Amina had finished her crying in the shower. She knew what she had to do. She knew which sacrifices she would have to make. She wondered if she had the strength. Mentally, she scolded herself. Don’t waste time wondering. You can. You will. You must. She would seek the mystery man. If she found him she would use whatever skills she had to get the journals, the truth or both. She could not be sure that her husband did not have a relationship with the man. Maybe he’s holding out for more money. If she could not find him, she would just keep going.
She had seen the man from behind on the day of the shooting. She had to duck behind a wall so that she wouldn’t be seen herself. So her glimpse of him was short. The man who approached the car yesterday, looked similar in height and build but his facial expression seemed to indicate that he had seen her. When she was hugging little Leila, she saw a man standing 5 floors below but could not see details, except the pattern and color of his djelleba. It was the same as the man in the street. She remembered that the girl was sure that he had walked down the passage in the opposite direction from the bookstore toward the restaurant. The little girl said she heard the door open and close. That was a long shot. It could have been anyone. But that was her only clue. The three problems to solve were how to get away from her husband, how to find the foreigner and how to pay for everything.
The solution to the first problem was provided by her husband. “8 pieces of luggage for a three day trip to Paris.” The fact that someone had searched the library for her made her think that he knew she was listening. Therefore going to Paris would be an obvious tell. She chose Milan instead. It was the start of the fashion season. On top of that it was closer to the prearranged city where she would unite with her love. Now, the question is how to escape his spies. She doubted that he would just let her go. Either he would accompany her or send Fatimah. She learned yesterday that he uses a backup for verification. The big tell was her style. She had to escape her own skin. She would have to leave everything about her at the airport. In essence she would have to leave naked. To do that physically would be beyond stupid but she had to find a way to do it virtually. In reality, she knew this day would come. She had been planning to leave for years and knew that she could never come back unless she could protect herself. That’s why she kept the journals. Without the journals she was defenseless except for her own wits and the kindness of another place. She had stockpiled cash and jewelry for just this reason. It was difficult to acquire under the detail oriented eye of her husband but she did it slowly in small amounts. After years of practice she had amassed thousands in Euros, Dollars and Pounds. As well as about an equal amount in jewelry he didn’t know about. If she was really as conspicuous as her husband claimed, she would have hide in plain site.
She made her “go bag”, with the smallest assortment of items she could survive on. A paperclip, mascara, eye shadow, a tooth brush, a small bottle of alcohol, a pair of spanx. a pair of white sneakers, black leggings, black tunic and black scarf and big, black “Audrey Hepburn” sunglasses. All of this fit in a brown leather purse, the oldest one she owned. She took the purse and scuffed it up a little and put some black shoe polish on it to darken it and make it look older. Then she cleaned it so it wasn’t waxy or smelly. Her go purse fit inside of a larger, expensive white travel bag. She picked a black outfit to travel in. This outfit would be seen by everyone. But since black was a common color for burkas and tunics it would make it easier to blend it. She took some brown shoe polish and lightly colored the part of the sneakers just above the soles so they looked like they had been used hard. She stuck her finger in the shoe and rubbed it hard against the stucco to make it looked more worn at the big toe.
Allah smiled on her once again. At breakfast her husband announced that he was going on a business trip. She announced that she was going to visit her mother and uncle today and would go to the souk. And the next day, she was going to Milan for the spring fashion shows. He was not at all pleased at this news especially the trip to Milan.
Why go to the souk for spices. There are plenty of stores around here. I’ll send a car for her and uncle and they can spend the day here relaxing and have someone else cook for them.
Ridiculous. My mom doesn’t want to be waited on. She wants to nibble at different foods and talk. Uncle wants to sit under the awning and smoke his pipe. Even your mom prefers that you visit her rather than send for her like food to go.
I’ll cancel my trip and go to Milan with you.
Hah. Why? You hate those shows. And you get tired of looking at those indecent clothes that you try to push on me but you know I’ll never wear. Besides I’ve traveled there before and you never showed an interest.
Fine. He returned to his food.
I’ll send Abdul to go with you.
She almost shot orange juice through her nose as she laughed.
Fine, he can come. I’ll take him to every lingerie show I can find. I can imagine the look on his face when I hold a lacy bra to my chest and ask “Would Hasan like to see me in this?”
He slammed his fork on the table but it bounced again and again down the table and fell to the floor on the other end.
Then take Fatimah with you.
That silly little girl? Am I an old woman that needs her niece to make sure she doesn’t wander off?
She was going to catapult a piece of fruit with her fork at him. But she saw the firm resolve on his face and decided not to.
Fine. I’ll take her. I’ll go make the arrangements now. With that she threw down her napkin and stomped off.
In her room she counted the turn of events as a victory. The focus on the trip to Milan completely erased the trip to the souk. She would have preferred to take Abdul. He would be easier to lose. But the fight made him push for a win. She already planned that there would be at least 2 spies to deal with. Now that he pushed Fatimah on her, she assumed that Katya would be in the shadows somewhere. She made the travel arrangements and made arrangements to see her mom. Then she told Fatimah about the trip. The girl was giddy at the opportunity. Then she sternly admonished her to dress modestly on the trip. Covered from neck to ankle, and to the wrist. And bring a scarf. The girl looked like she’d been slapped with a cold fish. Then she got that look that teenagers get right before they defy their parents. Amina said, Or don’t come. The girl, the huffiness knocked out of her, lowered her head and said yes miss.
From there she walked quickly to find Kareem.
Kareem, hurry up. I’m going to be late. Hurry.
The befuddled older man, blinked at her and started to move.
Never mind, I’ll drive my self. She grabbed the keys and headed for the car.
No miss, no please. I’ll lose my job. I’m coming, I’m coming.
In exaggerated impatience she waited for him to catch up and gave him the keys then jumped in the back.
He pulled out of the garage and down the driveway at a moderate speed. As soon as he turned onto the road main road, she started to ride him again. Hurry up you barbarian. Hurry. He pushed the gas pedal until they were going 30 over what he was used to. He started to perspire. She sat sideways in the backseat, directly behind him so he couldn’t see her expressions or head movements. But she saw him try. She watched the house. They pulled away swiftly when they were just about a mile away she could see another car leaving the driveway and turning on to the same road they were on. As they rounded a curve, she started to swear. He had never heard her swear. Thinking he was going too slow he sped up.
Slow down and pull into that courtyard ahead.
What?
Slow down, now!
The panicked man slammed on the brakes knocking her off the seat and into the back of his.
I did not say stop. I said slow down and pull into that courtyard. Do you want me to drive.
No! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He pulled into the courtyard, and swung the car around. But before he got back on the street she shouted again.
Stop!
He slammed on the brakes again, they were absolutely still.
She was loudly rummaging around in her purse and muttering things underneath her breath. In reality she was looking between his head and the A pillar of the windshield. There went the other car. Traveling fast to catch up. Indeed it was Katya. Now she was certain.
Oh my dear. It’s right here. We don’t have to go back. I’m so sorry. She patted the nervous mans arm like a mother comforts a small boy scared by an alley dog. We’ll be ok. Let’s head to the souk.
They started off again towards the souk. Quickly but not at quite the same pace as before. She needed to be seen by Katya, or there would be too much suspicion. Obviously, he’s already suspicious but she had to keep it in check. She had to mold his perceptions to her advantage. She saw Katya on the road ahead.
Slow down a little would you?
Gladly miss.
Katya turned left on the road that lead to souk.
They followed.
She parked and seemed in a hurry to get going. She obviously felt that Amina was ahead of her and she had to catch up.
Let me out here and park on the other side. Closer to my mother’s house. I’ll walk the short distance to her house.
She knew exactly where she wanted to go. She stopped at a spice stall and bought 3 different spices. At the stall she loosened the tie of her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Them picked it up and stuffed it in her purse. Then she went straight to the restaurant. She put down her packages and asked the waiter to bring her an espresso and pastry then she went to the bathroom. In the bathroom she removed her loose top to reveal something a little more modern. Not exactly form fitting but closer and showed a little more of her neck but not shoulders. She wanted to be a little different but not stand out. And she pulled her hair back with a scarf.
Just as she sat at the table the waiter brought her coffee.
She half whispered to the waiter, I hear a man was shot here 2 days ago?
What? No, not here. Up that alley a ways. I heard the shot. You’re safe here don’t worry.
I heard he came running into this cafe, didn’t he.
No, oh no. No one came running in. I heard the shot. But no one came in for at least a minute, maybe two. It was an Australian, I think, he went to the bathroom and sat where you’re sitting and enjoyed some coffee and croissants.
She was talking to him in stilted Arabic, with what she hoped sounded like a French accent.
How do you know he was Australian?
By his accent. He spoke Arabic with an Australian accent. The same way I can tell you’re French and a student here to learn our culture.
Mon dieu, you are very perceptive. Was he a big Australian gangster type?
The waiter was flattered. Her smiles and the gentle touch on the hand unlocked the flood gates of information about the visitor.
No, he was very ordinary looking. He was in good physical shape but not like a professional athlete. He carried himself with calm and purpose. So I’m guessing he was a competitive athlete at one time or in the military.
So, he wasn’t tall and handsome like you? She smiled.
He giggled just a bit and said no. He was just a bit taller and much younger. He knew she was playing with him, but men still like the attention of a woman, even in play.
Well then he couldn’t have been involved, could he. A man doesn’t sit and enjoy 2 cups of espresso and a gazelle if he’s just shot someone unless he’s an assassin.
Mademoiselle, it was 1 cup of espresso and a croissant. He looked to much like that Australian comedian to be an assassin.
I suppose he was wearing a white cotton shirt, shorts and dark glasses.
Oh miss, you’re having too much fun with me. He was dressed in the normal modern way. Tan pants, shirt, messenger bag and cheap sunglasses.
I think you’re right. I just love mysteries. Maybe I’m trying to see one in real life. I thought he would be exotic and unusual, maybe with a secret emblem on this arm or shirt.
He laughed out loud at this. He was enjoying the conversation with her. Half of his clients were foreigners and rarely spoke to him except to ask him about the bathroom and the shops. A thought occurred to him.
You know, come to think of it. There was one thing that was a little odd. He was dressed neat and clean, as I’ve described. When I was taking care of the couple that was sitting in the corner, there behind you, when I turned to return to the kitchen I noticed that the shoulder of his shirt was wet. As if it had just been washed. It was the only spot that was wet and he was not sweating heavily.
Ooh, that sounds so mysterious. I wish I could meet him.
Why?
We French woman love excitement. I came here to study but maybe I’ll find a handsome sheikh who will fall in love with me and carry me into the dessert.
Be careful what you wish for mademoiselle. You may enjoy the first few nights, maybe a week, but your view will change when he puts you to work milking goats or fetching water with his other wives. I saw him yesterday.
The handsome sheikh?
No, mademoiselle, The Australian.
Here?
No, I was on the other end of the souk. He was walking down the street. He changed his clothing. I’m guessing he wants to blend in more. He was wearing a djellaba and a touareg turban.
The confirmation excited her.
Here next stop was the bookseller. She had seen Katya walk by. She could tell she was still looking for Amina. The tension showed on her face. She almost sprinted up the alley to the bookseller. She changed her look again; pulling her pants up to show her ankles and a little leg; tugged her shirt sideways to reveal a shoulder. As she passed over a sewer grate she slowed and dropped the bug-eyed sunglasses she was wearing and substituted a pair of brash gold ones that looked like something an old movie star from decades ago would wear. She walked into the bookstore and walked at a rapid pace right up to the man; a little closer than he was prepared for. In her best Daisy Duke accent, she pretended to be investigating the possible relationship between the shooting and a jewel thief known to like old books.
He may have come here and purchased one of your old books between 9 and noon, perhaps? We think he’s Austrian.
I sold none of my old books that day.
No Austrian’s came here? Athletic, maybe a 1.8 meters?
Well there was a man that fits that description. But he was Canadian.
How do you know?
He spoke French with that Z-Z-Z sound that the Canadians do.
What did he buy?
I don’t really remember. They were not very valuable.
They? Does that mean he bought more than one?
I don’t remember exactly. In fact I don’t remember where he got them. Over there in the poetry section, I think. It was two foreign books, maybe.
Well thank you Mr. Fez. You’ve been very helpful.
She gave him a big smile and a pat on the arm. Turned and left like a whirlwind. He enjoyed watching her go.
She left the shop and went down the larger road at the top of the alley. As she went she changed her look again. She pulled the original top back out and put it on. She found another alley leading back to the souk. Part way down it, she found a cranny where she could put the skirt back on. She came out to the souk just where she had hoped. She bought various nuts. Then a couple of colorful scarfs. And stood at a stall selling lamb on a stick. She picked this stall because it had a shiny surface she could use and because she finally located Katya. This spot would put her directly in Katya path. Katya finally found her, looked relieved then turned away to a safe surveillance distance. Mission accomplished. She left the souk and walked to her mom’s house.
Frugal Pilgrim 