by Rose Fox
Naim’s three daughters and eldest son were invited to the ceremony, together with his grandchildren and, of course, Leila’s eight children and her little grandchildren. They all ran about and added to the festive atmosphere of the occasion with their childish voices.
At 6:45 in the evening, when the sun had not yet set, the bride and the groom stood side by side as the ceremony began with oriental and western trills and hymns of praise.
At the end of the ceremony, Naim rose, stepped up on a wooden crate and cleared his throat as if preparing to make an important speech. His voice was deep and full-bodied and everyone listened.
“The great honor has fallen to me to bless this couple. I have always held that two are better than one, but in this case, we have a special union of two people." He stopped for a moment and continued.
"Yet, I have to talk to you and raise the problem that is likely to arise from this union. Have you thought what might happen to the new children that may be added to this union? They will not be considered Jews because their mother is Bedouin and they will not be considered pure Bedouins because their father will be a Jew.” The crowd laughed with him and he continued proudly.
“I would ask you not to forget who brought the bridegroom to our encampment and I accept with modesty the gratitude and praise that is due to me for this union.”
Naim went back and sat down on his chair and Abigail glanced at him. His face looked apprehensive and there was deep sadness in his eyes. He looked old and tired.
Many lambs were slaughtered earlier that day and roasted on the embers. Pitas were torn and eaten as the guests danced and the tall and beautiful bride, in spite of having borne nine children, circulated among the people with a smile on her face. Her twenty-month old granddaughter, Arlene, did not leave her side. She clung to her and refused to let go.
Debka dancing and stomping to the beat of the tambourine, drums and flutes played by the Bedouin shepherds continued late into the night.
In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Abigail thought about whom she should invite from among her professional colleagues and whether to involve people from her Jewish life and bring them here to see her living her other life among her people.
Adam Ayalon, the father of her daughter was inaccessible. It turned out he was out of the country on some mission. At his office she was told that he had taken unpaid leave with no specified date of return. The same applied to Anton Stolov, whom she had met with in France almost two years earlier, and was unable to be located. She had no knowledge of his whereabouts.
Abigail joined the circle of dancers. No one there could have guessed in their wildest imagination that this blonde Bedouin woman, who was dancing at her mother’s wedding, had joined Israel’s Secret Service and was soon to set out on a dangerous mission.
* * *
The day after their wedding, Leila and Yosef flew to Europe on honeymoon, leaving Arlene with her mother, Abigail. It was hard for Arlene to accept the absence of her grandmother, who was almost her mother. She would cling to Leila and enfold herself in her long dresses even when her mother, Abigail, was beside her and wailed for her constantly.
Abigail decided to keep her busy and took her with her to Naim’s tents. She was still bothered by the expression on her uncle’s face and his demeanor at the wedding and she hoped to get him to talk to her and give him some relief.
When they arrived at the tents, his daughter, Nadia, came out to welcome them and when she saw Abigail put Arlene down on the sand, she ran to her with open arms and loud cries of “A’halan, A’halan, Hello, Hello. She crouched down in the sand and embraced Arlene, picked her up and skipped off to the tents with her.
“A’halan to me, too,” Abigail said to herself with a smile and went in the same direction as Nadia and her daughter, entered the tent and looked for Naim.
“Father went out on his camel hours ago,” Nadia declared.
“What happened? Where did he go?”
“That’s the way Father has been lately. He sets off on his camel and disappears for hours, returning only at nightfall,” Nadia replied, sounding concerned.
“Hmm…” Abigail mumbled as her feelings of concern about her uncle were only intensified by this.
She called him, but there was no reply and when her call went to his voice mail, she left him a message.
“Hi, Naim,” she spoke into the phone, “I am at your tents. I wanted to see you. How far are you from here? I’ll wait for you until…” she looked at her wristwatch and said: “until six this afternoon. I’m here with Nadia and little Arlene. Bye, Uncle.”
The two women were almost the same age. While they sat and chatted, two text messages came in from Abigail’s office and she replied to them. Nadia played with Arlene and glanced at Abigail. She was very curious about her cousin, but didn’t dare question her directly.
“As a lawyer, do you represent women who raise their children on their own?” she asked and Abigail laughed and replied:
“Woman like that are called single parents. Times have changed, Nadia, and no, I don’t deal with clients like that.”
Nadia nodded. It was difficult for her to accept that one of them, a Bedouin daughter of a Bedouin mother, could be in her situation and she questioned Abigail again.
“Your father, Sultan, did he see Arlene?” And Abigail shook her head.
“No, he didn’t even know I was pregnant.”
She remembered that she had avoided coming to her father’s funeral in reverence and respect for his memory.
“I wonder what would have happened if he had known.” Nadia speculated.
Abigail smiled again because she also often wondered about this hypothetical question that, probably, would never be answered.
“You know,” Abigail said pensively, “I painted a portrait of my father in oils on a large canvas. It’s exactly as I remember him. I worked on it for over a month, perhaps two, yet even now I think I haven’t quite completed it.”
“Where is the portrait? Can I see it?”
Little Arlene snuggled up to Nadia. She was tired and sucked her thumb as she played with the folds of Nadia’s dress, her eyes almost closed.
“The painting is in Tel Aviv, in my apartment, leaning against the wall and I still haven’t hung it. I have to find the right frame for it. Perhaps I’ll take the time to do that soon. It’s good you reminded me.”
Abigail’s phone rang. Arlene opened her eyes momentarily, and then closed them again. Nadia picked her up and laid her on a large cushion in a corner of the tent, close to an air vent under the huge tarpaulin and covered her with her blanket.
“Hello, Abigail,” Naim’s voice was heard, “wait for me; it’s good you came. I’ll be back in about an hour. That’s how long it will take my camel to walk home, or are you asking me hurry him up and gallop home, huh?” he laughed.
“I’ll wait for you even if it takes you twice as long. I miss you, don’t rush, Uncle, take care of yourself,” she said.
It was one o’clock in the afternoon when the galloping and snorting of the camel were heard outside.
The sun was high in the midday sky and the heat was at its peak. Nadia hung a tent-like net over the sleeping child. Flies buzzed around over it.
Nadia whispered, “that’ll protect her from those bothersome flies.”
A hot wind flapped the northerly sides of the tent that were rolled up a little and tied with metal rings.
“Wow, it’s fiery hot outside now,” Naim announced as he entered the tent and pulled his kafia off his head. Nadia was ready beside her father with a bottle of chilled water, which she always kept under the running water of an artificial waterfall. Naim poured the water straight down his throat, then wet his hand and passed it over his face with a sigh of relief. He threw his head back and sprayed tiny drops of water in all directions.
Abigail rose to welcome him, calling out:
“A’halan, uncle, it’s good to see you.”
“A’halan, daughte
r, here, I’ve returned.”
He gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek and they both laughed with pleasure.
Afterwards, the three sat together, ate the fragrant yellow rice that Nadia served with their fingers and soaked up the gravy with torn pieces of pita. They drank chilled water and ate the coarsely cut salad of ripe tomatoes, unpeeled cucumbers and green peppers with a fork. Nadia had picked these vegetables an hour earlier from the small hothouse she cultivated. She boasted about the miniature orange trees she grew under the plastic tent and Arlene enjoyed plucking the little oranges from the lower branches.
Naim settled back, leaning on a huge cushion and crooked his arm around Abigail’s shoulder.
“I swear that just today I thought how much I wanted to see my daughter and granddaughter,” he said.
“Well, here we are. It means a lot to me that Arlene should remember you and hear what her grandfather has to tell her because you’re the only grandfather she has.” And she noticed the tears that welled up in her beloved uncle’s eyes.
Nadia gathered the dishes and piled them up on a tray. She went out to the stone structure beside the large tent, to her kitchen, where she cooked and prepared their meals, made preserves and managed what was left of the tribe, her father, Naim, and herself.
“Naim, you know that you are more than an uncle to me,” Abigail said.
“And you know, Naima, you are a daughter to me, as if my Rama, herself, had given birth to you the day she died.”
Now, the tears streamed down his dark cheeks.
“Naim, I also came because I want to tell you that I have chosen a new direction,” she said.
Naim pressed his eyes with two fingers and rubbed them hard, trying to control his tears. She knew that he was giving her his full attention and continued talking to him.
“I mean to say that like you, I also find myself on the brink of…” she searched for the right word, “… on the brink of new ventures. You have your secrets and I have mine. Your activities are important and, perhaps, mine will also be.”
“Abigail, I don’t understand what you’re saying. My head must have been in the sun for too long. What ventures and secrets are you talking about?”
“Hmm… I want to say that I respect your secret activity, but I have the feeling that it has become too onerous for you.”
Naim was a smart man and he understood what her remarks were hinting at, so he said,
“Have you been recruited to the secret services? Is that what you’re saying?” And he immediately added:
“I understand, and you’re right. But, for me, the situation is different because I’m already involved in trafficking and they won’t let me out.”
Nadia returned and gathered the rest of the dishes and spoke to them as she shook the tablecloth,
“I’ll get rid of these crumbs so that you’ll be able to talk without the flies bothering you.” She noticed that they were silent and announced quickly,
“I’m going to have a little rest. If Arlene wakes up, bring her to me because I have prepared a light meal for her,” and she left them.
“Naim, I have a question,” Abigail said, "If the day comes when a person wants to stop his activities or, let’s say, it’s becoming difficult for him, how does that work out with your people?”
“Ah, with us, there are no rules, there is nothing written nor are there any pension schemes. What’s there to tell? Death is the only release,” he said and Abigail grimaced.
“I don’t know how to get out of dispatching the consignments of women.” He obviously spared his words and after a short pause for thought, he added:
“In my case there is pressure to complete something that bothers the bosses there.”
“Wait, if you don’t release that pressure and you drag it out, what will happen?!”
"Bedouins know how to make time drag and they have plenty of it.”
Naim shrugged and kept silent.
“Can you tell me what the pressure is about?” she asked.
“That was the subject of my meeting with that scoundrel, Shimon. In my opinion that policeman is also involved in…” he grew silent.
“Involved in what? Speak! If you don’t talk, we won’t be able to solve anything. Naim, I am your daughter, Naima, remember?!”
He smiled, but the corners of his mouth did not turn upwards and his eyes didn’t narrow into the smile she was familiar with. His fingers began tapping nervously on the low table on which the meal had been served.
“Walid told me that he gave the policeman the phone number of… of… never mind, why go over everything again?”
Abigail rested her hand on his arm and said:
“Well, have it your way, I don’t want to be the one to harass you.”
“Okay, I’ll continue, but I warn you that the things I am going to say are difficult. They’re difficult for me and will be even more difficult for you."
He sat up, straightened his back and began speaking without looking directly at her.
“Shimon, the policeman, was responsible for … Latifah. Do you know that he told Walid that Sultan, your father, incriminated him by planting the bag of drugs in his saddlebag?”
Abigail nodded. She had heard about this in the course of Gil Ayalon’s trial, and she said:
“I’m trying to understand why is he persecuting us like this? What have we done to that scoundrel? He’s a Jew, he’s Israeli but he behaves like one of our worst enemies.”
Naim remained silent and lowered his head. He knew it would be difficult to hear what he was saying and he restrained himself from continuing to speak. Abigail wondered whether to continue because she sensed his distress.
“That Shimon; are there no blemishes on his life?” she asked, “isn’t there something that has stuck with him that can be used against him?
“Oh, at long last?” Naim announced, now I’ve woken up. I was waiting for my Bedouin brain to get moving. That bastard. First of all, he followed me in the plane, in the car and, perhaps, even in Prague. I don’t have the strength to start looking into his past for blemishes. I’m tired of my life and I’ve turned into a Bedouin, who has stopped seeking revenge.”
“Okay, leave it to me to look into his past. When I find something, I will let you know and I will also take care of him.” She saw that his expression remained clouded over and dark.
“Wait, what’s that look on your face about? Why are you so down? Is it because of that man, Shimon that you gallop off into the desert and stay there alone for hours on end?”
An audible sigh escaped from Naim’s chest.
“Hey uncle, is that only one of your problems?" Abigail asked and touched his shoulder.
“Yes. I have another problem but it’s one that will never be solved.” He looked aside to avoid making eye contact with her.
“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, moving her head to meet his gaze.
“They are furious, they are so crazed with anger that it’s a miracle I’m still here, alive, and in the flesh in the desert with you. Tell me, have you ever seen an Arab, who can come to terms with knowing someone has cheated him, hoodwinked him or taken him for a ride?”
“So, how were they cheated? Did you do it?”
“Of course. I promised them merchandise they will never get.”
He looked at Abigail and burst out laughing wildly. He laughed and laughed and tears began rolling down his cheeks. He wiped them and continued laughing as he held his stomach. Abigail laughed with him, but didn’t understand what was making him laugh so much. When his laughter calmed down a little, he grew silent, dabbed his tear and got to the point
“Almost 30 years ago, a wondrous baby girl was born in the desert. What can I say? She was like someone out of the movies. No, she was something that isn’t even seen in the movies. They wanted only her.”
“A baby? What did they want with a baby? What would they do with her?"
“They would wait for her to grow up, but the problem was that sh
e disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Where did she disappear to?” She began losing her patience and looked at Naim with concern.
“I told them a story and they realized that it was just a feeble excuse for not bringing her to them and for trying to cancel their order.”
“So what was the story you told them?”
“I told them that she wasn’t completely normal and her condition got much worse as she got older. In short, she was damaged goods and they should bow out of the deal.”
“I understand.”
"But they were determined," he continued, "and when they heard that she had disappeared from where she was born, they understood that…”
Abigail burst out and interrupted him as she shouted out loud:
“Naim, ya’Naim!” now she began screaming, “That baby, that little girl, who disappeared from the place where she was born, is me!! I was sent away from my family and my home and that’s why you agreed to change my name! Naim, Oh, Naim, that baby was me!”
She burst out crying bitterly and fell into his arms and beat his chest with her fists and Naim cried with her.
On that same day Naim’s heart could take no more.
After their conversation and the terrible revelation, Abigail rested in Nadia’s tent. She sat gazing at her daughter, Arlene, as she played with Nadia and ate long strings of macaroni Nadia had prepared for her, with her fingers. Her tiny face was smeared with tomato sauce and macaroni that had fallen from her hands in her attempt to put them in her mouth were strewn all around her.
Naim felt particularly tired and wanted to stay and rest in his tent.
The oppressive heat lessened and a warm south westerly breeze began blowing between the tents with a whistling sound that wound around the trunks of the palm trees. Little Arlene came out of the tent and followed a puppy that entered and began eating the remnants of food that lay around and licked her food splattered face.
The dog ran and entered Naim’s tent and Arlene ran after it. Abigail also got up and followed her daughter. When she entered the tent she saw Naim sitting, his body thrust forward and his head hanging loosely on his chest. She screamed, “Naim, ya’Naim, answer me!!”