The Exile Kiss (10 page)

"Yes, of course," I said. "You're the clever young men who found us in the desert."
Hilal and bin Turki grinned at each other. "My cousin would like to ask you a question," said Hilal. "Sure," I said.
Bin Turki was a handsome, shy youth. Even by the firelight I could see that he was blushing furiously. "O

Shaykh," he said, "when you return to your city, will you be far from China?"
I wondered what he meant. "Very far, bin Turki," I said. "Why?"
"Ten days' march?" he asked. "Twenty?"
I stopped to do some quick calculation. The camels made a steady three miles an hour, and the Bani Salim put in

about twelve hours of travel per day. Call it thirty-six miles, then. Now, the distance from the city to China . . . "Hundreds of days, O my friend, across deserts and seas and great mountains."

Bin Turki just blinked at me a few times. "O Shaykh," he said in a quavering voice, "even Allah's world is not so big."
He thought I was lying to him, but he couldn't bring himself to accuse a guest of his tribe. "Indeed it is so big. The Sands are only a portion of Arabia, and all of Arabia is to the world as... as one she-camel to the entire herd."
"Walldhi!"
murmured Hilal, which means "By Al-mighty God," and is one of the Bani Salim's strongest oaths. I rarely heard them resort to obscenity.
"What is your curiosity about China, bin Turki?" I asked. These were people who had never heard of En-gland, Nuevo Tejas, or even the western lands of the Muslim world.
"Does not the Prophet—may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace-—say, 'Seek knowledge even unto China'? I thought maybe I could return with you to your city, and then go from there to China."
Hilal laughed. "Bin Turki's hungry for knowledge," he said in a teasing voice. "He's already eaten all the knowl-edge there is to be had in the Sands."
"You don't have to go to China," I said. "If you're serious about learning, maybe you could travel with us after we reach Mughshin. Would you like that?"
I could see that bin Turki was trembling. "Yes, O Shaykh," he said softly.
"Is there any reason why you couldn't come with us? Do the Bani Salim need you? Might Shaykh Hassanein forbid you to go away for a few months?"
"I haven't yet discussed this with the shaykh," said bin Turki.
"The Bani Salim won't need you," said Hilal. "You never do anything useful anyway. It will be one less belly to fill with water from the wells of the Sands. Seriously, my brother, Shaykh Hassanein will let you go with his blessing."
There were a few moments of quiet while bin Turki thought over the consequences of what he wanted to do. We listened to dead limbs of the mimosa-like
ghaf
trees spit and crackle in the fire. Then the young man worked up his courage. "If Shaykh Hassanein gives his permis-sion," he asked, "would I be welcome to join you?"
I smiled at the young man. "Do you know the way across the mountains from Mughshin to that coastal town?"
"To Salala?" said bin Turki. "Yes, I've been there many times. Two or three times, anyway."
"Well, then, we'd be glad of your company. Talk it over with Shaykh Hassanein and see what he has to say. It's a big, strange world out there, and you may wish you never left the Bani Salim."
"If that happens, I will come back to the Sands,
in-shallah."
Hilal looked from bin Turki to me, realizing that his friend might soon be leaving their community for the un-imaginable life beyond the desert.
"La illah ill'Allah,"
he said in astonishment. "There is no god but God."
Bin Musaid came to the fire and stared down at me for a few seconds. "You don't have to sleep here on the sand tonight," he said. "You're welcome to share my tent."
His sour expression belied the generosity of his offer. I wondered why he was making this overture. Maybe Has-sanein had had a little talk with him. "May Allah reward you, bin Musaid," I said, "but tonight I wish to sleep under the stars."
"Good," he said. He wasn't going to try to talk me out of it. One of the others passed him a goatskin of camel's milk, and he squatted down to drink. It's considered shameful for a Bedu to drink standing up. Don't ask me why.
Noora joined us, but she didn't even glance at bin Musaid. "My uncle wishes to know if there's anything you need," she said.
There was a time not long ago when I would have weakened and asked the shaykh for some medication. "Tell Hassanein that I feel very well," I said.
"Noora," said Hilal, "tell us about the time Abu Zayd was rescued by the Bayt Tabiti!"
"There
is
no story about Abu Zayd and the Bayt Tabiti," said one of the other men.
"Give Noora a minute or two and there will be," said bin Turki.
Bin Musaid grunted in disgust, got up, and stalked away into the deepening darkness.
"He better be hung like a bull camel," said Hilal, "because his wife won't get any happiness from him any other
way." There was an uncomfortable silence, while we all tried hard not to look at Noora.
"Well, does anybody want to hear about Abu Zayd?" she said at last.
"Yes!" came several voices. Abu Zayd is a popular hero of Arabian folklore. His mythical tribe is responsible for everything from the Roman ruins in North Africa to the mysterious petroglyphs in the Rub al-Khali.
"All you who love the Prophet," Noora began, "say, 'May Allah be pleased with him and grant him salvation.'
Now, one day Abu Zayd found himself lost in a part of the Sands he had never traveled before. There were no
famil-iar landmarks, and he did not know that he was on the edge of the terrible gypsum flat called Abu Khawf, or
Father of Fear. He led his faithful camel, Wafaa, down onto the flat, which stretched ahead of him for eight days'
journey. After three days, Abu Zayd had drunk all of his water. By the end of the next day, when he'd reached the
very middle of Abu Khawf, he was suffering from thirst, and even Wafaa, his camel, was beginning to stumble. "Another day passed, and Abu Zayd was afraid for his life. He prayed to God, saying that if it was the will of Allah, he'd much prefer getting out of Abu Khawf alive. Just then, he heard a loud voice. Coming toward him, leading two camels loaded with bulging goatskin bags, was a man of the Bayt Tabiti.
'Salaam alaykum,
my brother!'
ried the stranger. 'I am Abduh bin Abduh, and I will give you water!'
"
'Alaykum as-salaam,'
said Abu Zayd, overcome with relief. He watched as the Bayt Tabiti took several bags of water and slung them on Wafaa. Then Abduh bin Abduh gave him a bag of camel's milk, from which Abu Zayd drank greedily. 'You've done me a great service,' he said. 'You've kept me from dying in this miserable gypsum flat.
No man has ever shown me greater hospitality and gener-osity. I insist that you turn your camels around and return with me to the nearest oasis. There I will give you a suit-able reward.'
" 'Of course,' said Abduh bin Abduh, 'I had no thought at all of reward. Still, if you insist.' And he did turn his camels around, and together the two men made their away across the remainder of Abu Khawf, the Father of Fear. Two days later, they arrived at Bir Shaghir, a settlement around a well of the sweetest water in all the Sands. Abu Zayd made good on his promise, buying a huge load of flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat, and giving it all to Abduh bin Abduh. Afterward, the two men expressed gratitude and good wishes to each other, and then they parted, going their separate ways.
"A year later to the very day, Abu Zayd again found himself lost in the Sands, and this time he stumbled into Abu Khawf from a different direction. After three days passed, he realized that fate had led him into the very same situation he'd endured the year before. He prayed for God, saying,
'Yaa Allah,
how like a woven web of spider silk is Your will. All glory be to God!'
"And on the fifth day, when Abu Zayd and his camel, Wafaa, were growing weak without water, who should come toward them across the gypsum flat but the very same Bayt Tabiti! 'God bless you!' cried Abduh bin Abduh. 'All year, I've told my friends of your generosity. I hoped we'd meet again, so you could know that your name is legendary for gratitude among my people.'
"Abu Zayd was amazed, but once again he persuaded Abduh bin Abduh to turn his camels and go back with him to Bir Shaghir. This time he bought the Bayt Tabiti so much flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat that he also needed to buy the man a third camel to help carry it all. Then they swore undying friendship to each other and went off in opposite directions.
"Before Abduh bin Abduh disappeared from view, however, Abu Zayd turned and shouted after him. 'Go with safety, my brother,' he called, 'and enjoy my gifts to you, because for a second time you saved my life. I will never forget what you've done, and as long as my sons and my sons' sons draw breath, they will sing your praises. But listen, O fortunate one: I am not a rich man. If you come upon me next year in Abu Khawf, pass me by and let me die of thirst! I can't afford to thank you one more time!' "
All the men at the campfire laughed loudly, and Noora stood up, smiling and looking pleased. "Good night, my brothers," she said. "May you arise in the morning in health."
"And you are the daughter of well-being," said bin Sharif. That's a Bedu idiom, possibly even an exclusively Bani Salim idiom. Noora raised a hand, and then crossed the open area of the camp to her father's tent.
Morning would come early, and the unmarried men soon settled in for the night. I wrapped myself in my cloak and tried to relax, knowing that there would be another long day of travel tomorrow. Before I fell asleep, I enter-tained myself with stories of what would happen when I got back to the city. I imagined that Indihar and Chiri and Yasmin ran to me, tears of joy streaming down their faces, praising Allah that I was alive and well. Imagined that Reda Abu Adil sat in his lonely palace, gnashing his teeth in fear of the retribution that would soon come. I imag-ined that Friedlander Bey rewarded me with tons of money, and told me that he was hiring an outside contrac-tor to deal with Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, and that I needn't concern myself with him.
Breakfast in the morning was rice porridge, dates, and coffee. It wasn't very appetizing, and there wasn't enough of it. There was still plenty of water from Bir Balagh; but it had started out brackish, and after a day in the goatskin bags, it had begun to taste like, well, goatskin. I was al-ready looking forward to getting to Khaba well, which the Bani Salim all talked about as the last sweet well before the long haul to Mughshin.
Friedlander Bey rode beside me again on the second day. "I've been thinking of the future, my nephew," he said, yawning. I'm sure it had been years since he'd had to sleep on the ground and share such meager rations, yet I hadn't heard him complain.
"The future," I said. "Imam ar-Razzaq first, and then Abu Adil? Or maybe the other way around?"
Papa didn't say anything for a little while. "Haven't I made it clear that you are not to harm Shaykh Reda under any circumstances?" he said. "Neither him nor his sons, if he has sons."
I nodded. "Yes, I know all that. How do you mean 'harm'? Do you mean physically? Then we won't raise a hand against him. Surely you won't mind if we destroy his business and influence in the city. He deserves that much at least."
"He deserves that much, Allah knows it. We can't de-stroy his influence. We don't have the means."
I laughed without humor. "Do I have your permission to try?"
Papa waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject. "When I spoke of the future, I meant our pilgrimage."
This wasn't the first time he'd brought up the trip to Mecca. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. "Pilgrimage, O Shaykh?" I said.
"You're a young man, and you have decades yet to fulfill that duty. I do not. The Apostle of God, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace, laid upon us all the obligation to travel to Mecca at least once during our lifetime. I've put off that holy journey year after year, until now I'm afraid that I have very few years left. I'd planned to go this year, but when the month of the pil-grimage came, I was too ill. I strongly desire that we make definite plans to do it next year."
"Yes, O Shaykh, of course." My immediate concern was returning to the city and reestablishing ourselves; Friedlander Bey had thought past all that, and was already making plans for when life got back to normal. That was an outlook I wished I could learn from him.
The second day's march was much like the first. We pressed on over the high dune walls, stopping only to pray at the required times. The Bani Salim took no lunch breaks. The rocking gait of Fatma, my camel, had a lulling effect, and sometimes I dozed off into uneasy sleep. Ev-ery now and then, out of the blue, one of the men would shout "There is no god but God!" Others would join in, and then they'd all fall silent again, absorbed in their own thoughts.
When the tribe stopped for the second evening, the valley between the dunes looked identical to our camp of the previous night. I wondered how these people actually found their way from place to place in this huge desert. I felt a quick thrill of fear: what if they really couldn't? What if they only
pretended
they knew where they were going? What would happen when the water in the goat-skins gave out?
I forgot my foolishness as I waited for Suleiman bin Sharif to couch Fatma. I slipped down her bulging side and stretched my aching muscles. I'd ridden the whole day without the aid of my daddy, and I was proud of myself. I went to Papa and helped him off his mount. Then the two of us pitched in to help the Bani Salim set up the camp.
It was another peaceful, lovely night in the desert. The first disturbing moment came when Ibrahim bin Musaid came up to me and put his nose about an inch from mine. "I watch you, city man!" he shouted. "I see you looking at Noora. I see her looking shamelessly at you. I swear by the life of my honor and by Almighty God that I'll kill her, rather than let you mock the Bani Salim!"
I'd had just about all I could take from bin Musaid. What I really wanted to do was knock the son of a bitch down, but I'd learned that the Bedu take physical violence very seriously. A crummy punch in the nose would be enough of a provocation for bin Musaid to kill me, and he'd have the sympathy of all the other Bani Salim. I grabbed my beard, which is how the Bedu swear their oaths, and said, "I haven't dishonored Noora, and I haven't dishonored the Bani Salim. I doubt anyone could dishonor you, because you have no honor to speak of."
There was a loud murmur on all sides, and I won-dered if I'd gone a little tod far. I have a tendency to do that sometimes. Anyway, bin Musaid's face darkened, but he said nothing more. As he stormed away, I knew I had a lifelong enemy in him. He paused and turned to face me again, raising his thin arm and pointing a finger at me, shaking in rage. "I'll kill her!" he cried.
I turned to Hilal and bin Turki, but they just shrugged. Bin Musaid was my problem, not theirs.
It wasn't long before another loud altercation broke out. I looked across the fire to the far side of the camp. There were five people involved in a shouting match that was getting louder and more violent by the moment. I saw bin Musaid and Noora waving their arms wildly at each other. Then bin Sharif, the young man Noora wished to marry, came to her defense, and I thought the two young men would begin strangling each other right there. An older woman joined them, and she began firing accusa-tions at Noora, too. "That's Umm Rashid," said Hilal. "She has a temper like a fennec fox." "I can't make out what she's saying," I said. Bin Turki laughed. "She's accusing Noora of sleeping with her husband. Her husband is too old to sleep with anybody, and all the Bani Salim know it, but Umm Rashid is blaming her husband's inattention on Noora."