by Rose Fox
“Each of us will order what we want or, perhaps, one of us will order for all of us?” Shmulik suggested.
“I think Abigail should order for all of us.” Ezra said.
“May I tell them?” Rina whispered to Abigail.
“Why not? Tell them, spread the good news,” she replied, without thinking.
“Wait a moment, look, we’re celebrating the birthday of a pregnant woman, so please take her financial plans for the future into account,” Rina shouted excitedly. They were all dumbstruck at this. Abigail blushed and straightened up in her chair and told the waitress:
“The bill for all of us is on me.”
Everyone tried to say something.
“Tell us, we want to hear and celebrate. Fill us in on your news,” Ora laughed.
“Let’s order first and talk later,” Abigail said, lowering her eyes.
What was revealed at the café did not remain confidential among the six people who celebrated the birthday dinner that evening. Those talking made their way out and even reached the corridors of the law courts where it made far reaching waves.
* * *
When Abigail's father was killed she did not dare to attend at his funeral.
She knew there was no way a pregnant, unmarried Bedouin woman without a partner could even exist in their world. Besides, she felt it would be disrespectful to the honor due to her late father’s memory.
She mourned his death in her apartment on Gordon Street in Tel Aviv and observed seven days of mourning, sitting ‘Shiva’ for a Bedouin man even though it was not his or her custom.
Almost a month after the death of her father, her brother, Adel, visited her at her home in Tel Aviv. He walked with the aid of crutches and was accompanied by Latifa, one of his sisters. His left pant leg was empty and pinned back, his face still bore wounds and shone with ointment. Abigail suppressed a cry of sorrow when she saw him. The light in his eyes had gone out and she found it difficult to look at what remained of the strong young man she once knew.
Abigail laughed, trying to lighten up the heavy mood. She hugged her sister, Latifah, and pressed her fair head against her sister’s dark one, trying not to cry. Latifah moved her face away and looked at Abigail. Latifah noticed Abigail’s pregnancy and didn't know that she had some eight weeks to go until she was to give birth.
“What happened? Tell me,” Abigail demanded to know.
Adel spoke quietly. His face still bore signs of shock and he still seemed to be emotionally hurt.
“It’s rumored that father set the trap that incriminated Walid.”
“Our father? How?
“They say that he planted the bag of drugs on the camel in the race.”
“Who says?”
Adel shrugged his shoulders. “They say.”
“Okay. Why didn’t you involve the police in the matter?”
“What for? We’re Bedouins! We don’t need anyone else in the desert.”
“And that’s why you fired.” She didn’t ask a question, but, rather, bitterly stated a fact.
“Look, Naima, don’t attack me. I know you, my sister, and I know that you would also not have gone to the police to protect father,” he said. “You also knew nothing of the rumor that was going round. I relied on the vast, open expanses of the desert and I thought they would serve as a secure border.”
“You simply forgot about the dunes above us,” Abigail sighed with sorrow.
“That’s right. When I saw father speaking with someone, I went really crazy. I realized at once that something was about to happen.”
Latifah sat watching her siblings. She had always revered her older sister and now followed every word she was saying.
“Who sent Jamal?” Abigail asked.
“Perhaps, it was Naim.”
“Have you gone mad?!” she cried.
“Naima, you didn’t attend our father’s funeral,” he said and didn’t notice how Naima recoiled.
“I don’t believe that a single one of the tears Naim shed on our father’s grave was sincere,” he said.
The conversation was very painful to Abigail. She regarded Naim as an important figure in her life and decided to thoroughly investigate what she had heard.
“Why wait?” she said, “We can easily find out where Jamal, the guy who exploded, came from, who sent him and who he met with before he reached the dunes.”
“You’re right, that’s why we came to you.”
Latifah stared at Abigail. She was thirteen years old, almost fourteen years younger than her sister, whom she didn’t see very often among their siblings in the tribe. She had been fed by rumors about her and was proud of her sister, the beautiful Bedouin, who moved freely in and out of the law courts and whose name was on everybody’s lips – as a famous and smart lawyer. Abigail’s pale, green-streaked eyes enchanted her. She adored her and dreamed of being like her.
In spite of her adulation, Latifah found it difficult to understand how Abigail wore short pants, her fair hair uncovered by the traditional headscarf. Worst of all, for her, was to see the swelling belly that protruded through her flimsy blouse. Latifah knew she wasn’t married and that she lived in the big city and behaved differently from her sisters and the other women of the tribe.
* * *
Chapter Nine
The ping of an incoming message was also heard outside the tent and Naim hurried to read the message:
FRESH STOCK WILL ARRIVE ON TUESDAY AT THREE. TWO PIECES
Naim understood that this meant that two women would arrive at three o’clock in the morning. He also knew that if he hurried, he could reach the venue of the meeting in Prague by the following day.
This time, Naim was ill at ease. It had been broadly hinted to him that Sebastian, one of the merchants responsible for delivering merchandise had gotten into trouble and what was even more worrisome to him were the rumors that he had simply disappeared without a trace. Winds of change had begun to affect their well-established business and this led him to deviate from his customary practice.
This was to have been his first visit to Prague and the first time that he was to receive women from the Far East. It was all very puzzling now. He was unfamiliar with the drivers and not acquainted with the agents and since the details were not clear to him, he decided to call Omar.
“A’halan ya’Rais, (hello, sir)”, he said, taking care not to mention names.
“A’halan w’Sahalan ya’Muallem, (hello and welcome, my teacher)”. Clearly, Omar understood.
“I wanted to understand exactly what you ordered.”
“You should speak to the client. I am not familiar with the merchandise there.”
Naim was surprised. This was not like Big Omar. It appeared leadership had been transferred to Ashraf. After the call ended, he remained thoughtful. He didn’t want to speak to Ashraf and he decided to give up and make do with the message he had received, but the following day brought the rumor of the disappearance of yet another dealer. At this point he decided to call Ashraf, in spite of his apprehension.
“A’halan, how are you?” He hoped that Ashraf would understand and not mention identifiable details like names of people and places.
Ashraf understood and replied, “A’halan we’Sahalan, (Hello and welcome). I was expecting your call.”
“Why?”
“No special reason, just a feeling. You seem to be worrying a lot lately.”
“You’ve no idea, how right you are. It seems like I’ve become lazy and every rumor startles me. I’ve turned into an old Bedouin woman.”
Ashraf laughed. “No, no. It would be a pity to whine like those girls we bring here.”
Naim cleared his throat, wondering how to tell him the news that was causing him sleepless nights. He proceeded to speak cautiously.
“There are ears that hear and mouths that speak of unpleasant matters. A wise man, who hears this, worries because what happens to someone else may also happen to him.”
“Why don't I hear
the things you are hearing? Perhaps you should enlighten me, too?
Naim responded immediately.
"Okay, so how are Sebastian and our good friend the trader from Baghdad doing? Where have both of them disappeared to?”
Ashraf fell silent for a few long, drawn-out seconds and Naim could hear his heavy breathing and understood that he was still on the line.
“Listen here, I’ll look into it and keep you informed. Meanwhile, you’re the best guy we have, so carry on and may you be successful. May Allah guide you and watch your back.”
For safety's sake, Naim decided not to take his green truck, with which he had been identified for years, to the airport. Instead, he took the car belonging to his son, Walid, who was still in prison.
This time, he took leave of each and every one of his daughters because he could not ignore the sick feeling in his stomach that accompanied him on his departure.
The day before he had booked his flight to Czechoslovakia and knew that the plane would take off at ten o’clock at night. When he boarded the plane, he found himself checking out the people sitting beside him and felt insecure.
The flight proceeded uneventfully, and that was a sign he could start relaxing but he wasn’t able to. He heard the honey-sweet voice of the stewardess announcing:
“In ten minutes the plane will land in Prague. Please fasten your seatbelts.”
Naim grabbed his bag, which contained his meager possessions and hurried through the busy terminal and out of the airport. He looked around, pulled out his phone and dialed a number, said a hurried “hello” and immediately hung up. From his right, a light-colored cab slid up slowly and stopped beside him. The driver waved a little yellow triangular flag for a split second. Naim approached the cab, opened the door, got in and sat beside the driver.
“A’halan, (Hello)” He greeted the driver.
“A’halan we’Sahalan, (Hello and Welcome),” the driver responded and handed Naim a small box of candies. He had a large mustache that curled upwards.
Naim took the candies, nodded his thanks and put them in his pocket. Caution had become his second nature. He had been warned years before to ‘eat only what you prepare and drink only what you pour into the glass’, and he believed that was how he had survived.
The driver was especially quiet. He focused on the driving, wrapped in his silence. Although his watch read two o’clock, Naim knew that the local time was four o’clock in the afternoon. The driver drew up at a gas station and then went to the convenience bar. Naim joined him and they bought two bottles of beverage and stood at the counter, drinking in silence. Naim tried to engage him in conversation.
“When do you think we’ll get there?”
The driver wiped the foam from his mustache and twisted its ends a few times.
“I not know time,” the driver quickly replied in broken English.
Naim had difficulty understanding him and asked again. “I asked where we’re going and how long our journey there will take.”
“Travel Dresden,” the driver replied and added, “I get message on way.”
“On the way? Don’t you know where, yet? What happened, has anything changed?”
“Yes, people change merchandise, one went, and she’s gone.” The driver said, waving his arm in the air.
“Gone!?” Naim shouted and immediately looked around with concern and lowered his voice: “Did she run away?”
“No, she was dead,” the driver said and fidgeted in his shirt pocket, looking for coins.
“Come on,” Naim said, still unable to make out the driver’s answer. “I’ll pay.”
After they drove off, Naim tried again to understand how one of the girls had died, but the driver kept his silence. He also appeared to regret having spoken and his behavior pronounced his enormous fear. He grasped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.
The sun began to set and street lights illuminated the roadway. Naim dozed off in his seat. A breeze brought the cold September air and Naim wrapped his coat tighter round his body.
At half past nine, metallic beeps announcing an incoming message were heard from the driver’s telephone. The driver read the message and indicated left. Someone apparently knew their exact location. Huge trees lined both sides of the roadway and added to the darkness with their very presence.
“Where are you from, ya’Sachbi, (my friend)?” Naim asked. He tried desperately to start a conversation with the terrified driver.
“From Kazakhstan,” the driver replied and a few seconds later, in broken English, added: “I better shut mouth.”
“And what’s your name?” Naim insisted, not giving up.
“Not a name, no name, I just driver. I don’t make problem, don’t talk, not need.”
“I understand. We’ll shut up. Is there a radio in the car?” Naim asked.
“Yes, there is radio, but not play. Must be quiet, quiet,” he said and picked up a rectangular device that had been taken out of its niche on the dashboard. Naim leaned back, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. He was tired after so many hours on the road in spite of having slept for a few hours on the flight.
The cab stopped and Naim woke up. In front of them, a car’s headlights flickered on and off, twice. The half-moon in the sky did not dispel the heavy darkness. The driver pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Naim. Naim rested a hand on his chest and shook his head to refuse.
“I smoke, possible?” asked and without waiting for an answer, pulled out a long cigarette that looked like a stick in the night light, and lit it. The flicker of a cigarette being lit was also seen in the car facing them. A small figure got out of that car and made its way to them. It was a woman. She leaned into the car, put her arm through the driver’s open window and pulled the key out of the ignition. She opened the door on the driver’s side and grabbed the driver’s shirt sleeve and pulled him out very roughly.
Naim heard them arguing in a language that wasn’t clear to him and he looked ahead, straining to discern if there were additional passengers in the other car. The voices grew louder and turned into a noisy argument between the driver and the small figure. Suddenly he heard a shout and a cry:
“No, no, no!” and he heard a muffled shot through a silencer. He strained his ears and heard another shot. The echo of the shot rang out and rolled because of the empty space around them. Naim shrank back in his seat and slid down to the floor of the car. There was complete silence around them, a silence that emphasized the two shots he heard earlier.
Naim opened his door a little and heard the door of the other car open and then, after a minute that felt even longer, heard it shut hard.
He was too frightened to breathe and had no idea what he should do. Only now he understood the behavior of the driver and his suspiciousness. He also realized why the driver had no idea of the planned meeting point until the last minute to prevent him from disclosing it to anyone.
Naim wondered whether to open the door and simply escape into the surrounding darkness. Clearly, if he did make a break for it, another bullet from the same source would take his life, too, and his fate would be similar to that of the traders, who had disappeared. So, he decided to wait quietly in his seat.
After a lengthy wait, he moved slowly and got out of the car. He took care not to appear to be escaping or in a hurry to go anywhere.
The moonlight sparkled in a dark puddle on the road and Naim gazed at the car facing him.
At that moment three figures got out of the car and he froze. They approached him; one of them was hurrying the other two figures along.
All kinds of thoughts raced through his mind, but he summoned all his willpower not to run away. Naim clung to the car, but it was freezing cold and he let go of it.
The figure that was hurrying the other two approached him. Her hair was dark, of that he was certain, by comparison with the other two and she spoke to him in fluent English.
“These girls are getting into th
e cab and you will drive them in the direction I will give you.”
“Me? No, no! I don’t know my way round here at all. No.” He stared at the small woman in horror. He had just witnessed a murder. A live person had been there and suddenly he wasn’t.
“Take the keys,” she said.
Her hands weren’t visible in the dark and he presumed they were gloved. She rattled the keys and Naim took them from her and went to the driver’s seat without saying a word. He felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter, submissive and scared to death. His hand trembled and he had difficulty inserting the key into the ignition.
The two women got into the back seat, put on their safety belts and sat in silence. The chirping of a cricket startled him and the little woman laughed. When he stared at her, she looked like a witch out of his childhood nightmares. The dark woman leaned against his window and her eyes and forehead were illuminated by the flicking indicators of the car. Naim noticed she had slanted eyes and that her hair was pitch black. He never forgot for a second that she was probably armed with the gun she had used a few minutes earlier. He discerned movement in the car opposite him and he stared, but was unable to make out details.
Shimon, the policeman, lay completely silent in the darkened car. A few minutes earlier, he had put the body of the dead driver he had shot in the trunk of the car and hoped that Naim had not noticed him. As always, it was his practice to destroy live witnesses to his deeds and he was certain that this was the reason he was still alive.
“Here’s the telephone,” the woman said to Naim as she pointed to the installed phone. “If you want to make contact, press this button.” She straightened up and withdrew a step from the car. “Now, you turn round and go back the way you came, just drive straight all the time and I will continue guiding you while you drive.”
As he began to drive off, he heard her hissing. “Naim, remember, you saw nothing and heard nothing.”
The moon’s rays added an air of terrifying mystery to the woman and his foot trembled on the accelerator. The car jumped forward and stalled. Naim felt paralyzed with fear. The woman sensed this and leaned towards his window.