by DiAnn Mills
“Mother.”
Ben swung his attention from Daruka to a tall young man behind him. He stared into the eyes of the Ben Alier he used to be. Realization held him captive.
“Mother?”
“I’m fine, David.”
Ben smiled at Daruka. “So this is your son? Would you introduce me to this fine-looking young man?”
She hesitated. “Ben, this is my son, David.”
“How old are you, Son?” Ben said.
“Twelve.” David’s voice had started to deepen, but not yet to a man’s level.
“David, this is Colonel Ben Alier.” She whispered Ben’s name as though the sound of it might bring the truth to light. He felt her hate as though it were a fiery inferno.
Ben and David shook hands—a firm handshake. Ben understood why Daruka had asked him to leave. He and David shared the same body build and stance, not an easy fact to ignore.
“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” Ben said.
“I’ve heard my uncle speak of you and all you’ve done to fight the government soldiers. Now that peace has come, I’m sure you will be an asset to our new government.”
Ben smiled. Intelligence glistened in his son’s eyes. “It’s good to be appreciated.” He turned to Daruka. “Thank you for offering to cook for me and my commander. I’d like to talk to your son while you prepare the meal.”
Daruka glared at him. “Colonel Alier, you are such a busy man. I’m sure spending time with a boy would be bothersome.”
“Not at all. I welcome the change. After all, the youth are our future.”
She hissed for his ears only, “Enjoy your time with David for now. It will not last.”
CHAPTER 13
Larson noted the heat of the day more now than she could ever recall. Twice a day she stepped into the makeshift shower outside her and Paul’s private hut to rinse off the heat and grime. There, her slightly rounded abdomen brought the reality of her pregnancy to the surface. Paul said she didn’t have a stomach yet, but Larson saw the difference. They needed to make definite plans about their future, but she dreaded the conversation. He’d given no indication of allowing her to stay in Warkou.
Indignation rose one more time. She was a grown woman with more responsibilities than most. He had no right to tell her where she and the baby would live.
Yes, he does. He loves this unborn child as much as I do, and he wants us both safe. How could one baby cause such a quandary, such a perplexing mixture of fear and joy at the same time?
If not for the elderly man awaiting her attention, the young mother after him, and whoever else might stand in the doorway of the clinic, she’d give in to a nap.
Since they’d returned from Kibum, Paul had doted on her as though she might shatter. She didn’t like the sacrifice of her independence or the mere suggestion that she had become a helpless female. So frustration had set in, and she hated her disposition. And Paul had yet to explain what had happened with his brother.
“Mama needs rest?” Paul studied her from his corner where he used his laptop to catch up on the rest of the world.
She forced a laugh. “Shall I find a nest to spend the next six and a half months?”
“Somehow I can’t picture you sitting for any length of time.”
“Neither can I. Mother hens have a tendency to get fat.”
He stood and walked across the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I cannot imagine how you’ll look with a big belly.”
“Like I said, fat. This reminds me of a story.”
Paul moaned. “Is it a good one?”
“Absolutely. This happened on my granddaddy’s farm.”
“They all do.”
“But this one is different.” She leaned into his arms and snuggled tightly, allowing her irritation with him to dissipate. “We had this white hen that had sat for days on her eggs. Every time I got close to her, I tried to stick my hand under her so I could count them, but she always pecked me. I couldn’t understand her sour disposition. One day I traipsed by the henhouse to see what she was doing and found the nest was empty. I looked everywhere, thinking the dog might have gotten her and the eggs. Anyway, I looked out onto the front yard of our house and saw a bunch of dandelions. Well, if I couldn’t find my hen, then I’d pick my grandma some flowers.”
“And you did?”
“No. Those dandelions were baby chicks, and that hen just strutted all around, letting them play and me make a fuss. My point is, my hormones are causing me to be nasty, but once our baby is here, I’ll be back to normal.”
He lifted her chin, and she smiled into his incredible dark eyes. “Are we having more than one little Farid?”
She shuddered. “I hope not. I haven’t decided what we’re going to do with this one yet.”
“Do you want to talk about it later?”
“Maybe.” She sensed the flood of emotion threatening near the surface. Rats. What she wouldn’t give for her overwhelmed body and mind to level off. “Paul, I don’t want to leave Sudan.”
He held her tighter. “I know, habibti. But what is best for our baby?”
“Being raised by both parents.”
“Are you wanting us to move to the States?”
“I couldn’t do that. Besides, I don’t think I’d fit there anymore. Remember when we visited my parents on our honeymoon? I felt like a square peg in a round hole. It was a wonderful visit, but everyone there is so . . .”
“Safe?”
“Yes. Safe and comfortable.” She laughed. “No adventures there.”
He kissed her forehead. “Isn’t security what we want for our baby? Surely not this constant threat of danger. Even with the peace treaty, the country rumbles in violence. We can’t forget my family’s threats either.”
She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. “I despise myself.”
“Makes me feel protective.”
“I think I’m going to get really mean with this pregnancy.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll send you back on the road to Kibum. The conflict in Darfur would be settled by a woman single-handedly. Wouldn’t the Muslims love that?”
“I’d make history.”
“I’d rather you give birth to our baby somewhere far away from here.”
“Oh, Paul. I can’t leave Warkou, and I don’t want to argue.”
“Me either.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I’d love to spend the entire afternoon in your arms, but I have a patient.”
“I know, except I’m going to hold you thirty more seconds, Dr. Farid.”
“We didn’t settle a thing about the baby, unless you’ve agreed to let us continue to live here in Warkou and raise our child with the people we love. I mean, with the peace treaty and John Garang as vice president, things here are bound to settle down. Education will come to the children, and the international community will help all of us.”
He pulled her tightly into his arms. “I love you. We’ll continue to pray and see where God leads us.”
“And I love you.” But she feared he hadn’t changed his mind about her leaving Sudan. She laid her hand across her abdomen. Would she show a lack of faith by leaving the village and not trusting God to provide a safe place for their baby? She wished she knew the answer.
* * *
“If you don’t tell David that I am his father, then I will.” Ben stood with Daruka at the edge of the village beneath a starlit sky. In the distance a hyena called, as though laughing at Ben’s ultimatum.
“You’ve never answered why this is important to you.”
“I regret not being a part of his life.”
“Have you realized you are growing old and you may die a lonely old man?”
Her question was dangerously close to the truth.
“I have many, many friends. This is a personal matter that bears no more explanation than I’ve given you. Why haven’t you married?”
“I never met anyone who suited me.”
She stayed three feet away from him.
He laughed. “I’m flattered. I remember marriage was important to you.” Even with the cloak of darkness wrapped around them, he sensed her bitterness.
“I was a girl thrown into a woman’s role. Motherhood has molded me into a much stronger person.”
Ben stared down at the small-framed woman. “You have changed, and I admit for the better. I have a possible solution.”
“Nothing short of your leaving in the morning would satisfy me.”
“Marry me.”
She drew back. “Are you crazy?” Her words pierced the night air and seemed to hush nature’s sounds. “Why would I exchange my life for that of the wife of Colonel Ben Alier, who beds every woman who catches his eye? How many other children do you have? Let me remind you that nearly thirteen years ago, you left my bed while I slept. You abandoned me after I told you I was carrying your child. Why should I consent to telling David about his father? Why would I even consider marriage to you?”
“To establish David’s future. By carrying my name, he will be honored and given many opportunities.”
“Unless the northern government decides to make an example out of him.”
“Daruka, I can provide for both of you, and in the event of my death you’d be no worse off than you are now.”
“No, Ben. I can’t do that. You’re a warlord, not a husband and father. Besides, I’d be afraid of AIDS.”
He’d just had that test. “I don’t have it. In fact, I was tested before coming here.”
She gasped.
She believes me. “I’ll be faithful. You have my word.”
“Your word?” Bitterness swept through her laugh. “You expect me to believe your word means anything to a woman?”
“Would you consider being married in name only?”
“You’d consent to such a relationship?” Her tone softened. At last he’d touched her heart.
“I want to be a father to my son. We can tell him together about us, and I promise I’ll never touch you if that is what you want.”
She stood motionless as though paralyzed. Slowly she walked back toward her tukul.
“Daruka, what is your answer?”
She turned and faced him. “I . . . I have to think and pray about it.”
“Fine, but I need to hear from you soon. I’m staying in the village until this is resolved.”
“We’ll talk when I’m ready.”
* * *
Larson studied the young man assisting Sarah in disinfecting the clinic and spraying for mosquitoes. Santino Deng, Sarah’s nephew, had served two years with Ben. Santino wasn’t a blood relative, but Sarah considered him as her own, and it was obvious that he loved her. The young man wanted to learn more about government policies—go to school and help his country. His dream was to study at the University of Nairobi and perhaps one day return to his country as a political leader. Sarah had talked about Santino for a long time. Since most of her own family had been killed, he was like a true son to her.
“How long do you intend to stay with us?” Larson asked Santino.
“A few months. Your husband indicated that you needed a bodyguard in his absence.” Santino towered over his aunt and Larson. Although Dinka culture did not hold women’s work in esteem, he had washed clothes and children in the few days he’d been in Warkou.
“Ah, I see.” Larson understood her protective husband. Maybe he had decided that she could stay in the village. “We’ve had a few close calls lately.”
“My job is to make sure there are no incidents.” He laughed, a deep-throated sound that reminded her of a lion. If indeed the animal ever laughed.
“I remember when Santino stayed close to my side for me to protect him,” Sarah said.
Santino scooped up a handful of soap bubbles and planted them on his aunt’s nose. “Now it’s my turn to keep you safe.”
* * *
Paul hung up the phone. This was the second call he’d received from Nizam’s people since he and Larson had returned from Darfur. Today, as in the other calls, Paul had refused to meet Nizam. As in the other times, the caller’s number had been foreign to him. The man had identified himself as a friend of his brother’s, but not Muti. According to the caller, Nizam was most eager to see his brother and wanted to arrange another meeting place.
“There’s no point in continuing this ruse,” Paul had responded. “I’m not a fool. Don’t waste my time by calling me again.”
Paul thought of all the things he wished he’d said. None of it worthy of his faith. He snatched up his Bible and headed for the riverbank. The paperwork for FTW could wait. The vicious thoughts clinging to his brain needed to be cleansed. Ever since Larson had been shot, hatred for those he had once called family and friends swelled like an incurable disease. If he didn’t surrender his loathing to God, his relationship with Him would suffer.
It already has.
Help me, Father. I want to give it all to You, but it is so hard. Let me bring it to You in small pieces.
How much Paul missed Abraham, the old man who had led him to Christ. He’d died shortly after Paul and Larson were married. When Paul had still lived in Khartoum, Abraham’s right hand had been severed by the GOS for lifting it in praise to God. When that didn’t stop the old man from worshiping, the government had imprisoned him in a ghost house. Paul recalled his first meeting with Abraham—when he’d been given orders to kill the infidel. Abraham’s eyes had radiated a peace and love that shook Paul to his core. The old man wasn’t afraid to die and said so, not with defiance but with tenderness. Fear of Abraham’s strength and courage had stopped Paul from harming him. Instead he’d found the courage to ask why the old man wasn’t afraid to die. Whatever Abraham had, Paul had desperately craved it.
Abraham’s son, Bishop Malou, had become a close friend to Paul and Larson, but he was near Juba training Episcopalian pastors and would be gone a few more weeks. Seeking the counsel of Abraham or Bishop Malou would have been a tremendous blessing. Where would Paul be if he had followed his father’s orders and killed Abraham?
The decision made in the ghost house had changed Paul forever. His purpose in life now exceeded the realm of his family’s opulent wealth. Without a Bible or anyone else to answer his ever-increasing questions, he had grown closer to God through Abraham’s friendship. Paul understood that his family and the government would not rest until he was dead, but his new faith meant so much more. He’d transferred his massive wealth to a bank in New York, helped Abraham find safety, and then fled Sudan for the States. Once there, he’d slowly made friends and become active in a church. After changing his name from Abdullah to Paul, he’d gone to work for FTW. His drive to help Sudan hadn’t ceased.
Someday he wanted to tell this story to his son or daughter, if he lived that long. Paul shook his head. This bitterness had to stop. Abraham had never displayed the anger that Paul sensed was about to overtake him.
Take away this decay of my soul.
The words had no sooner left his mind than his phone rang again. Considering only six people on the face of the planet had the number—now seven, since one of those six had given the number to his family—he expected to see a familiar number. Not so.
“Abdullah?”
“Nizam.”
His brother chuckled, the familiar light laugh that made Paul smile, but caution immediately reined in his memories of a loving brother.
“I hear you want to talk directly to me.”
“I hear you want me dead.”
“No, Brother. The others do. Not me. We were close, and I miss the good times we once had.”
“Where is your loyalty to Allah?”
“That’s what I want to discuss with you.”
“Nizam, you could be killed for this conversation.”
“Which is why I had a trusted friend make the calls to you.”
Paul thought back to the meeting with Muti outside of Kibum. What had stopped his brother from meeting him the
n? “Your trusted friend nearly killed me. I think you’re drawing me into a trap.”
“No, I swear.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“For us to find a place to meet where no one will suspect us.”
“I cannot trust you.”
“What must I do to convince you, Brother? I think God might be with the Christians, but according to the Qur’an, that is blasphemy. Where do I get my answers? I need proof. If I am to face death for this belief, I must understand why.”
Paul longed to believe him. His heart raced with the possibility that Nizam might come to know Jesus. How could he refuse him?
“I suggested that you read a Bible.”
“I haven’t found one yet.”
“Then how can I believe you are serious?”
“I feel something inside that is moving me to find answers. Please, Brother.”
Paul swallowed his excitement while his mind shouted that he was a fool. “Where could we meet?”
“Anywhere. I will come.”
“The States?”
“Yes, of course. I can come to Los Angeles or to your home in Malibu.”
How did Nizam know about his beach home?
“I prefer Feed the World’s new headquarters in Los Angeles.” He would have security there.
“Good. Very good. I will find the office. When?”
“This has to be discussed with my wife.”
Silence greeted him.
“I believe women are equal with men,” Paul said.
Silence still.
“She will come, of course,” Nizam finally said.
Paul held his breath. This was happening far too quickly. “We’ll discuss it. Is this the number where I can reach you?”
“No, it is not safe here. I’ll call you in five days.”
“Who gave you my number?”
“A trustworthy friend. You have nothing to fear. I must go now.”
Paul had nothing to fear? Was this a hopeless illusion? Or was it an open door for him to tell Nizam about the true God? He stared down at the Bible clutched in his hands. His thumb pressed into the leather cover.
