“Shame we don’t even know the name, or the tribe, that we’re looking for,” Liam said, as the Tuaregs packed up. “I asked Bilal if he knew a Tuareg tribal leader who went to school in Tunis. He said he had heard of such a man, but he and his family are from a different tribe.”
“Would have been too easy,” Aidan grumbled. “Let’s get back on this damn bike.” He hopped on the back, sidesaddle once again, doing his best to arrange the bright blue cloth to camouflage his hairy legs, then grabbed Liam’s back once more as they took off for Remada.
As they approached the outskirts of the town, the two-lane road broadened, divided by a median strip. Aidan was surprised at all the trees. There was actual shade in parts, especially as the road curved and buildings sprung up. Even though he’d looked at the guidebook in Tataouine, he hadn’t realized how different Remada would be. It wasn’t just an oasis, although there was one on the far side of town. It was like finding a town in the middle of a forest.
His sense of discomfort intensified as they drove into town, past the mosque with its tall, square minaret, the oddly shaped war memorial with red flags sticking out. There were soldiers everywhere, and Aidan worried that any one of them could have pictures and be on the lookout for two Americans. The arched gate to the army barracks was at the top of a set of steps, dark blue wood surmounted by whitewashed stucco in odd, pointy shapes.
There were few women anywhere, only men and young boys playing in the pitiful shade offered by a few palm trees and a couple of buildings. Aidan wished that he could understand Arabic script; seeing so much of it, often accompanied by the red Tunisian flag of star and sickle moon, made him nervous.
Liam stopped the motorcycle at the far edge of town, where men leaned against the walls of a stucco building and smoked cigarettes, a cluster of tents in front of them, a group of camels just beyond. “This looks like the place,” Liam said. “You stay here while I see what I can find out.”
“Be careful.” Aidan watched Liam walk toward the market, and again was amazed at how he could blend into his environment. His whole posture changed—instead of the confident stride of an American tourist, he walked slowly, almost lazily, nodding occasionally to men he passed.
Soon Aidan lost track of him in the crowd at the camel market. He sat down next to the motorcycle in what he hoped was a submissive, female posture, and waited. He worried that because there were so few women on the street he might stand out, but instead the men who passed ignored him.
He realized the burqa was a sign that he belonged to some other man, and to accost him would be to court trouble. That was one good thing about the disguise.
It was cooler in town than it had been in the desert, and there was some shade from a one-story brick building. Aidan was still miserably hot and sweaty, and he wanted nothing more than to strip off the clumsy burqa and burn it.
An hour passed as he waited for Liam. He yawned and thought of dozing off when he saw the pharmacist’s assistant and the girl. They walked so close to him that he could hear them speaking in Arabic, though he couldn’t understand what they were saying.
His disguise worked; they had no idea he was there, under the light-blue burqa. He didn’t know what to do, though. Should he get up and follow them? He didn’t think he should leave the motorcycle alone, and he was worried that either he’d get lost and separated from Liam, or that the couple would discover his identity.
They walked toward the camel market, and Aidan stressed even more. What if they spotted Liam there? His disguise was just an illusion—some clothing, an attitude. Anyone looking for him would be able to spot him.
26 – The Camel Market
Liam did not return until the sun had dipped below the rooftop behind Aidan, casting a long shadow across the street. “I found Ifoudan,” he said. “He’s leading a camel caravan out into the desert. He has plans to meet the Tuareg chief Ibrahim in a couple of days at an oasis along his route. We have to go along with him.”
“I saw that young couple from the ksour,” Aidan said. “They’re here in Remada. They walked right past me.”
Liam said nothing, just led him back into the market, rolling the motorcycle, and introduced him to a slim young Tunisian man. “This is Ifoudan,” he said.
The Tunisian looked at Aidan buried inside the burqa and smirked. “He says we will be too obvious here, that we have to come back after sunset,” Liam continued. “He suggests we go to the hammam.”
“What’s that?”
“Turkish bath. We can stay there for a couple of hours, then come back.”
They left the motorcycle with Ifoudan and followed his directions out of the market to a small stucco building with ornate Arabic script over the doorway. Liam took him by the arm and pulled him behind the building. Liam slipped off his heavy cloak and said, “Let’s get you out of that getup.”
It was blessed relief to have the polyester burqa pulled over his head. But as he looked at himself, he realized he was as sweaty and grimy as Liam, who had patches of dried sand on his legs and deep sweat stains under his arms. Liam’s face was red, his blondish-brown hair plastered down to his scalp.
When they walk inside, Aidan was assailed by humidity and the scent of lemons. They crossed a tile floor, and Liam handed a few dinars to an old man who stood behind a pile of towels.
The man gave them each a rough white cotton towel and motioned them toward the locker room. “What do we do?” Aidan whispered, as they walked inside. There were hooks on the wall and a low bench, but nothing more.
“We strip,” Liam said. He began to peel off his dirty clothes.
“Here?” Aidan squeaked.
“The old man’s wife will wash our clothes while we bathe. Come on, get naked.”
Aidan turned his back on Liam and began to unbutton his shirt. Liam laughed. “Modest, are we?”
Aidan kicked off the black slippers Nailah had given him, and dropped his pants and boxers. His hard-on stood away from him, pointing toward the sky. “Something about locker rooms,” he said sheepishly, as he turned to face Liam, who was naked himself.
Liam’s ample cock was still soft, nestled in a bush of black pubic hair. “You are a horny bugger, aren’t you?” Liam asked. He tried to wrap the tiny towel around his waist, but there was no way it was big enough. He gave up, and gathered his and Aidan’s clothes. “You go on into the steam room,” he said. “I’ll take these out to the old man and then join you.”
Aidan watched Liam’s sexy butt walk out of the locker room. He still looked as mouth-wateringly handsome as he had that first day behind the Bar Mamounia. Aidan couldn’t believe he had held that gorgeous ass in his hands, that his tongue had penetrated Liam, that Liam’s beefy dick had been inside his ass, making him feel more complete than he ever had.
He held the towel in front of him as he walked into the steam room, trying to think of math problems, as he had when he was a teenager embarrassed to be turned on by the bodies of his naked classmates. It worked a little.
The steam room was small, hardly bigger than their hotel room the night before, and it was lined with beautiful blue and white tiles. There were benches around three sides, with a drain in the middle of the floor. The room was empty and the steam was hot and lemony. Aidan spread his towel on one bench and lay down on his back.
He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the clean steam. He was half dozing when he felt fingers gently caressing his chest. He looked up in alarm.
“I hate it when you sneak in like that,” he said to Liam.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. You look so sexy there.”
“Mmm. You’re not bad yourself.”
Liam stood in front of him, and the bodyguard’s cock finally reacted as Aidan’s did. Aidan reached out for it, but Liam backed away. “Not in public,” he said.
“Come on, we’re all alone here.”
“But someone could come in at any minute. We’ll have plenty of time to fool around in private.”
Aidan snorted. “
Then go over to the other side of the room.” He closed his eyes and lay back on the bench.
He must have dozed, as all the fear and the toxins of the past few days oozed out of his pores. He woke to find Liam standing over him once again.
“The old man delivered our clothes and showed me the showers. Time for us to go.”
They sluiced off the sweat and grime, and then stepped into their clothes, now clean and crisp. Even the light blue burqa had been laundered and pressed. Liam didn’t think it was necessary for Aidan to climb inside it, though, which was a blessed relief. A short while later, they were back at Ifoudan’s place in the market, as dusk was falling.
“You wait here with Ifoudan, while I take the motorcycle where it has to go. Then I’ll come back, and we’ll stay here tonight, then leave in the morning.”
“Here? In the market?”
“Sorry, Hilton hasn’t come to Remada yet,” Liam said. “Don’t worry, sleeping here will be a lot better than sleeping in the desert, which starts tomorrow night.”
“You make this sound so glamorous,” Aidan said.
“There’s still time to back out,” he said. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll give you money, and you can get a taxi back to Tataouine. You can get a bus there to Gabes, and then take the train back to Tunis.”
Aidan shook his head. “Nope. I signed on for this trip, and I’m going to see it all the way through.”
“We’ll talk about it more when I get back,” Liam said. “I don’t think you fully understand what’s coming yet.”
“Drive carefully,” Aidan said.
Aidan watched Liam get on the motorcycle. He’d given up wearing his Tunisian head scarf, and Aidan worried that he would be too visible. But he was just taking the cycle a few blocks away, and he’d return on foot. He promised he’d only be gone a few minutes.
Ifoudan had pitched another of those goatskin tents, and Aidan went inside it to pass some time reading the guidebook. After half an hour or so had passed, and Liam still had not returned, he got fidgety and left the shelter of the tent to examine the camels, a ball cap pulled down on his head. He hoped he looked like an average tourist.
Each camel had a traditional Tuareg saddle with a high back and front. There were thick ropes around their necks used for steering. They also wore little packets around their necks which reminded him of the gris gris he’d seen in New Orleans.
For a while, he watched Ifoudan negotiating with a buyer, though he had no idea what they were saying. It looked like the camel didn’t either; or at least it didn’t care. Its long tongue hung quivering out of the side of its mouth, something the guidebook told him had to do with mating, showing off to potential females. Maybe he was trying to show he could retain a lot of water—since Aidan had read that they could go for up to three months in the winter without water.
When Ifoudan tried to bring the camel over to the buyer, it groaned like Chewbacca from Star Wars. Ifoudan forced the camel to its knees, and the other man climbed on. He had tanned, aged skin and a short white moustache, and a khaki green cloth strip was tied to form a loose hood over his head. His beige, billowy robe ended slightly above his sandaled feet.
If it was possible to look graceful on a camel, the man accomplished it. Aidan knew he’d look much worse when he had to ride, but he watched closely to see how the leathery man balanced himself, how he used his feet on the ropes to exert pressure and direct the camel. After riding around for a while, the man dismounted, and began examining the camel, looking at its legs, its tail, its teeth.
The camel didn’t like the attention, making more of those Chewbacca noises, and Aidan would have found it comical if he wasn’t worrying about riding one himself, and about why Liam hadn’t yet returned.
When another hour had passed, Aidan started to get anxious. What if the police had arrested Liam? What if the pharmacist’s assistant and his girlfriend, whoever they were, had spotted him? Suppose he’d been shot, or killed? What was Aidan supposed to do?
Ifoudan spoke no English, so Aidan couldn’t even ask him where he’d told Liam to take the motorcycle. And that posed another problem. Suppose he had sent Liam into an ambush? Suppose he was working with the Libyans?
Aidan didn’t want to leave the camel market, because he wanted to be there if Liam came back—when Liam came back. But it was frustrating to wait there. He watched the setting sun lengthen the shadows in the market, and worried.
27 – Going for a Ride
Ifoudan concluded his negotiation with the white-mustached man, and the man led the camel away. Then Ifoudan turned to Aidan, and using hand signals, asked if he wanted to get on a camel.
What the hell, Aidan thought. He’d have to do it the next day, and he might as well get in some practice. Ifoudan led him to a camel sitting on all fours behind his tent, and from his hand motions Aidan deduced that this was a gentle female. Even on the ground, though, the saddle was very high, and Aidan couldn’t figure out how to climb into it. Ifoudan had to get behind the camel and mimic leaping on from behind.
Easier said than done, of course. When Aidan made it, he found the saddle was too small for him, and he felt pinched from front and back. Ifoudan noticed and said something in Arabic, which Aidan assumed meant this was not the saddle he would be using in the desert. That was a good thing.
At a signal from Ifoudan, the camel rose on its back legs, pushing Aidan forward. Unlike riding a horse, where the horse’s head comes up in front of you, there was nothing on the animal to hold on to.
Aidan was afraid he would tumble to the ground, but he managed to lock his thighs on to the saddle and grab hold of the high part in front of him, hoping desperately that the saddle would stay put on the camel. It was a weird perspective; the hump dropped down in front of him, and the neck and head stretched out ahead.
It wasn’t that bad, once he got settled. He tried to get his legs into the ropes, the way he had seen the older man do, which made Ifoudan laugh. Once the camel was standing, Ifoudan let him have a moment to get his balance. His butt was uncomfortable; the saddle was hard, and he wondered if the Tuareg had ever discovered the concept of padding. After a minute, Ifoudan picked up a walking stick, and began moving ahead of the camel, every once in a while adjusting the ropes around the camel’s face.
Meanwhile, Aidan was rocking back and forth like a sailboat in a heavy current. He was afraid he’d either fall off or throw up, but he gritted his teeth and tried to feel the camel’s movement through his body. He’d taken riding lessons for a year as a kid, and so he began to get comfortable. At least he stopped feeling nauseous and worrying about falling off.
The view was very different from the top of the camel. Aidan could see the whole of the market, the random tents, the small groups of camels. Beyond, he could see a little of the city, including many palm trees. Liam was out there somewhere, though Aidan didn’t know where. He strained for a glimpse of someone of Liam’s height, of his build or coloring, but as he’d already seen, the bodyguard was a master at fitting in.
Eventually Ifoudan led Aidan back to his tent, and with more of those Chewbacca noises, the camel slid to its knees and Aidan jumped off. His butt was sore and his legs ached, but he felt good about his first ride. A vendor came by selling stew and flat bread, and Aidan bought dinner for himself and Ifoudan. They sat on crossed legs in front of his tent as the sky darkened.
Aidan kept looking around for Liam, and it seemed like Ifoudan was trying to reassure him, but Aidan couldn’t understand any of it. When night fell, Ifoudan pulled out a clay griddle and lit a fire, and put flatbread on top of it, grilling it and then filling it with tomatoes, peppers and seeds, then folding it over like a pita pocket.
He handed Aidan a bottle of warm soda called Boga, which tasted like 7-Up, and they sat quietly as the market closed around them and the stars came out. When it was fully dark, Ifoudan cleaned up, then rolled out two sleeping mats and lay down on one of them.
Aidan lay on the other, but couldn’
t sleep. The night air was cooler than the day, but still warm, and around them he heard the sounds of camels, a man’s laughter, some quiet music. Where was Liam? Was he coming back? Was he even alive?
Aidan had only met him less than a week before, but already he felt more connected to the ex-SEAL than he’d ever felt to Blake. Despite all logic, he’d been imagining a future with Liam, the two of them going back to Tunis and then... what? Aidan didn’t know. But he knew it would be hard for him to give up what he’d felt with Liam.
Aidan woke Thursday morning to the smell of food, his stomach grumbling. Liam was nowhere in sight. Crawling out of the tent, he mimed a question to Ifoudan, but the Tuareg shook his head.
Around them, the market was shutting down, the vendors and their camels preparing to depart. Where was Liam? Why hadn’t he come back the night before? If he wasn’t dead, Aidan was going to kill the big guy for worrying him so much.
Ifoudan began assembling his caravan. Nearly a dozen other Tunisians, mostly men but including two older women, were going to accompany them, along with nearly two dozen camels. Ifoudan was waiting for something to happen, and while he and Aidan stood around, he began pointing out the parts of the camel.
He’d point to the hump, and say, “Sanaam.” Aidan repeated the word, nodding. And so he learned that the foot was called farsam, the nose was khashm, and the tip of the tail was shabib. There were more, but Aidan didn’t catch them all. The way this desert adventure was shaping up, knowing the parts of a camel in Arabic might come in handy.
When a police officer appeared, Ifoudan engaged him in a lengthy, animated discussion. Where was Liam, Aidan worried. Liam could understand the Arabic, whereas Aidan felt lost. Not only had the bodyguard abandoned him, but what if this police officer was here to arrest him? What if Ifoudan had turned them in? What if Liam hadn’t returned the night before because he’d been arrested?
Three Wrong Turns in the Desert Page 15
