Agent on a Mission

by Rose Fox

  Sharif never recalled anyone from his family ever bothering to look for him, but, when he was hungry or it got too cold for him to sleep on sidewalk benches, he would return to his home.

  His drifting brought him to South Tel Aviv, to the Florentine neighborhood. Here, he worked as a messenger for small change, which more than sufficed for food, drink and even visits to the cinema, where he sat watching movies for hours. He wasn’t picky and watched all the movies that were screened.

  This was how he passed the days of his life until he reached the restaurant of Yigal the Greek. Here, he discovered things beyond the subsistence level of making a living. At this restaurant, young Sharif acquired confidence and gained composure from Yigal, who showered him with affection.

  He would arrange the glasses of tea and coffee on the double-tiered tray, which be carried nimbly to his regular customers in the shops and commercial establishments located on the same street. He went down three steps to each store, where he collected meager tips for his work. He saved the pennies and Yigal, the restaurateur, provided his meals and other needs. Once a week, he bought him a ticket to the movies, embraced his slim shoulders and patted his back attentively and affectionately.

  Sharif slept in the back room of the restaurant and in return he was loyal to Yigal with all his heart and soul. The customers smiled and talked among themselves, saying that Sharif was like a devoted and faithful dog that loves its master and is very attached to him.

  A week after their conversation Justice Ayalon came to the restaurant. As usual, Yigal stood behind the counter beside the black till. When he saw Adam he pointed his finger to the wall behind him with the order window. Adam nodded and entered the corridor. He saw a pile of dishes on the shelf that needed to be washed and he passed close to the counter, walking carefully on the dirty wet floor that was littered with vegetable crates. Some of the vegetables were rotting and smelled bad and Adam screwed up his nose. To his left, he found the room and Sharif.

  Sharif was sitting at a small desk, his back to the entrance, when Adam said:

  “Hello Sharif, am I disturbing you?”

  “No Sir, not at all,” Sharif hurried to reply and swiveled round in his chair to face him.

  “Did Yigal speak to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I came here today to offer you a job. It’s only for responsible men and it is top secret.”

  “Yes, I understand, but I work for Yigal,” Sharif answered at once.

  “I know, I know, but come on, boy, aren’t you interested in getting ahead? Perhaps, even change your life?” he said and added, “And you can also ask me for whatever you want.”

  “Yeah, sure, and I’ll really get whatever I want,” he laughed cynically, but immediately became serious and added after some hesitation: “There are things I dream of and want and also think about a lot, but I understand that I can never have them.”

  Adam scrutinized him. The tall, slim young boy with childish and beautiful features aroused his paternal feelings and he felt himself being moved by a desire to protect him.

  “What, for example? Spit it out!”

  Sharif stared at Adam out of the corner of his eye and suddenly looked at him soberly.

  “I don’t see it, why would you want to make my dreams come true?”

  “Because I think that if I do fulfill your dreams, in return, you will help me with some things that matter very much to me. What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

  Sharif thought for minute, then said hesitantly,

  “Okay! I’ll tell you that I want to be like all the Israelis, with a blue ID card and I want to serve in the army.”

  Adam stared at the youth in amazement. He hadn’t expected this. He thought for a few seconds before responding:

  “You know what, when you turn eighteen, I will personally take care of getting you a blue ID card, but as regards to the army…” he paused, stared at the boy, then scratched his cheek absent-mindedly:

  “I don’t think I can do that. Wait, I’ve got an idea of how we might be able to do that. Let’s see.”

  “Really!?”

  “What did I say earlier? We have a deal.”

  They shook hands and Adam embraced him warmly. When Adam got up to leave Sharif said,

  “Wait, you forgot to tell me what I have to do for you.”

  “You will do special things that we’re not going to talk about today,” he replied and after a few seconds, added, “and I will also pay you well.”

  He stopped and scrutinized the boy with a serious expression.

  “What?!” Sharif asked.

  “To be honest, I’m a little worried about your ability to remain silent. Are you good at keeping secrets?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “Even from Yigal?”

  “Yes, even from Yigal. I’ve got it, this is just between us,” he smiled at Adam like a partner in a secret.

  When Adam left the room, he knew he had found the person he had been looking for.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Several years passed by in a flash. The order for little Naima had been forgotten and pushed aside and life in the desert followed its course.

  Time treated Naim well and his businesses flourished. His herds of camels and sheep increased and multiplied with new litters and his children grew up and were involved in a new initiative. They specialized in organizing camel races. News of them spread quickly to all the tents of the Negev and its surroundings. Naim was especially proud of his eldest son, Walid, who was eighteen years old.

  So the telephone call that arrived after such a long time surprised him. When he answered the phone and recognized Omar’s voice, he knew it spelled out problems on the way.

  “Greetings to you ya’Naim, it’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, I know,” Naim admitted.

  “I have only one question to ask you, Naim. Why am I receiving reports and also hearing rumors about a beautiful, healthy and the clever Bedouin girl, who enjoys excellent health?”

  While Naim was thinking how to respond, Omar continued speaking, not allowing him to interrupt.

  “If you were mistaken and only thought she wasn’t good or only looked bad, I agree to receive her as she is. You know we will manage because, for us, she will be good whatever her appearance is like and I promise we won’t make trouble.”

  Naim realized that Omar was giving him an opening to retract just so long as he would acquire the special merchandise he wanted so much, little Naima.

  “I will check it out, ya’Omar. The truth is I haven’t seen her for a long time, a very long time.”

  “Good, you’re thinking in the right direction and that is very important. It is also important that someone else doesn’t catch her before we do.”

  “Never! No one will do that. I know and I’m also certain.”

  “Will her father promise her to someone else, perhaps?” He laughed and Naim imagined his fat belly quivering in all directions as sweat sprayed out around him.

  For several years, since returning from his meeting with Omar in Saudi Arabia, Naim had been struggling with himself and his thoughts. He had lain awake for whole nights pondering how to ensure that Naima remained with her family and, at the same time, save her. Now, he realized that his period of grace was over and it was time for action.

  He set out on his way to the Ka’abiah tribe, to the tents of Sultan and Leila. This time, he travelled in his green truck and drew up to the encampment in a cloud of white dust that spiraled above him. On his way, he calculated that almost six years had passed from the day Naima was born and Rama, his wife, died. During those years, he had visited the encampment of the tribe and taken part in camel races with its members, but he hadn’t laid eyes on the girl.

  When he reached his destination, four little girls from the neighboring tribe played close to the closed side of their mother’s tent. They were all very beautiful with very black hair and large dark eyes and skin, tanned by the
desert sun. They were barefoot and resembled one another. He searched for Naima, but he knew that she wasn’t here with them.

  The two older sons were herding sheep behind the yellow dunes and weren’t to be seen at all. It was almost noon and the sides of the tents were raised to permit the passage of air. Three camels grazed on the sparse grass, snorting and slowly chewing at the dry bushes around them and he was greeted by the smell of fire and wood.

  Leila peeped out at him. She was pregnant with her seventh child. Her two firstborn sons had been followed by the girls and she hoped that this one would be another male. He saw Naima behind her. Her long braided blonde hair was striking and Naim was mesmerized when she gazed at him with her large eyes. Indeed, they were a pale honey shade, but had lines like green tendrils around the iris. Two deep dimples marked her tanned cheeks. He acknowledged them and turned to the men’s tent.

  He stood for a second at the entrance, nodded his head in greeting and took his place on the mat, between the men, who sat there.

  After the customary drawn out small talk, the discussion for which he had come began. Naim cleared his throat and when they all grew silent, he began:

  “I came here today to speak especially to you, the father of this tribe.”

  Sultan was silent and turned his ear towards him.

  “Naima is important to me because she is the soul of my late wife, Rama.” Sultan nodded and Naim continued to speak.

  “I, her uncle, have come to request permission to uphold the vow I made. I want that girl to grow up and be special and I ask to play a role in her life.”

  He looked at Sultan, but the latter remained silent and did not look back. He signaled his son, Adel, and the boy went out of the tent to arrange coffee for the guests.

  Since Sultan was still silent, Naim continued and said:

  “Of course, I will pay for her education down to the very last penny.”

  In the presence of the guests an agreement was sealed with a handshake and a word of commitment was exchanged between Naim and Sultan. When all were agreed between them, he promised.

  “Tomorrow I will go and find the best school to enroll her in.”

  “And, what are your plans for her when she grows up, ya’Naim?” Sultan asked.Naim paused to think for a moment and said:

  “I think I will prepare her for my son, Walid. He is away at boarding school now and is almost eighteen years old.”

  When he saw Sultan’s expression, he hurried to add, “No, I can’t promise that Naima will be Walid’s first wife, but I will try and interest my son in the girl and arrange their marriage.”

  Leila’s voice was heard outside calling Naima and when the girl came running to her, the strong aroma of fresh coffee rose in the air. The girl panted and looked at her mother quizzically.

  She was not a frivolous girl, and her laughter was only rarely heard. Her mother had no idea where she got her serious nature from. When Naima reached her, Leila instructed her.

  “Take the tray of coffee to your father. They are waiting especially for you in the men’s tent today.”

  Naima held the tray in her two small hands and walked barefoot across the hot sand. She wondered why the men were waiting in her honor.

  Although Naima was still a little girl, she already knew how to serve coffee to the men. She stepped up to the entrance to the tent and waited. As she had seen her mother do, she crouched nobly on the carpet and placed the tray beside her father. The men smiled and her father loosened her braids affectionately.

  The tall man, who sat beside her father stared and smiled at her. Naima recoiled in fear. Suddenly, she rose up on her small feet and began receding with a shy curtsey, just as she had been taught to do. Her father’s voice made her stop on the spot. He called her and said,

  “Come Naima, come here, child.”

  She stood shyly, amazed.

  “Come here, my girl,” her father deferred to the man, who was staring at her. His face still smiling, Naim spoke to her:

  “A’halan, Hello child” and stretched his hand out for the cup of coffee that was being poured.

  Naima glanced at her father in complete amazement. She knew it was forbidden to speak to strangers, especially not to her father’s male friends and she didn’t understand what had changed. Clearly, the man was waiting for her response.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered in a tearful voice, then turned on her heel and quickly ran out of the tent. Behind her, she heard her father’s laughter and she fled as fast as her legs would carry her. She looked for her mother to take refuge in the folds of her robe and forget what had transpired a moment earlier in her father’s tent.

  Five nights later, Naim returned, driving his green truck. Sultan went out to greet him with cries of joy and a waving of hands. This time, too, they called Naima to come to the men’s tent with her heart beating very fast. She sat down, as she was bidden, close to her father.

  “Naima, ya’Binti, my daughter,” her father announced in a voice that sounded different from the way he usually spoke. “This is Naim. He is your uncle and from today he will be your new father.”

  Naima frowned. She didn’t understand what he was saying and stared at him.

  “From now on, Naim will take care of you as if you were his daughter, and you, my child, will listen to him and obey his every wish as if it was sacred to you. Do you understand, child?”

  As she remained silent, he asked her again:

  “Do you understand, child?”

  She nodded to show she understood, but, in fact, she did not understand what he had just told her, at all. Her father seemed satisfied by her quiet response, which he interpreted as acquiescence, and continued speaking to her in a gentler voice, “Naim has high regard for you and his thoughts come from his soul. He is planning your education and a different and better life for you. When you grow up, that will make you a suitable wife for his son, Walid. You will be educated and bring honor to your family and your new husband, Insh’allah, with Allah’s help.”

  Tears welled up in her beautiful eyes but she restrained herself and did everything possible not to cry. She saw the men raising their cups of coffee and cheering and she stole a glance at the man sitting beside her father.

  At that moment she thought to herself that she really did not want to be his daughter or anyone else’s daughter. All she wanted was to run to her mother, to the one person who gave her confidence, and cling to her robes and to her swollen belly. She wanted to remain there and await the birth of the new baby.

  Her lips trembled as if she was on the brink of tears and she lowered her gaze to the ground. An obstinate tear escaped and rolled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve.

  Naim stood up and turned to leave as he mumbled a few words and Naima noticed that her father was talking to her.

  “Naima, go to your mother now, she is preparing a bag with your clothes. Go, ya’Binti, my daughter.”

  Naima raced towards her mother’s tent, but stopped in her tracks after a few steps. The man from the tent stood near her mother’s tent, talking to her quietly and calmly. She couldn’t understand what was happening. It was painful for her to see her mother talking to the man she had been told would now be like a father to her. Naima understood that if her mother was talking to him that was a sign that she had agreed to the arrangement. That was very hard to accept.

  The child dug her bare feet deep into the warm sand and embraced her body with her little arms as she rocked back and forth, wailing softly.

  “Umi, My Mother.”

  She couldn’t grasp that no one was perturbed and that everything just carried on as usual. What was happening to her did not seem right and she was unable to absorb the fact that her parents were sending her away with that man. Now, her tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she didn’t even try to wipe them away. She fell on the warm ground and beat it with her small fists, but no one noticed her and no one heard her. She thought that if she cried hard enough, the si
tuation might change, but, when she looked at the two of them and saw that they were still talking, she realized that nothing would change.

  Her little heart pounded.

  An hour later, her mother kissed her lovingly but, at the same time forced open her small fist that desperately held on to her robe. On one hand, she stroked her and hugged her little body and, on the other hand, she picked her up and put her in the man’s car. Naima was confused and miserable.

  On the way, in Naim’s green van, Naima didn’t speak, nor did she hear a word he said to her. She cried quietly because she understood that she had been dispossessed by her Bedouin family and was being taken away to an unknown place. The question that constantly kept going through her mind was why they were giving her up. She knew her mother loved her very much and she could not come to terms with the contradiction.

  The truck bumped along the road and her sobbing stopped. The monotonous motion of the vehicle and her crying put her to sleep and when they stopped in front of an avenue of trees, she woke up. Naim walked around the car, opened the door beside her and looked at her.

  He picked up Naima and laid her gently on the sidewalk. The electric gate in front of them opened with a high-pitched hum onto a large yard. They pushed open a wooden door in the front of the building and walked down a long corridor paved with large marble tiles.

  There were photographs hanging along the walls from which the faces of girls peered out over small signs. Naima could still not read, but she realized that these were students and that this was a school.

  It was clear that they were expected. In one of the rooms, an older white-haired woman with an interested expression in her blue eyes received them. Her demeanor was cheerful and she created a pleasant atmosphere.

  She was Arlene, the Principal, and she spoke with a marked French accent.

  “I have been the Principal of this boarding school for many years. I gave it the best name possible: I called it ‘The Home’,” she said. “I’m happy to provide a home for all the girls who grow up here. My girls lack warmth and love in their homes and I give them the safe place they don’t have and add education and love."