" 'Alaykum as-salaamf said Abu Zayd, overcome with relief. He watched as the Bayt Tahiti took several bags of water and slung them on Wafaa. Then Abduh bin Abduh gave him a bag of camel's milk, from which Abu Zayd drank greedily. 'You've done me a great service,' he said. 'You've kept me from dying in this miserable gypsum flat. No man has ever shown me greater hospitality and generosity. I insist that you turn your camels around and return with me to the nearest oasis. There I will give you a suitable reward.'
" 'Of course,' said Abduh bin Abduh, 'I had no thought at all of reward. Still, if you insist.' And he did turn his camels around, and together the two men made their away across the remainder of Abu Khawf, the Father of Fear. Two days later, they arrived at Bir Shaghir, a settlement around a well of the sweetest water in all the Sands. Abu Zayd made good on his promise, buying a huge load of flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat, and giving it all to Abduh bin Abduh. Afterward, the two men expressed gratitude and good wishes to each other, and then they parted, going their separate ways.
"A year later to the very day, Abu Zayd again found himself lost in the Sands, and this time he stumbled into Abu Khawf from a different direction. After three days passed, he realized that fate had led him into the very same situation he'd endured the year before. He prayed for God, saying, 'Yaa Allah, how like a woven web of spider silk is Your will. All glory be to God!'
"And on the fifth day, when Abu Zayd and his camel, Wafaa, were growing weak without water, who should come toward them across the gypsum flat but the very same Bayt Tahiti! 'God bless you!' cried Abduh bin Abduh. 'All year, I've told my friends of your generosity. I hoped we'd meet again, so you could know that your name is legendary for gratitude among my people.'
"Abu Zayd was amazed, but once again he persuaded Abduh bin Abduh to turn his camels and go back with him to Bir Shaghir. This time he bought the Bayt Tahiti so much flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat that he also needed to buy the man a third camel to help carry it all. Then they swore undying friendship to each other and went off in opposite directions.
"Before Abduh bin Abduh disappeared from view, however, Abu Zayd turned and shouted after him. 'Go with safety, my brother,' he called, 'and enjoy my gifts to you, because for a second time you saved my life. I will never forget what you've done, and as long as my sons and my sons' sons draw breath, they will sing your praises. But listen, O fortunate one: I am not a rich man. If you come upon me next year in Abu Khawf, pass me by and let me die of thirst! I can't afford to thank you one more time!'"
All the men at the campfire laughed loudly, and Noora stood up, smiling and looking pleased. "Good night, my brothers," she said. "May you arise in the morning in health."
"And you are the daughter of well-being," said bin Sharif. That's a Bedu idiom, possibly even an exclusively Bani Salim idiom. Noora raised a hand, and then crossed the open area of the camp to her father's tent.
Morning would come early, and the unmarried men soon settled in for the night. I wrapped myself in my cloak and tried to relax, knowing that there would be another long day of travel tomorrow. Before I fell asleep, I entertained myself with stories of what would happen when I got back to the city. I imagined that Indihar and Chiri and Yasmin ran to me, tears of joy streaming down their faces, praising Allah that I was alive and well. Imagined that Reda Abu Adil sat in his lonely palace, gnashing his teeth in fear of the retribution that would soon come. I imagined that Friedlander Bey rewarded me with tons of money, and told me that he was hiring an outside contractor to deal with Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, and that I needn't concern myself with him.
Breakfast in the morning was rice porridge, dates, and coffee. It wasn't very appetizing, and there wasn't enough of it. There was still plenty of water from Bir Balagh; but it had started out brackish, and after a day in the goatskin bags, it had begun to taste like, well, goatskin. I was already looking forward to getting to Khaba well, which the Bani Salim all talked about as the last sweet well before the long haul to Mughshin.
Friedlander Bey rode beside me again on the second day. "I've been thinking of the future, my nephew," he said, yawning. I'm sure it had been years since he'd had to sleep on the ground and share such meager rations, yet I hadn't heard him complain.
"The future," I said. "Imam ar-Razzaq first, and then Abu Adil? Or maybe the other way around?"
Papa didn't say anything for a little while. "Haven't I made it clear that you are not to harm Shaykh Reda under any circumstances?" he said. "Neither him nor his sons, if he has sons."
I nodded. "Yes, I know all that. How do you mean 'harm'? Do you mean physically? Then we won't raise a hand against him. Surely you won't mind if we destroy his business and influence in the city. He deserves that much at least."
"He deserves that much, Allah knows it. We can't destroy his influence. We don't have the means."
I laughed without humor. "Do I have your permission to try?"
Papa waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject. "When I spoke of the future, I meant our pilgrimage."
This wasn't the first time he'd brought up the trip to Mecca. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. "Pilgrimage, O Shaykh?" I said.
"You're a young man, and you have decades yet to fulfill that duty. I do not. The Apostle of God, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace, laid upon us all the obligation to travel to Mecca at least once during our lifetime. I've put off that holy journey year after year, until now I'm afraid that I have very few years left. I'd planned to go this year, but when the month of the pilgrimage came, I was too ill. I strongly desire that we make definite plans to do it next year."
"Yes, O Shaykh, of course." My immediate concern was returning to the city and reestablishing ourselves; Friedlander Bey had thought past all that, and was already making plans for when life got back to normal. That was an outlook I wished I could learn from him.
The second day's march was much like the first. We pressed on over the high dune walls, stopping only to pray at the required times. The Bani Salim took no lunch breaks. The rocking gait of Fatma, my camel, had a lulling effect, and sometimes I dozed off into uneasy sleep. Every now and then, out of the blue, one of the men would shout "There is no god but God!" Others would join in, and then they'd all fall silent again, absorbed in their own thoughts.
When the tribe stopped for the second evening, the valley between the dunes looked identical to our camp of the previous night. I wondered how these people actually found their way from place to place in this huge desert. I felt a quick thrill of fear: what if they really couldn't? What if they only pretended they knew where they were going? What would happen when the water in the goatskins gave out?
I forgot my foolishness as I waited for Suleiman bin Sharif to couch Fatma. I slipped down her bulging side and stretched my aching muscles. I'd ridden the whole day without the aid of my daddy, and I was proud of myself. I went to Papa and helped him off his mount. Then the two of us pitched in to help the Bani Salim set up the camp.
It was another peaceful, lovely night in the desert. The first disturbing moment came when Ibrahim bin Musaid came up to me and put his nose about an inch from mine. "I watch you, city man!" he shouted. "I see you looking at Noora. I see her looking shamelessly at you. I swear by the life of my honor and by Almighty God that I'll kill her, rather than let you mock the Bani Salim!"
I'd had just about all I could take from bin Musaid. What I really wanted to do was knock the son of a bitch down, but I'd learned that the Bedu take physical violence very seriously. A crummy punch in the nose would be enough of a provocation for bin Musaid to kill me, and he'd have the sympathy of all the other Bani Salim. I grabbed my beard, which is how the Bedu swear their oaths, and said, "I haven't dishonored Noora, and I haven't dishonored the Bani Salim. I doubt anyone could dishonor you, because you have no honor to speak of."
There was a loud murmur on all sides, and I wondered if I'd gone a little too far. I have a tendency to do that sometimes.
Anyway, bin Musaid's face darkened, but he said nothing more. As he stormed away, I knew I had a lifelong enemy in him. He paused and turned to face me again, raising his thin arm and pointing a finger at me, shaking in rage. "I'll kill her!" he cried.
I turned to Hilal and bin Turki, but they just shrugged. Bin Musaid was my problem, not theirs.
It wasn't long before another loud altercation broke out. I looked across the fire to the far side of the camp. There were five people involved in a shouting match that was getting louder and more violent by the moment. I saw bin Musaid and Noora waving their arms wildly at each other. Then bin Sharif, the young man Noora wished to marry, came to her defense, and I thought the two young men would begin strangling each other right there. An older woman joined them, and she began firing accusations at Noora, too.
"That's Umm Rashid," said Hilal. "She has a temper like a fennec fox."
"I can't make out what she's saying," I said.
Bin Turki laughed. "She's accusing Noora of sleeping with her husband. Her husband is too old to sleep with anybody, and all the Bani Salim know it, but Umm Rashid is blaming her husband's inattention on Noora."
"I don't understand. Noora is a good, sweet child. She's done nothing to deserve all this."
"Being good and sweet in this life is enough to attract evil," said Hilal, frowning. "I seek refuge with the Lord of the Worlds."
Umm Rashid screeched at Noora and flapped her arms like a crazed chicken. Bin Musaid joined in, practically accusing Noora of seducing the old woman's husband. Bin Sharif tried to defend her, but he could barely get a word in edgewise.
Then Noora's father, Nasheeb, was finally stirred to action. He came out of his tent, yawning and scratching his belly. "What's this all about?" he said.
That got Umm Rashid yelling in one of his ears, and bin Musaid in the other. Noora's father smiled lazily and waved his hands back and forth. "No, no," he said, "it can't be. My Noora is a good girl."
"Your Noora is a slut and a whore!" cried Umm Rashid. That's when Noora felt she'd had enough. She ran—not into her father's tent, but into her uncle Hassanein's.
"I won't let you call her that," said bin Sharif angrily.
"Ah, and here's her pimp!" said the old woman, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head sideways. "I warn you, if you don't keep that bitch away from my husband, you'll wish you had. The Qur'an allows me that. The Straight Path permits me to kill her if she threatens to break up my household."
"It does not," said bin Sharif. "It doesn't say that anywhere."
Umm Rashid paid him no attention. "If you know what's good for her," she said, turning back to Nasheeb, "you'll keep her away from my husband."
Noora's father just smiled. "She's a good girl," he said. "She's pure, a virgin."
"I hold you responsible, my uncle," said bin Musaid. "I'd rather see her dead than spoiled by the likes of that infidel from the city."
"What infidel from the city?" asked Nasheeb in confusion.
"You know," said Hilal thoughtfully, "for someone as good and kind as Noora, there sure are an awful lot of people ready to hurt her."
I nodded. The next morning, I remembered what he said when I discovered Noora's lifeless body.
7
The Bani Salim were standing crowded together in the hollow of a horseshoe-shaped dune near their camp, grouped in a semicircle around Noora's corpse. She lay on her back with her right arm up on the hill of sand as if reaching toward Heaven. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the cloudless sky. The girl's throat had been slashed from ear to ear, and the golden sand was darkly stained with her blood. "Like an animal," murmured bin Turki. "She's been butchered like a goat or a camel."
The Bedu had gathered into several groups of people. Friedlander Bey and I stood with Hilal and bin Turki. On one side were Nasheeb and his wife, who were on their knees and shrieking their grief. Nasheeb looked dazed and kept repeating "There is no god but God. There is no god but God." Not far from them stood Ibrahim bin Musaid and Suleiman bin Sharif, who were engaged in a fierce argument. I saw bin Sharif point sharply toward Noora's body, and bin Musaid raised both his hands as if to ward off a blow. Shaykh Hassanein stood aside with a grim expression, nodding as his brother, Abu Ibrahim, spoke to him. Everyone else contributed to the noise and confusion, all loudly speculating, debating, and praying.
There was a lot of scriptural citation going on, too. " 'He who is wrongfully slain,'" quoted Hilal, "'We have given license to his heir, but let him not revenge himself in too great a measure. Behold! he will be helped.'"
"All praise be to Allah," said bin Turki, "but what heir did Noora have to settle this blood-debt?"
Hilal shook his head. "Only Nasheeb, her father, but I don't think he'll do very much. He doesn't have the temperament for vengeance."
"Perhaps her uncles," I said.
"If not them, then we will take up this matter," said Friedlander Bey. "This is a needless tragedy. I liked the young woman a great deal. She was very kind to me while I recovered."
I nodded. I felt the flame of rage burning in me, the same hot, frightening feeling I've gotten whenever I've witnessed the scene of a murder. Those other times, however, were back home. In the Budayeen, crime and violent death are daily occurrences; they barely raise an eyebrow among my hardened friends.
This was different. This was a killing among close-knit people, a tribe that depended on each member for the continued well-being of all. I knew that the justice of the desert people was more sure and swift than the justice of the city, and I was glad. Vengeance would not bring Noora back, but it helped a little to know that her murderer's hours were numbered.
It wasn't immediately clear who her killer was, however. The two likely candidates, based on their loudly publicized threats the previous evening, were bin Musaid and Umm Rashid.
Shaykh Hassanein raised his arms and called for attention. "This girl must be buried by sundown," he said. "And her murderer must be identified and punished."
"And the blood-price paid!" cried the grief-stricken Nasheeb.
"All will be done in accordance with the Book," Hassanein assured him. "Abu Ibrahim, help me carry our niece back to the camp. Hilal, you and bin Turki must begin digging a grave."
"May God have mercy on her!" someone said, as Hassanein and his brother wrapped Noora in a cloak and lifted her up. We made a slow procession from the horseshoe dune through a narrow gully to the campsite. The shaykh chose a spot for Noora's final resting place, and Hilal and bin Turki fetched two folding shovels and began digging down through the hard belly of the desert.
Meanwhile, Hassanein disappeared into his tent for a few minutes. When he returned, his keffiya was arranged more carefully on his head. I guessed that he'd also chipped in one of his two moddies, probably the one that loaned him the wisdom of a Sunni Muslim religious leader.
The Bani Salim were still upset and angry, and there were many loud discussions going on, trying to make sense of the killing. The only one who wasn't involved was bin Musaid. He seemed to be holding himself apart. I looked at him, and he stared back at me across the open space. Finally he turned his back on me, slowly and insultingly.
"Shaykh Marîd," said Hassanein, "I'd like to speak with you."
"Hm? Sure, of course." He led me into his shady tent. He invited me to sit down, and I did.
"Please forgive me," he said, "but I must ask you some questions. If you don't mind, we'll do without the preliminary coffee and conversation. Right now, I'm only interested in learning how Noora died. Tell me all about how you found her this morning."
I felt a lot of anxiety, although Hassanein probably didn't consider me a prime suspect. I was one of those kids who, when the teacher came in and asked who'd written the dirty word on the blackboard, even though I hadn't done it, I'd blush and look guilty. All I had to do now, I told myself, was take a deep breath and tell the shaykh just what had happened.
I took the deep breath. "I must've gotten up a little before
dawn," I said. "I had to relieve myself, and I remember wondering how long it would be before old Hamad bin Mubarak woke us with his Call to Prayer. The moon was low on the horizon, but the sky was so bright I didn't have any trouble following the little alleys among the dunes east of camp. When I finished, I stumbled back toward the fire. I must've taken a different path, because I hadn't seen Noora before. She was stretched out in front of me, just as you saw her. The pale moonlight made her drained face look ghastly. I knew immediately that she was dead. That's when I decided to come straight to your tent. I didn't want to disturb the others until I told you."
Hassanein just regarded me for a few seconds. With the imam moddy in, his behavior and speech were more deliberate. "Did you see signs of anyone else? Were there footprints? The weapon, perhaps?"
"Yes," I said, "there was footprints. I can't read footprints in sand as well as footprints in mud, O Shaykh. I imagine they were Noora's footprints and her killer's."
"Did you see long tracks, as if she'd been dragged to the place?"
I thought back to that moonlit scene. "No," I said, "I definitely didn't see tracks. She must've walked there and met the other person. Or maybe she was carried. She was alive when she got there, because there was no trail of blood leading back to camp."
"After you told me about Noora," he said, "did you tell anyone else?"
"Forgive me, O Shaykh, but when I got back to the fire, bin Turki was awake and asked me if I was all right. I told him about Noora. He was very upset, and our talking roused Hilal, and then in a little while everyone had heard the news."
"All is as Allah wills," said Hassanein, holding up his hands with his palms out. "Thank you for your truthfulness. Would you do me the honor of helping me question some of the others?"
"I'll do whatever I can," I said. I was surprised that he asked for my help. Maybe he thought city Arabs were more accustomed to this sort of thing. Well, at least in my case he was right.
The Exile Kiss Page 10