by Susan Cliff
Ashur’s eyes lit up at the mention of amusement parks. He ate another sour plum and stared into the distance, probably fantasizing about roller coasters and guns. Two inventions made infamous in America.
After a short rest, they continued hiking. The sour plums lifted her energy level a little. They reached the outskirts of Baglar well before she expected. She blinked in surprise, as if the village in the valley below might be a mirage. It was quaint and medieval-looking, with stonework houses set into the hillside.
Hanna and Yelda hugged in celebration. For them, this was home. For the others, it was another resting place.
Yelda took the lead as they approached the village. There was a cobblestone bridge guarded by men with rifles. They spoke a different dialect of Kurdish, too quickly for Layah to follow. Yelda was given a warm welcome, however, and the travelers were allowed entry. They continued down a dirt road to a house with a large courtyard. There was a water pump in the center, with a dozen empty plastic buckets nearby.
“If you want to bathe, you can fill a bucket,” Yelda said.
Layah went straight to the pump with an empty bucket. The others followed suit. While the men stayed in the courtyard, the women went inside to a private bathing room. There were towels and privacy screens. Layah stripped down behind a screen and scrubbed her body from head to toe. When she was finished, she soaked her hair. It wasn’t a warm, relaxing bath, but she felt clean afterwards.
All the women used their leftover water to wash clothing. Layah laundered her undergarments, wrung them out and hung them over a screen. She had two tunics, both dirty. She was trying to decide which one to wear when an old woman came in with a basket of secondhand clothes.
“You can pick whatever you like,” Yelda said.
Layah thanked the woman profusely. The travelers gathered around the basket as if it were a pot of gold. Aram’s wife found the most colorful dress and twirled around. She was young and brash, like him. Yusef’s wife picked something more sensible, but seemed just as pleased. Layah watched them with a smile. Her cousins were both newly married, to brides that suited them. Now they would have a chance at a happy life.
Layah selected a long-sleeved blouse and a long skirt for herself. The items were faded and worn, but comfortable. She didn’t want to put on wet lingerie, so she wrapped a scarf around her breasts before she got dressed. Then she combed and braided her hair, humming an Armenian folk song her father had taught her.
“Your American is handsome,” Aram’s wife said. Her name was Oshana. “Do you wish to keep him?”
“He’s not a pet,” Layah said.
“He could be a husband. You already sleep together.”
Yusef’s wife, Nina, made a shushing sound.
“Has he tried to mount you?” Oshana asked.
Layah flushed at her impertinent question. “He’s been a gentleman.”
Oshana looked disappointed, as if she wanted to hear all about Hudson’s bedroom prowess.
“He has a healthy appetite,” Nina said. “You could cook for him.”
“Good idea,” Oshana said, beaming with approval. “If you can’t lure him to your bed, tempt him with food.”
Layah didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused by their advice. She finished her laundry and sat down to rummage through her pack. While she was organizing, she noticed something missing.
Her passport.
Khalil’s was still in the side pocket, where she’d placed it. She knew none of the women would take her passport. They had documents of their own.
Hudson must have done it.
She smothered a sound of outrage. He didn’t trust her, so he’d searched her belongings and stolen her passport. He’d wanted to have power over her. She should have been more cautious. She couldn’t complete the journey without her passport. It was a symbol of freedom, and now it was in his hands.
Taking a deep breath, she removed her medical kit from her pack. No need to panic. She’d get her passport back by whatever means necessary.
She returned to the courtyard to look for him. The men had finished bathing. Her cousins were smoking cigarettes and lounging around. Hudson was sitting nearby, lacing up his boots. His hair was damp. He had on the same pants he’d been wearing earlier, with a red soccer jersey. His eyes traveled down her body and pulled away.
She was acutely aware of her lack of undergarments as she approached him. The loose clothing didn’t cling to her curves, but she felt self-conscious, as if he could see though the fabric. His expression suggested that he was trying not to stare. She didn’t think she’d need any fancy meals to tempt him.
“I will check your stitches now.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed as he tugged his shirt over his head. She sat on the stone bench behind him to examine the wound. It had healed nicely, despite the constant physical activity. He even appeared to have gained a few pounds. He looked healthy and fit, with hard muscles and taut skin. When her fingertips grazed his back, his shoulders tensed.
“These can be removed,” she said, reaching for her scissors.
“Are you really a doctor?”
“I went to medical school, but I did not finish.”
“Why not?”
“Classes at the university were canceled. Hospitals all over Syria were understaffed. They were taking medical students to do the jobs of doctors. So that is what I did. I worked in the emergency ward for over a year.”
He held still as she snipped the sutures. “What part of Syria?”
“Damascus.”
“How was it?”
She paused, searching for the right words. “At the beginning, it was merely difficult. There were some patients like you.”
“Like me?”
“Strong and healthy, with minor wounds.” She finished removing the sutures. “Toward the end, I had to focus my efforts on the critically injured. There were more than I could help. The month after Khalil died, I worked so much I hardly slept. Then one day I walked away and never returned.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
She put away her scissors, avoiding his gaze. “You healed well.”
He tugged his shirt back into place and rose to his feet. “I was in Syria. I don’t blame anyone for getting out.”
She acknowledged this statement with a nod. She wasn’t ashamed of her inability to continue treating patients amid crushing grief and daily bombings, but she appreciated his lack of judgment. She decided not to confront him about the passport. He could keep it until they parted ways, if it gave him comfort. They had another day’s travel between here and Semdinli, where she would leave him. Her chest hitched at the thought. She stared at him with a heavy heart, wishing for things that could never be.
Yelda approached with one of the village elders. “This is Sheikh Faqir. He would have counsel with you and Mr. Hudson.”
Layah bowed her head toward the sheikh, who wore traditional garb and a white turban.
“What’s up?” Hudson asked.
“The sheikh wants to speak with us.”
They followed Yelda and the sheikh to the other side of the courtyard. There was a lattice pergola shrouded in grapevines giving shade to a long wooden table.
“Are we in trouble?” Hudson whispered.
“I don’t know,” she said, sitting across from the Yazidis.
Sheikh Faqir spoke for several minutes. Layah listened politely, though she had no idea what he was saying.
“He wants to thank Hudson for guiding us to our new home,” Yelda said.
Layah repeated this in English for Hudson, who inclined his head.
“There is a problem,” Yelda continued. “Three days ago, there was a bomb in Semdinli. It detonated on a bus full of aid workers. Seventeen were killed.”
Layah felt the blood drain from her face. “Did anyone claim
responsibility?”
“The Da’esh.”
“Have they invaded this region?”
“They are here in small numbers. The Kurdish rebels say the Turks have been arming them in secret.”
She translated for Hudson, her thoughts racing. There had been conflict between the Kurds and Turks for decades, but the rebels rarely targeted civilians. The Da’esh had no qualms about killing innocents. Even if the invaders weren’t involved, a terror attack in Semdinli meant they couldn’t travel that direction. There would be an increased military presence, strict curfews and increased tensions.
“The sheikh wanted to warn you before you resumed your journey. He also regrets to inform you that you cannot stay in the village, as an unmarried couple living in sin.”
“We’re not living in sin,” Layah said.
“You have slept together in the same space.”
“Not as man and wife.”
“He can see the lust in your hearts. That is sin enough.”
“What the hell is she saying?” Hudson asked.
“She says we have to leave because we are sinners.”
Yelda cleared her throat. “There is a solution. We will cast out your sin by joining you in holy matrimony.”
Layah’s mouth dropped open. Yelda had predicted a marriage between them at the end of the journey. She also might have overheard the conversation in the bathing room. Layah had been speaking Assyrian, but Hudson’s name was the same in every language.
“They want us to get married.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No.”
“Our marriage ceremonies last three days,” Yelda said. “They begin with the groom striking the bride lightly over the head with a stone.”
Layah tried not to show her surprise. The Yazidis were allies to the Assyrians, and they had a shared history of persecution, but they had very different beliefs. Layah didn’t want to offend them by expressing disapproval or refusing outright. She turned to Hudson and translated without inflection.
His face became a hard mask. “No. No way.”
“He’ll never do it,” Layah said.
Yelda looked disappointed. “You will encounter great danger if you continue the journey without a marriage bond.”
The sheikh spoke again.
“Because of Hudson’s bravery as a guide,” Yelda said, “the sheikh offers you a spiritual cleansing and a boat trip downriver, to Halana. This way you can avoid the conflict areas and we will be purged of your bad luck.”
“Thank you,” Layah said stiffly. “You are very kind.”
They were escorted to an ornate peacock statue in the center of the village. Yelda told them to kneel in front of it. Hudson complied with obvious reluctance. The priest performed a ritual with clay, holy water and a peacock feather. They were cleansed of their sins. When the prayer was over, they were allowed to stand.
“You may gather your belongings now,” Yelda said.
Hudson strode back to the courtyard, his irritation clear. Layah hurried after him, nibbling on the edge of her thumbnail. She’d planned to travel to Semdinli, the most populated town in the region, and leave Hudson there. That was no longer an option. After a major terror attack, every foreigner would be a suspect.
Hudson had to stay with them. She couldn’t abandon him, for reasons both moral and practical. The sheikh had offered them a boat ride because of Hudson’s bravery. It was his reward for delivering Yelda and Hanna safely. Without Hudson, there would be no ride, and they desperately needed one.
She stopped him before they reached the courtyard. He scowled, but didn’t pull away.
“You are angry,” she said.
“I don’t like getting jerked around, or praying to peacocks.”
“We are guests here. We must respect their customs.”
“Should I hit you over the head with a rock? Would that be respectful?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “They are giving us a ride to Halana and saving us three days of travel.”
He moved closer and lowered his voice. “What about my freedom?”
“You are free to go to Semdinli and take your chances there. I would not recommend it after a terror attack. You are in the country illegally, with no documents. You could be mistaken for a foreign radical.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, seeming to recognize the gravity of the situation. Which, admittedly, she’d put him in, but she could not have predicted this outcome. “Why did he want us to get married?”
“Yelda told him we were sleeping together,” Layah said.
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. The Yazidi have strange ways. She thinks we are destined to marry.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I did not encourage her,” Layah said, placing a palm on her chest.
“Right. You’d never force anyone to do anything against their will.”
“I have no interest—”
“No interest? Really?”
“Not in marriage.”
“You don’t strike me as the casual affair type.”
She lifted her chin. “I feel desire, like any woman. I remember the pleasures of the bedroom. That does not mean I wish for a reluctant husband.”
He went quiet, contemplating her words. “Will you stay in Halana?”
“No. We head north from there, to Armenia.”
“You never said you were going to Armenia.”
“There was no need. I had planned to leave you in Semdinli.”
“And now?”
“Now I would advise you to stay with us until the danger has passed.”
He didn’t argue, so she continued walking. They seemed to have reached an understanding. She didn’t want to say too much. Admitting her desire for him wasn’t a problem; he already knew. Letting him in on their destination was a riskier endeavor. She hadn’t told him how they would get to Armenia. He wouldn’t approve of the route, but she couldn’t change it. There was no other way.
She hurried to the courtyard, where she consulted with Yusef and Aram about the new arrangements. They agreed that Hudson couldn’t be left at the mercy of hostile Turks or Da’esh invaders. Layah suspected that her cousins had grown to like Hudson. Even Ashur had warmed up to him, and he was made of ice.
The Yazidis didn’t send them off hungry. They sat down to a meal of local favorites. The main dish was rolled-up grape leaves stuffed with lamb and rice. It was served with tea, flatbread and a yogurt porridge called mierr. True to form, Hudson ate seconds and thirds of everything. Before they left, Hanna gave Layah a sack filled with golden raisins and almonds. Layah thanked her for the kindness.
They collected their packs and walked to the river’s edge. There was a rustic fishing boat waiting for them at the end of a wooden dock. Layah noted their dwindling group of travelers. They’d started at thirteen. Now they were seven.
Hanna was saddened by their departure. The girl said goodbye to Hudson in English, and in Arabic to the others. She also surprised Ashur with a kiss on the cheek. He flushed and stepped back, touching his face. They climbed aboard the boat, one by one. As they headed downriver, Yelda slapped Hanna’s hand in admonishment. The girl pulled away from her and raced to the shoreline, waving goodbye.
Ashur watched her until the boat rounded the bend. Then he turned forward, focusing on the journey ahead.
Chapter 11
Hud found himself enjoying the scenery along the river.
He wasn’t pleased about the circumstances that had brought him here, but it was a beautiful country, and he appreciated the mode of travel. After four days in the mountains, it felt good to be off his feet.
The river meandered through rolling hills and rugged cliffs. Its serene waters lulled him into a more relaxed state. He’d alw
ays wanted to visit Turkey. There was a climber’s paradise to the west, along the Turquoise Coast. He’d been planning a Mediterranean vacation with Michelle before their split. The funds were in his bank account, untouched. Although this wasn’t the trip he’d dreamed of, he couldn’t fault the location.
He could fault Layah for dragging him into another perilous situation. She was a magnet for trouble. He considered what she’d said earlier about having no interest in marriage. It sounded legit, but he didn’t know what to believe. She had a new story every day. He was too tired to examine her motives. Examining her figure was a more enjoyable exercise. She was wearing a pale gray hijab with a peasant blouse and a long skirt. Almost no skin was showing, but his pulse still leaped at the sight of her. She looked soft and feminine in Yazidi clothing, her eyes shining with promise. Everything she did aroused him.
He pulled his gaze away from Layah and caught Ashur’s warning glare. The resemblance between the boy and his father was startling. Hud didn’t know how he’d missed it before, and he felt a twist of guilt for failing Hasan.
They passed under a crumbling stone bridge on the outskirts of Semdinli. Hud stayed alert while they were close to civilization. He scanned the shoreline, his muscles tensed for action. But he saw no law enforcement, no Turkish military, no lurking terrorists. There were a few fishermen along the shore, minding their own affairs.
After a long, lazy stretch, they entered a section of remote wilderness. The river turned turbulent, with a series of churning rapids and narrow channels. The captain didn’t seem fazed by the challenges, and the boat was a sturdy wooden dory, well suited for choppy conditions. Layah gripped the underside of her bench seat and held on tight.
They continued to a lower elevation and returned to calmer waters as daylight faded into dusk. An impressive medieval fortress rose up in the distance, its crumbling side illuminated by the setting sun.
“That is Halana,” Layah said with pride.
“Who lives there?”
“No one. It is an ancient Assyrian settlement.”
The Yazidi captain left them on a muddy bank along the west side of the river. They said goodbye to him and walked uphill to the settlement. There were remnants of old stone houses, cisterns and dirt pathways. Layah stopped to study the details of different relics, chatting happily with her cousins in their native language.