So, am I to understand that Hamid is your youngest? Is he five years old?”
“No, Hamid is almost eleven.” She caught her error and laughed embarrassedly.
“Okay, it’s been a little longer, but you must admit that they look like new.”
Abigail sighed. “I’m sorry; it’s too expensive for me, especially when I think of the renovations it needs.”
Hanin knew that it would not be easy to sell this house in its mountainous location and she thought how lucky she was to have such an earnest buyer.
“What’s your name?” She inquired, “I feel as though this place is really right for you and that is why I am going to offer it to you for three and a half million rials. What do you say? Y’allah, (come on) here’s to our success,” but Abigail got up as if she was ending the conversation. She was pleased with the reduction in the price. Hanin pulled her arm and said:
“Sit down, listen, I have taken a liking to you and I don’t believe that I am saying this price out loud. Y’allah – two million, nine hundred – that’s my last price and it’s just for you.”
Abigail touched the woman gently and said:
“Two million rials. That’s what I can afford to pay you for this house.”
Hanin stood up excitedly and shook Abigail’s hand in both her dry palms and cried out:
“I knew we would make a deal!”
On Monday, five days after the arrangements were finalized and the house was registered in her name, Abigail went back to leading tourist groups. She received the keys to the house, bolted the windows and shutters, locked the house and returned to Stary Smokovec, pleased that she now owned a place of her own. As time passed, she forgot about the house she had purchased in the Caucuses.
She moved to a different hostel in the beautiful village. It was at the end of the same road, about one hundred yards from the ‘Chai Huneh’. She moved because it was a bother not having her own bathroom and toilet. She frequented the ‘Chai Huneh’ almost every morning as she was not prepared to forego the meals and services.
At one point, she wondered how it was that Emir, the devoted reception clerk never said a word and continued putting her mail in the same pigeon hole and smiled at her whenever she arrived. It remained just a thought and nothing more.
*
The destination of the next tour was a place she especially loved – the Tabriz Bazaar, one of the most ancient bazaars in the country, if not in the whole Middle East.
They had been traveling for almost an hour when she noticed the driver turning the bus onto an unfamiliar road.
“What happened? This isn’t our usual route. Why is there a detour?”
“Do you see the trees over there?” the driver asked pointing to the right.
“There, on the parallel road, trees were planted in pots and it has become a real forest now.”
“Is that so?” She was surprised. “Are you certain? How did they plant a whole forest in one go?”
Indeed, there were many conifers on the slopes of the mountain. They were densely planted to form a block in the area to its right and prevented entry from this direction to the section of the Bazaar. She shrugged and continued looking down the road. Further along, when they skirted the planted area, she noticed a new, expertly asphalted bypass road that replaced the uneven, gravel short-cut.
“Oh, what an excellent highway they have paved here,” she exclaimed.
Now she made the association between the new road and the freshly planted forest and decided that they signified something important. Her next trip preempted her decision to clarify the matter.
It occurred when she led a group to visit the port at Kharg. She knew the way there, blindfolded, and was surprised when the bus stopped in front of a metal fence stretched across the road. Abigail was confident that from here, they would be able to travel freely to the port. A signpost was attached to the barricade in front of them.
PRIVATE PROPERTY
ENTRY IS FORBIDDEN
This time, she decided to act.
The following morning, she took the light rail, on her way to the clergyman, the esteemed Ayatollah Karim.
Karim was an admired and honored man of religion. A meticulously barbered beard graced his noble face and the dark turban he wore on his head, symbolized his status.
It was told that people gathered at his gates to listen to his sermons and hear his poetry and the intricacies of his chanting. None of the members of his entourage imagined that this man, who was so respected by the country’s religious regime, actively and, of course, secretly opposed it.
“A fence? That’s interesting,” he said and smoothed his beard with his fingers. “Do you remember what the place looked like before the barricade was erected?”
She shrugged.
“There was nothing unusual there.”
She looked at him. His dark brows joined together in a frown above his nose and Abigail momentarily reflected how contrasted their color was with to the strands of gray in his beard. The man gazed with evident delight at her animated features, looked into her large pale eyes, aware that a tempting figure of a wo
man, who was a great beauty, stood before him. He had already heard men, who had been on her guided tours confess having to overcome their desire for her.
As he was speaking to her, it occurred to her that perhaps this man might know where Karma was and she was surprised when he asked her:
“Yes, what did you want to ask me, my child?”
“Ah. I wanted to ask Your Honor about something that bothers me,” she replied but hesitated to continue.
“Ah, I thought to ask what has become of… I wanted to ask whether you are still in touch with…” she grew silent. “It’s of no importance, I was just prattling idly.”
She turned her face away from him to hide her emotions and had almost reached the door when she heard him say:
“Karma asks after you often and will soon be returning to us.”
She nodded, still not facing him, surprised that he knew who she was referring to and continued without turning around, fearing he might see her burning cheeks. She hurried out, trembling all over.
Abigail did not know that Karma would often come here to listen to this clergyman’s sermons. He also talked to him, not only about religious matters, since Karma knew of the double role played by the respected Ayatollah. In his period of absence from the country, he had called Karim. It had been a personal call, one that would not endanger anyone, even if the line were tapped. It was an idle conversation between men that dealt with matters of the heart.
“What is she doing?”
“Her usual work, leading groups of tourists. Oh, yes,” Ayatollah Karim recalled. “She has moved to a different hostel.”
“Is that so?”
“If I’m not mistaken, she also left the country for a few days, but returned and continued with her tours.”
“Do you know where she went, perhaps?”
“Wait, why all this interest in her?”