Light of the Desert

by Lucette Walters

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s glued to the television, scared that the earthquake will travel to Aqaba,” Abdo said. Then he saw Noora—in bed, with the IV bag hanging from a makeshift hook. He kneeled to her bedside and watched her bandaged face in disbelief. “Why?” he whispered. “Oh, Allah. Why?”

  He hesitated to touch her. Gently, he pulled a hair strand away from her face. Tears streamed down his cheeks. How could this have happened? He was not religious, but found himself reciting a silent prayer from the opening passage of the Koran, the only one he knew, the one he was once told was the most significant of all: “In the name of Allah, most Gracious, most Merciful… Praise be to Allah, the Cherished…” He continued to pray silently. He added: “Praise be to Noora, for having the courage to survive.”

  Downstairs in the lobby, Nageeb rushed to the phone booth in a dark corner. The sound on the television was turned down, and the hotel owner stood behind the counter, watching him.

  “Any more news about that earthquake in Cairo?” Nageeb asked.

  “It’s terrible. Many people killed! Many trapped under buildings! It is horrible! I pray to God to spare us. My building is very old.” He nervously wiped his brow with his soiled handkerchief.

  “We’re really far from Cairo.”

  “Earthquakes travel far, monsieur. Have you ever been in an earthquake?”

  “Yes … in Alexandria. A small one, nothing serious …”

  “You don’t know how damaging … Only Allah knows our destiny,” the fat little man said with a shiver, as he glanced nervously at the ceiling.

  “My bride and I have family in Cairo. I need to call and find out how they are doing. Does this phone work?”

  “Aah, you have family in Cairo? Oh. That is something to worry about. But … you have a phone in your room.”

  Nageeb could not chance calling from the room. He needed a public phone so that hopefully his call could not be traced as easily. “We need to leave the line open in case our relatives want to call us.”

  “Ah, yes, but of course! That is a good thing. You need change?”

  “Thank you. I have plenty.”

  Inside the dusty phone booth, Nageeb dialed home. His father’s office voicemail kicked in before he had a chance to think of a believable message. So he hung up, took a deep breath, dialed again, and spoke to the answering machine.

  Before sundown, Abdo had gone out to purchase a wheelchair, and now Nageeb was feeling sleepless and anxious. He leaned against the windowsill, watching the twinkling lights on the horizon.

  “How can we transport Noora out of here without this guy poking his fat nose at us every second?”

  “It’ll be easy …” Abdo said, tearing off the price tag from the wheelchair, “if we leave now.”

  “Now? But that’s impossible. She’s in no condition, and certainly not at this hour.”

  The antique grandfather clock from the hotel’s lobby struck three. Abdo and Nageeb silently rolled the dark figure in the wheelchair through the main exit door. Instantly, the alarm went off, blaring like a fire truck siren.

  Nageeb rapidly wheeled his sister along the dark sidewalk and searched for Abdo’s car. Covered in black from head to toe, Noora slumped over with her head reaching her knees. He grabbed her by the back of her dress, just in time to keep her from tumbling out of the wheelchair.

  He turned a corner and finally spotted Abdo’s orange car across the street. There was no way to get the wheelchair down the high sidewalk unassisted. He headed for an intersection where the sidewalk slanted to the road. Luckily, all the stores were closed.

  Carefully avoiding potholes, he took his time wheeling Noora along the road until they finally reached Abdo’s car. He fumbled with the key and realized the keychain had a small flashlight. With sweaty palms and trembling fingers, he turned it on, found the keyhole, and unlocked the car door. He placed Noora in the back seat and tried to be silent as he stuffed the wheelchair in the trunk. A light from an apartment window above popped into life, and a curious silhouette appeared. Nageeb slid behind the steering wheel, silently closed the door, and slouched.

  What was taking Abdo so long? He didn’t want to switch on the ignition. Diesel engines, especially this car with over 250,000 miles, made a racket. It would surely wake the entire neighborhood. He hoped no one was calling the police about the suspicious figure seen stuffing a body in the back seat of an orange Mercedes.

  Abdo stood on the sidewalk, trying to justify his action to the furious concierge. “I just wanted to go out for a quiet smoke,” he explained.

  “It’s three o’clock in the morning. This is a respectable hotel!”

  Abdo coolly lit a cigarette, a la Humphrey Bogart. “I never claimed this is not a respectable hotel,” he said. Nageeb should be in the car by now, he calculated, but the money and passports were in the black travel bag he was clutching under his arm. He watched the little fat man as he flailed his arms, screaming, “You made my alarm go off! I thought we were having an earthquake!”

  “No, sir. I simply went out for a smoke.”

  “Anyone who sneaks out of my hotel in the middle of the night must have intentions!” the concierge screamed.

  “Intentions?”

  “Unlawful intentions!”

  “No, sir. I assure you …”

  “My alarm goes straight to the police!”

  “That’s very good and comforting. My apologies if I caused a problem.”

  “We have a special section for smoking! Can’t you read my signs?”

  Abdo offered the concierge a cigarette, which he quickly took and placed behind his ear.

  “Do you also have a special section for cockroaches? Because I found one right on top of my nose when I was sleeping on one of your flat pillows. I should get a refund for tomorrow night and the night after, which, as I am sure you know, I paid you in advance.”

  “What is this with refunds?!”

  Abdo began to walk away. The concierge chased after him.

  “We’ll spray your room,” he offered.

  Abdo stopped and turned. “So that all the other roaches come out for air? No thanks.”

  The concierge mumbled a few insults and stomped back inside.

  Abdo parked his car by the water’s edge. The two young men sat silently while Noora slept in the back seat. Nageeb was glad he would never have to return to that dreary hotel. He had cleaned the room, even making the bed before leaving, so there would be no trace of blood. He had rolled the soiled tulle up tight and stuffed it in a paper bag, along with their grandmother’s sheet he had used. Abdo had discarded the bags in public trash bins along the way.

  Nageeb thought of the dream he had had in the room—a dream evoked by that eerie picture of the girl above the bed.

  “Have you seen Zaffeera?”

  “No,” Abdo replied. “Why?”

  “I … was just wondering. How is she doing?”

  “I heard the maids in the kitchen talking about how wonderful she’s been, tending to her mother around the clock, without even taking a break.”

  “I see,” Nageeb said, frowning.

  They watched the calm Red Sea shimmering like glass. The first ferry to Eilat would open for business at seven o’clock in the morning. In four hours, Abdo and Nageeb had smoked two packs of cigarettes. Still, they had not come up with a solution.

  Where would Noora be safe?

  “Something will surely come up,” Abdo said.

  Nageeb dropped his head back on the headrest and finally allowed his lids to close, but only for a few minutes. He opened his eyes and rubbed them, then grabbed the pack of cigarettes on the dashboard. Empty. He crushed it.

  “We have a week reserved at the timeshare resort where my friend works. By tomorrow, Noora should be better. I should get her started on solid foods. Where can we get more cigarettes?”

  “I have gum. It’s better for you anyway.”

  “What’s better for me doesn’t matter anymore,” Nageeb s
aid bitterly.

  CHAPTER 13

  EILAT, ISRAEL

  While crossing the Red Sea on the ferry to Eilat, Abdo leaned against the railing and studied a tourist brochure and map he had picked up at the dock.

  Wearing her grandmother’s black traditional garb and slumped over on the wheelchair, Noora’s face remained concealed.

  When they arrived at Israeli Customs, Abdo showed their grandmother’s passport. Nageeb was impressed by Abdo’s ease and confidence when he told the authorities that because of religious beliefs, the woman could not allow them to see her face. But the three of them had to wait over an hour in the hot sun until a female Customs authority finally came to check Noora’s passport—and Noora.

  When the security woman unveiled Sultana’s black shawl that Noora wore around her head, she saw the “old woman’s” face was bandaged.

  “I cannot let you through Customs unless I see her face.”

  Nageeb began to sweat. Profusely.

  “My grandmother’s been in a serious car accident,” Abdo explained. “She lost a lot of blood, and now she has pneumonia. We are taking her to the best hospital we know.”

  “Ben Gurion Hospital,” Abdo said to the taxi driver a few minutes later. Sitting on Abdo’s left in the taxicab, with Noora in the middle, Nageeb shot Abdo a sharp look. The white lie he told the authorities had surprised him—and hospitals were out of the question.

  What was Abdo up to now?

  Nageeb settled uneasily in the back seat. He rested Noora’s head on his chest, keeping her face covered. She was beginning to moan discernible words. He knew her pain medication was starting to wear off.

  The taxi dropped the trio off at the curb.

  Abdo wheeled Noora to the main hospital entrance. “Hurry! The military police put us in that cab,” Abdo explained in a low voice. He wheeled Noora through the handicap door. Nageeb turned to look back at the cab—it was still waiting at the curb.

  In the huge hospital lobby, hundreds of people were milling about. Nageeb felt safer in the crowd.

  Abdo wheeled Noora through one corridor, then another, as if he knew where he was going. Nageeb was starting to feel dizzy, until Abdo finally stopped inside a busy emergency waiting room.

  “Wait here. I won’t be long,” he said, rushing out of the double glass doors.

  Nageeb sat close to Noora’s wheelchair and rested her head on his shoulder. Abdo was still gone. He said he wouldn’t be long, but more than an hour must have passed. Nageeb didn’t want to attract attention, sitting there with Noora in a wheelchair, and with her head concealed. Luckily, so far, no one had come to ask him if he needed assistance.

  He glanced up and spotted a maroon-colored van with dark tinted windows that had just pulled in, in front of the emergency street entrance. The driver’s door opened and Abdo bounded out. Wearing white shorts and a peach-colored golf shirt, he looked like a tourist. He gestured to Nageeb.

  “I had to do a lot of bartering to rent this cheap piece of machinery. They told me I had to reserve a car in advance. They gave me the worst van on the lot!” Abdo explained once they were on their way. “The brakes scream like a rooster, but it’s drivable.”

  “Where did you get those clothes?” Nageeb asked, wondering why in the world Abdo had taken the time to go shopping.

  “The car-rental office. They try to sell you their logo clothes.”

  “You don’t look like yourself.”

  Noora moaned painfully in the back seat. Nageeb and Abdo exchanged worried glances. Nageeb wondered if his sister would ever look like—or even be—herself again.

  Abdo drove the van through dusty, unpaved roads, until he reached a deserted hill and parked under a lone tree. He walked outside while Nageeb stayed in the van to finish changing Noora’s bandages. Later, he joined Abdo, who was perched on a large red rock a few feet from the van.

  In the distance, they watched a Bedouin, who sat cross-legged in the shade of an olive tree, his camel nearby. The Bedouin was motionless in his black garb, seeming completely undisturbed by the scorching heat.

  A crescent-shaped turquoise lagoon was nestled between burned orange hills beneath them. The Red Sea gleamed on the horizon. Motorboats, appearing out-of-place in the ancient setting, sliced across the sea.

  Nageeb and Abdo gazed numbly at the beauty before them. They watched silently as the sun cast its last glow and stars began to appear in the darkening, cloudless sky.

  “I guess we could go to the resort and check in now,” Nageeb said.

  “Maybe we should wait until dark, when everyone is out to dinner, so we can wheel her in without an audience,” Abdo suggested.

  Nageeb lit a new cigarette from the embers of the one he was smoking.

  “Time. In time … Like a bad wound, slowly it will heal,” Abdo offered.

  “This feels more like an amputation,” Nageeb said bitterly.

  Nageeb opened the sliding doors and stepped onto the balcony of the fully furnished, one-bedroom condominium at the Crystal Resort and Spa. He leaned on the railing and gazed at Eilat’s coral reef in the distance.

  Far across the sea, barely visible on the hazy horizon, was Aqaba.

  God bless Abdo, Nageeb thought, allowing his weary body to relax on a lounge chair. Two days had passed since Abdo left to catch the evening’s last ferry back to Aqaba.

  “Make sure Kettayef understands that Noora is fine, and recovering well,” Nageeb had reminded him. Abdo nodded, giving him a somber look.

  “He must know this is going to be a secret he will have to live with for the rest of his life.”

  “No,” Abdo had corrected, “a secret he will have to carry for the rest of Farid Fendil’s life.”

  Nageeb closed his eyes. If he could sleep for a few hours, he would be able to think clearly. Time was running out. He must call his father soon and leave more messages filled with lies. He wished he never had to face that man again.

  “He is no father of mine,” he muttered to himself.

  Only a few days before, Nageeb could not wait to go home and be reunited with his family. He never had the chance to see his little sister, Shamsah. Shamsah, meaning sun, was born at high noon and delivered by their grandmother. Shamsah, who had caught the chicken pox. Shamsah, who loved Noora so much.

  Murky reflections of his future raced through his mind. He liked Cairo and the hospital where he worked. Devoting his life to healing the sick and saving lives was what he had always dreamed of doing. Eilat was not easily accessible from Cairo, but still not too far, an airplane ride away. Most of all, Noora would be safe here. He could not imagine his father having any reason to travel to Eilat in Israel. But Noora needed to be with a relative. Someone they could trust. Who?

  He could rent her a charming little villa. Like their grandmother, Noora loved to grow flowers. Gardening would keep her busy. She would need to change her name—of course—and accept the fact that she could never go home. He would have to convince her …

  What about Michel? He had almost forgotten about Noora’s fiancé. What lies had his father told Michel? I must contact him and tell him the truth! Would he believe in his heart that Noora did not betray him? If he truly loved Noora, he would know … Or would this always hover in their life like a dark cloud …?

  He fell asleep and dreamed he was weaving his way through a field of daisies that danced beneath the brilliant sun. Sultana was standing at the crest of a hill. She was smiling and opening her arms wide, welcoming him. His dream was shattered by the sounds of a crash, as if someone just tossed a rock through a window. Noora screamed. Nageeb rolled off the lounge chair and ran to the bedroom. The bed was empty. The door to the bathroom was closed.

  “Noora!”

  He opened the door. Hair sopping and a towel wrapped around herself, Noora looked blankly at her brother. The crystal vase, which held a bouquet of peach-colored roses, lay smashed on the white tiled floor. Jagged pieces of razor-sharp cut glass were strewn around her bare and bloody feet.


  “Don’t move!” Nageeb begged.

  Noora gave her brother a peculiar blank stare.

  “Don’t move!” he repeated. “Stay right where you are, Noora!” He ran back to the living room to slip on his shoes. Broken glass cracked under his soft leather soles as he made his way to Noora. He pushed the dangerous debris out of the way and carried Noora to the bedroom, laying her down at the edge of the bed.

  After he cleaned and bandaged her feet, he kneeled next to her.

  “Just a couple of minor cuts,” he said, forcing a smile. “Nothing serious.” He pulled the blanket to her.

  “I should kill myself,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.

  “You have a long life ahead of you,” he said, holding both of her hands in his.

  She pushed him away and pulled at her hair hysterically. The towel loosened away from her. Nageeb quickly pulled up the comforter and tried to wrap it around his sister. He tried to hold her and calm her down.

  “I don’t deserve to live! I should be punished. I am so, so sorry. Look what I am putting you through! You don’t deserve this … I … Oh God, I don’t know … I have wronged you and everyone else …”

  Nageeb wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  Noora finally stopped thrashing and went limp. She stayed in that position for a few minutes without moving.

  Finally, breaking the unsettling silence, she repeated: “I should be punished.”

  She needed another sedative, Nageeb thought, but he wasn’t sure he could leave her alone, even for a moment. The medicine was in the living room, and right now, that seemed too far. A voice within him said “Ediha hodn—give her a hug.”

  He held her in his arms and finally she fell asleep. He let her lie in bed with the comforter wrapped around her. He tiptoed out to get her the sedative but decided against it. No need to bombard her with any more drugs—she was asleep.

  The phone rang. He prayed it was Abdo as he picked up the receiver from the kitchen.

  It was Shlomo, inviting him and Nageeb’s “girlfriend” out to dinner with his new wife. Nageeb was grateful Shlomo was so gracious in providing a condominium at a time when the entire town was sold out. Shlomo probably had to juggle guests around at the last minute, after Nageeb called him asking for a condo. Shlomo must have given him the best unit available—it had a magnificent view.