As she pondered the events of last night, especially the sex, she searched her closet for the least expensive items she could find. She wasn’t being cheap, she was being practical. Giving someone a 300 euro sweater in that neighborhood would not work well for the recipient. The older Muslim women wore full length dresses the younger ones wore leggings or jeans under mid-length dresses. Only those willing to flaunt Muslim modesty and risk unwanted attention would expose their skin. She laughed to her self about the European idea of “fashion”. How is less more? Allah creates the body. How is covering it with a few square centimeters of cloth fashion? Let them exert their creativity on fabric, color, patterns and accessories. Leave the skin to Allah.
At that moment, she came across one item she acquired long ago. A short dress she wore to a grand event in Paris. They were just starting to enter the circles where the “beautiful people” live. She met diplomats, actors and celebrities from all over. She barely remembered them. She was unaccustomed to exposing this much skin in that kind of setting. Maybe she was more prudish than she thought. The young men looked at her from head to toe. Some were discreet and quick. A few caught her eyes and gave a “are you open” kind of a gaze. The old men were the worst. They groped her with their eyes slowly and unashamedly. It was a miserable night. By habit and force of will she put on a good face. A few days later she got the pictures. She was arm and arm with Jennifer Lawrence, Beyonce and Justine Musk. She remembered none of them. Ironically several of the women in the snaps were more fully clothed than she. There were repercussions in Casablanca. The conservatives called used words like slut and whore. The moderates felt she could have been a better example and bemoaned the pressure to fit in on the international stage. The liberals called her a champion for women’s right to choose what puts on her body. How dare any of them push their political agenda on her life without the tiniest bit of knowledge of her.
As life would have it, Hasan had another chance to meet with the high flyers. This time in Washington D.C. he found a dress of similar cut for her to wear. It was beautiful indeed but she had made up her mind. I will never wear anything like that again. He slapped her hard enough to knock her off balance.
Who do you think you are to be so defiant? We must be seen on the worldwide stage to gain access to the right people so we can achieve the prosperity we want. Have you not seen the good we have done? No one in your family or mine is in poverty anymore. Our nieces and nephews all have computers for school and some are in better schools. Why do you refuse such a complement the beauty God has given you.
It is because of Allah that I will not wear such things anymore. I will treat what He has given me with respect in public.
You are a whore in your own house. You close deals, with what Allah has given you so we can send your nieces to John’s Hopkins and Stanford . You have a driver and Mercedes SUV. Your bedroom is larger than our first house. You naive hypocrite.
Whether it was the “whore” or the “hypocrite” that sparked her wrath will never be clear. She stepped quickly forward and prepared a slap to his face with her right hand. He was prepared. So was she. She remembered the first night in the hovel. She palmed him with her left hand right on his hear. Then with her right she cocked him in the solar plexus. He recoiled from the pain and came back at her ready to fight. She did the unexpected. She dropped her hands and stuck out her face.
“Go ahead. Hit me, hit me hard. I will parade every bruise and cut before the crowd you so desperately want to please!”
He wasn’t prepared for the sudden switch in tactics from physical to social. “Makeup covers a multitude of sins!”
I will scrape it off or use it to accentuate every mutilation. The paparazzi will come like flies and vultures. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have made him mad.” will be my sheepish answer. You’ll have no one but thugs and crime bosses for customers the rest of your life. Say goodbye to Cuban and Musk.
He advanced again, she did not move. You’ll never go!
Oh, I’ll go. I will find a way to get their if I have to sell my body to get the air fare.
She changed tactics again. She stepped back and took a more submissive posture. My love, I’m not opposing you from simple emotional arrogance. Fucking strangers in our home is in a deed done in our home and brings shame only to you and me. I may not go to temple, or pray 5 times a day, but with my whole heart I believe in Allah. Flaunting my body with such daring brings shame on our sisters, our people, our faith and our country. Look at these three photos. Even the western movie stars are more covered than I am. I’m not suggesting a black shapeless burqa. I can be fashionable, imply seduction and still be modest.
He slapped her, not hard, and hIssed, “Do it!” Then left the room. Her defiance concerned and angered him. But he hated the temptation to let emotion rule him. He admired her fortitude. He could not argue with her counter proposal.
The here and now regained foreground of her attention. She would never give that dress away. It formed one cornerstone of what dignity she had left.
She found 10 pairs of leggings, 5 pairs of jeans, and 40 scarves that fit the criteria for what she thought wold be nice but not draw undue attention in that neighborhood. She suddenly saw her closet in a different light. She said to herself “that neighborhood” then realized that only 5 blocks down the street is where they lived in their mud hut. She used to shop, sleep and commute in “that neighborhood”. The clothes she was donating were what she used to wear. The clothes left behind in her closet were the ones she saw in shop windows; places only rich people and foreigners shopped. She suddenly realized she was “one of those people.”
She snapped herself back to the here and now. While it is true that shis was a mission of mercy it was also a reconnaissance mission. She had to get a bead on the foreigner. What was he, CIA, Interpol, Mossad, or mercernary? He must be something special to have killed two of her husband’s security force. They were, in general, quite competent. She must find him. Those journals are the key to her freedom, independence and security, either by herself or with her love.
Everything was loaded into the G-500 and she told the driver that she wanted to stop off at a clothing store first. Just as he released the brake the opposite door opened and Fatimah leaped in the car. Amina let out a little scream.
You scared the crap out of me Fatimah. What are you doing?
Hasan said you needed help, so he sent me.
Oh my, she thought to herself. Is she the traitor or does he want me to think she’s the traitor.
Well, let me put my heart back in my bosom and let’s go have an adventure. En avant!
Abdel, go down Boulevard Tahir. Turn right just after Le Cafe Moritania. I’ll tell you were to stop.
Yes, miss.
Amina wanted to interrogate Fatimah and get the truth but she knew that would not work. If she was not the traitor she would reveal nothing. And if she was she would either give misleading or useless information. Somehow, she had to narrow the suspects. She remembered hearing an american interviewer coaching a younger man to let the silence do the speaking. Fatimah was not known for her silence. After giving the driver directions she clammed up. True to her reputation Fatimah started to babble.
Why do you think they shot each other? queried Fatimah.
I don’t know really. Drugs, a lover, or maybe they were like those two american policemen who like to practice drawing on each. One day one of them made a mistake and killed the other.
Definitely not drugs. What do you mean by “lover”.
Well they’re both single. Do they have girlfriends?
Not that I know of, Fatimah confessed.
Oh, Amina said with some innuendo in her voice.
What?! Fatimah’s head began to spin. I really liked Ahmed but he never took an interest me.
Really, I find that quiet astounding.
Why?
You’re quiet an attractive young woman. Why wouldn’t a virile man, in his early thirties, like Ahmed not take an interest in a beauty like you. And she raised an eyebrow.
Are you saying …? She dared not complete the question.
But they were after a man. Maybe he killed them.
How do you know they were after a man?
Well, Fareed said the last thing they said on the radio was that they were following a man.
Why were they following the man?
No one knows.
Hmm, interesting. They were following a man, shot each other but take no interest in you. What could be the explanation?
She could tell by the reflection in the window and the way Fatimah was gnawing on her thumbnail that she was truly thrown off guard. At this point she felt confident about how much information her husband had. And she successfully implanted some disinformation into Fatimah’s coconut. She reminded her of one of the cousins she always had to shepherd If she was not the spy then she uselessly soiled a dead man’s reputation. If she was the Judas then she fed another variable into the equation her husband had to solve.
At the shopping center she and Fatimah, still fraught with confusion, went into the store and bought 25 pairs of modest sandals. She guessed the size of the little girl and bought her 2 pairs. One for everyday use and another slightly dressy for special occasions. Then they headed for the Souk in the old Medina. The driver parked on a semi-crowed street one block over from the alley where the two men shot each other. At the far end, going away from the souk was the bookseller. She did not want to go close to that place. When they came out of the store where they bought the sandals, they stuffed each bundle made by Amina with a pair. Amina had a special bundle for the little girl. They each carried 5 bundles and started at the floor above the little girls and went door to door giving a way the bundles. Fatimah took the side opposite the alley and Amina the side closet to the alley. Any apartment that was close to the alley got special treatment. Fatimah would say something like “My mistress knows about the tragedy that happened here a yesterday. Allah has blessed her and she would like you to have this gift so you can remember this day instead of yesterday.”
Amina took a more clever route. “I was in the area when the 2 men argued and shot each other. I’ve been greatly blessed please accept these as a gift to help remember this day instead of yesterday.” One of the women said, “It wasn’t 2 men arguing. One demanded something from the other. Obviously he refused. And then there were shots.”
What did they want from the third man? What did they ask for?
I could not hear their words. But it’s easy to hear the difference between a statement, a demand and a question. It was most certainly a demand for something.
Where did the man go?
Toward the stalls I guess or maybe into that restaurant at the end of the alley. I did not look but I think that’s where the footsteps went.
Fatimah came back in tears.
What’s the matter?
People can be so ungrateful and suspicious and thieving. One of the woman reviled me. She said young beauties in fine clothes don’t come to this part of town to give away expensive scarves and free shoes. Are you after my husband you brazen hussy. And she threw the bundle at me. It missed and went down into the courtyard. I saw where it fell. Two boys picked it up. I told them to bring it to me. They made a very rude gesture and ran off. The grouchy woman told me to leave her husband alone and slammed the door.
Oh my, that’s terrible.
Well, there was only one that was grouchy. The rest were quiet respectful and liked the free gift. No one seemed to know what happened other than that two men exchanged a few hot words and then shot each other.
They say, one man barked a sentence. The other strongly responded. And then two shots, although some said it was 3 or 4. But it was probably the echo. The detective confirmed there were only 2 shots.
When did you talk to the detective? And how does he know there were only 2 shots.
Oh, I didn’t. The woman at the end, she pointed in the opposite direction, said that she was sure it was 4 shots but the detective tried to convince her it was only 2. Obviously he’s covering up something at least that what she thought and she told him so. The detective said there were no other bullets in the bodies nor in the walls surrounding the bodies. She told the detective that he should get off his butt and solve real crimes and make the city safe instead of looking into a fight between two outsiders who work for some rich man.
Let’s deliver the rest of the bundles and go get some lunch by sea. This brightened Fatimah considerably.
They retrieved the bundles from the car and repeated the pattern. But Amina rushed through her side. Then she made a daring move. She went to the balcony and looked carefully for onlookers than put her parcour skills to work and went over the rail to the next floor down. She found the little girl playing in the same corner.
Princess!
Hello I have something for you and your mom is she home?
Yes, but why?
Oh because I remember how frightened the both of us were the other day when the two men argued. I’ve been very fortunate and I wanted to share with you and your mom.
There were 3 men. And they didn’t argue. One man said give me the books and the other man said No, they’re mine. That’s when the two men shot each other.
Where did the other man go? What did he look like?
Taller than the short one, shorter than the tall one. White. I didn’t see where he went but I heard footsteps going toward the Souk and then a door open and close. Maybe the restaurant door.
Was he running?
No, just walking.
Is that what you told the detective?
No, mama told me not to talk to the police or anyone.
Why?
She didn’t say but I think it’s because of what my brother and uncle do.
Well let’s go find your mama and so I can show you what I brought.
Amina explained that she felt sorry for the little girl’s trauma and shared that something similar happened to her. A man she didn’t know gave a her a coloring book. And she remembers the coloring book more than the tragedy, but she was very young. The woman gratefully accepted the scarves, clothing and sandals. The little girl gigled with glee over the 2 pairs of sandals. Amina said she was running late for a lunch and had to leave. She hugged the little girl again and left. As soon as she heard the door click shut, she quickly walked to the stairs and up to the next floor. She dropped off her last bundle, with both charm and speed and headed to the opposite end of the building. Fatimah still had two bundles to go. She took one, delivered it and met Fatimah at the stairs. They went down the stairs but Amina steered them towards the souk so she could see the restaurant. There was still some blood on the street, which brought Fatimah close to vomiting. She wept softly as they walked. “I really liked Ahmed.”
There were no blood stains in the alley way. She didn’t expect any because the men shot each other. But she had to find out about the third man. Sure enough at the end of the alley was a small restaurant. Why run in here? Why risk it? Why not go to the police. Maybe he saw the police coming and hid himself in here until they passed. They went around the store to the street where the car was parked. In 20 minutes they were at the hotel eating at a very nice place.
On the way home, she pretended to fall asleep. It did not stop Fatimah from talking. When she got home she went straight to her room for a bath and then sank into her settee to watch some TV. She just could not get her head around what the foreigner was thinking or doing. It was time for a study break. She happened upon an old american crime show dubbed in French. Halfway through the show she sat bolt upright like someone who had seen a cobra slither into their bedroom. The answer was on the show. Blood splatter and powder burns. She didn’t know which it was. But it had to be one of those. Since the two men shot each other he would be innocent of any crime but he would be delayed and questioned. If he really did work for the CIA or Mossad he would avoid the police. What if he was just another tourist that was afraid? She dismissed that option right away. She believed he acted calmly without waste so he must be a professional. How was she going to find this mystery man and what could she do if she found him? Her head started to ache again. She prayed and fell asleep.
Frugal Pilgrim 