Elsa decided not to press the issue any further at this time. His medical files were missing the crucial pages from commendation to commitment. Something happened that even the military did not want put on paper. She had read the last report, describing a mission deep in the desert to dislodge a Turkish bridge. Success. Then a year later there was a report detailing his military discharge and the plans to have him restrained and admitted to Saint Mary’s Bethlehem.
There, in those lost months, lay the real reason for his troubles. She wondered if there memory was there inside him, or if it had been erased from his mind.
This was not the time to probe further. He was obviously distressed now. She changed the subject to deflect his thoughts. “You still have not told me what is next.”
He gave her hand back and searched the moonlit horizon. “We have crossed the Euphrates. The British hold this land under Mandate. The French just the other side, though the lines are fluid right now. I suspect that is what Mr. Descartes is doing in this area. He has a Brunton theodolite in his baggage. He is drawing maps. The French want Deir El Zor, and after the last attack the British gave it to them. Yet the British have been buggering around here for some thirty years and currently have control of that city. They have yet to draw the map that the Allies agree on. Turkey is not giving up territory without argument, especially near Mosul. England will send troops and armored cars and planes. We do not want to be here when that happens.”
“When will that happen?”
“It depends on how close they are, of course.” He turned his shoulders to face the recumbent Marshall. “Archie knows.”
“Have you asked him?”
“He will not tell me, though he is nervous enough. I suspect they are closer than we think, and that they have anticipated the local reaction to our little envoy.” He was grim. “Marshall wanted me to take him to Aleppo after the attack at Deir El Zor. I cannot.”
“You can not, or you will not?”
He turned to look at her. “Does it matter in the long run?”
“Yes. It does.”
“We are foolish to think we can control this area like we do India or Africa. The climate itself is our enemy. The local tribes are not intimidated by guns or planes. They do not have the sense of individuality that westerners do. One man’s life or death is controlled by God’s will. Their religion is different. Ours threatens a hell to be avoided upon death, theirs, a complete trust. They are loyal to their religion and suspicious of foreigners. Bribes work only for as long as it takes to spend the money. There is no advantage to the Ruwallah in joining with Britain. They are glad to be free of the Turks and not overeager to be dominated by anyone.”
“Are you Ruwallah?”
“My father was.”
She thought about that. “Mehmet?”
“Became Turkified in Istanbul before the war. He was one of their officers stationed near Ankara. Then after the war returned to the Ruwallah. Mustafa Kemal is trying to get him to join him in the Nationalist Movement. Mehmet has to make a decision. I think he has.”
“Do the Ruwallah consider him a traitor?”
“No, they consider him very clever. He was able to secure concessions for them from Turkey before the defeat. He married the daughter of a Ruwallah sheikh and has given his eldest son to the sharif as hostage. He knows what he is doing.”
“And what is he doing?”
Sonnenby rubbed his face and scratched the beard on one cheek. “He is making it difficult for the British to move in. The war isn’t really over.”
“As his brother, they expect you to have influence. Do you?”
He laughed. “No. But they think I do. Mehmet finds it easy to rally his men against the foreigners. I find it difficult to convince him otherwise. It is more than a sense of honor. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I can understand honor,” Elsa said.
“No. There is a sense of justice and religious sanctity that does not exist in the west.”
“What? How can you say that? No honor in the west?” She puffed up.
“Like I said. It is hard to explain. Your English isn’t good enough and my German certainly is not. I could tell you in Arabic.” He started speaking in that language. He looked her in the eye as though she could understand. He even made hand gestures as he spoke. His voice was even and confident. The sounds were foreign to her, though the guttural consonants were familiar. The full stops and repeated vowels were not. The sounds were lilting and melodic, and Elsa wished she could understand what he was saying to her. He seemed very intense, as if explaining the situation in this language made sense, while telling her in English or French or German could not. He finished, and the sad smile on his lips was not for her, but for something else.
They sat in silence watching the sky lighten to the east. Marshall stirred and groaned. They both turned their heads and Sonnenby said, “I am glad you are here for his sake. He is not used to the bush and this…” he paused, and waved a hand at Marshall before touching his own throat, “event has sapped his strength. When I entered the tent and saw the Ruwallah in there bent over him, knife in his throat…” He stared at Marshall, remembering. “By God, that was close. Seconds, seconds.”
“He just needs rest, and to keep the wound clean,” she said confidently.
Sonnenby made a wry mouth. “No rest unless we want to be caught between two armies. We are moving back north across the sands because there is a good well far from the travelled routes toward the river, though it takes us closer to Deir El Zor as the crow flies. We cannot follow this little river. We will be in the wrong territory. The other tribes will take this route on their way to El Zor and we will be caught. We are no one’s ally.”
Elsa was alarmed. “Are we caught between two armies?”
“It is almost certain. Marshall cannot tell me exactly where the British mechanized forces are. Mehmet will come from the south with his tribesmen on camels and horses and carrying single-shot rifles from the turn of the century and whatever they have raided in the last year. Maybe more of those Enfields. They aren’t stupid, Elsa. They will seek out the newer weapons. I don’t doubt that some of them even know how to use the mounted guns.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if Mehmet has more of those hidden away. He would have to drag them with mules or have men push them in carts unless he has some of Kemal’s Turkish armored cars.”
“Gott im Himmel,” Elsa murmured.
“God hasn’t been in heaven for a long while,” Sonnenby said. “He left us all in August 1914.”
The next leg of their journey took them toward a rise in the desert. It was easier to see from horizon to horizon. It wasn’t the view that warned them, however, but the buzz of a distant engine. Descartes called for them to stop and circle the camels. Elsa could see two silver biplanes low on the western horizon flying over the river.
“Patrol,” Sonnenby said.
“British,” Descartes said. “We are flying the Nieuports which are red and blue.”
They watched. The two planes broke off from the river and began banking toward them. Elsa looked around for shelter, but their destination was still some kilometers away. They were in the center of a great bowl of sand. They had just taken a break in a wadi less than two hours ago. Too far to retreat.
“Time to take off your veil, cherie,” Descartes said. He was not laughing.
Elsa whipped it off and the wind took it to the sand where it blew up and around her camel’s knees. The animal calmly lifted its feet until it was clear. Elsa could not take her eyes from the planes which continued to make an easy circle to their west.
The plane in front began to turn in a graceful arc, and as its profile changed, so did the sound of the engine. The plane behind followed closely. Descartes flipped his burnouse down and back over his shoulders to expose his khakis while both Marshall and Sonnenby ran hands over their heads to remove the keffiyehs. The camels grumbled as the engine sounds became louder.
No one spoke, and
the only movement was the waving of their clothing in the wind and the camels’ feet as they fidgeted and swung their tails. The planes made a turn a half a kilometer from them and circled low. Elsa could see the pilots as round dark spots beneath the double wings. The forward plane wagged its wings and then the engine sounds became much louder as the plane climbed higher. She could not help but gasp.
Descartes’ camel edged sideways toward her and he said, “No, cherie, that wag of his wings means he is friendly. They will leave us.”
He was right. Sonnenby slid from his camel and retrieved her veil from the sand. He handed it up to her with a smile. “You are as good as a battalion,” he said. They will go back and report that they saw a blonde woman in a shining ball gown on a camel. I can imagine the entry in log book. On the other hand, they might not report it at all. Their comrades in arms might think they’ve gone barmy from the heat.”
Elsa did not answer as she wrapped her head and shoulders with the long cloth. She had had enough of aeroplanes.
Soon they were able to prod the camels to continue walking toward the dark outcropping of stone ahead of them. Elsa watched the planes retreat back toward the river and Deir El Zor.
Their destination was not a mountain. It was more like two big rocks the size of a bank building, split in two and fragmented into smaller pylons of stone. Two long wedges of rock created a sheltered sandy space between them that was always in shade. It looked as though it had been used as a campsite for millennia.
A wide deep well was dug and lined with stone close to the entrance to the sheltered area between the rocks. Elsa had forgotten she was in the company of a geologist. “Those are Mesozoic and tertiary rocks,” Descartes told her when they got closer. “The sand and wind have been working on this outcropping for eons. This is all that is left of a volcano, cherie, when dinosaurs roamed this land. Now only the fragments remain and the dinosaurs have become petroleum.” He smiled, then laughed and slapped his thigh.
“It is enough to shelter us.” Sonnenby said. He tapped his camel and the animal grunted and knelt in the sand beside one of the larger boulders. “And there is a good well here.”
Elsa tapped her camel to kneel and Descartes helped get Marshall down from his. She stood and stretched. There was a wall of dust to the east. She quickly looked at Sonnenby. He and Descartes were exchanging glances that suggested they had both seen it. She asked, “Is it a storm, or an army?”
“It is men and animals,” Descartes said. He raised his arm to point at it. “A storm has sharp vertical edges that curl in the distance and climb much higher. An army has a blurred vertical edge on the sides that blow into a wedge depending on the wind.”
“I see.”
“They know the well is here, too,” Sonnenby said. “We will fill up the bags and leave. No doubt this is where they plan to stay the night.” He turned to Elsa. “See what you can do for Marshall.”
She made her way to Marshall’s camel as Sonnenby and Descartes unpacked the empty water bags and headed toward the rift between the boulders where the well was. Marshall lay against his couched camel, eyes closed. He was sunburned and his face seemed sunken and pinched. The headdress was crooked on his head as the agal had slipped to the side. She straightened it and used the ends of the head cloth to wipe some of the dust from his eyes. “Mr. Marshall, let me get you some water.”
His cheek twitched, but he did not open his eyes. The heavy sigh that came from his chest sounded like defeat. She took his water bag from his camel’s saddle and poured a trickle into his mouth. He drank it gratefully, and after she squeezed the last of the water out he opened his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Schluss.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I wish you could be in hospital, Mr. Marshall. I’m sorry you must recuperate by flopping back and forth on a camel in this heat. This must be terrible for your neck.” She put her hand on the back of his neck where he was very hot. His neck was blue and purple and badly swollen. The narrow bandage across her stitching looked good, however. There was no more bleeding.
A shadow covered his face. Descartes bent over her with a full water skin and took the empty one from her hand. His face was serious. “They are coming fast. We will not be able to outrun them.” He meant that Marshall would not be able to gallop his camel. Elsa turned to see the approaching cloud. The dark shapes beneath the yellow dust were getting larger, and as she stared they began to emerge as distinctive objects instead of moving colors. “Sonnenby says you and Marshall need to get up higher onto these rocks.”
“You don’t know who they are?” Her voice sounded weak to her.
“We are in the hands of God now. If they are the enemy, they will find us and kill us. If they are Ruwallah we will feast tonight.”
He helped her get Marshall to his feet and guided them into a great cleft in the rock. “Basalt is slippery,” Descartes murmured as he handed Marshall up to a narrow ledge a few feet from the sand. “Put his leg here so he can brace his foot against that protuberance, there and not slip off.” They positioned the injured man, and while Elsa pulled, Descartes pushed and they got Marshall up another meter.
“That’s enough for now. I have to help with the camels.” He handed her the water skin he had draped over his shoulder and her briefcase. “See if you can’t get him higher.” He took off his fedora and slapped it several times against his thigh, raising great clouds of yellow dust. He slowly slid it back over his head and looked up at her. “I have been very pleased to know you, Nurse Schluss,” he said.
Elsa watched him disappear around the rocks, then turned her attention to Marshall. “Mr. Marshall. We have to try to get higher up and in that cleft there,” she pointed to a level area just above their heads. “It is recessed enough to be difficult to see from the ground.” He seemed to try, but his efforts to move were punctuated with longer rest periods. Elsa finally got him tucked away, put more water in him, then wedged the water bag between his body and the rock so it wouldn’t fall over the side. Her briefcase fit nicely wedged in a cleft.
The rocks arched over her and made it difficult to climb from her ledge, but if she moved a meter or so to the left she might be able to climb high enough to see. Not seeing the vast horizon was causing distress. She admitted the anxiety to herself. In just the short time she had been in Syria she had grown accustomed to vast horizons and a vaulted sky. Having the stones and boulders and harsh outcroppings of the remains of ancient mountains around her made her claustrophobic.
The blue damask did not hinder a short climb. The slit Descartes had put in the skirt made raising her knee easy, though it exposed both legs in a way that was not dignified. She set her lips together in a firm line and reached for a handhold, and then another.
The wind started to whip at her hair before she crested the rocks. It had been very quiet between the stones but now she could feel the wind and the heat of the sun. The top of the rocks was searing hot, unlike the cooler shaded shelter where Descartes had put her and Marshall. She lifted her head slowly, aware that she might be seen.
To the north, nothing. To the southwest, however, the approaching riders would be on them within minutes. She ducked back down quickly, thinking. She had not seen Descartes or Sonnenby, but then she could not have seen anything directly below her. The feeling of being trapped was nearly overwhelming. Elsa made her way back to Marshall and felt his forehead. She raised his shoulders and worked on dribbling water into his mouth and gently rubbing his throat on the uninjured side until he swallowed. This gave her something to do as her ears waited to hear the rumbling of the horses and camels as they came galloping.
She told herself there was no other plan of action. She could not outrun the oncoming horde, nor could she defeat them all with a briefcase and hypodermic. She must stay. She must hope. She must trust. “Gott im Himmel,” she hissed.
Marshall opened his eyes. “Is it that bad?” he asked.
“Nein, mein Herr.” She tried to smile at him, but was aware it probably jus
t looked like she was baring her teeth.
“It must be if you have forgotten your English,” he muttered. He extended a hand and she took it so he could sit up. The faint rumble of the approaching riders became loud now. Marshall swallowed painfully and squinted up towards the top of the rocks where she had recently been. “They are coming. Do we know yet if they are friend or foe?”
“No. We do not.”
Marshall scanned the tops of all the rocks. “Sonnenby?”
“He and Monsieur Descartes will greet the riders. It will be one tribe or another. A roll of the dice, Mr. Marshall, whether we live or die. I do not like to gamble.”
“Nor do I. I do not even play at cards.” He winced and put his hand over his ribs.
“Are you injured beyond the obvious?”
“Probably,” he said. “The Ruwallah was not gentle when he took me to the ground, and it feels like the camel dislodged all my insides.” He shifted his weight and leaned back against the rocks. They were both silent, listening. The rumble reached a crescendo, accompanied by the percussion of blasts from rifles that echoed among the stones and the deep bass of camel bellows and sharp squeals of horses. Then came the shouting of men. The cadence of hoof beats approaching caused Marshall and Elsa to press themselves together against the wall of rock behind them. Elsa saw a lone rider gallop between the stones just below their hiding place, and another crossed his path as scouts examined the rocky island in the sands. She strained her ears to hear Sonnenby’s voice.
Marshall turned his head to look at her as they heard him speaking. Then Descartes in his French-accented Arabic. They sounded calm. The voices that answered them were tired and gravelly, but not hostile. She relaxed. Marshall whispered, “We’d be dead now if these men were the enemy.”
They waited for a few more tense minutes before the top of a faded fedora appeared below them followed by two white keffiyahs and black agals. Descartes looked up at them and waved an arm in their direction. Sonnenby’s dark eyes met hers expressionlessly and the strange Bedouin lowered his as soon as he saw her. They spoke, but not to Marshall and Elsa. As they turned to walk away, Descartes looked up to give her a soundless warning.
Blue Damask Page 24
