Desire In The Desert. Ryshia Kennie
quality. There was an ebony, pearl-inlaid hutch and gold-stamped figurines on various shelves throughout the room, indicating this village was doing well.
Emir removed his shoes and walked barefoot over a rug so thick he seemed to sink as he walked across it. This one was ruby red and in the middle sat an intricately carved ironwood table. A trio of men sat around the table, each with a long, thin, metal smoking stick. The smell of tobacco wove through the air and was strangely pleasant, unlike the acrid scent of cigarettes at home. Here it was a different smell, warmer, in a pleasant, rather earthy kind of way that blended with the smell of cinnamon and jasmine sifting through the air from a number of incense pots set in various corners.
He turned his attention to the man in the traditional long robe in front of them who had just joined Aqil. Unlike his first host, this man clearly wasn’t interested in introductions.
“I wish we had met under better circumstances,” the man said, his dark brows furrowed.
“The men you seek.” He looked at Emir with a scowl that deepened, as if challenging him to contradict him. “Their group was seen not forty-eight hours ago heading west.” He took a drag from his pipe, blew out a thin stream of smoke and continued. “They didn’t stop for water nor did they enter our village.”
Emir knew that piece of information was critical. Water was vital. No one would not stop for water in the desert when it was available, no matter if they carried a supply or not. Two scenarios played in his mind—they were heading to a place they knew had water that was relatively close, and had enough water to get there—an oasis with enough water to keep their small group going or...someone here had met them with a supply.
“No one here helped them, or had any contact,” the man said, as if he’d read Emir’s mind. “And there’s nothing nearby.”
“Was there...?”
“There’s nothing more,” the man said and turned away from Emir. He whispered a few words to Aqil, making it clear from his actions and poise that he was a leader within the village.
Emir straightened. He knew he’d been dismissed, that there was nothing further to be learned in this room.
Left alone, Kate felt conspicuous and even more out of place. She tried to feign disinterest while furtively watching everything and everyone around her. It was impossible. She was a stranger, a foreigner in their midst, and she was center stage.
The children watched her curiously. One small boy came up to her and poked the back of her hand before giggling and taking a step back. He looked up at her. His dark, curly hair glistened in the sun as his curious brown eyes locked to hers. He opened his hand and held out a blue rubber ball.
“Are you going to play catch?” she said in Berber, but the boy only closed his hand, giggled and ran away. She was alone again, a curiosity in their midst. She saw a woman looking at her from her place by a pot over a cooking fire. Kate hesitated only a second before going over to her for she was the woman Emir had suggested she approach first.
“May I?” she asked, motioning to the stool. While she wasn’t completely fluent in the language, she had a familiarity she’d gained through her time in the Middle East as a child with her parents when her father had worked for the American Embassy in Morocco, and again through her studies and her brief time as an exchange student.
The woman looked at her oddly. Her skin was a beautiful coffee color that glowed despite her wrinkles and advanced age. A black scarf with white embroidery partially covered her hair. Then she smiled and revealed missing teeth. She motioned for Kate to sit beside her. Her knotted fingers were quick and limber as she pinched spices from numerous tins beside her and stirred them into the pot. Kate had no idea what she was making but her stomach rumbled at the heady scent of the combined spices.
She glanced around. To her left, a group of women sat quietly watching her as they had since she’d arrived. The children played ball. The man had left with his two camels. Everything else remained the same. But something had changed. What?
Kate had never felt so out of place in her life. Despite everything she had studied, her familiarity with language and all her visits to Morocco, here she was the foreigner, the oddity with no commonality. Worse, this was the one language where she was not fluent, she could understand most of it, speak roughly but that was it. She looked back, searching for Emir, but there was no sign of him.
“Come.” A woman in a mauve-and-gold aselham, the hood over her head so that her forehead was covered, approached and beckoned, motioning with one hand. What Kate could see of her face and dark hair revealed a woman in her early forties with a smooth, sun-bronzed face and eyes that seemed dark, unfathomable, as if they were full of secrets.
Intrigued, she followed the woman as she skirted behind the houses to a smaller building made of the same sandstone. A brown curtain served as a door.
Kate had to bend to follow the woman through the doorway. Inside was another woman. This one was younger and dressed similarly, except her aselham was worn with a matching veil that was gray with gold trim. A gold tassel dangled from either side of her veil. An older woman in a cream-colored aselham that showed the tops of a pair of black, high-heeled boots, her long gray hair uncovered, brought her a cup of tea. Kate knew the veil was not a cultural necessity among the Berbers but more than likely worn for protection from the unseasonable weather.
She took the tea. The cup and saucer was bone china like any you’d get at home and unlike the customary Berber cup that had no handles. She sank onto the rug that covered the floor, watched the others and emulated what they did. She held the cup with both hands, not the usual way to hold what seemed a traditional teacup. Despite her studies and everything she knew about Morocco and the Middle East, she’d never seen a tribe such as this that seemed to dance between traditional customs and ones that, she guessed, weren’t acquired from popular culture but distinctly their own.
“They won’t tell him the truth,” the younger woman said in a soft voice. “He was paid too well.”
The oldest of them clicked her tongue, an oddly loud sound in the ensuing silence. She held up her hand. “Enough of such talk.”
“It’s true,” the younger woman persisted. “They will not say anything.”
Kate put her cup down and met the older woman’s eyes. She took a chance that these women knew why they were here and they might very well know where Tara was. “Sheikka Tahriha Al-Nassar may die if we don’t find her soon.”
Silence hung within the room for what seemed like minutes and might have only been seconds.
Finally the woman who had led her there said, “I will say what I know but you are to tell no one what has been said within these walls until you leave this village.” Her gaze was intense, serious. “This is between us. The women here and no more.”
“I promise,” Kate said sincerely.
“I tell you this. I will breach the will of our men only because one of our sisters is in danger,” she said. The words were spoken in careful and precise English and because of that they seemed even more ominous.
Kate held back a shiver.
The woman squatted beside Kate and pulled her veil back, revealing fresh, clear skin that was much more youthful than Kate had imagined without the veil casting shadows along the sides of her face.
As she listened, Kate could feel the tension tightening in her gut and the implications of it all made her want to cry for Emir, for his family. But, first, she knew that the man who was intent on destroying the house of Al-Nassar must be stopped.
“Do you know where they were going?” Kate asked.
“No.” She hung her head but when she looked up and her lips were set as if she’d made a decision. “That is all.”
Kate nodded