Chapter 5
New York City
At last the house was blessedly quiet. All during the long Thanksgiving
weekend, the five storey brownstone just off Stuyvesant Square had burst nearly to the
seams with Gardner relatives and friends. A fire had blazed in every fireplace to cut
the late autumn chill. The succulent turkey had been immense and the table long and
full. Deep, crazy discussions had lasted late into the nights.
Derek smiled to himself as he walked down the hall toward the room he was
sharing with Kym... once upon a time, it had been her room. He had never seen Kym
happier. She had been in her element in the midst of that raucous throng downstairs.
He had to confess that, despite being accustomed to a solitary existence, he had truly
enjoyed himself. It had been well worth any momentary irritation brought by
overcrowding and the emotional pendulum swings of childhood. Derek shook his head
at the thought that this was the first time in his entire life that he had ever passed a
holiday like this, as part of a large, loving family. No... not a real part, but, perhaps,
one day.
"Then what happened?" he heard a small voice ask as he approached the room
shared by Kym's young cousins, Blaine and Keely.
Cautiously, Derek peered around the door. His wife was sitting in a rocking
chair in the corner of the room. Blaine was perched on her lap with her golden hair
entwined in Kym's fingers. Keely, on her tummy with her chin propped in her hands
and her slippered feet waving in the air, looked up intently from the floor.
"Then Rose called down to the prince, 'Help me! I'm up here!" Kym said in the
voice of a natural story teller. "...and the prince looked up at the tower's window... into
Lady Rose's eyes... and he fell in love with her in that instant."
Derek leaned against the wall beside the open door to listen to Kym tell her story
of knights and princesses trapped by wicked sorcerers and demons. A wistful smile
crossed his lips... she was marvelous with these little girls.
"Did the prince rescue her?" Keely asked with great yawn. Her sister was
already fast asleep.
"Yes," Kym told her quietly. She rose to put Blaine in her bed, then turned to
gather up Keely and tuck her in. "...and they were married and lived happily ever
after."
"Did they have lots of babies?" asked Keely, crawling under her covers.
"Mmm-hmm," she replied as she handed her cousin her fat teddy bear.
"What did they name them?"
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Kym smiled. She had forgotten a child's
nagging obsession with questions. "Julia, Mariana, Joseph...," she rambled as she
tucked the quilt around Keely's shoulders. "Elizabeth, Derek..."
Keely giggled.
Backing quietly from the room, she continued to babble softly, "...Christopher,
Maria, Juliet... Romeo...George...Herbert.... Oh!" she cried as she stepped on
someone's foot. Kym turned to face her husband's gray dotted tie.
Derek steadied her. "I didn't mean to startle you." He grinned. "How many
children did the prince and princess have, anyway?" he asked as his eyebrow gently
rose.
She looked up and returned his smile, "Dozens and dozens."
"I'm suitably impressed," he said with a laugh.
She loved that laugh, which was too seldom heard. "The prince was a very
productive young man," Kym agreed, chuckling.
Derek comfortably put an arm around her waist. "Are you tired?"
"Just a little... but I'm not so awake that I want to go back downstairs." Kym's
family was in the living room "reminiscing," as they put it. "Besides, there's something
I want you to see," she added.
Again, the precept laughed out loud. "I've really enjoyed myself these last few
days," he told her.
"I'm glad." She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "You need this in your
life. We should do this more often.... I've missed my family," she admitted.
"I guessed as much," her husband said. "Well, m'lady, shall we retire to our
chamber to pass the remainder of this eventide?"
"I should be honored, sire."
< < + > >
Libyan Desert
Stroking his bushy, black mustache, Moustafa Kalil stood in a wide trench
looking down at the strange markings at his feet. Above Hassan ibn Aziz shed his
expensive caftan, then climbed down the ladder to join Kalil. The desert sun blazed
back at them from the white rock upon which they stood.
"How thick is this granite?" Hassan asked, kneeling for a closer look at the three
odd petroglyphs. He blew the last of the sand from the incisions and brushed it away
with his hand. "Akim!" he shouted. "Fetch my camera... and bring some paper and a
crayon... colored chalk, charcoal... whatever you can find."
Kalil cleared his throat and replied, "The slab is about eight meters thick... it
could actually be several slabs stacked one on top of the other."
"Have you found the edges?" ibn Aziz asked, glancing over his shoulder at the
foreman.
"Not yet," he replied. "However, beneath the granite there seems to be some
sort of cave or empty space of about twenty meters in height... then sandstone... down
further we hit the aquifer, as expected. One of the Japanese instructors, who is an
electronics expert, lowered a microphone," Kalil continued. "We can hear something
that sounds like water dripping and some sort of murmur that he thinks could be
problems with the equipment or, possibly, a breeze emanating from some ground level
entrance. It's all very curious. What do you think we should do?"
"Wait. I may know someone in Cairo who will know what these symbols
mean," Hassan answered. "I take it no one has informed the proper Libyan authorities
or Colonel Khaddafi?"
"No," Moustafa replied, shaking his head. "The Commandant said that he would
not appreciate any intrusion into the training camp's administration or routine. They
are planning significant strikes in Beruit and elsewhere, against the American
invaders... or so the gossip runs. Everyone knows that the Commandant is not one to
challenge... he takes much pleasure from the suffering of his enemies."
"Yes," ibn Aziz agreed, "and even the misfortune of friends.... So take care."
A cascade of sand poured from above. "Sir," called Akim, "I have your camera
and I found some paper and a crayon."
"Excellent," ibn Aziz told the boy. "Come down and help me... and do be
mindful of the edges... we don't want you and a mountain of sand on top of us."
<< + >>
Stuyvesant Square
"I don't understand what you see in this movie, Liefje
Kym was a night person, as he himself had always been, but she seemed to be one to the extreme. She had sworn that she only needed four hours of sleep a night. Derek was beginning to believe her. He suppressed another yawn. "It just makes you cry," he said, kissing her ear as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. He could sense Kym's aura throughout room. It was Kym from the floral wallpaper to the lace canopied bed in which they lay. He couldn't imagine growing up in such a room... it was almost overwhelming. He could feel, somehow touch, the joys and heartbreaks that had accompanied his wife throughout her life.
"Oh... but it's so beautiful," she explained as she dabbed her eyes with the sheet. "They were so young and so much in love... a rich boy and a poor girl... and he stayed with her even though she was dying. I can't believe you never saw Love Story
. I never miss it when it's on. What can I say? I'm an utterly hopeless romantic," she sighed. "Besides, Ryan O'Neal was scrumptious," she added with a girlish giggle.Suddenly, Kym pushed herself up to look at her husband. "What else haven't you seen?" she asked.
Derek shrugged and yawned again. "I'm afraid I've somewhat neglected that aspect of my education."
"Well, don't worry... I'll get you caught up," his wife said as she reached over him for the remote control.
"Um... ummm," murmured Derek, drifting off.
Kym kissed him lightly on the forehead, flicked off the TV, and snuggled beside her husband's warm body. She clutched the old flowered chintz comforter that had been on her bed since she was ten. She sighed with contentment... now it would smell of him. As she drifted off to sleep, Kymberlee Rayne murmured a prayer that tonight she wouldn't dream of Bernardo.
< < + > >
Al-Kufrah Oasis
"Come, Akim, join us," said Faruz, bumping his new friend the way boys do. "Fight for the Prophet and the holy cause. Come with us to camp."
"The Commandant will welcome you with open arms," added Mahmud with a croak. A tall, gawky boy of fifteen, he blushed at his changing voice, which had become a source of fun for the other youths in the training center. Akim and Faruz both giggled and gave him a sideways push. In the cool of the evening, the three teenagers ambled through the date grove back toward Al-Jawf. Above pigeons scrambled amongst the palm fronds for their roosting places.
The boys had met earlier in the day at the camel market at nearby Jenzia, one of the few entertaining excursions to be made in the area. There, the local tribesmen, called Padwig, bargained over their prize livestock, their racing camels, riding camels, their breeding stock, and their beasts of burden. On the outskirts they pitched their black goat hair tents, where the women spread out their colorful textiles for sale, while the children tended the herds of goats and sheep.
Akim had been slammed into the other two, when one of the great, growling beasts had thrown a temper tantrum at the smell of an in-season female. By the time the Casanova of the dromedary set had been captured, all were dusty and roaring with laughter at the plight of the she-camel's owner, whom everyone was calling a filthy Badawi, too stupid to know when his female was in heat, and thus barred from the market. Actually, the poor man, his black face covered by his blue veil and turban, was a Swahili speaking Tuareg, who had misunderstood the market's rules.
It had been a needed holiday from the stresses of camp life for Faruz and Mahmud... their first real break since their arrival six weeks before... their first contact with the locals. The commandant of the camp had decreed that, at the end of six weeks' training, there should be a brief leave so that a "student" could confront the outside world and its temptations. Those who found that they did not have the desire to return to their education could simply go. It was his way of weeding out those boys whose fire for the cause did not burn hotly enough. Those who returned, the Commandant would either remake or destroy.
"Why won't you join us in the struggle, the jihad?" asked Faruz.
"Why would your Commandant give me a second look? I'm short for my age and scrawny. I can't even see over the dashboard of the car I drive for Mr. Kalil. Besides, I have other obligations... here," replied Akim. "With my father and brother off working in Cairo, I have my mother and three younger sisters to care for. The Prophet would understand.
"But," Akim continued, "why do you wish to go make war on these people?"
"I am from Gaza," spat the huskier boy. "That should tell you all... the Israelis killed by brother... for no reason. He threw a rock and they shot him. I have sworn vengeance on Israel and all her friends... no matter the cost."
"Will it bring your brother back?" asked Akim. "You wish to make war on people who had nothing to do with your brother's death?"
Faruz nodded. "I wish to kill and kill and kill... until there are none left to die."
"Then you break faith with Allah, for the Koran says, 'Fight for the sake of Allah those who fight against you, but do not attack them first. God does not love aggressors.'"
"Ask my brother who was the aggressor?"
All Akim could do was nod. Had he lost his brother to an Israeli bullet, he might feel the same, but did not think so.
After a moment, he asked Mahmud, "Why did you come?"
"The imam in my village said that it was our duty to defend our way of life from the Western infidels... those whom the Ayatollah called the Great Satan. 'Our way is the way of the Koran, submission to God, in all aspects of life. These enticements from the West,' he said, 'seduce the weak among us and tear apart our souls.' Besides, when I left, it was one less mouth to feed."
"We should hurry," said Faruz. "The truck back to camp will leave without us.... Race you!" He gave Mahmud a quick shove backward and took off toward Al-Jawf's outlying mud-brick buildings.
| CHAPTER 6 |
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