by Rose Fox
Naim decided to carry on with his game to the end.
“Shimon, I want to tell you something.” Naim said in a conciliatory tone, “I don’t know who this Ashraf is, I’m not acquainted with him and I don’t want to spoil the assignment you have been given. I’m interested in knowing why you approached me, of all people? And if this Ashraf mentioned me, I’m surprised he didn’t speak to me directly.”
“Well, perhaps it’s because you conceal things from him.”
“Really? This man, this Ashraf, where does he live?"
“Naim, don’t play smart with me. You’re also Bedouin and it’s a known fact you are connected to her.”
“Known? Who knows? How am I connected to this Bedouin woman from twenty years ago?”
“Let’s say that’s not what I have come to ask you and it really does not interest me. Ashraf wants to know where the Bedouin woman has been all these years. Believe me, with his connections and power, he checked out everywhere, inquired and even searched the population register.”
Naim was extremely gratified with what he was hearing now and suggested, “Listen, I will tell you where else you can look for her. Perhaps she is in prison? Maybe she left the country. She may even be dead.”
“I understand, you’re being obstinate and you’re not interested in helping to solve the mystery. Do you know what mystifies me? What puzzles me is what a man could want with a Bedouin woman from twenty years ago.”
Shimon shrugged.
“I also tried to ask and didn’t get an answer.”
“Come; let’s fix a meeting after you find out what he wants her for now, after so many years.”
They shook hands and Naim offered to drive him wherever he wanted to go. But, Shimon merely nodded, opened the door and disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
When Naim returned to his tents, he felt that he had closed a chapter in his life. He had plenty of time, time to think and time to decide.
Naim was now fifty-eight years old. When he began his travels in the desert, he was twenty-three. Back then, he would travel long distances with his camels and treated every transaction as a wonderful adventure. It was so romantic. Cloaked in the aura of a hero, he had felt like a man among men. The passing years had cracked the shell of this aura and the dangers involved crept into his thoughts. Now self-admonishment and recrimination began to erode him.
Naim was driving his old truck, the same truck he arrived in on the occasion of Naima’s birth and in which he had taken her to ‘The Home’ boarding school as a young child, where he changed her identity and hid her from the world. Lately he had been entertaining doubts and questioned the wisdom of what he had done.
His eyes sought out the road ahead, but he didn’t really see it. Evil thoughts crept into his mind and he wondered momentarily what would happen if he were to disappear behind a dune in the desert, he loved, and simply wait there to die, but this was not his way. Suddenly he remembered he could find solace at the tents of his beloved protégée. He shrugged his shoulders and continued driving to the tribe’s encampment.
A taxi was parked a short distance from the tribe’s tents and Naim was surprised. He continued driving slowly and drew up close by. He remained seated in his truck wondering whether to turn round and leave, understanding that they had guests and it wasn’t the appropriate time for heart to heart conversations.
A year had passed since Sultan’s death. Leila was a proud widow, lovingly raising her granddaughter and finding solace in her four daughters and three sons.
Suddenly he noticed Liraz, Leila’s daughter. She was peering out from the entrance to the tent and waved to him. She smiled at him affectionately and he got out of his truck and walked over to her in the tent, feeling almost like the father of the family. Even before he entered the tent, he noticed Yosef, the taxi driver, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Yosef rose, putting out his hand to greet him.
“Ahalan, Hello ya’ Naim, how are you?”
Naim shook his hand and responded:
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Of course not. I am the guest and you are the head of the family.”
“Since when?”
“You always have been. Listen, I often remember our trip from the airport, do you recall?”
“Do I? Of course I do. We stopped at 'Yotvata' to take a break and have something to drink.”
“And do you also recall that Mazda that tailed us?”
“How could I forget? I also remember how well you shook it off.”
“And when we arrived here, you introduced me to your sister-in-law. Do you remember that, too? Anyway, I could not forget her, she stuck in my memory, and I decided to contact her. She’s a wonderful woman.”
Naim was silent and remained standing.
“She’ll be right back, I think,” said Yosef. “Why do you insist on standing? If you stand, then I will, too.”
Naim pondered for a moment. He signaled Yosef to wait and went out of the tent. He stood outside, looked around and went to Leila’s tent.
Leila didn’t notice him. She was busy preparing food and drink. Two daughters baked bread on a smoking taboun and another came out of the tall building beside them, where she had prepared a meal that was arranged on a platter.
Naim noticed the cheese platter, the yellow block of cream, the transparent water jug and the colorful chopped salad in the earthenware bowl. The aroma of the olive oil aroused his appetite. It had been hours since he had last eaten.
“A’halan, (Hello), Naim.” The young girl rejoiced, “you’re just in time. I see we have the honor of your company for a meal. Come, Ya’Habibi, (My beloved),” she said. “Does mother know you’re here?”
Naim smiled at her and then noticed Leila looking at him. With two strides Naim was beside her and, unable to restrain himself, he embraced her and kissed her on both cheeks. She blushed and retreated in embarrassment. Naim looked into her eyes as he spoke.
“I saw Yosef and I spoke to him. I’ll come another time. I guess I should have let you know and not come as a surprise."
He turned to go, but Leila put out her hand to stop him.
“No, Habibi, (My beloved), if you go you will offend him. It’s true, I didn’t know you would come but once you’re here, I want you to know that a guest like you, who is a second father to my daughter, is always a member of our family.” She drew in her breath and continued.
“You, Naim, Habibi, are one of us. Please come into the tent and honor us with your presence.”
Naim remained standing on the spot, his face still questioning.
“No, you’re not interrupting anything. You should know that this is already the fifth time Yosef is visiting our tribe. I would like to hear your opinion today as to whether I should allow fate to knock at my door,” she said.
Leila was a clever woman. Naim appreciated her for her response because she let him understand that a suitor was calling on her. Now, she made him realize that she saw it as an opportunity knocking at her door to change her fate and, most important of all, she let Naim know that his opinion would not determine that fate, though she sought his participation in the new relationship that was being arranged.
He understood that he had missed his chance; he could have sat there instead of Yosef, the suitor, and knew that, once again, he had misread his luck and felt a twinge in his heart.
* * *
Naim wanted to retire, but didn’t know how to go about it. He wondered how he would tell the traffickers that he was no longer interested in trading in women and he was scared to try.
A few days after his meeting with Shimon, he received a phone call from Ashraf. Naim responded with a brief hello, which he hoped reflected his mood. Clearly there would be a confrontation, but he couldn’t have imagined how difficult it would be.
“Ahalan Ya Sidi, Kif Halak? (Hello Sir, how are you)?” The pleasantness in the voice was forced with honeyed sweetness.
“Kulu Mlikh, (Everything i
s fine).”
“When will we be receiving fresh supplies?" he asked, and immediately added: "I must tell you that you do a wonderful job. The last consignment was refreshing and many of us renewed our youth and were healed.”
His humor did not amuse Naim, nor was he flattered by his compliments. He took a deep breath and said: “From now on the supplies will stop because I am not up to it anymore. It’s over.”
“Over? What’s happened, have you grown old suddenly? More than anyone else, you know that in this business, supply never stops, nor does demand,” was Ashraf’s answer.
“Correct, you’re right, but the source of the women has changed and so have the dispatchers.”
“What are you talking about?” Ashraf asked and added, “wait a moment; perhaps some more bank notes will revive your strength. Naim, what are you trying to tell me?”
The voice that had been as sweet as honey earlier began to sound impatient. Naim knew that he was risking his life, but he insisted on talking.
“When I worked alone, I had control of the merchandise as well as the roads. Now, new dispatchers have joined and I’m just a small link in the chain. I don’t determine things or make decisions and I don’t even see who I am delivering the merchandise to.”
“Hey, Naim, I’m sorry, but you will always be my man,” Ashraf insisted.
Naim didn’t know whether to regard his remarks as a caress, a compliment or a threat. He hesitated momentarily before saying:
“Ashraf, I’m leaving, retiring, I am cutting ties and will soon disappear.”
He had wanted to say these things for a long time and now, he enjoyed telling them.
“Listen, Naim, you can cut ties with us only after you add that Bedouin woman to the merchandise, that one with the golden hair and golden-green eyes of a wolf. I know she’s already twenty-five or more, but, Habibi, I never forget what’s owed to me.”
“And, if not?!” Naim knew he was tempting fate, now.
“Then, just as she disappeared, so will you. After all, we always understood one another, right?”
Naim was silent. His heart beat very fast. After a few seconds he heard Ashraf say,
“We await your arrival with a package deal that includes the Bedouin woman.”
Ashraf laughed suddenly and his rolling laughter made the hairs on Naim’s head bristle and his skin chill and as he sat shivering, his heart palpitating and his mouth dry. He called out to his son, Walid.
The relationship between them had grown closer. A month earlier another son was born to Walid, the second son from his blonde wife, but Naim had noticed that their relationship had dulled. He imagined that the birth of the new baby was another attempt to revive the bond between the young people.
When Walid entered his father’s tent, Naim noticed how his son was almost completely gray in spite of his young age.
“Are there no more camel races?” Naim asked as he patted his son on the shoulder. Walid threw him a quick glance as if trying to understand what he was really asking. He recalled the last race in which he had got into trouble with the police but saw from his father’s expression that it was just a simple question.
“No, but perhaps you could manage those races. You’re certainly up to it. I suggest you change your occupation,” he laughed.
“Why not?” Naim remarked and moved a little to make room for the tray his daughter Nadia was bringing.
When she put the tray down, he thought that she had matured and that he had neglected to marry her off. His two other daughters were married already. Mona lived with her husband’s family in Rahat, near Beer Sheba and Aya lived in Omer, also near Beer Sheba. They both had children that Naim had not seen in a very long time.
“Your aunt is apparently going to remarry.” Naim said and Walid looked at him in surprise.
Nadia had also heard what was said and before leaving the tent she turned her head but did not speak. Even now, she knew her place as a woman in Bedouin society and she never interrupted a conversation between men unless they approached her. She was surprised at what she heard and went out of the tent, alone with her thoughts.
Like all Bedouins, she knew that it was not customary for a widowed Bedouin woman to remarry. According to custom, second marriages took place within the family, but were vetted and had to be approved by the men of the tribe and it was not acceptable for a widow to remarry outside the family circle.
Walid asked, in surprise,
“Is Leila getting remarried? To whom?”
“To a good man, called Yosef, he is a Jewish Israeli.”
“What do you say?”
“I say that times have changed.”
“Are you certain?! Walid questioned. This was the question Naim had been waiting for.
“Look at yourself, ya’Ibni, (my son), and look who you married.”
Walid kept his silence and Naim continued speaking.
“See how we keep our customs and are angry when promises are broken or our honor is offended.”
“What honor are you talking about, Father?”
“Once we would take revenge if something happened and the story became public knowledge. Believe it or not, I don’t know what is considered a breach of honor anymore.”
“But Father. We continue behaving as we always did. Look, we still live the same way and make decisions in almost the same way we always did. Come, let’s be honest, the Bedouins don’t change much.”
“That’s because we are isolated. If we integrated with everyone, we might begin to think like everyone.”
“Oh, come on Father! Look at me. I went to university and mixed with everyone but, because I was raised like a Bedouin, that’s the way I live and will probably, also die.”
“I thought you were raised well.” Naim replied. “That’s how I was raised and that’s how I raised you, because a Bedouin is always a Bedouin.”
He was too afraid to admit, even to himself, that he felt a hidden pride when he heard that Walid had avenged his insult and his uncle’s actions.
“And, are you alright with that?” Walid asked.
Naim shrugged. There was silence. They both made loud sucking noises as they drank their coffee. Naim placed his cup on the tray that lay at their feet and said to his son:
“I have a problem, ya’Walid.” He lowered his gaze to the empty coffee cup and Walid stared at him in silence.
“I’m tired and I want to retire from my business dealings. It’s a job for young people.”
As his son remained silent, Naim told him about his recent conversation with Ashraf about the golden-haired Bedouin woman and his indebtedness to Ashraf and noticed Walid’s growing anger.
“Bedouin woman?”
Naim hesitated and murmured something like: "It’s really not for me anymore."
“The truth of it is that it was never the right thing for you. Tell me, Father, who’s the person, who places the orders?”
“It’s the same person, who has been demanding the Bedouin woman for the past twenty years. That same despicable character is responsible for many more consignments."
“Father, What Bedouin woman are you referring to and what do you owe them? Who is she, who?”
“Who is she? It’s your cousin, Naima, the daughter of Sultan and Leila.”
“What?!” Walid screamed and Naim nodded his head and looked at his son, seeing how upset he was by what he had told him.
“How did he get to her? Why did he demand her?” Walid caught hold of his father’s arm and was very upset.
Naim emitted a deep groan. He had avoided telling his miserable story, reliving the death of Rama, his wife and the birth of her sister’s daughter on the same day. He spoke slowly, telling the details for the first time.
“Naima was marked from the moment she was born. They wanted me to deliver her to them when she was still an infant. She is my debt to Ashraf and even now they are obliging me to deliver her,” he said. “They send messengers to me to ask where she has been hiding all th
ese years. I can imagine that the messengers themselves are being threatened.”
“Wait a second, what do you mean by hiding all these years. I don’t understand. Naima has always been with us, we saw her and even now, she comes here, to the tribe’s tents. She has never been hidden away.”
“Are you sure of that? So, where was she from around the age of six?" Naim cried out bitterly, "Where did she live during those years?!” .
Walid stared at his father and his eyes opened wide. Now he understood the things his father had spoken of and he shouted, “Do you want to say that you took responsibility for her and sent her to boarding school because…”
“Exactly!!”
All at once, Walid’s insights changed and he continued talking feverishly.
“Now I understand. Her name was changed to Abigail Ben-Nun and Naima disappeared.”
He slapped his forehead and stared piercingly at his father. Now, his attitude to him was completely different.
“Father, what about your promise to Sultan?”
“Oh, Walid, my son, my son! And how could I compensate parents for taking their little daughter away from them? Think for a moment. Why should they let me take her? After all, she was their daughter. And what a wonderful and special daughter, at that.”
A heavy silence lay between them. Now, they were of one mind and everything else melted, dissolved and faded with the insight they had gained.
After a few minutes of silence, Naim began to speak, this time, more quietly:
“I have a dilemma, ya’Ibni, (my son), a very big dilemma. Whatever I decide and wherever I look, there is no way out. Oh, Walid, I realize that I simply have nowhere to turn.”
* * *
Leila married Yosef two months later, at the end of June.
On the bride’s side, the ceremony was presided over by a Moslem Qadi, who began singing the oriental trills of the prayer in his pleasant voice. He was dressed in white from top to toe. He wore a stiff white turban on his head and his body was draped in a snowy white robe.
On the groom’s side there was an Oriental Jew. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a long black coat over a white shirt and black pants.
