Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (9 page)

“How do you say ‘I’m ready to leave’ in
Persian?”  She said a few words and then laughed.

“Why did you laugh?”

“Because I said something slightly
different.”

“It’s a pity. I should have brought
someone, who speaks Persian with me so you couldn’t bluff me.”

“There’s no need, I just said:  ‘Who
told you that I’m at all prepared to leave’?”

He stared at her in silence, tapping his
fingers on his lips.

Khalil arrived a few minutes later and
in the ensuing half hour, loaded all the paintings on his ample shoulders.  He
did not look at any of them and just busied himself with binding them.  Abigail
followed his movements expressionlessly and found it painful to watch how he
was wrapping her pictures and taking them out of the apartment.  Then, she ran to
her room and closed the door.

She only came out into the living room
when she heard the front door close.  Staring at the naked walls, she felt
abandoned.  A chill ran through her heart, and she clung to the wall and passed
her hand over the places the paintings had previously occupied.

Without thinking and, as if possessed,
Abigail pulled out a fresh canvas and nailed it to a new wooden frame.  She
banged the nails so hard that they sank into the wood and disappeared, leaving
holes in the stretched fabric. That very day, a new painting began coming to
life on the canvas.

She recreated all the members of her family
but, this time, they were sitting in a half-circle in the tent.  She placed her
mother on a cushion and all the others on a light-colored mat in various
poses.  When she looked up at the clock, she saw that it was one o’clock in the
morning.  She yawned and left the brushes in the glass of turpentine, but
didn’t clean the paint-stained palette as was her custom at the end of a
workday.  She fell into bed, exhausted.

She continued working on the painting
the following day; this time paying attention to the background.  Through the
opening in the tent, she added the white camel cow and the huge palm.  Only on
the third day, she filled in the yellow sands and dunes of the Negev, and when
she completed the painting, she spoke out loud to the figures:

“Now, you are all gathered together; I
will take you with me everywhere I go.”

She left the painting attached to its
frame for a few more days, and then removed it from the frame, rolled the canvas
into a narrow cylinder and pushed it between her personal belongings.  An hour
later, she pulled the tube out, opened the canvass again and studied the
characters.  This time, without understanding that she was making the mistake
of her life, she turned the painting over onto its other side and, using a
black marker, signed it and added a date. After a short thinking added in a very
small letters the signature and the date, on the corner of this painting.                                                                                               

Abigail Ben Nun

31
^st
August 2014

What
she forgot was that her funeral had taken place five months earlier.

* * *

            Clouds of artillery smoke
and the sharp smell of gun powder still hung in the air.  Abdul made his way through
the field; marching between the many corpses and his eyes were tearing from the
smoke.

            He gazed downwards and
examined the ground he was walking on, carefully striding so as not to step on
the bodies that lay on the sand.  Some were mangled beyond recognition and others
were covered with sand and dust.

            The fresher corpses of
recent casualties were piled on top of the older ones. They had lain in the
sand for so many days that even the sun and the heat no longer spread the odor
of their decomposition.  They had been there so long that they had mingled with
the surrounding ancient landscape as if there was already an inseparable part
of the rocks.

            Abdul gazed around and
understood that these dead people become part of the earth on which they were
killed and that no one will ever search for them or claim them.  They are
people, who have been wiped out, who will never receive a proper burial or have
a tombstone mark their resting place with their name.

            He pondered for a second whether
this would also be his fate.  He could not have guessed how right he was. 

Abdul was a member of the Kurdish
underground, who lived in Turkey.  His heart had grown numb to the horrors, and
the sight of the carnage beneath his feet did not affect his pace, but he was
careful to respect the dignity of the bodies. Every piece of fabric or dusty
rag signified another corpse, and he took care to walk around them.

            The truth was that, like
many others before him, he had already come to terms with the fact so many
people had died in their attempts to achieve Kurdish independence.  He had no
doubt that thousands more would die.  He knew there was no other way, nor would
there ever be. Since all who opposed the Turkish or Iraqi army shared a common
fate  - to be killed or die, and there was no option of capture or imprisonment. 

            Even the army they were
fighting against preferred its soldiers to die rather than, God forbid, be
taken prisoner by the Kurdish fighters.  In the view of the military,
unnecessary death was much more honorable than surrender or capture by the
Kurdish Underground.  That was the reason no one cared about these slaughtered
Kurds, who lay here under the Turkish sun.

            It seemed to Abdul that he
heard a baby crying.  He stopped, frozen to the spot and listened.  It was
quiet but then, he heard the sound again.  Yes, he heard a baby crying.

            Abdul gazed around,
searching among the many dead bodies.  The crying burst out from right beneath
him and he kneeled down, cleared away branches and stones and discovered some
dirty checkered fabric.  A dust-covered infant stretched out his tiny arm and
rested it on the breast of his dead mother and tried to suck it.  He released
the dark nipple and gaped as he emitted a thin, high-pitched sob.

            Abdul tried to pick up the
infant, but the dead woman gripped him like a vice.  He had to struggle to
release the baby’s arm and leg from her lifeless fingers, which were like a
fossilized spring that had lost its flexibility. He found a stick in the sand
and used it to release her grip and picked up the recently born infant.  The
baby was naked, and Abdul pulled the fabric that covered the dead mother out of
the sand and wrapped her orphaned child in it.  Gold embroidery glinted from the
ends of the collar of the torn garment and Abdul stopped to examine it.  The artistic
gold embroidery on the fabric led Abdul to think that perhaps, it had some
distinctive mark that could be identified.  He laid the child on the ground,
dug around the body of the woman and released the fabric that had enwrapped
both of them.

            The infant was hungry,
something even Abdul could recognize from the sucking of his toothless gums. 
The babe tried to suck Abdul’s dirty fingers, and he held him to his chest and
studied him from close up.  His tiny hands embraced his neck and aroused an
instinct in him that he did not know he possessed.  The sweet smell of the small
body, its softness, and the silky curls made Abdul open the buttons of his
shirt and press the infant close to his perspiring chest and embrace him.

            He folded the embroidered
cloth and put it under his arm and, with broad strides, made his way back to
his family’s tent.  He gave the orphaned child to his wife, Nazim, who embraced
him and rested him on the rounding belly of her new pregnancy and extricated a
breast that was always full of milk.  She was currently nursing her older
child, who was still less than a year old.

            Their new baby daughter arrived
almost three months later, and Nazim transferred the orphaned nameless adopted
child to the care of her mother, the amazing and wise Nana Kahit.

            She decided to name him Karma,
which means ‘fate.'  She believed in reincarnation and decided that fate had
sent this sweet baby to their tent.

Almost a year passed by, and little
Karma learned to walk on the small stones and the hardened earth.  Everyone
knew that he was an orphaned child without lineage, but persistent rumors floated
among the tent dwellers. Talk and rumors abounded as to the identity of the
dead woman, who had held on to him and wore a garment made of an embroidered
fabric that attested to her elevated status.

            When
Karma turned one-year-old, Abdul traveled to the big city, with the embroidered
clothing under his arm.  He wandered around the market places, showed it in the
stalls and went back home with a story.  It was the tale of a beautiful young
woman called Naziah, the daughter of a distinguished family in the city of Wan.
She had born a son to a celebrated and respected merchant by the name of Sallah
the Great.

*
* *

Sallah was a great and prosperous
merchant whose abundant wealth included herds of sheep and cattle. He cared for
his many employees and paid them generously.  Sallah owned a large home in
Istanbul, where he also housed his workers in a building he erected especially
for them.  He lived with his family in a two-storey house, with his beautiful
wife whom he had married according to Sharia Law and the Qadi’s ruling.  She bore
his five sons and two daughters. His eldest son, Sallah, was fifteen years old
and already considered joining his father on his business travels.

Sallah, the father, would journey to
faraway cities in the course of conducting his business ventures.  After
contracting and finalizing his deals, he would return home and send his workers
to execute the transactions.  They would transfer the herds that Sallah purchased
and paid for in advance and bring equipment and fodder for the flocks he raised
and nurtured in the large pen on his land.

Occasionally he was compelled to
lengthen his stay in a distant place for several days, and there were times when
he even had to remain for several weeks.  Then Sallah would arrange and find
himself a woman for his enjoyment and pleasure.  He would wed her in a
deceptive celebration of the temporary marriage with a Qadi’s blessing.  Some
unmarried women agreed to such an arrangement and everything was done according
to the custom and laws of the place.  He would leave them and return to his
home and family, compensating them according to what their agreement dictated.

There was one incident when he traveled
to a large city, to Bushehr, and remained there for five whole months.  Here,
he married one of the women who pleased him so that she would take care of him
and pamper him.  And he compensated her with more than double the amount that
had been agreed on because she had pleased him greatly.

His wife never knew about the temporary
wives and Sallah did not think it was a matter that concerned her.  Only,
Mustapha, his major Domo, who handled all his workers, was involved and knew
where to locate his boss, when he departed and when he was expected to return. 
Sometimes, he even made the purchase of the agreed compensation between Sallah
and his temporary spouse for him.

One day, Sallah came to the city of Wan,
where he had arranged to meet another wealthy dealer called Akai.  They met
three times to settle an unusually large transaction.  When they concluded the
deal, they shook hands and Akai invited Sallah to join his family for the
evening meal at his home.

At the table, he saw the man’s beautiful
young daughter and was unable to resist her charms.  She glanced at him briefly
over the line of her veil and immediately lowered her gaze.  Enthralled, Sallah
felt he was drowning in her enormous amber colored eyes.  He knew that it was
not polite to approach her directly, especially as no one had introduced them,
so he turned to her mother instead.

“Your daughter closely resembles her
father.  She inherited the color of her eyes, from him, didn’t she?”

The daughter looked briefly at her
father, who narrowed his eyes but did not react.

“I imagine that she took her beauty from
her mother,” and added at once: “With your permission, I am enchanted and
permit myself to address her.”

And, without waiting for a response from
the parents, he turned to the girl.

“What is your name, my dear?”

“Naziah, Sir,” she replied and modestly
lowered her long lashes.

Akai did not miss the sensual glances
that passed from Sallah to his daughter, and when they finished the meal, he urged
her to clear away the dishes and leave.

Sallah was not someone to pass up on a
girl like this, and he waited impatiently for the moment when they would
retire, he and Akai, to the living room and partake of coffee and cake.   When
they were seated in the lounge, Sallah addressed Akai.

“Allah has blessed you with beautiful
children, Sir.”

“Thank you, kind Sir, but I am too
insignificant to take credit for that.”

There was silence, and Sallah leaned
back in the seat of honor and regarded his host, as he considered how to
approach the matter.

“The meal was excellent and helped me appreciate
that you have been blessed with a good wife.”  To allow his compliment to sink
in, he gave his host time to thank him and continued:

“I presume that your daughters learned
to cook from her and, in time, will serve their spouses.”

“Of course, as is the custom in a
self-respecting Turkish family.”

Once again, they did not speak, and only
the clinking cups and the sounds of drinking coffee broke the silence.

“I am very pleased with our
cooperation,” Sallah began, “it seems we operate in one mind, as a team.”

“That’s right.  Let us hope that it will
benefit both of us, with Allah’s help, of course.”

“I am wondering if it would be
impertinent of me to offer you an additional deal.”

Akai looked at him quizzically.

“I would thank you for respecting your
wife and sharing this with her,” Sallah proposed.

It was an unusual request and not the
accepted custom.  He stood up and disappeared into the kitchen and, after quite
a long while, returned accompanied by his wife, Andar. Her eyes shone and from
the wetness of her lashes and her reddened eyelids, it appeared she had been
crying.  Sallah ignored this and addressed her immediately.

“I would be delighted if you would grace
us with your presence, with your husband’s permission, of course.”

Akai nodded in approval and Andar sat
beside them, but her stiff-backed posture indicated her uneasiness.

Sallah considered how to say things
indirectly but found himself saying the first thing that came into his head.

“I wish to marry your daughter.”

The parents were aware of his status and
wealth and, in spite of the game they played for the present, they both
regarded the fact that the man wanted to marry their daughter as a high honor.

”Did you mention a deal?” Akai inquired.

“Yes, of course.  In a fair deal, both
sides profit, right?

“I am told Sir, that you have a family
in Istanbul.”

“That is correct, a wife and children.”

Andar rose, but Akai looked at her
sharply and she sat down, her brow reddening above the veil that hid her face.

“When I said a deal, I meant it,” Sallah
repeated what he had said.  “I intend to marry your daughter in “an illusory
marriage,” a temporary union.”

Andar, the girl’s mother, threw her
husband a glance showing her shock and Akai hurried to respond.

“I trust you, Sallah, my friend, and
presume you know what you are saying.  From my point of view, it is alright;
only please explain what you said to the mother of the bride.”

“Fine,” Sallah countered, “the
relationship between your daughter and me will be consecrated and approved by the
religious officials of this city.”

“Does that mean that our daughter will be
like a second wife?”

“Eh… not exactly.  In an ‘illusory marriage,’
we agree that I may return her to you.”

“Divorce?” Akai exclaimed.

“I promise in that case
I will compensate you with a sum that equals the sum of our recent deal.”

Akai had a coughing fit and raised his
hand to his mouth because their deal had been worth millions of Turkish pounds
for a herd of two thousand head of sheep and goats.  He glanced at his wife and
hinted with his eyes.

It never occurred to either of the
parents to consult with or share the details of the deal with their daughter. 
Akai looked at Sallah, stood up and excitedly shook hands with his new partner.

“Signed and sealed!” he said decisively.

They arranged and signed the papers and
the matter was closed. The marriage was solemnized the next day in the
courtyard of one of the religious leaders of the village.

Their beautiful daughter, Naziah, obeyed
her parents and married Sallah in an “illusionary wedding” and went to live
with her new husband in a building on her parents’ property.

Two months later, Naziah informed him
that she was pregnant, and Sallah winced.  He spread his arms out wide, embraced
her but was angry with himself for not being as cautious as he had been with
his temporary wives who had preceded her.  Truth to tell, he had begun to feel
homesick for his wife and seven children in Istanbul and had intended to set
off for new business that week.

Of course, Sallah remained to await the
birth of his child.

Time passed idly until the day one of
his employees, Aslan, came to the city and knocked on the door of the family’s
home.

“Mustapha sent me to you, Sir, on a
matter concerning the herd.”

“Oh, what happened to the livestock?”

“Disease broke out and many sheep have
fallen ill and died.”

“What did you do in the meantime?”

“A veterinary doctor came and prescribed
medicines, which we added to their drinking water.  He instructed us to burn
the dead, separate the healthy lambs from the rest and take them to a different
field.  Everything was fine, but yesterday we found new cases of illness among
the healthy ones.”

“I understand.  You will spend the night
here.” Sallah announced as he thought.  “Have you eaten?”

Sallah clapped his hands and his
servant, Oran, entered the room.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Take Aslan to eat and call Naziah.”

Naziah was in the seventh month of her
pregnancy.

She entered, energetic and beautiful, her
swollen belly concealed under the loose galabiya she wore, and Sallah’s heart ached
when he saw her.

“Come to me, my beloved.  Come here.” He
said, and when she was close, he spoke to her belly:

“How are you, my little boy?”

He always hoped for boys.

“Everything is fine, my Lord.  He is
strong and kicks his mother mercilessly.” She announced and pulled Sallah’s
hand to her swollen belly.  Her stomach was taut, and he caressed her lovingly
as he laughed with pleasure.

“Naziah, my beauty, it’s important that
you tell him who his father is.”

“Certainly,
”
She whispered as he drew her close in his embrace.  “Why tell him?  After all,
he’ll grow up and see his father, with Allah’s help.”

“But, his father will be far away from
him so how will the child know?”

“Heaven forbid, may Allah have mercy! 
No, no,” she cried out and pulled away a little to look into Sallah’s eyes.
“You mustn’t speak or even think like that.”

Sallah straightened up in his armchair
and pointed to the chair beside him, but she remained standing.

            “My beloved, you know how
important you are to me.”

Naziah was silent, but her heart
pounded.  She held her belly in her hands as if trying to distance her unborn
child from what she was about to hear.  She stared at Sallah with her amber
eyes as her breathing grew shallow and rapid.

            “When you give birth to Sallah,
with Allah’s help, I believe he will be surrounded by love and receive the best
possible attention from his beautiful mother and wonderful grandparents.”

            Naziah lowered her gaze. 
She was obedient and acquiescent and listened to her husband without saying a
word.

            “I have to return to my
flocks in Istanbul.  A disease has infected them, and they are dying in the dozens.”
He said tenderly, “it’s important to me that you understand.”

            He gazed into her eyes,
seeking her understanding.  Not a single tear appeared in them as she pursed
her lips.  She curtsied very briefly and quickly left the room in a flurry of
rustling skirts, and the sound of her footsteps echoed her protest in his ears.

            Faithful
to his promise and according to the agreement between them, Sallah compensated
Naziah and her family with nine million, five hundred Turkish pounds and
released her from their marriage.

            “Perhaps I will return to this
city, to my beloved wife and the son, she will give birth to,” he told her
parents.  And when there was no response from them, he added:

            “If she is still available,
I will take her back.”

            Sallah ignored the fact that
after Naziah bore him his son, no one else would ever marry her.

            Sallah set out with Aslan,
his employee, and they traveled to the markets. He purchased embroidered
clothes and expensive jewels for Naziah and after taking leave of her parents;
he called for her and pointed to the packages.

            “I leave my heart here, with
you and the child in your womb.”

            This time, he noticed the tears
welling in her eyes but what he did not know was that they were tears of rage.