“She’s my … um … cousin,” he stammered, stepping in front of me to block their view. I looked away quickly, relieved on several levels when he finally found his key and opened the door.
Unfortunately, what I saw inside wasn’t much better. I was shocked. I hadn’t thought of Nasir as being this poor.
I knew the second I walked through the door that there was no air conditioning because the place was very hot and very humid. The floor was covered in peeling grey linoleum, the small countertop was completely worn down, and although the walls were clean, they were chipped and scratched and in desperate need of a new coat of paint. I saw a couple of doors leading off to what I assumed were the bedrooms, but the kitchen, the living room, and the dining area were basically just one large space. It was hard to believe that six people lived here together!
Nasir didn’t offer me a tour and I understood why. There wasn’t much to see. Aside from a few scattered pieces of furniture and some floor pillows, the only personal items I could spot were a small collection of pictures hanging on an otherwise bare wall. I walked over to take a closer look, eager to learn as much as I could about his family.
There were four photos hanging in a crooked line, each one mounted in a matching gold-painted frame. The first was a wedding portrait taken in black and white. The bride and groom were standing outside in what appeared to be a rose garden. They looked very serious and traditional — so much so that I couldn’t tell if they were his parents or grandparents, or maybe even great-grandparents.
The second photo in the line was a baby picture of a little boy. He was propped up on a fleece blanket and dressed in a navy blue sleeper. From one look at the baby’s brown eyes and beautiful long lashes I knew right away it was Nasir.
“Aw, you were so cute!” I gushed, pointing to the picture.
“Yes,” he whispered, pulling at my hand. Obviously, looking at pictures wasn’t his top priority, but I wasn’t finished yet.
My eyes flicked down the line to the third, slightly faded photo. In it, a young boy was holding up a soccer ball and staring out at me with bright, brown eyes.
“Another one of you?” I asked, turning to Nasir.
He shook his head. “No, that’s my father’s little brother, Anwar. He died during the first intifada, not long after this picture was taken.”
I gasped softly and turned back to the photo. This little boy who looked so much like Nasir was dead? Oh my God! I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled stupidly, wishing I could come up with something better. I’d heard those same words so many times after Mom died and I knew from experience how useless they were. Not knowing what else to do, I looked away quickly to the last picture on the wall. It was a family portrait, which I guessed from the lighting and backdrop had probably been taken professionally. I stepped closer to get a better look, and was instantly struck by how beautiful Nasir’s mother was. Seated in a chair surrounded by her children, her posture was straight and her head was tilted slightly upward, which made her seem almost regal. She wore a white scarf over her hair, accentuating her smooth olive skin and the delicate features of her face. And her eyes — they shot out from the photo like two black bullets, piercing my own. Something about her gaze made me feel guilty, as if she were accusing me of something. I shifted my eyes to Nasir’s three little sisters. They were all very pretty and much younger than I’d imagined them to be. I made a mental note to adjust their ages accordingly in my wedding fantasy. My eyes travelled further up in the photo.
“This is your dad?” I asked, pointing to the tall man standing in the background.
Nasir mumbled something that sounded like a “yes” and tugged again at my hand.
Pushing him away, I leaned forward for a better look.
Mr. Hadad seemed younger than I expected him to be. He had dark brown hair with a few grey threads mixed in and the same café-au-lait eyes as Nasir. I leaned forward and took a closer look, searching for more resemblance to his son. But by this point, my boyfriend had begun to run out of patience.
“Okay, enough with the pictures,” he said, taking my hand and dragging me away from the wall. “We came here to be alone.”
I knew I couldn’t stall anymore. I let him lead me over to a lumpy couch covered in a raggedy blanket. Within seconds of sitting down, his arms were around my back and he was pulling me into a kiss. His mouth was so soft and the moment was so easy and wonderfully private that it made me forget all about the tattered children and the stinky stairway.
“I love you, Muck-and-zee,” he whispered into my mouth mid-kiss. I gasped in surprise. As much as I had dreamt about those words, Nasir had never said them aloud before. I considered saying them back when, suddenly, the sound of a key in the lock interrupted the moment. We broke apart just as the door opened and two men walked in.
“Baba!” said Nasir, springing up from the couch. “What are you doing here?”
Baba? Oh my God! His father!
My first instinct was to run and hide, but the apartment was so small there was nowhere to go. My second instinct, believe it or not, was to jump out the window. But I only considered that for a split second before I realized that we were too high up and I didn’t want to end up like Marla’s cat. So instead, I stared down at my feet and let my hair fall over my face like a veil. My hands were trembling; I was terrified to see what his reaction would be. From everything Nasir had told me, I knew it wouldn’t be pretty.
I listened as Nasir stumbled his way through a shoddy explanation.
“Um, this is my, um, friend. We, uh, ran into each other in the souk and came up to get a drink.”
I wished with all my might that I could just disappear as I steeled myself for the inevitable explosion. But to my surprise, instead of being angry, his father was apologetic.
“Oh, sorry I interrupted you, Nasir. I … I had some business to take care of so I left your mother and sisters and came back early. But I see that you’re busy. I’ll leave you and your friend alone. Please remember your manners and offer her something to eat.”
What the hell?
What happened to his traditional parents? The ones that would never approve of him dating a girl before marriage — let alone a non-Muslim girl?
I looked up in shock and saw both men staring right at me. I recognized Mr. Hadad instantly from the portrait on the wall. And although I had no idea who the other man was, I was struck with how familiar he seemed. He appeared to be studying my face, but looked away the instant our eyes met. I watched with curiosity as he turned towards the window, leaned his head close to Mr. Hadad’s, and whispered something in his ear. Although the words were in Arabic, his voice was just loud enough for me to make out an odd accent. And then, in a flash of panic, I suddenly knew why he was so familiar.
Are you doing some sightseeing? Maybe I can offer you some directions.
Holy crap! That accent, that raspy voice, those empty eyes — it was the man from the souk who had sold me the bowl. One of those black-market dealers Dad said were plaguing the Middle East! My knees suddenly felt weak. I sunk down onto the couch.
Oh, Nasir! Your father’s hanging out with a criminal! I wanted to shout. But I held back, scared of saying something in front of this man. Scared of what he would do if he got angry.
What do I do now? I wondered. Should I call the police … or the Antiquities Authority … or maybe my father? I thought about the cellphone tucked away in my backpack — the one Dad had given to me for my birthday. Did this qualify as an emergency?
My head was swimming with questions. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to get out of there. Pulling myself up to my feet, I stood for a second, checking to be sure my wobbly knees would support me.
Nasir obviously sensed something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his beautiful forehead crumpling with concern.
I forced a smile and tried to keep my voice from shaking.
“Um, yeah,” I lied
, “but I really have to go. Thanks for the, um, drink.”
Scooping up my backpack, I blurted out a quick “goodbye” and headed back out towards the winding streets of the souk.
Chapter 26
Baba was at Nasir’s side the instant the door closed behind Mackenzie.
“That was the archaeologist’s daughter, wasn’t it?” he gasped, his face shining with excitement. “Did you find out anything?”
For a split second, Nasir was speechless. He had expected his father to be furious at him for bringing a girl home. But then he remembered their conversation in the park.
“Oh, yes, of course it was her. Who else would it be?” he replied, trying his best to sound innocent. He glanced suspiciously over at the man Baba had brought to their apartment. Maybe it was his shifty eyes, or maybe it was the fact that he seemed far too interested in their conversation, but something about this guy made him nervous.
And he liked him even less when he walked towards Baba, snapped his fingers in his face, and asked, “Yusuf, did you just say that girl was an archaeologist’s daughter?”
The sound of his voice made the little hairs on the back of Nasir’s neck shoot up. Although the man spoke quietly, his words were edged with anger — a fact that Baba, however, didn’t appear to pick up on right away.
“That’s right,” he replied, clapping his hands proudly on his son’s shoulders. “Nasir met a girl whose father is on staff at The Hebrew University. He’s been trying to befriend her in order to help us gain inside information.”
Help “us”? Nasir wondered. Who exactly was “us”? Was I supposed to know this man? None of this made any sense. He couldn’t understand why, after all these weeks of secrecy, his father would be speaking so openly about their “job” in front of a stranger. Bewildered, he examined the man’s features, trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing here. He knew from the accent and the way he was dressed that the man was a foreigner. Maybe Spanish or Italian, maybe Turkish — he couldn’t tell exactly. But although nothing rang a bell, one thing about his face was obvious: he wasn’t happy with Baba’s reply.
“An archaeologist’s daughter?” he repeated, his voice rising with anger. “Yusuf, you idiot! She saw me — she knows who I am!”
Nasir was in shock. He’d never heard anybody yell at his father before. He wanted to stand up and defend him but he held back, worried it might make things worse. But that happened anyway. With an array of angry foreign words spouting from his mouth, the man turned towards the wall and slammed his open hand against the plaster surface.
Startled, Nasir jumped back — bumping into Baba, who was standing behind him. He felt his father’s hands, still on his shoulders, clench with surprise. Perhaps he should have been happy that this man had hit the wall and not them. But all Nasir could think was, What will Mama say when she comes home to find that huge, sweaty, smudgy palm print on our wall?
He turned to meet his father’s face and communicate a silent question through his eyes: Who is this guy and why is he yelling at you? But now it was Baba’s turn to look confused.
“What are you talking about, Lino?” he asked the stranger. “How could that girl know who you are?”
“Listen to what I’m saying,” the man named Lino ordered, speaking slowly and loudly as if Baba were a naughty child. “I sold her a bowl, an artefact. It was a couple of months ago in the souk — I didn’t know who she was at the time. I thought she was just a harmless tourist, not an archaeologist’s daughter. Do you see what this means?”
Baba shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. No, I don’t.”
Lino growled and cursed again — Nasir could tell he was running out of patience. “It means that she’ll tell her father and turn us all in. This is too big an operation to come down because of one girl! If she goes to the authorities and tells them what we’ve done, everything will be lost. All of my men will go to jail — including you and me … and your son.”
And suddenly, Nasir understood what was going on. This man was Baba’s dealer — the one who’d sold their figurine to the rich American. He watched as his father tried to calm Lino down, using the same soothing tone Nasir had heard him use on Baby Rana when she was in the middle of a temper tantrum.
“Don’t worry about this — you’re just being paranoid. The girl came and left so quickly. She couldn’t possibly have recognized you.”
“Sorry, that’s not a chance I’m willing to take!” Lino replied. And then in a flash he came at Nasir. His hand flew out and grabbed the boy’s wrist.
“Do you know which way she went?” he hissed.
“I … I don’t know,” Nasir stammered through the pain. “Why?”
“Simple: we must find her and silence her.”
“What? No! You can’t hurt her,” he gasped, the words sticking in his throat.
“Hurt her? Is that what you’re worried about?” Lino laughed, although his eyes remained deadly serious. “Stupid boy! Of course I won’t hurt her. I’m just going to talk to her and make sure she won’t tell anyone about our secret. Now, tell me where she went.”
Nasir didn’t know what to do. How could he trust this man not to hurt Mackenzie? Panicked, his eyes darted over to Baba, who looked just as frightened as him.
“Please Nasir …,” he begged softly. “If there’s a chance she recognized Lino, we have to make sure she won’t talk to her father. Who’ll support our family if I go to prison? We can’t get caught.”
Nasir looked back at Lino, who was squeezing his wrist so hard it felt like it might snap. The pressure was almost unbearable. What am I going to do? he wondered. How can I protect Mackenzie and save Baba from jail at the same time? He closed his eyes, desperately searching his brain for an answer. But that just made Lino tighten his grip even more.
“For the last time, tell me where the girl went!” he demanded.
Nasir’s eyes flew back open. “Okay, okay,” he said, trying to yank his arm away. “I think she’s probably heading towards Bab Sitti Miriam — the Lion’s Gate. But if you’re going after her, I want to come with you.”
“No, you’ll stay here,” Lino replied, releasing his grasp and pushing Nasir backwards onto the couch. He landed in a heap on top of Mama’s crocheted blanket. Before the boy had the chance to catch his breath, Lino took two steps towards him and pulled a knife out from behind his back.
“Now give me her name,” he said, pointing it at Nasir’s face
“No, I want to come …”
“Her name!”
“Please, let me talk to her. I know she won’t tell anyone …”
Lino pushed the knife closer. “I need her name!” he roared. “Or, I swear, I’ll cut you and your father into pieces.”
Nasir heard Baba gasp from across the room. And then his voice began to plead: “I beg you, my son. Do what he says …”
Nasir took a deep breath and let it out slowly, all the while rubbing the spot on his wrist where, in less than an hour, a large black bruise would begin to appear. He pictured Mackenzie’s beautiful face, her white skin, her shy smile. He couldn’t let this man hurt her.
“It’s M … M … Mary,” he lied, hoping that might somehow keep Lino from finding her. Or, at the very least, buy her time to get home safely.
“Mary,” Lino repeated, tucking his knife back into his belt and striding across the room. “Come, Yusuf. If we hurry, we can catch her. She couldn’t have gone very far.”
Baba followed Lino towards the door like an obedient puppy. On his way out of the apartment, he turned to his son and whispered, “We’ll be back in a few minutes. Promise me you’ll stay here — we’ll need you to help sort everything out when we return with the girl.”
The door closed behind them with a loud slam. Nasir stared at the grain of the unpainted wood while his mind raced with questions. What am I going to do? What if Lino tries to hurt Mackenzie? Or hurt Baba? How am I going to stop him? Should I call the police? No, I can’t — they’ll arrest us.
Baba can’t go to jail! I have to think of another way.
Overwhelmed with panic, he leaned forward and lowered his head into his hands. His fingers clutched and pulled desperately at his hair.
Should I follow them into the market? I could try to run ahead and warn her. But what if Lino sees me? What if that makes him angrier? Then he’ll hurt Mackenzie and Baba. I need to think of something else. If they do find her and bring her back, I need a plan.
His pulse was banging in his ears. He shut his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts over the noise. As far as he could figure, there was only one way out of this mess. He rolled off the couch, sunk to his knees, and, for the first time in years, began to pray. Really pray.
Praise Allah … Give me the strength to do this … Give me the strength to save Baba and keep Mackenzie safe … Praise Allah … Oh please, give me strength …
Chapter 27
I came out of the small side street and looked both ways into the market. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember which way I had come from. Did we pass that fruit stand on our way here, or was it the clothing store?
Standing slightly back from the river of people passing by, I looked right and then left, hoping something — anything — would jog my memory. But in the end I couldn’t be sure; nothing looked familiar.
Hoping it was the right choice, I turned left and took my chances. I figured they were fifty-fifty that I would make it home without getting lost. I also figured this wasn’t the safest place to be on my own, but to tell you the truth I was too upset to care. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. My mind was still racing with questions.
Mackenzie, Lost and Found Page 11
