Brian walked as he relived his senior year in high school. It was the sound of scuffing on metal that brought him back to the here and now. He looked up just in time to see a fine figured woman do a Jason Bourne move from the 7th to the 6th floor. It was not unusual to see these open bridges between arms of buildings with a courtyard. Why didn’t she take the steps? He really came to with a shock when he realized that he had meandered back to the scene of the crime. He hadn’t noticed those bridges before. What if someone saw him? Then why didn’t the news mention him? Maybe the police knew but kept it quiet to avoid spooking the third man. Maybe the sheikh paid the police off so he could find Brian himself. He was immobilized with the possibilities and what action to take next. He felt like running but that would attract attention. So he stood and he thought. Just then the woman came back to the balcony with a little girl. The woman, was dressed nicely in moderately priced clothing liked you’d get from Target or Walmart back home. Some women just knew how to put cheap clothing together to make themselves look expensive. But her makeup was completely out of sync with her clothes. Her clothes said Target but her face said Nordstrom. At that moment the girl pointed to the place where the men shot each other than traced Brian’s path down the alley to the shop where he cleaned up. The cute little girl, maybe 8 or 9, was very animated and spoke with her hands. As she described the shooting she raised and lowered her hands. Maybe to describe the differing height of the two guards. Then she drew a pirouette with her hands, which would have been Brian’s getaway move. Then she made guns with her hands and pointed at each other and fired. Then did the finger walk down the alley. The woman asked her a question he couldn’t hear. The girl shrugged her shoulders and pointed at her eyes and shook her head. The woman asked another question. The girl pointed at her ears and indicated the path Brian took down the alley. He relaxed. He took that exchange to mean that she didn’t actually see the event but she could hear everything that happened and could tell by the sound what was going on. Then she knelt to the girls level and gave her hug. As she hugged the girl, her face was pointed right at Brian. He was tempted to run away but he knew that would attract attention so he turned slowly and walked away. She saw him but nothing registered.
Brian cursed himself for going back there. He could see the book shop coming up on the left. He definitely did not want to go there so he turned right and almost ran into the bookseller himself but he kept his head down and mumbled the phrase he heard other people use in a similar situation. He went to the end of the block of houses and took a right onto the a busy street. Then he took another right a few blocks down. As he was waiting to cross a street, a large Mercedes SUV blocked his path. He was just a few feet a way. He looked in the window and the face of the woman he saw early was pointed straight at him. He could see her mouth moving animatedly so he assumed she was talking to a passenger. He looked away and moved around the back of the vehicle. Through the glass he could see another woman on the other side. Just as he started to move to the rear the woman stopped talking and took a good look at him. He saw an expression of recognition. But she didn’t react fast enough. He went behind the SUV. She expected to see him again on the right side. Instead he turned away from the SUV and walked up the street, behind another car and returned to the side of the street he started on.
Amina pondered what she saw. She wanted to jump out to pursue the man but she did not want to alert Fatimah. Instead she closed her eyes and tried to recall everything she remembered about him. Fatimah noticed this and, of course, asked what happened.
Nothing, I think the day just got to me and I felt a little light headed. I’m famished let’s find some food.
Think, think! She told herself. Gather the evidence lay it on the table. She arranged some pieces of lamb on her plate to represent each fact she knew or thought she knew. Fatimah was yabbering away a mile a minute. Some how she felt on more equal footing with her mistress and adopted a more democratic demeanor. Amina half listened, throwing out a “Oui” or “D’accord” every so often. Sometimes asking for a repeat to show genuine interest. In reality she was cataloging her thoughts. She ached for paper and pen. She dared not use her smartphone or a computer. During a chance encounter with one of the security men, he let slip a fact that could only be accessible electronically. She did some reading and studying and determined that her husband turned on phone tracking without her knowledge or approval. She turned if off. A few days later it was on again. After a few rounds of this she decided to leave it on and leave her phone in the car whenever she decided to go rogue. Memory and paper were the only things she trusted. Paper could easily be read or copied which is why she went to such great lengths to hide her journals and precisely why they were so valuable. She had a huge amount of information on her husbands dealings. And almost an equal amount on her husbands associates. Men will spill their guts about stuff before, during and after sex. Nevertheless, she didn’t write everything in plain text. She used other languages and writing systems. And she only wrote half a thought. The other half she kept in her brain. If the journal were ever found, it would not be enough by itself. In the hands of a stranger it might be completely useless but she was not sure. Not as sure as she wanted to be. However, in her hands it would be a weapon and a shield that she could use to get what she wanted, a new life of peace.
It was Fatimah’s sudden silence, a deafening silence that brought her back. Before looking up she rearranged her food with her fork.
What are you doing? You’ve laid out your food like tanks on a battlefield.
Amina laughed, moved the food around some more. Though she was hungry, she was more intent on solving the riddle than eating. I think I’m just completely out of it. I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Oh! So I heard.
What did you hear? Fatimah had just made a slip. She got that information from somewhere.
I heard you didn’t get much sleep last night. You told me.
Amina knew she should did not and would not share such details. But she had to make sure that no one suspected she knew there was a Judas. She thought of a test.
Oh that’s right. When you popped in the car and scared me out of my wits. I told you why I was so jumpy.
Yes, that’s right. That was when.
She could feel herself wanting to take the knife in her hand and jam it in Fatimah’s eyeball and slice down the side of her face. She would be blind in one eye with a terrible scar for the rest of her life. Instead, she covered her anger with a big sigh and told the girl to go get the car, she would pay the bill.
As they got closer to home Amina grew more quiet and exaggerated her fatigue just a bit. This did not stop Fatimah from talking but Amina no longer even tried to pretend to listen. As soon as they got home, she got out and trudged up to her room, took a shower and laid down. She was convinced that her husband knew less than she did about the situation. She alone, knew the true value of the journals. She alone could connect them with the foreigner. The man’s face on the corner and the way he moved kept nagging at her. She believe he must be connected. He might be the foreigner. But why would he be there? She had to find him. She needed to go back and investigate the restaurant. She was at the door to her husband’s room and was about to know when he heard sounds. The sounds of sex. And then silence. She was about to knock again, she delighted at the idea of catching him with a woman. He asked, “Are you sure she was there the whole time? Did she speak to anyone?”
Of course I’m sure. She went to each of the apartments and dropped off the clothes. It took two trips.
Did she see you?
She couldn’t have. I hid in one of the apartments. I paid a woman well, to be rude to her. She threw her gift out into the courtyard.
Amina recognized the voice. Another servant within the house. She was surrounded by spies. She was a like a caged tiger, given easy food, and paraded for the amusement of others. She started to feel sick about herself and her life. How did she let this happen. Her brother knew. He wouldn’t talk to her anymore. At that moment she heard steps coming so she quickly went into the room across the hall. It was Fatimah. She knocked and went in. Amina was a little surprised at this. She ventured into the hallway again. And listened.
What if she just leaves without saying?
Hah! That would never happen and even if it did, a 12 year old boy scout could track her down.
How can you be so sure?
She packs 8 bags for a 3 day trip to Paris. She needs a 400 Euro cashmere sweater to keep her warm on a sunny night. She douses herself with bottles of perfume that start at 200 Euros an ounce. It be like following the president of the United States.
At the comment about the perfume, Amina turned sick to her stomach. She had just showered. Normally she would have spritzed herself with Baccarat or Caron Poivre. Thankfully she didn’t. The conversation stopped suddenly. She took this as an alarm. She returned to the library. Quietly closed the door. Sprinted through the room and onto the balcony for another parcour move to the floor above. She paused to listen for movement. Someone was in the room below. She wasn’t going to be foolish and wait to see if someone was looking for her She took off her shoes and silently moved away. When she heard the door close she sprinted across the house to where her room was and did another acrobatic move to her room. She literally ripped off her clothes, jumped in the shower and got her hair wet. She got out and put on her robe. When the door opened she was sitting at her dressing table with a bottle of perfume locked and loaded, ready to spritz herself. He came over to check on her.
Don’t you ever knock?
Should I?
It’s polite, but not necessary. She mis-aimed the bottle and spritzed herself and him. He got it in the face.
Oh dear, I’m so sorry. she jumped up and wiped the perfume from his face with her robe. It fell open in a most natural way exposing her from the neck all the way to the floor. He kissed her neck. Then traveled down to her breasts. She arched her back and breathed heavy. He picked her up and placed her on counter in her bathroom. She unzipped his pants. He penetrated quickly, and thrusted vigorously. She began to moan and breathe heavy. She came to a quick organism. She felt him finish. He stepped away from her. She stayed on the counter, crumpled into a relaxed state of bliss. It’s like the old days she said in a deep raspy voice. He zipped his pants and left without a response. When the door clicked shut, she jumped up and disrobed again. “I should get an Oscar for that. That was my best acting job ever.” For the third time that afternoon, she entered the shower, this time was different. “Oh God in heaven be merciful to me. Let this water wash away the filth of my sin and greed and blindness to the life I now live. Grant me the wisdom and insight to escape to a man who actually respects and loves me. And if he does not love me, I still ask for the cunning to escape this brothel of my own making.” Then everything stopped. She stopped talking. She stopped thinking. She stood as still as a statue under the stream of water and let it wash everything away. Was it a minute or 20? She doesn’t know but even though she was awake, she awoke. Her mind rebooted. She said thank you and stepped out of the shower.
She knew what to do next.
Frugal Pilgrim 