by Sarah Monzon
Jamal let out a long bray that shook his body. Instinctively, my thighs tightened.
Karim’s hand splayed across my stomach as he pulled me closer to his back. “You’re making him nervous. We’ll be there soon. Just relax.”
Relax. While my broken record had been water, water, water, his had been relax, relax, relax. How could one relax on a beast that had nearly killed you more than once? Even so, I’d tried. And not letting my pride get in the way, had succeeded a time or two. Although I had to give Karim the credit there. Without him I’d have internally combusted from nervousness. But whenever I got wound up, he’d start a slow, almost mournful song that calmed me, and I’d melt into him, the beat of his heart continuing to soothe when the song ended.
He gave me strength when I felt weak, grounded me when I felt awash with fear. A small part of me almost wished our trek wasn’t about to end, because riding with him had given us time together.
Like separate strands of yarn in a weaver’s loom, our lives were entwining fiber by fiber. Was the tapestry of our marriage strong enough to withstand the difficulties and strains of life? We’d no longer have hours on end to spend in each other’s company. His responsibilities would pull him one way—the tug of clan leadership strong—while mine would pull me another—teaching the children and gentle witnessing. I feared without the third strand in our braid—a central relationship with a mutual Savior—our cord would be easily broken.
A man of middling years wearing a spotless robe and a full beard separated from the onlookers and approached our caravan. He smiled wide in welcome. “As-salamu ’alaykum.”
Karim pulled Jamal to a stop and had the camel kneel. He dismounted, then turned and helped me to the ground. I stood there, eyes downcast, as he stepped forward. “Wa ’alaykumu as-salam.”
“It is good to see you, old friend.”
“And you.”
The man, who was undoubtedly this clan’s sheikh, tickled my memory. Karim had reminded me of his name—Daher Samaha—but at the time the name did nothing to conjure up a face. I’d been among these people before, but it had been over a decade. Before returning to the States, I’d missed the last trek to the date harvest, having spent a week in the hospital due to MERS, a viral respiratory virus.
Daher slapped Karim on the shoulder. “Come. Water your camels. Refreshments have been prepared in your honor.”
The men walked on toward the small village while others stepped forward to help with our camels. I was all too happy to release the animals to someone else’s care and added a soft “Shukraan” to the teenager who led Jamal away.
With hands behind my back, I followed my husband’s footsteps.
Though Bedouin, no tents of camel and goat hair were pitched. Instead, permanent homes of stone had been erected. It didn’t come as a surprise. Few clans still adhered to the traditional and ancestral transient lifestyle. Many made their dwellings outside of cities where food, water, and employment were more easily accessible.
Daher Samaha held a unique position that had been passed down to him for generations. One of power that had been challenged by war more than once. He controlled the water for the region. Nestled in the foothills of a jutting, craggy mountain, the early monsoon dumped life-giving precipitation and then cradled the liquid more precious than gold in deep caves. For centuries, this water had been dammed and then farmed. Daher’s responsibilities lay in protecting the water supply as well as issuing its rations among the neighboring clans for farming.
Karim had told me the man had steel in his veins. He had to in order to retain control over something men were willing to die for. Lack of water was a reality every citizen of the region faced, not just the Bedouins. Even scientists in the forward-thinking cities wrestled with answering the need. I’d laughed when Karim had told me one city’s plan to create rain. I thought he’d been teasing me. Turned out he was serious. The plan was to create a man-made mountain to push air up into the atmosphere to create rain clouds.
Tinkling metal like the sound of soft laughter met my ears, and I raised my head. A petite woman approached, the bangles around her wrists and the veil covering the bottom half of her face announcing her approach. Though I couldn’t see her lips, the skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me.
“I am Radina, wife of Daher. Welcome to our village.” She lifted her hand to me. “Come. Your mother has been quite anxious for your arrival.”
“Thank you.” I bowed slightly to her. “I am Hannah.”
“I know.” Her eyes, heavily lined with black makeup, sparked. “We have heard many things about you around the nightly fire.”
My feet stumbled, and Radina laughed. “Did you not think speculation would circle when word reached us that Karim had finally taken a bride? Some of our own women had hoped to claim that title.” She looked at me again, and even veiled, kindness shown in her face. “I see the rumor that your beauty had hypnotized him was correct.”
How to respond? I dared not argue the point or explain the underlying necessity of our marriage. Without another option, I merely smiled in reply.
A group of four children ran in front of us, their laughter dancing in their wake.
“We have also heard that you are a teacher?”
Though she knew it to be true, she posed it as a question rather than a statement. So that I could refute the claim? I had no wish to.
“Yes. Although my lessons were cut terribly short by the journey.”
She pointed to the children’s retreating backs. “As you can see, we have a number of Allah’s blessings running around here as well. Daher thinks it would be wise to embrace your time among us as another blessing and have our children learn from a real teacher.”
The way she emphasized her husband’s name made me think the idea had been more her own than his. I grinned. “I would love nothing more.”
Her hands clapped and the bangles jangled. “Perfect. I have already arranged a tent set up between our village and yours.” Her feet slowed until she stopped and turned toward me. The confidence of moments before fled, replaced with uncertainty. “I…”
“Yes?”
Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. “I would like to learn as well.”
Wanting to set her at ease, I gently squeezed her forearm. “I would be honored.”
She smiled, her confidence returning. “Come, now. Before your mother takes it upon herself to search you out.”
I followed Radina through the alleys between the monotone buildings, my heart a little lighter.
Chapter 20
Karim
“It is good to see you again, old friend.” Daher sat on a chair in the main room of his more-than-modest home, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He leaned back as if he hadn’t a care in the world, though the twelve-inch dagger he wore on his belt contradicted his posture.
“And I, you.” Though our paths crossed but once a year, Daher had been a good friend for many years. We both understood the challenges of leading and the responsibility of holding the lives of others in our hands. Often I’d sought his advice on a matter, the nearly ten years he had on me adding experiences to his life that weighed in wisdom. Once I’d fought alongside him when another clan sought to overthrow his position and take all the water for themselves.
“How was your journey?”
“The desert was gracious to let us pass.”
“Indeed. And your new wife?” Not so much as a brow rose on his face as he popped a fig into his mouth. “She did not wilt under the scorching sun?”
I studied his face. Unreadable, impassive. Curious to the story there, but would not outright ask. Had he already come to his own conclusions? Had those of my people who’d arrived ahead of us filled his ears with lies and prejudices against Hannah and her family?
“Though my wife is as beautiful and delicate looking as a rose, her roots run deep, which give her a strength not visible to every eye.”
Daher’s mouth relaxed, yet I�
��d never call the action a smile.
“I know a thing or two about strong women.” His propped foot fell to the floor as he leaned forward and winked. “They are the most beautiful of all.” Reaching forward, he grabbed another fig from the wooden bowl. “Now, tell me about this problem you’ve been having with your sheep.”
I opened my mouth to explain our dire yet befuddling situation, when the front door swung open and slammed against the wall. A small boy of about eight stepped in, his eyes wide and his chest heaving as if he’d run as fast as his spindly legs could carry him.
Daher stood as a soldier at the ready. “Asoud, what is it?”
Instead of addressing his leader, the boy turned to me, his mouth gaping like a fish that had been taken from the water. “Your”—deep, gasping breath in—“mother.” Two more deep breaths.
I was on my feet, my hands clasping the boy’s bony shoulders, my pulse thundering like the hooves of my prized Arabian stallion. “What about my mother?”
He flinched away from my grip, and I realized I had squeezed too hard. I let my hands fall but pinned him to the spot with a hard stare.
It was taking too long. For him to get his breath and form his words. For me to get answers about my mother. Impatient, I spun him around and pushed on his shoulder. “Take me to her.”
But he doubled over, his hands on his knees.
“Where is she, Asoud?” The calm in Daher’s voice grated on my frantic nerves.
The boy pointed out the door. “Grove.”
Lifting my thawb from around my ankles, I sprinted in the direction of the date grove. While there were many trees, the sound of frantic voices and the clump of bodies huddled in one spot directed my path. Without a word, people shifted and let me through. My heart stopped before my feet did. Pale faced, my mother lay on the ground, her eyes closed and head supported in Ethan’s lap.
I felt Daher’s presence come up beside me but didn’t have the time nor inclination to acknowledge him. All my focus zeroed in on the prostrate form that had given me life. Like water in a wadi during the first days of summer, the color seeped from her skin. Her lips parted, and a high-pitched whistling sound emitted with her exhaled breath.
My eyes shot to Ethan, who had already focused on me.
“Listen to me, Karim. I need you to fetch my medical bag. It’s sitting near the entrance of my tent.”
I swung around in search of a runner. No way would I leave my mother’s side.
“Karim, it must be you.”
Ethan’s strident words sunk into my brain and ceased my searching, as if he’d hooked my neck with the loop of a shepherd’s rod. “You know exactly where my tent will be pitched. You have seen my bag hundreds of times before and will know what to look for.”
My body swayed over my feet. Ethan needed his doctor tools, but my mother needed me.
“Go! Now!” With the authority of a general, he barked his orders.
I let my eyes fall to my mother once more before sprinting with all my strength. With every step, the distance seemed to grow instead of shorten. A never-ending, ever-widening expanse. One that would open up and swallow me, keeping me from bringing the help my mother needed.
We’d camped a kilometer away. The distance necessary to keep relations between the clans amicable and privacy intact. No one wanted to infringe and overstep the hospitality of a hosting clan, and the space afforded each party to remain gracious.
Blood pumped through my veins in a pounding rhythm as an invisible band tightened around my chest. I tunneled my focus, ignoring the pain of each breath and the stabbing in my side.
Graciousness be hanged. My mother’s life weighed in the balance, and I wasted time beating my feet against the sand as I dashed too far away all for propriety.
Blessedly, the Pratts’ tent was pitched along the perimeter, and I barreled through the heavy leather flap. Immediately turning, I nearly tripped over the black bag that I’d seen Ethan carry around for over a decade. Its weight felt good in my hands. Tangible. I gripped it like I had the ability to wrap my fingers around hope and then exited with as much force as I’d entered.
My shoes slapped against the earth, the hot sand pouring in and then out of the holes on the sides with each step I took. Digging deeper, I pushed my body to pick up even more speed. Every minute counted the way my mother counted on me.
Daher gripped my elbow as I stormed into the throng, propelling me the last few feet while also slowing my approach. Ethan’s bag fell from my hand and landed at his side. With deft movements, he unclasped the top and rummaged around, withdrawing a stethoscope. He placed the tubes at one end into his ears and laid the circle piece of the other end on my mother’s chest. He moved it around, listening. It seemed like ages before he removed the earpieces from his ears.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her?” My muscles coiled like a leopard ready to pounce.
Ethan’s blue eyes raised to meet my gaze. “Your mother is having difficulty breathing. She passed out—”
A moan interrupted, followed by soft stirring. My knees hit the sand, and I scooped up my mother’s hand and pressed it to my cheek. “’Ami. You’re going to be okay.”
Her eyes blinked, and her hand lay limp and clammy in my own. Up and down her throat bobbed as she worked to speak. Fear pooled in her eyes as she looked at me and then Ethan, who still supported her head.
I followed her gaze. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she, Doctor?”
Ethan looked down and ran a thumb across my mother’s forehead. “Of course.” He raised his face to me. “But she’s very sick and needs to go to the hospital right away.”
“The closest hospital is nearly a hundred kilometers away.” Daher spoke from just behind my shoulder.
Ethan shifted his gaze to the man at my back. “Then we’ve no time to lose.”
My fingers twitched to fold into themselves, but I still held my mother’s palm in my hand and didn’t want to cause her further pain by my thoughtlessness. Her eyes had drifted shut again, and though my heart squeezed for her, I was relieved she rested in consciousness instead of unconsciousness. I leaned forward and lowered my voice, not wanting to alarm her further. “Is it so serious?”
“There’s fluid in her lungs, which is indicative of pneumonia, an infection in her lung sacs. The hospital will need to do chest x-rays and put her on intravenous antibiotics.”
I could feel tension building between my eyes, drawing my brows together. Fluid in the lungs sounded a lot like drowning to me.
Mother’s wheezing grew louder, a testament of the difficulty she was having drawing in enough oxygen. I ran my thumb in small circles across the back of her hand like she used to do for me when I was sick as a small child.
Drowning in a desert. I shook my head.
“Because of your mother’s age, she is at a higher risk for complications and needs to be in a facility that can combat anything else that may arise.”
“Such as?”
“A number of things, really. Blood poisoning being one of them.”
Sounded as bad as drowning. I looked down at the sweet woman, not liking how the corners of her eyes scrunched as if in pain. Gently I scooped my arms under her body and cradled her as if a babe.
Not long ago I’d had to carry Ethan’s wife in such a way. And now my mother. The sheep…the sabotage against Hannah’s camel… Would trouble never cease to compound at my door?
Ethan jogged ahead of me and retrieved the keys to the truck. By the time I made it to the rusty old vehicle, he’d opened the passenger-side door. With as much tenderness as I could, I settled her in the middle, draping my arm around her shoulder and tucking her body close to mine. Her chin tucked into her chest, she rested against me. With my free hand, I cranked the handle to roll down the window as Daher stepped closer.
I had to go with my mother to the hospital. She needed me. But Hannah needed me too. I had failed her once in keeping her safe. If I left, she’d be like a sheep without
a shepherd and the wolves could devour her. My promise to protect her would crumble like old mortar overbaked by the hot sun.
I looked to my friend, his shoulders wide with years of labor, stance firm. My family was not his responsibility, but my choices were limited.
Ethan turned the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life.
I’d run out of time.
My eyes locked with Daher’s. “My wife.”
Not much of an explanation, but he understood and gave a small nod as he stepped away from the vehicle. He knew what I’d asked and had accepted Hannah temporarily as part of his family, and therefor under his protection.
Staring at the side mirror, I rolled up the window and wished I’d been able to kiss my bride goodbye.
Chapter 21
Hannah
Counting time. It had become my reality. The only constant in my ever-changing life. When had it started, this habit of measuring days? Not long ago I’d looked forward to graduation, a classroom of my own, the opportunity to return to the land of my childhood, sharing Jesus’s love with the people of my heart. Had the whirlwind started then? Somehow getting sucked into a tornado that was both of my making and not? From happily single to married to my oldest friend in a matter of days. Now, less than a month later and displaced, I found myself once again alone. No matter how much I wished it, I couldn’t slow time down or speed it up. All I could do was mark it.
It had been two days since Karim had left without a word. Daher had found his wife, and Radina had told me the news. I’d run as soon as the sheikh’s wife had said Karim’s mother had fallen ill. Ran all the way to first her tent and then my father’s. Both empty. Steps had echoed behind me, and that was when I’d slowed enough to hear the rest. The three had left immediately for the hospital—my father, my husband, and his mother.
Two days I’d wrestled. I should be there. My place was by my husband’s side. Especially now as he waded through a difficult time. I should be there to give him strength. To comfort him.