In the Lap of the Gods

by Tony Criddle

  Although Laleh was folded into the crook of his arm, it was draped over the settee back and barely touched her shoulders. Their thighs touched lightly too, and it no longer seemed an issue that they did, but he was careful not to move his arm any closer. There were others around now and he was unsure of how far she had already come. Perhaps she was being braver than she actually felt. Nick would let her dictate the speed of her recovery, already suspecting that it might well be worth it. He remained a little in awe of her.

  They were still sprawled on the settee nattering when Sinclair and Amini got back home. Both glanced at the pair but neither commented. They gave Sarah some good sized trout to conjure with.

  “You guys will want a wee dram. And what about you ladies?”

  The housekeeper shook her head. “I’ll help Sarah prepare the fish and something to go with it first.” Laleh stood and looked down at Nick. She felt an urge to kiss him but thought it might be a bit bold. She still wasn’t sure if he would want her to do it anyway, but she did deliberately lever herself up with a hand on his thigh.

  “I won’t have a whisky yet, just a cold beer.” He rose and moved towards the fridge.

  “Me too Nick.”

  Nick tossed Jock a new bottle of Bowmore single malt from the cupboard before collecting two beers from the kitchen fridge.

  “The working week comes to a halt tomorrow, and I suggest we spend it in Shahabad. There won’t be much happening in Tehran or Qom over Christmas, and there’s plenty we can do around here.”

  Nick had already had a quiet word with Sinclair.

  “We’ll get Mohammed to fix up a felucca for part of it Nick, we’d all enjoy that. And you two were sailors so it should be like old times for you guys. Can you sort that Sarah?” She waved while she stirred.

  Amini jumped in. “We had a couple at my base for recreation. They’ve only got one lateen sail, so they’re pretty easy to manage.”

  “Okay. The village has got some nice walks with trout in the streams, and we’ve got the New Year parade thing as well. That should fill the week up nicely.” Nick turned his head and raised his voice. “How about you Sarah, you going anywhere?”

  “No Nickie. My younger son and family come down here this year and all kids bringing the herds down after holiday. I be around.”

  They had a late breakfast on Christmas Eve, and that was followed by a leisurely stroll around the dusty brown streets. It was a slow start and Imran and another of the boys went with them. There were a profusion of tools and trinkets on the noisy, colourful stalls, and even fledgling pot plants on offer with hints of buds straggling from bare, lifeless limbs. The group lost touch with each other as they made their small purchases, and Nick and Laleh found themselves alone.

  Laleh became more emboldened when they were on their own, and she held his hand as they strolled amongst the heavy crowds and when they stopped for lunch they shared a large kebab. They sat on a mud-brick half wall overlooking the river to eat it, and Nick didn’t tear the thick meat sandwich into pieces, they nibbled at it alternatively. He was learning quickly about togetherness and discovered he liked it.

  Laleh had planned to cook a large stew for them all that evening, but when they got back she found she’d been pre-empted by Sarah. There was a cauldron on the go already, and Muslims or not, Imran and the boys were scattered around the room hooking into the whisky. Laleh protested mildly to Sarah.

  “You have plenty time to cook for your husband later. Now I do it.”

  Laleh blushed and an indomitable Sarah wore a haughty smile.

  The next two days were the real Christmas period. Christmas Day started with mid-morning coffee, heavily laced by Sinclair. He refused to call it Irish coffee, it was whisky not whiskey, although it did set the tone, so it was a good start.

  Events had already leaned towards the traumatic that year, but the real difference was obvious to Nick. He couldn’t help smiling. They all got gifts but Laleh was inundated, and everybody was in on the act. Colourful head-scarves, trinkets of Bakhtaran jewellery, cosmetics and skin treatments, just about anything that was available was piled on her, and although Sarah was well looked after, it was Laleh who was definitely in the limelight.

  Nick felt totally indebted to the older couple himself that year. They must have been well aware of the risks they were taking. He asked Sarah to fetch her husband and she bustled off a few houses away to fetch him while he and Sinclair hurried next door. They collected three young goats that had halters for easy handling, and locked them in the outside privy. Nick prayed that the couple wouldn’t need to go when they arrived back. Neither would ever get over the shock.

  They were back in minutes with Sarah’s husband hugging a stone jar under his arm. There was at least a gallon of fire-water in there. Nick groaned.

  “Okay guys, I just want to get this in while I still can.” He nodded towards the stone jar and that caused a few hoots. “Mohammed and Sarah have been real helpful to us, and it could have got them into trouble, so Jock and I wanted this year to be a bit special for them. Let’s all go in the yard.”

  Nick, Jock and the boys knew, but the others were mystified when he walked towards the toilet and opened the dunny door with a flourish. The goats trotted out with their heads held arrogantly high. It left the older couple gasping.

  “Two young males and a female from a good stud Sarah, and the female is pregnant but not by them. I hope that your entire herd benefits guys. Here are the papers.”

  Only Sarah of the two could express herself in English. “We know the ear-marks on them Nickie. Do you really know what it mean to us?”

  “I hope it means you end up with the best herd in the area Sarah.”

  “Not only that. We improve our herd but start a stud of our own too.”

  By then everybody realised the significance to the pair. The older woman strode across the yard, quietly crying, and hugged them both. Nick thought she was trying to crush him and everyone was talking at the same time.

  When he managed to escape, Nick walked Laleh inside the house and ducked into his bedroom to retrieve two smallish parcels. The others crowded around as Laleh opened them. Inside was a large Opium perfume and a cosmetics set from an Yves St Laurent collection. Laleh was speechless. She was well aware of what they were.

  “How could you possibly get these in Iran now Nickie?”

  I asked the Ambassador’s wife about a present on my Christmas trip, and she’d just had a box of cosmetics shipped in. She suggested I buy some from her. She’s quite fond of me, I think.”

  “This is so special here these days though. I only wish I could have found something more appropriate for you.”

  “You’ll get your chance Lily.” He took her face gently in both hands and kissed her in front of everyone. Not overly long but very thoroughly. It flashed through her mind that she’d thought about it earlier but he had actually done it.

  Roasted haunches, poultry ragouts, and pared fruit and cheeses disappeared throughout that afternoon, and inevitably they drank. By mid-evening they were all suffering some collateral damage. The lads had returned to their own house, smiling at Amini snoring lightly in an armchair as they passed, while Sarah stacked dishes for the morning. Not that expertly nor quietly either. Mohammed had staggered home leading the goats by their halters an age before.

  By then Nick was sprawled on the floor with his back against the settee while Laleh was perched between his opened legs. Her head was on his upper chest, his right arm draped protectively across her chest, and he had a half-filled glass but wasn’t drinking. He wasn’t smashed either, only in that maudlin, reflective state that says don’t drink any more. Sarah finished what she was doing before peering at the others. Sinclair was the recipient of an expansive gesture.

  “You help me put Farhad to bed then see you tomorrow.” Jock may have seemed unaffected but he staggered when he rose. Farhad didn’t even wake properly between chair and bed, nor when the Scot whipped his shoes, shirt and pants
off either.

  “Okay now Jock. Nickie help me with Laleh. His job to do this.”

  Sinclair smiled grimly, muttered something about surrogate mother-in-laws under his breath, said his good-byes, and headed for home. The bang of the door had Nick jumping as if he‘d been poked with a blunt stick, but Laleh stirred sleepily before snuggling in tight once more.

  “Sarah, you hold her upright while I get up. I’ll carry her in.”

  The older woman grunted and complied, allowing him to wriggle free. He lifted Laleh bodily and deposited her on her bed before turning back towards the curtained door.

  “Where you going Nickie, I need some help here? I find her night thing, you take off pants and top.” And that one stopped him in his tracks.

  “Perhaps you should do the rest now Sarah.”

  Sarah looked at him shrewdly. “I think you and her be together soon, so this not time to get shy. We make her comfortable for night. Now take off pants and top.”

  His fingers were all thumbs when he complied, but to say he did so reluctantly would not be true. The panties and brassiere were a deep navy blue, gleaming seductively against the ivory of her skin. He could see no blemishes at all, not a mole and not a birth-mark. The navel protruded slightly.

  “Okay Nickie, you lift her, I pull down bed-cloths.”

  Laleh groaned and held on tight.

  “Okay Nick, last thing. Take off other top thing and lift arms. I put this over her head.”

  Nick Evans struggled with the brassiere clasp trying to ignore the taut cream breasts and provocative plum nipples. After laying her down again he pulled the nightgown to her thighs and stared. Sarah dug him in the back.

  “You not viewing corpse, she still be here tomorrow. You go now, I do rest.” She smiled as he left the room.

  It was not surprising that they were a bit slow getting started on Boxing Day. Coffee, strong coffee, not a regular breakfast was a priority, and the plate of cold meat slices stayed in the fridge until much later on. Nick looked in on Laleh but she hadn’t moved. He brought a new pack of Panadol from the bathroom and tossed it casually beside the kettle. Even Sarah was forty minutes late, but she was next, and by then he’d had a couple of coffees.

  “How you feel Nick?”

  “I’m all right. I got a bit cautious in the end. What about you?”

  “Me too I think. Won’t rush around today though.”

  “Farhad and Laleh are still dead to the world. They both tried some of Mohammed’s brew but I’ve been there before. I was a bit wiser this time.”

  Sarah smirked. “I finish dishes then wake them. Put bottles in separate bag. Can use them.”

  Nick collected the smoky green empties and stacked them in the yard, then brushed goat pellets onto the rose beds. When he returned he could hear a strangled choking drifting from the bathroom. Farhad was tossing his cookies. He was a while joining them.

  “There are times when I know why Muslims ban alcohol, Nick. I haven’t done that since some of the blokes took me on a run ashore at Dartmouth.”

  Nick didn’t respond, there was no need. He smiled as Amini collapsed into an armchair, and took him coffee and Panadol. Sarah was still in with Laleh so Nick turned the screws a bit.

  “Like a drop of whisky with that Fred?” he asked innocently.

  Amini groaned as Nick grinned. The housekeeper turned in time to hear the pilot’s jibe and smiled herself.

  “I brush her hair, she be here now.”

  Sarah went off to the kitchen to start on the endless task of peeling. Nick again wondered how she remembered similar, yet different, recipes every day. He put a few chairs back into place and wiped off the table, and Laleh appeared as he finished. Her hair shimmered but she was devoid of make-up and she looked paler even than his own normal skin tone.

  “Coffee and a tablet Lily?” He smiled when the girl just nodded with a grimace.

  “I bring Nickie. Coffee for you too. Sit with Laleh.” Nick looked up sharply. He had a feeling that Sarah was beginning to over-play the ambitious mother a bit, but good-naturedly sat anyway. Laleh collapsed against him before he’d even got comfortable. It remained that sort of day.

  The quiet day helped a lot. They were all much livelier the day they went sailing. Mohammed came up with a racy felucca, and although it wasn’t new it had been freshly painted in white and light green. It was long but not wide, with fast aerodynamic lines, and a serious russet sail fluttered noisily against the mast. The inevitable eye to ward off evil spirits was painted on the bows and it smelled vaguely of fish.

  Laleh actually clapped when she saw it before helping load it with a basket and a cooler bag with soft drinks. There was no alcohol aboard at all.

  “Can I drive it first please? I’ve sailed lots of times in Iran and England.” The two ex-mariners looked at each other and shrugged. Sinclair was more vocal.

  “You’d better know what you’re doing then lassie. Real Scots don’t take water in their whisky so I certainly don’t want to end up in it.”

  That produced a chuckle as the felucca owner waved a fiercely animated hand for them to board. Nick deliberately positioned himself at the mast ready to dip the spar when they gibed.

  There was room next to the girl at the stern, but Nick avoided it. It was a thing of rebuilding confidence for her, and every win was one she wouldn’t have to repeat. Initially his sensitivity surprised him, but then he realised it was exactly what he had craved when he was younger. He’d wanted someone to build him up too, but for him it hadn’t happened.

  Farhad and Jock shared a bench seat amidships, but sailing wasn’t a thing the Scot had done much of, so he was happy to leave it to the others. He appreciated the scenery while Amini fingered two ropes with quick release knots that reefed the sail to the spar. A jerk would free the canvas instantly.

  “Ready everyone?” Laleh looked at the males intently. She was hyped, but caught their nods and gave the owner a wave. As they moved she yelled.

  “Let go Farhad!”

  Laleh tightened the single rope sheet and the spritely boat leapt forward, heeling to a fresh wind coming up the ravine against the direction of the sluggish river. She pulled harder and the felucca started to fly.

  The opposite bank drew close quickly but her timing was optimum when she prepared to go about. Laleh gave the command as she threw the helm and let the rope sheet fly for Amini to hold clear. The boat swung rapidly through 90 degrees and Nick was smart in dipping the spar to the other side of the mast. He smiled grimly. She was wrapt in what she was doing and he fully expected to be bullocked if he got it wrong. The felucca barely lost speed before it started to fly again and Laleh nodded absently. She zigzagged up the river for nearly an hour.

  Amini and Sinclair lunched on gazelle slices, naan and fruit while they cruised, then Amini relieved his sister. She handed over tiller and sheets with a ragged sigh and joined Nick amidships for her own leisurely lunch. Amini stooged around while they ate, there was no rush, but they were still running against the river and it was beginning to narrow. They’d all finished lunch when Amini called for Nick to take them back. He nodded but then looked at the girl.

  “How about you do it.” Her eyes gleamed but then dulled.

  “No Nickie, I’ve had my go. It’s your turn.”

  Nick smiled indulgently and shooed her towards the stern with both hands. His ego didn’t need the boost but he knew he was getting better at rebuilding hers. She parked her shapely, jeans clad bottom on the stern thwart, took the sheets and tiller, and moved aft himself. Laleh wriggled to make room for him and he stretched his legs casually with an arm around her shoulders. The sluggish river would be with them while a stiff breeze funnelled off their bow. If she headed it well there would be no need to go about.

  “Ready everyone?”

  Only Sinclair looked surprised at the question. The two exmariners nodded as Laleh swung the boat directly down river and tightened the sail. It immediately began to point briskly against t
he breeze.

  The fresh wind teased up the water surface into small white crests that tumbled south against a light northerly current. The felucca chased them down rapidly, its sharply curved bow tossing the foaming water impudently over its shoulders. Bubbling spray got thrown into squinting, animated faces, making the run home exciting and noisy.

  It seemed like hardly any time all before Shahabad lay less than a mile ahead. Laleh stayed in the centre of the river until she was almost level with the boats drawn up on the river bank then turned hard towards them. She shook the sail out further. The boat heeled as the wind shifted abaft the beam, and with metres to go she yelled at her brother to reef. Laleh let the sheet fly as he hauled rapidly, and the keel kissed the pebbly river bottom as it slowed. Two burly Bakhtaran continued its momentum until it was half out of the water. They and the two mariners grinned and clapped gently as the boat tilted slightly onto its port side. Sinclair had been exhilarated by the ride himself but wasn’t sure what they were doing. Nor why.

  Fred and Jock disembarked with the bags while Nick and Laleh coiled and tidied the sheets and ropes. Nick climbed out next before lifting her onto the shingle, but as she slid down him she tightened her grip, stared into his eyes for a moment, then kissed him. It surprised even her.

  “My turn,” she whispered as their locked lips broke contact. She skipped up the beach towards their vehicle, tossing her hair as she cavorted. Inevitably it was Sinclair who had to say something.

  “When the time comes you two had better find a non-Islamic country to live in. One with not too many bloody priests around either.” Nick pushed him. Hard.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The arrival of the New Year heralded yet another part of their world that would have to change. After a late breakfast Nick and Sinclair dragged out the 44-gallon drum and gave it a clean. Fuel for the griller was just as difficult to find as domestic heating fuel had been, so with the help of a welding kit Jock and his boys had engineered the barbecue to run on welding gas.