Light of the Desert

by Lucette Walters

  “I’m sorry, let me massage it. You probably need more calcium in your diet.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And a good massage,” she said, pulling herself closer to him, gently caressing his right shoulder.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go. I should’ve told him I could meet him on Tuesday instead of Monday morning in his office …”

  “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “You’ll join me in Los Angeles soon. Which reminds me, I’ll tell the pilot you’ll be flying next Saturday, right?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, returning to her pillow. There goes my morning fuck, she thought.

  “I have a feeling you’re going to be happy there,” he said, rising.

  “Did you need the chauffeur this morning? I … I’m sorry, I didn’t call him,” Zaffeera said, acting a bit sultry.

  “Oh no, that’s fine. I’m taking my father’s Jag. It needs to be driven.”

  “Michel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Looks like I’ll still need my maid … in Los Angeles.”

  “Of course,” he yawned, padding to the bathroom. “I’ll advise the pilot today … Two passengers … Next week …” He closed the bathroom door.

  The road leading to the Al-Balladi airport was almost an hour away, unless Michel floored it to ninety miles an hour. But at that speed, the car started to shake. He would have to tell his father’s mechanic. The car hadn’t been driven in a few months, since he had it checked when he was in Los Angeles. He had enjoyed taking it for a spin with Zaffeera, a few days ago. He slowed down to seventy and put it on cruise control. The sun in the horizon began to show a brilliant orange glow, slowly lighting the indigo desert sky into purple and hot pink hues, while the stars faded, leaving a few to still sparkle before daylight. “Beautiful,” he whispered, glad now that he was up early enough to catch such a stunning sight … A feast for any weary eyes … and soul, he thought. His cell phone jingled.

  “Monsieur Amir, we regret to inform you, there’s been a slight delay …”

  “Delay?”

  “There’s nothing to be concerned about, but we won’t be able to leave for another two hours,” the pilot said.

  “Something wrong with the plane?” Michel asked.

  “No, mechanically, everything is in perfect order, ready to take off. But we can’t land in Cairo until two hours later than our scheduled time. The good news is, you still have plenty of time to make your connection in Paris, for the nonstop to L.A.”

  Two hours? Michel thought he could drive back home, but by then, it would be almost time to turn right around. Zaffeera would want him to come back to bed, and he might fall asleep and miss his flight. He would just wait at the airport and start to work on the new plans. His mind drifted to Zaffeera. She had been a little too rough lately during their lovemaking. Last night especially was the first time she appeared so … demanding in bed. “More!” she had said, as if commanding him to perform better. He felt obligated to try harder and please her. Not that he couldn’t … But not when he felt pressured, even obligated. When he climaxed, she shouted, “Oh no, not yet!” He pulled away, feeling embarrassed. He felt the pain on his back. She had cut into his skin with her fingernails. Why had she been so rough? Maybe she wanted to be sure to conceive? No, that could not be the reason. It was more than that. Whatever the reason, he didn’t like it.

  It was possible she was upset that he was leaving her to finish doing all the packing, even though she told him she didn’t mind. But he could tell she was disappointed. He would offer to arrange for people to assist her, if she needed more help.

  How would their life be when she moved to Los Angeles? So far, he had been away from her a great deal, traveling, and it worked out fine for him. But that did not help their relationship. He really didn’t know her, and he felt stifled at times by having her around for more than a week … How could he stay married to her if he started resenting her? It all came back to Noora. At times, he even started feeling anger toward Zaffeera … Anger that she wasn’t Noora. It wasn’t fair, but there it was.

  He was going back to Los Angeles to work on his second love: architecture. He should focus on the Monday morning meeting with the studio executive. It was going to be a complicated house on a small lot. His new client wanted a pool and koi pond, water lilies, and a cabana, plus an office facing the pool … a large master suite upstairs with a view to the southwest, and a theater with a Gone with the Wind theme. Challenging, all right, but it could be done—if he worked hard enough to figure it out.

  Up ahead on the deserted road, Michel spotted a dark figure. As he approached, he could see it was a peasant woman selling flowers at the edge of the road. Beautiful roses … peach, yellow, and red. He slowed down and stopped several feet before her. He turned off the ignition and got out of the car, keeping the car keys and his cell phone in his coat pocket.

  Clad in a long black dress and veil that covered her entire face except her eyes, the woman was accompanied by two young boys, one about five and the other not more than seven. “Please buy my flowers,” she said. “Very cheap.”

  Michel opened his wallet, and as he did, the small picture of Noora he had hidden in his wallet fell to the ground. As he bent to pick it up, the older boy ran up to Michel. “Please buy our flowers!” he shouted, as if ordering him. “Not much traffic today and we are hungry!”

  “How much?”

  The boy mentioned a number Michel could barely understand. Did he mean the equivalent of fifty cents for each rose? Or the whole bouquet?

  He cautiously pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, while darting his eyes around to make sure no one was hiding, ready to rob him. But the area was deserted. He tucked Noora’s picture back in his wallet. “I only have American dollars right now,” he said in Arabic to the boy, showing the paper bill. “Twenty dollars …”

  “Okay!” the boy shouted excitedly. “Twenty Amrikan dallah!” he cried out. He ran back to his mother and picked up half their stock.

  Michel took a bouquet of the prettiest peach-colored roses and handed the boy the money.

  He looked around again. It was probably miles to the next rural town. He walked up to the woman and gave her an additional bill, a hundred dollars, before rushing back to his car. As he did, he heard her cries of joy. “May Allah bless you!” she shouted, looking at the money, her eyes bulging. “Allah ye naouehr aleikum!” she cried, raising her hands to the sky. The two young boys ran after him, jumping up and down, wanting to give him all their flowers, shouting in their native tongue: “Allah will bless you! Allah will bless you!”

  “Yes,” Michel nodded, pulling back to the road. “May the Lord bestow light upon you, too.” He said, waving at them. “Shokran! Thank you! He drove off.

  Michel had nearly forgotten about the old picture of Noora he had hidden in his wallet. He checked his watch. He had enough time to take a detour and visit her grave. He had never been back since that first time with Zaffeera. It had been too painful. Now that they were going to be gone so long, possibly even for good, he wanted to visit her grave. Perhaps then, he would finally have some closure … perhaps.

  He remembered where it was. Several miles away from downtown Al-Balladi, not far from the souq and market of flowers—at the edge of town, and at the foothill of that particular mountain.

  When he arrived, he saw trucks and cranes parked around the area. Obviously, the construction of what was going to be a commercial building. Had he made a mistake? No, he recognized the entrance to the souq. The little flower market was still there, where Zaffeera had purchased the roses for her sister. He turned to the bouquet of flowers he had set down on the passenger seat. He felt a tightness in his chest at the memory of that dreadful day, when Zaffeera and he had gone to visit Noora’s grave … So many years ago now. But what was going on? They were building on top of a … cemetery?

  Holding his bouquet of flowers, he approached one of the construction workers. “What are you doing here
? This is a cemetery!”

  The worker turned to Michel and stared at him as if looking at a madman. Other men approached him, some exchanging glances. Michel began to feel awkward.

  “Do you have a general contractor on site?” he asked the men in Arabic.

  “He’s in his office, over there,” one of the men replied, pointing to a trailer a few yards away.

  Moments later, after Michel had spoken to the general contractor inside the trailer, and learned the truth about this site, he never felt more embarrassed. He hurried back to his car, stopped before opening his door, stared at his flowers, and angrily tossed them aside. He climbed in his car, and as he pulled back to the road, he floored the gas pedal. The blood had risen to his head, and he was burning with anger. He opened all the windows. He had been fooled, he thought, punching once at the steering wheel. Fooled by Zaffeera! Stricken by his grief, he had been too numb, too naïve, too stupid to know about burial customs. He had believed her … He had trusted her! He started toward the road to the airport, but decided to turn right around and confront her. Where was Noora buried? Why did she lie? He dialed Zaffeera’s cell number. There was no answer. No, he needed to confront her in person. He made a U-turn and headed to his father’s house. He would have to cancel the meeting. He was not in a position to meet with anyone, no matter how much he had wanted that opportunity. No matter how proud his father was when he gave him the good news the night before.

  When he arrived at the house, he jumped out of his car and ran inside. “Zaffeera!” he shouted, searching for her. He climbed the stairs two at a time to their bedroom. He nearly bumped into Gamelia, who was just leaving the room, holding a breakfast tray.

  “Oh! I … I beg your pardon, Mr. Amir,” Gamelia said, immediately lowering her eyes.

  “Where is Zaffeera?!”

  “She … Mrs. Amir went out, monsieur.”

  “Out where?”

  “Oh …” she answered, finally looking up at Michel.

  “Where did she go?”

  “D…Doctor. Doctor’s appointment.”

  “Why did she go to the doctor? It’s Sunday.”

  “Yes, they … they are open only in the morning on Sunday. She’s … just an examination before … Before trip to America …”

  Michel could see he had frightened her. Her hands trembled as she stood before him. The small crystal vase holding a single short-stemmed rose clattered against the half-empty demitasse of coffee on the tray. “Sir … may I ask her to call you upon … her return?”

  “No. Thank you,” he said, toning down his voice level. He should not have yelled at her. “I just came back to pick up something I forgot … There’s no need to tell her. I’ll call her later … Later tonight … Thank you. Sorry… I didn’t mean to… All’s well. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tightly grasping the breakfast tray that her mistress Zaffeera had barely touched before leaving the house, Gamelia watched Michel run down the circular stairway and out the front door. She had to set the tray down on the nearby console in the hallway, because her entire body shook uncontrollably. “Allah, please forgive me for lying,” she mumbled. He knows. He knows something is wrong, Gamelia was sure of it. How could she tell Zaffeera’s husband where her mistress really was?

  She heard Michel’s car drive away. Suddenly she wasn’t frightened anymore. She was angry—angry because Zaffeera was cheating on her good husband. Sick of Zaffeera treating her like a slave. Sick of Zaffeera raping her; sick and tired of living in fear that Zaffeera would beat her again at any time, for any reason. She touched her cheek and put her hand against her ear. She could still feel the ache where her mistress had struck her so hard and knocked her to the floor, kicking her like a beast.

  CHAPTER 73

  JUSTICE

  For more than a half hour, Gamelia ran. She stopped for a moment’s rest and squinted up toward the hill.

  During the first few times when her mistress engaged in her illicit affair, Gamelia had to hide in the dry bushes a few yards away from the limo and guard the area near the cliff. She had to keep Zaffeera’s cellular ready to press the automatic dial button that would ring straight to the mobile phone in the limousine, in case any passing cars or occasional nomads would be spotted from a distance. But the area proved to be always deserted, and Zaffeera no longer needed her maid to be her guard.

  Gamelia hiked up the hill, panting and exhausted, but exhilarated. She was going to seek justice one way or another, even if it cost her her life. As she approached, careful not to breathe too loudly from the hard climb, she saw the black stretch limo, parked near the edge of the cliff, swaying.

  Slowly, she approached the car and peeked in the back window. Inside, Zaffeera was intensely engaged in sex with her chauffeur. Gamelia silently crawled her way along the endless black gleam of the stretch limo and approached the driver’s side, praying they had not locked the door. It clicked open. She climbed in the car, which was idling with the air conditioning on, full blast. She did not shut the door, for fear that they might hear it, although it appeared that the lovers in the back were too engrossed to notice the intruder.

  Gamelia looked at the dashboard and gearshift for a brief moment. The couple behind her panted louder and faster in their passion.

  She remembered watching Abdo shift into gear, whenever she sat up front when he took her out on errands for Zaffeera. He had shown her how a car moves forward, and how to make it stop. She thrust the gearshift into the “Drive” position.

  Slowly at first, the limousine began to roll. She noticed the emergency brake light on the dashboard and remembered seeing Abdo reaching below on the left side of the steering wheel. She released the lever. She also remembered when Abdo pressed down on the foot pedal, the car rolled faster. She pressed the toes of her right foot on the pedal a bit, and stopped. She tapped once again on the accelerator. She pulled her foot back, unsure of what she would do. The car was nearing the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vista of the desert below. Gamelia’s toes rested upon the gas pedal again, this time with a definite intention. The couple did not hear the tires as they crackled on the dry gravel, and gained momentum. Panting louder in the back, as the lovers were apparently reaching climax, the wheels rolled faster. Zaffeera gave her devilish howl of ecstasy—and screamed again, realizing the car was in motion.

  Forward the limousine went. Zaffeera’s eyes grew their widest ever when she saw Gamelia was at the wheel. “The brakes!” she shouted, horrified. “Slam on the brakes NOW!”

  Gamelia threw back a determined glance over her right shoulder. “La’a, setti ya Sharmouta!” It felt so good to finally say those words out loud. “No, my lady the Whore!” And with a smile of defiance, keeping her hands firmly on the steering wheel, Gamelia added: “Make me!”

  Naked, Zaffeera lunged forward and tried to jump over to the driver’s seat but the glass partition between the front and the passenger area had limited space. Zaffeera still managed to slide herself forward, trying to push her maid out of the way, while in the back, her lover fumbled desperately to slip his pants back on.

  “Let justice be done!” Gamelia cried, pressing on the gas pedal.

  Zaffeera pushed her maid as hard as she could toward the driver’s door, in an attempt to get a hold of the steering wheel and take control of the car. The driver’s door swung open, and Gamelia fell out of the car. She hit the gravel hard, her right shoulder first; she rolled once and stopped. For a split second, the limo appeared to be suspended in midair, as if time had stood still. And then it tilted …

  Down the sleek limousine dove over the cliff, crashing onto the rocks below, tumbling further, rolling and smashing against rocky ledges until it flattened on a massive boulder at the bottom of the ravine.

  Zaffeera’s last screams of terror echoed through the rocky precipice while Gamelia watched from the edge of the cliff in utter horror. Smoke from the car began to sizzle upward. “Allah, ya Allah, what have I done?!” Gamelia cried a
s pieces of rocks began to give way beneath her; down they went, down until they hit metal of the crashed car below, causing eerie-sounding echoes. Little by little, Gamelia crawled backward, unable to watch the grisly sight.

  Why did Zaffeera push me out of the car, Allah? I was supposed to dive into hell with her. Gamelia was trembling too hard to risk standing. Once again, Zaffeera’s dreadful last cry of terror rang back in Gamelia’s ears, and dissipated with the sound of her breathing and her pounding heart. She turned away from the crash and continued to crawl further inland, far from that dreadful cliff, as far as she could from that horrific scene—for how long, she would not remember—and soon found herself back on her feet. She looked at her hands; they were badly bruised and bloodied. Her chin was also scraped from the fall, and she felt a sharp pain on her right shoulder. But her long black dress had protected her body. The soft brown leather slippers Zaffeera always made her wear, because they were noiseless, were still on her feet, thanks to the tight elastic band.

  “Why did you spare me? A’alashan, Allah … Why, God?” Gamelia sobbed. Holding on to her bruised shoulder, she stumbled painfully ahead, walking as fast as her body would let her, far enough from the road that led to the crash site, and a good two miles toward the area of gated mansions in the posh community where Zaffeera lived. Beneath the shade of a huge lone mango tree, Gamelia took refuge, falling to the ground by its trunk, wanting to disappear in its shadow. She wrapped her arms around her knees and crunched her trembling body into a ball. When the pounding of her heart began to subside, Gamelia raised her head. Under the tree, she watched the mango leaves, like spears, and rotten mangoes on the ground, some with only their pointy seeds left, picked nearly clean by birds. Above her, she gazed at the little green mangoes starting their new life, hanging on long stems. Was it possible Allah wanted her to live? But for what purpose? She thought of her mother and her grandmother. A voice inside urged her to return to her village—where she was born—where she had promised herself never to return. She had not been there to help her mother tend to her ailing grandmother. She had shut the door to that past completely. But they were her loved ones. Shamefully, she had left them. She had been raped by the devil man who violated her young body. For the first time, she realized that other girls in her village could have suffered the same predicament. A sudden burst of energy came over her, and nearly running now, she understood in her heart that Allah had given her the chance to live so she could go back to help others, so she could protect …