by Ann Massey
“I was sent to one of the temporary camps erected to shelter the tens of thousands fleeing from the bombardment of Aleppo near Suruç on the border between Syria and Turkey ... what the media call the death strip...”
“I know where it is.” I spoke impatiently. I wanted to know how he’d come to be working in this children’s hospital in Perth, and most of all why he hadn’t contacted me.
“You’re in the minority,” he said earnestly. “You’d be amazed how few Aussies know what’s happening over there, or care, for that matter. Take what’s happening right now in the Hreitan area of Southern Syria ... all the hospitals have been destroyed and just last week the township was attacked seven times an hour, every day for seven days. More than...”
I cut him off mid-sentence. “You don’t need to tell me what I already know. I read the paper and watch the News. I want to know what happened to you. I thought you’d been killed. Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”
“I wasn’t able to, Beth. The camp took a direct hit. The blast slammed me to the ground. There was so much smoke ... I felt like I was choking.” His face twisted. “Flames were flickering towards me and I was trapped under fallen rubble...”
A lump formed in my throat. I knew what it was to be trapped in a place where no one would find me. “You don’t have to talk about it. I can see how hard it is for...”
He shook his head and mustered up a smile. “Let me finish, you’re owed an explanation ... thankfully the details are blurry. But when I woke up I was in a hospital run by Red Crescent ... that’s the Islamic equivalent of Red Cross.
I nodded not wanting to interrupt his story.
“The first thing the nurse asked was my name and I couldn’t remember.”
“So how and when did you get back home?”
“It took a while, because things were crazy over there, but eventually a social worker contacted my family. My father came over. I didn’t recognize him.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t know my own father.”
“But your memory must have come back or you wouldn’t be working here.”
“Violent trauma such as shell-shock often produces memory loss.” The sadness clouding his features cleared. “I was fortunate. My amnesia responded well to medical hypnosis.”
“In that case,” I said sharply, “why didn’t you call me when your memory returned?”
“It’s hard to explain,” he began, but broke off when there was a sharp rap on the door. A moment later a buxom young woman in a too-tight skirt sauntered into the room swaying her shapely hips. She smiled at him and not in a manner that I considered appropriate.
“This letter needs your signature, Doctor Farouk.”
My heart twisted when he smiled back, flashing his perfect teeth. Previously, I’d noticed the nurses in the café making eyes at him. Now I understood why he hadn’t called me. Why would he, when attractive women were throwing themselves at him? Stupid, stupid me! I wasn’t the love of his life. Nola was right all along. I was just a convenient sexual partner in a place where pickings were slim on the ground.
I waited until the secretary left the room and then I said, as nonchalantly as my mortified pride would allow, “You don’t owe me an explanation Karim ... you don’t owe me anything. All we had was a bit of a fling.” I forced out a smile and got to my feet. “It’s been nice catching up.”
My hand was on the door handle when he put an arm round my waist and drew me against his chest. Through his jacket I felt his heart pulsate erratically against my back.
I steeled my heart. “Deceive me once, shame on you,” I said with a coldness I was far from feeling, “deceive me twice, shame on me!”
His eyes bore into mine. “When did you get so hard, Beth? Didn’t what we had mean anything to you?”
I wriggled round and searched his eyes. I’d read someplace that sincerity can be replicated in the voice but not in the eyes, the windows of the soul. The depth of repressed passion I saw in his was real ... I’d stake my life on it.
I was on the point of confessing how I really felt but he beat me to the line. “Things would have been different if you hadn’t left. I’d never have...”
“So this is my fault!”
“Of course it isn’t? His arms tightened. “I fell in love with you on the day we met. I love you still ... though Allah knows I’ve tried hard to forget you.”
“I don’t understand. You say you love me ... heaven knows I love you. Give me one good reason why we can’t we be together?”
“Because...” he said so softly I had to strain to hear, “I’m engaged to be married.”
Fourteen
I was stunned. “Congratulations.” I forced out a smile. “When’s the wedding?”
“Um ... I’m not sure ... when Panya is of legal age.”
I don’t know if there is a word for beyond stunned in the dictionary. There should be because it would describe the state I was in exactly.
I took a deep breath. “When will she be of age?”
“In two and a half years.”
“She’s fifteen! Good grief, Karim ... she’s a child.”
“Many girls of our faith marry before they are eighteen,” he said stiffly. “According to her father she’s willing.”
“You didn’t ask her yourself?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “We haven’t met. Panya lives in Cairo. She’s the daughter of my father’s Egyptian partner.”
My mind returned again to that long-ago conversation with Nola when she’d warned me of the dangers of dating a Muslim. Unable to contain my outrage, I shrieked, “Karim you can’t be party to such a thing. Forcing an underage girl into marriage with a man she hasn’t met is appalling!”
An expression of tolerant compassion flowed into his face. “You don’t understand. Panya knows that when we marry she will live a life similar to that she has always known. And what’s more important our union will strengthen the alliance between our families.”
“That sounds like a business contract to me.”
“Realistically that’s what marriage is.”
“What about love?”
He smiled tightly. “Love isn’t the most important thing to consider when choosing a husband or a wife. Marriage is a coming together of two families of the same socio-economic status ... families who share the same cultural and religious values.”
“So you were just trying to get me into bed when you said all you wanted from life was me. Do you quote Omar Khayyam to every vulnerable woman you want to...”
He cut me off. “I wasn’t lying to you. I meant every word.”
“It’s not stopping you from marrying someone else though, is it? What happened to you? You’re not the man I knew at Hagadery. What changed you?”
“Suruç!”
His one-word answer resonated with me. If anyone could understand how a brush with death altered a person, it was me. “Go on,” I said, in a milder tone of voice.
“What can I say?” He spread out his hands. “Beth, I experienced an epiphany.”
“An epiphany!”
“That’s the only way I can describe the day my faith became real to me. Before Suruç I was a Muslim in name only. Now that Islam is the centre of my life, I have discovered a higher part of myself. No longer do I live to fulfill my selfish desires.” He raised his face towards heaven as if in prayer. “I live to please Allah.”
“Islam doesn’t ban marriages between Muslims and Christians.”
“I am sorry Beth ... marriage between us is not an option.”
The finality in his voice made me desperate. “Karim, if having a Muslim wife matters to you that much ... I’m prepared to convert."
He turned his hands palms up in a gesture of powerlessness; “It’s my father’s wish that I wed Panya.” Shock was piling up on shock.
“So what! My father’s disapproval wouldn’t stop me from marrying you.”
“Allah commands his followers to honour and obey
their parents.” There was a note of disapproval in his voice.
I know when I’ve lost and held out my hand. “I wish you and Panya every happiness.” Instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips. It was almost my undoing. I plastered a smile on my face and headed for the door.
He was right behind me. “You never explained why you’re here,” he said, his hand poised on the handle. “Were you visiting a friend?”
“A relative ... my sister, Annie. She bumped her head in a collision on the hockey field and she’s being kept in overnight.”
“Has she had a CT scan?”
I nodded.
“What were the results?”
“I don’t know. The nurse told me phone the ward after seven.”
Karim glanced at his watch. “I’ll chase them up.”
I should have told him not to bother. Instead I gave him my phone number.
* * *
My cell rang on the way home. I was all fingers and thumbs as I fumbled for the telephone icon on the steering wheel. But it wasn’t Karim. The unknown caller introduced herself as Brenda Moore, Megan’s mother. She was on the way to Perth from Northcliffe in the South West of the state, a five-hour journey. She said that she was staying overnight at her parents’ and would drive back to the farm tomorrow with her daughter.
“Megan won’t be back at school until next term,” she sighed. “She’s dreadfully disappointed about missing out on meeting Princess Catherine. I suppose you know she was going to present her with a bouquet?”
“Yes ... such awfully bad luck. I feel for her.”
“I suppose Annie is over the moon,” she said with an unpleasant edge to her voice. “As Megan’s deputy, isn’t she next in line?”
That the honour would flow to Annie hadn’t entered my head. “Not necessarily, I think Miss Clare is more likely to assign the task to one of the other class captains,” I said, although I hadn’t a clue about the Head Mistress’s intentions.
“Mmm ...yes, that would be more appropriate. How is Annie?”
“She may have concussion. I’m waiting on a call from the doctor.”
Mrs. Moore didn’t take the hint. “Oh ... from what Miss Clare said, I thought the bump wasn’t serious.”
“She’s probably right ... still it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Just then my phone beeped. “I’d better take this call. It could be the hospital.” I thanked Megan’s mother for calling, wished her daughter a speedy recovery and immediately tapped unknown caller.
“Beth, it’s me.”
I was tempted to say, who’s me? But I’m not into mind games. I took a steadying breath. “Do you have some news for me Karim?”
“Yes, you don’t need to worry about your sister. Her CT scan is clear. I spoke to the Registrar. She can go home tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do...”
“Well thanks again,” I said, making an effort to stay calm, though it was breaking my heart conversing like polite strangers. “Bye.”
I was about to touch stop call when he said, “Don’t go ... I hold a clinic at Yongah Hill Detention Centre in Northam every Saturday. I thought you might be interested in seeing how Australia treats asylum seekers. I’d be happy to show you around.”
I was more interested in seeing him. Play it cool, I thought. I dismissed the self-advice. “What time will you pick me up?”
Fifteen
Jenny Jones caught me scrolling through Hotheads. “Flat out, as per usual,” she said looking over my shoulder at my buddy’s post.
“There’s not much else to do.”
Jenny pulled a face. “It’s all right for some.” It sounded as if she was grumbling, but I knew it was an act. Wing Commander Lewis Carter, ostensibly my advisor, but actually my boss, had plucked her from the PR pool and promoted her to team leader. Her main responsibility was to establish relationships with suspects. According to Carter, on-line communications should be the province of professional writers. For Jenny, it was an upgrade, for me it was a kick in the teeth, though I’d done a first class job of hiding my wounded pride. “Why keep a dog and bark yourself,” I’d said to Caden, shouting to be heard in the work gang’s favourite bar. The face-saver came back to bite me. My prickly relationship with my subordinates was now at an all-time low.
The target of my cheap shot made an effort to hide her loathing for though her star was on the rise, I still outranked her. “He’s hot,” she said drooling over a shot of my mate skiing at Perisher in the Australian Alps. Immediately, I clicked the close icon. Hotheads, a closed Facebook group for pilots who’d flown combat missions in the Middle East was secret for the members’ security.
I saw in her eyes that she was offended. I thought back with longing to the easy comradeship I’d enjoyed with air force personnel of either sex. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, in an attempt to bury the hatchet.
She fiddled with the collar of the tailored jacket that had replaced the ripped jeans and tight tees she wore prior to her promotion. “Er thanks,” she said with a doubtful look. I’d seen the self-same vulnerability in the eyes of my first crush. Funny, Beth should come to mind because I hadn’t thought of her in yonks[17].
My relationship with Beth had got off to a bad start too. Then, just when we were starting to get along, it nosedived. At the time, I’d hotwired a ute. In my defence, using the skill I’d picked-up as a teen hoon[18] was advantageous with a cold-blooded killer on our trail. I’d expected praise for my initiative instead the self-righteous goody-goody called me a crim. It hurt. I knew how to hurt her back and I’d uttered the unutterable.
—“If you think it’s bad being forced to hang out with me, imagine what it’s like for me. Folk actually think you’re my girlfriend!” I’d paused and looked her up and down with intentional contempt. “As if!”
It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever done ... probably not even in the top ten. After all, back then, I was just a mixed-up kid, and yet I still feel guilty. I decided to look Beth up the next time I was in Perth.
Basking in the glow of good intentions, I decided to kiss and make-up with Jenny. When you got down to it she was only doing her job, as was Carter. My beef was with General Lee. I asked her if she’d like to go for a drink after work.
Her mouth straightened into a firm line. “With you? “I’d rather hug a grizzly.”
I looked at her in stunned silence, and then I touched her arm gently. “I’m sorry. I had that coming.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said though it was obvious that she did.
I swallowed back the urge to throttle her, something else she had in common with Beth. “Have you got this week’s surveillance report?”
“Here you are.” She placed the file on my desk, although from the look on her face she’d have preferred to throw it at me. It was just as well she controlled the impulse for this week’s report was a whopper.
As I flicked through, I saw that the entries were more wide-ranging and detailed than mine were. It took an effort, but I managed not to groan under the crushing weight of my inadequacy. I was so far out of my depth I was at risk of drowning. I was a pilot for god sake, not some terrorist profiler. No wonder Lee had brought back Carter.
“Will that be all?” asked Jenny already turning for the door.
“No. You’d better wait. I may have some questions.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
In the military we call pulling faces dumb insolence. An airman or woman guilty of insubordination would be up on a charge. I’d never had cause to report anyone who’d served under me. I thought it was because I was a born leader. Working with civilians had shattered that opinion.
I said, “Take a seat if you’re tired.”
“I am,” she admitted, slumping down in the chair. “I don’t only work for ASP, you know.”
I felt a prick of conscience. Her team serviced each branch of Five Eyes. “I don’t know
how you manage, especially now that you’re in charge.”
There was a small silence and she smoothed down her skirt nervously. “I’m totally on top of things,” she said clearing her voice which came out much too shrill.
Underneath that snippy ambitious exterior, I sensed there was a vulnerable side she didn’t want anyone to see. “I know you are. In fact, if you were triplets you could run the entire show and the rest of us could go to the pub.”
Jenny’s mouth dropped open. I saw uncertainty in her eyes. I quickly said, “Of course we’d never dream of exploiting you like that.”
She grinned. “It wouldn’t be exploitation if I received your salaries as well as my own.”
I laughed. As far as witty dialogue went it sucked, but she’d never made a joke before. Sensing she was ready to smoke a peace pipe, I said, “Why don’t you help yourself to coffee while I go through this?”
As Jenny poured cream into a mug, she said, “I’ve highlighted in red the suspects who’ve increased their online activity.” Amazingly there was a hint of a smile in her voice.
I skimmed the names she’d highlighted in the index. I was surprised Bennet wasn’t among them. After all, Carter had been brought in with the sole purpose of locating her. I flicked to her entry. Bennet hadn’t posted since her piece about Unit 731. Even so, her record took up six pages, predominantly detailing the efforts that had been made to engage her. To that end, profiles had been created for six new blog followers with the same thoroughness as that of Eli Malouf.
I made a mental note to ask for a one-page summary next week. “How many of you worked on this?”
“Just me, for security reasons.”
“You personally, developed profiles, websites, and blogs for all six?”
“Well, I used a psychological assessment app to select their age, race, gender, sexual orientation and political affiliations.”
“Jeez! I hope it pays off?”
Jenny closed her eyes briefly. “It hasn’t so far. Bennet hasn’t responded to an overture from any of the bogus bloggers. You should have heard the abuse I copped from the Commander at the debrief.”
