"Is that what Nancy Drew would do?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.
Hanan considered this. "I think so, don't you? The thobe and the veil would be very hot for you in the desert, but it would be clever."
"Even cleverer of you to think of it," Mrs. Pollifax told her. "I can see that you will be very helpful in emergencies."
Hanan, glancing at the truck, said regretfully, "Yes, but there's no time. See? Youseff's waving at us, we have to leave now."
"We'll talk later," Mrs. Pollifax assured her, and foreseeing heat and sun, she brought her dark glasses out of her purse and placed an efficient wide-brimmed hat on her head.
It was seven in the morning when they set out on their journey into the desert, and once they left Arb'een behind them it was a rough drive, sometimes over old camel trails, more often leaving those to drive off in a more northerly direction. Because of the incessant bouncing of the truck they took turns between riding in the front, where two could sit, and in the open rear, where there were a few thin pillows to ease the impact of the jolts, but where Mrs. Pollifax found that mostly she slid from side to side at every turn of the wheel, the earth was so persistently brown and uneven that the occasional bushes of green—salt grass, said Hanan—were a refreshing sight. In the distance Mrs. Pollifax could see long smudges of gray that promised a range of mountains, but these were obviously far away; the desert itself remained flat, although not so flat that they were not considerably shaken by small hillocks, and stones that glittered in the sun, and once a dried-up stream bed—a wadi, said Hanan—that had to be crossed and was so steep that Mrs. Pollifax feared the truck would turn over before it crawled up the opposite bank.
It was nearing nine o'clock when Hanan pointed and Mrs. Pollifax saw far ahead a cluster of long black shapes.
"Buyut sha'ar, " Hanan said joyfully. "Tents!" "But what are those hundreds of dots?" "Dots?" Hanan said, puzzled, and then, "Oh! Sheep and goats, there is good nassi to feed on here, the big tent is my grandfather's," she added proudly.
As Awad's pickup truck sputtered and whined its way into the encampment, children came running, dogs barked, women peered curiously from the tents, their faces brightening when they saw Awad and Hanan, the truck came to a stop before the largest of the four tents. It looked low-slung, sagging between its tent poles as if lacking headroom, but the man emerging from it stood tall: a strong face dominated by piercing eyes under thick white brows; a long face with a long nose, a wide and generous mouth and a strong jaw, with a tuft of white beard adorning it. His head was wreathed in a kaffiyeh that framed his face and extended down to his waist.
"My grandfather," Hanan announced with pleasure.
CHAPTER 15
The face of Sheikh Abdul Ibn Jidoor's tent in the desert was open to the breezes that arrived from the east, revealing the tent poles supporting it made of slender saplings, the tent of heavy woven goat hair might be black, but its floor was strewn with brilliant Bedouin and Persian carpets, the women's quarters, or muharram, was curtained off and hidden behind an equally bright carpet that hung at one end of the tent, and Hanan disappeared into it, leaving Mrs. Pollifax to realize that because she was a guest of Joseph, and a foreigner, she was to be allowed among the men, she and Farrell were ushered inside. Other than the carpets, the only furnishings were a fire pit in the middle of the space, on which rested an elegant silver urn; a number of plump pillows; and a low table bearing two more urns and a battery-powered radio. Mrs. Pollifax joined the men, seating herself cross-legged, as they did, while one of the younger men brought out a tray of small cups and poured steaming Turkish coffee into them.
After three cups of the thick strong brew, heavily flavored with cardamom, Mrs. Pollifax felt that she could cope with anything, but wished for a toothbrush to remove some of the coffee grounds from her teeth. Denied this she settled down to watching and listening, not without pity for Farrell who sat next to her, but edgily, being unaccustomed to the half-lotus position, she herself was somewhat out of practice, but realized she was earning some respect for accomplishing this from the glances of approval and curiosity she was given. Hanan had told her that her grandfather spoke English, but apparently this was a conference, and not all of the sheikh's men were so endowed.
Following the rounds of coffee they were not to be immediately released, however; two young women carried in dishes of hummus, of mashed eggplant swimming in oil, slices of tomato, and freshly baked khobz. Mrs. Pollifax began to wonder just when they were to be shown the half-buried fort that so few people knew about, and that Hanan wanted them to see, after lunch ended, with elaborate thanks to the sheikh, they were joined outside by Hanan, and Mrs. Pollifax questioned her.
It was Joseph who answered. Looking troubled, he said, "I would not wish to go to the fort without my grandfather's consent. I have spoken to him about this trip; he only smiled and nodded and said that he has given orders that a sheep be killed for a feast in your honor tonight."
Farrell said, "But this is Friday, Joseph, and we fly back to the United States late Monday!"
"My grandfather lives by desert time," Joseph said ruefully. "He does not understand such matters. Still, this is not like him." He frowned. "Something worries him, I feel this, about our going."
Mrs. Pollifax, who was quite happy to remain here, said cheerfully, "We don't have to see a half-buried fort, there feels something very wrong about rushing about here, just as we do at home. Oh look," she said. "Camels—a string of them! And a man on a horse!"
"It's Qasim," cried Hanan, beaming. "He is bringing me my camel!"
Mrs. Pollifax found herself very interested in this Qasim, and in the relationship between him and eleven-year-old Hanan, so wise beyond her age, she was also a little afraid of meeting him, because if he was to be Hanan's future, she wondered if he would undermine or even destroy the surprise of her, forcing her to conform, he rode toward them on the striking black-and-white bay that Hanan had described, and dismounting, he grinned at Hanan. "Little cousin," he said, "I heard you have guests."
"I have guests, Qasim, yes," she told him primly.
"Alan beek, " he said to Farrell, extending a hand, and to Mrs. Pollifax, "As salam ulaikum!"
Mrs. Pollifax promptly replied, "Alaikum as salam!"
He looked pleased at this.
Mrs. Pollifax was relieved, seeing him, he had a natural dignity that was surprising in a sixteen-year-old;
his dark face was very attractive, with a mouth that looked accustomed to smiling, and his dark eyes held warmth, she would have thought him older; she thought that above all he looked a happy young man, unlike so many American boys of his age.
"I brought you Hilweh," he told Hanan, "and camels for Youseff and your guests to take a small ride if they wish."
"Oh dear," murmured Mrs. Pollifax.
Farrell, amused, said, "I can't imagine anything that would make Mrs. Pollifax happier. How very thoughtful of you!"
Mrs. Pollifax gave him a reproachful glance.
"I brought only the gentlest camels," said Qasim, after a glance at her face, and he proceeded to introduce the four animals and describe their breeding, explaining that each winter for two months he went to the city to attend a government program on husbandry. "See? Very gentle."
It was in this manner that Mrs. Pollifax was introduced to her first camel, with a prod, the dun-colored one folded himself up so that she could—with Qasim's help—mount the creature and seat herself on the blanketed and gaily decorated saddle, another prod from Qasim tipped her forward as the camel rose to his feet, and then sent her sliding back as he steadied himself, after this, with Qasim leading, she and the camel went for a lurching, amiable, and lazy stroll, he was much higher than a horse, but she found more to hold on to, and after being led around the camp, followed by a swarm of delighted children, she admitted that a camel was an improvement over a horse, and she would be willing to ride to the small hill that was half a mile away.
Farrell and Joseph mounted their cam
els with confidence, Qasim climbed on his horse, while Hanan shouted, "Way-oh! Way-oh! Hei! Hei! Hei!" and set off at a gallop on her white camel Hilweh, a name that she explained meant "beautiful."
They experienced only one moment of concern during their ride. From the east came the peculiar chatter of a helicopter churning the air with its blades, at first no more than a huge bird in the sky and of no consequence, but as it neared them, flying surprisingly low, the sound grew loud and sent Qasim's horse rearing in panic.
As Qasim steadied him, Farrell said, "Civilization! Do they often fly over like that?"
"No," said Qasim indignantly, staring at the receding helicopter. "If they did, my horse would not be frightened like this." Staring after it he said, "Who was it, Youseff, could you see? It wasn't the Desert Patrol, was it?"
Joseph shook his head. "Or the military. Too small, maybe a government helicopter, but I saw no markings. Someone may be lost in the desert."
Qasim nodded. "Or looking for smugglers."
"Smugglers?" echoed Mrs. Pollifax.
Joseph nodded. "The Saudi border is only an hour or so away from us."
'That close!"
"Yes."
They watched the silver bird disappear into the horizon and continued their ride, and once over the hill they rode a mile farther to see the herds of sheep, and Mrs. Pollifax was content, the air was clear and the sun was hot, but not uncomfortably so, and she only wished that Cyrus could see her now. Certainly she felt pleased with herself after her previous ventures on a horse, but horses reminded her of Petra and of being attacked in the Siq, and she preferred not to think about that. Instead she chose to imagine Lawrence of Arabia riding over this same mile of the desert, because Jordan—Transjordan then—was where he had led the Arabs into battle.
When they returned from their excursion into the desert, it was obvious to Mrs. Pollifax that they would not be leaving for the buried fort, unless by night, for the camp was readying itself for the mansef, feast, a sheep was being roasted and turned on a spit, head and eyes intact, and she tried not to look at it—if only, she thought, it did not look like a sheep. Relaxing on pillows in the sheikh's tent, she and Farrell were at once brought the ubiquitous coffee by a young man, who inquired in very poor English if they had "employed a delicious jamal tribe." Farrell assured him gravely that yes, they had enjoyed it very much, and the young man went away, satisfied, the tent was now opened to the west, and they were given a spectacular view of the sun approaching the horizon, sending out flares of brilliant orange and gold, and as it reached the horizon Mrs. Pollifax touched Farrell's arm and said, "Look."
Off to their right Sheikh Ibn Jidoor had appeared, and after a glance at the sunset he carefully removed each of his sandals and sank to the ground in the position of prayer, a moment later he prostrated himself,
forehead touching the earth, and repeated this twice before straightening, the last of the sun etching his profile in gold. It was a sight that moved Mrs. Pollifax; she supposed that all through the camp the men were on their knees in submission to Allah, but she did not turn her head to look, she merely sat very still: the silence of the desert, the sun, and the praying man she would not easily forget.
And then it was over, and the sheikh disappeared from sight, a chill invaded the tent, and the opened side was dropped, enclosing them in the fire-warmed tent with its smells of roasting meat, freshly brewed coffee, and mysterious herbs. Men began filtering in, sitting cross-legged in a circle around the fire, and more cups of coffee were distributed, the sheikh entered, to courteously greet each guest, and to introduce Mrs. Pollifax as Assayida Pollifax and Farrell as Assayed Farrell. Joseph came in and was cordially greeted and questioned in Arabic; there was laughter and a lighting of pipes and a warmth of cordiality.
And then came the feast: huge bowls heaped with rice and pieces of lamb dripping in oil, all to be eaten with the fingers, but mercifully there were no sheep's eyes. This was followed by cups of very sweet tea and serious talk.
Joseph, turning to Farrell and Mrs. Pollifax, translated what was being said. "They're talking about Hanan's wanting Awad to show you the buried fort tomorrow. My grandfather does not like this. Only a month ago one of my grandfather's men set off into the desert to track four missing goats, the goats he found, but he came upon a terrible sight: several men
who had lost their way in the desert, one already dead from heat and thirst, the others close to death, but thanks be to Allah, now being slowly restored to life. My grandfather is asking how old A wad's truck is and in what condition, he has every respect for Awad, but the desert is cruel and you are his honored guests, your safety his responsibility."
"We are not to go, then?" said Farrell.
Joseph held up his hand, listening. "Ah, my grandfather says that first Argub al-Saidai must inspect Awad's pickup truck, he says Awad may know the desert like the palm of his hand, and he may know camels, but he does not know machines."
Mrs. Pollifax smiled. "Your grandfather worries like any good parent."
"And is very wise," added Joseph.
A flap of the tent opened and a young man entered, carrying what looked like a thin leather box on a pole, he was given warm and lengthy greetings, as if expected, and Joseph said, smiling, "Music, he will play for us on the rababa."
But Farrell had noticed the sky beyond the young man as he entered, and with a polite smile he rose, saying, "What stars I see! Excuse me but I'm going to see if I can find the Milky Way, and who knows, maybe the North Star."
"You may see a shibah—a falling star!" said Joseph. "Like a gift from Allah."
When he left Mrs. Pollifax felt a little lonely, a feeling that was not assuaged by the young musician who had joined them. Leaning over his instrument as if it were a Stradivarius, he strummed the one-stringed rababa and began to sing. It sounded a very melancholy song, and he sang it in a loud, slightly nasal voice. Joseph translated for her.
Love, love, in vain we count the days of Spring, Lost is all love's pain, long the songs we sing. Sunshine and summer rain, Winter and Spring again, Still the years shall bring, but we die. . .. His torch, love, the sun, turns to the stormy west, Like a fair dream begun, changing to jest; Love, while our souls are one, let us sing the sun, Sing and forget the rest. . . , and so die.
Definitely melancholy, thought Mrs. Pollifax, a tray of sweets was being passed around, flaky pastries drenched in honey. "Baqlawa, " whispered Joseph, but the tent flap had opened again and Mrs. Pollifax looked up eagerly, hoping that Farrell had returned. Instead it was a Bedouin, heavily robed, who entered unobtrusively and joined them.
The sheikh tossed an added handful of dried dung on the fire and the sudden brightness more clearly illuminated the circle of faces around her, across the fire she met the eyes of the man who had so quietly entered, he was staring at her, frowning and puzzled, and seeing this she looked at him more closely: a weathered face, swarthy in the firelight, black-browed and clean-shaven, but with strange patches of white skin on each cheekbone. Regarding him with equal interest she smiled politely before turning away, for the sheikh had been speaking to her, she said, "What?
I'm so sorry," and watched as the stranger rose and walked out of the tent.
"From the Northeast," she replied when he repeated his question. "It is called Connecticut."
"Ah, Kenitcut." He nodded, smiling benevolently. "And now you are here."
"Yes—with Hanan, who is—a real bedul"
He laughed, his teeth white and strong, and nodded his head vigorously, but she was growing impatient for Farrell to return, and it was warm in the tent, she wondered how gracefully she could rise after being seated cross-legged for so long, and so out of practice. Gingerly she grasped one leg and straightened it, easing the stiffness, and thus gaining leverage she said, "Please excuse me, I will see if Mr. Farrell has found a falling star," and managed to stand up without tottering.
Outside, the camp was very still, the sky a velvety ink blue and filled with
stars, but there was no sign of Farrell, she walked in and among the tents, looking for him, and at last began to call out his name.
There was no answer.
When she reappeared in the sheikh's tent, it was to stand at its entrance and say in a loud voice that only barely concealed her panic, "I cannot find Farrell!"
The firelit faces of the men turned to her, not comprehending until Joseph stood up, translating her words into Arabic, at once Awad rose to his feet, followed by several of the men.
"What can have happened?" she demanded of Joseph.
"He walked too far," Joseph said. "We will find him. Bushaq, bring lanterns!"
Lanterns were produced, and the men separated, going in different directions, but Mrs. Pollifax stayed with Awad, who did not call out Farrell's name but studied the ground, she followed him as he slowly made his way to the northern end of the camp, his lantern held low.
"Bismallah!" he suddenly cried. "Look!"
Two other lanterns converged on his, and Mrs. Pollifax moved closer, the added streams of steady flame illuminated a swath of disturbed earth, a broad scar that extended beyond the light and disappeared into the darkness, Arabic words rose and fell around Mrs. Pollifax, but she needed no explanation. This was the mark of something or someone being dragged away into the darkness. Turning to Mrs. Pollifax, Awad said, "You see? You know?"
She nodded. "But why didn't he call out? Why didn't he scream?" she demanded, and realized that she was fighting back a scream of her own.
Awad didn't reply; to the others he spoke in Arabic, and the lights of the lanterns moved to follow the drag marks out into the darkness. Mrs. Pollifax followed automatically.. . , the lanterns, held low, traced the broad swath past the camp, up a slight incline, down, up, and in and through a cluster of sheep, and did not end until the flickering tent fires of the camp behind them were distant, here the marks abruptly ended and Awad, kneeling, said, "Horses. "
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