Blue Damask (14 page)

     He caught her with a tight grip on her upper arm and pinned her down.  She felt the hard pistol in his coat pocket as she tried to push him off her.  When the car bounced violently, she made an attempt to grab for it. She would not use it, of course, but neither would he.  Instead he was thrown to the side as the car veered in the other direction, and she missed her chance.  Another bounce allowed her to see that there were no longer two heads in the front seat.  She exhaled as her eyes burned.  The ether must have overcome the driver and the front seat passenger.  She grabbed her door handle before she would be forced to take another breath, and as the car swerved and struck a rock, she was able to get the door open and roll out into the gravel and dirt.
     The car moved slowly and away from her and then two wheels went up a slight incline, and rolled the sedan to a stop.  She must get away and hide.  She did not know how much ether had been released from the vial, but they would recover quickly as fresh air replaced the chemical inside the car.  The engine sputtered and died.

     She looked up the road where they had come.  That way was the main road.  Behind her the track fell away steeply into a
wadi
.  She got to her feet.  She had lost a shoe when she rolled out the car door.  She looked around for it, thinking of scorpions and those big ants whose bites felt like the stab of a knife.  She scrambled out of the depression that had bounced the car out of its track and reached for the shoe.

     The men would see her walking along this road from miles away.  She could not just start back.  They would run her down and catch her.  There was nothing to hide behind.  She frowned and looked down into the
wadi
.

     Good enough for now.  She slid down the steep sides into the dry wash.  The bank was higher than her head, so she would be out of sight, but as soon as one of them walked over and looked down she would be visible.  She glanced at the sun.  There would be several hours before dark.  If she could hide until then, she could make her way out in the moonlight and head up the narrow track back to the main road, provided the men gave up their search for her before then.

     Foolish men.  Did they think she would not recognize the scent of ether?  She was a nurse, for God’s sake.  Did they think she would not notice they were not headed back to the hotel?  Did they think she was a weak and stupid woman?  She nodded to herself and rubbed her eyes.  The answer was ‘yes’ to all three.

     So be it.  She gritted her teeth and smoothed her skirt and tightened the buckles on her shoes.  They must not have read Marshall’s report.

     She heard a shout above her.  Not in English.  She shrunk down low and pressed herself into a clay crevasse in the side of the
wadi
.  More shouting in the native language.  All men.  Men and boys, she corrected.  After a few minutes of listening she added donkeys and at least one horse to the mix of sounds she heard above.

     She heard the opening and closing of a car door, then angry shouting.  She cowered further against the clay and tucked her feet under her as tightly as she could.  Above her head the roots of a shrub tangled her hair.  She heard footsteps approaching the edge of the
wadi
and imagined she probably made marks in the dirt that led directly to her hiding place.  The footsteps stopped.  Two boys were talking above her head.  They did not see her directly below them.  They were probably looking for a sprawled dead man at the bottom of the
wadi
, or a man running away from the scene.

     Elsa knew people see what they expect to see.  She surmised that a blonde European woman curled in a ball against the side of a
wadi
was not what they were expecting to see when they looked over the edge.  They spent mere seconds scanning the expanse of the
wadi
before running back to the much more interesting accident scene.

    She took a deep breath in relief.  Above her the voices indicated that many more men had joined the first group.  There was some arguments, some questions.  She was puzzled that she did not hear the voices of the government men.  They should have regained consciousness by now.  There was no way she was going to poke her head over the edge to find out what was happening. 
     She made herself sit tight and not move.  Even when she heard more shouting.  Even when she heard the sounds of steel and the pounding of stones and banging of metal.  Even when she heard the sound of the car being started again and driven back up the road.  She waited, listening as the sound of the engine and the tires on the gravel died away to be replaced by the lonely sound of the wind.  Long shadows covered her before she felt it was safe to climb up and peek over the edge.

     The car was gone.  She expected that.  The road’s deep ruts looked deeper now in the setting sun. In the last rays of light she could see three bodies in the dirt where the car had been.  Elsa ducked back in her crevasse and covered her mouth with her hand.  She blinked rapidly to clear the dust that floated around her face then used her scarf to cover her nose and mouth.  Sonnenby had said the war was not over in the Levant.  He was right.

     Another tentative peek over the edge revealed that there was not much time before the sun disappeared.  The disc rested on the edge of the horizon, she could almost see the bottom flatten as she looked.  In the other direction not a soul moved in the beautiful wasteland.  She waited another minute until she remembered the call to prayer in this land would occur at sunset.  This would be an excellent time to climb out of the
wadi
.

     Her shoes dug into the clay sides of the crevasse and she used the roots of the shrub to pull herself over the edge.  Her skirt was torn up one side, and her white blouse was now the color of the local clays.  She brushed it as she kicked the dirt from her shoes and debated whether she wanted to take a closer look at the men, or just moved as quickly as possible up the dirt road to try to get back to the main road that led to Damascus.

     She took two steps up the road before turning and running toward the accident scene.  They might not be dead.  They might be unconscious.  Maybe something from the wrecked car might be there. A canteen of water.  Elsa’s throat was so dry she entertained thoughts of allowing the locals to capture her to get water.  A fantasy of walking up to one of the low plastered houses and asking for a glass of water kept playing over and over in her head.

     A meter away and she knew they were dead.  Their heads were no longer attached to their bodies.  The faces rested peacefully in the rutted road and the arms and legs lay sprawled where they had been dragged.  The dirt and gravel was darker under the bodies.  Elsa took a step back.  There had been no struggle.  The men had been slain while the ether had them unconscious.  The bodies had been searched, the pockets of their jackets inside out.   They were missing their shoes.

     She took another step backwards.  No canteen.  Nothing.  Anything that had been inside the car was gone.  Her briefcase with all her notes and Lord Sonnenby’s files.   She allowed herself to wonder what might have happened to her had she been inside.  She looked around quickly.  Anyone looking in this direction or coming down the road would see her standing there silhouetted against the sunset.

     She crouched low in the dirt.  She would have to go now.  Now.  No water.  Her fingers opened and closed as she thought about her briefcase.  She had just what she was wearing.  That was all.  She had escaped with her life.  Why was she complaining?

     She turned around and scanned the horizon.  The sun would be gone soon.  Already the stars were bright in the eastern sky.  She made a fist.  So be it
.
  She began to march up the incline back to the road
. 
I will worry about that later.  All of it.  First be gone, then water.

     A mile in the twilight brought her closer to a group of four square buildings grouped around a well.  She stopped.  She had seen no one, only donkeys and some thin horses the size of ponies in a makeshift corral.  It was the dinner hour.  She looked back up the dirt track.  Another mile to the road.  She had no idea how many miles to Damascus.

     Her feet started walking toward the well and before her mind could make a decision they were running.  She leaned over the stones that ringed the deep hole to protect it and keep animals and children from falling in.  The sound of her panting breath echoed in the blackness and she could feel the humid air rising from the depths as she smelled the delicious smell of water.  But there was no bucket, no rope.  This was not like the wells in the countryside in Austria.  Her breathing was voiced with a disappointed moan that also echoed up from the well.

     A deep voice startled her.  She staggered back from the stones and faced the man who spoke.  He was no taller than she and very thin.  His beard was lighter than his face beneath the turban he wore.  He pointed at her, then at the well and said something else.  Elsa nodded and pointed at the stones beside her.  “
Wasser. Bitte
,” she said, surprised at how dry and hoarse she sounded.

     The man lowered his arm and took a step closer, peering at her.  He pointed to her head scarf and asked a question.  Elsa pushed the scarf back from her hair and said, “
Wasser
.”

     The man raised his voice and shouted toward the house.  Moments later a woman emerged with a clay jar affixed to a rope.  She eyed Elsa curiously as she lowered the jar into the well.  Elsa kept her eyes on the older man.  He watched her as she drank the offered water.  She wiped her chin and returned the jar to the waiting woman.  “
Danke
.”’

     By now many pairs of eyes were watching her from the doorway of the house.  Some were every low to the ground.  Elsa counted five children of various ages.  Three women.  No men.  Just the grandfather.  She turned back to him.  “
Danke
,” she repeated.

     She gave him a tentative smile and took a step toward the dirt track in front of the house.  Time to go.

     He moved in front of her and his voice suggested he did not want her to leave.  He shook his head at her and put an arm out to block her path.  He was still being polite. Elsa could not see his face clearly in the dark, but the gesture was not aggressive and his voice was soft.  He pointed toward the entry to the house where the lights from oil lamps cast a faint yellow trail into the yard.  The children instantly fled the doorway and the light became brighter.  The old man insisted.

     Elsa thought about the government men in the road some miles behind her.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  She had spoken German without thinking.  Her eyes darted over the little group of houses as she tried to remember whether the locals welcomed their release from Turkish control at the hands of the British and French, or considered the Ottoman defeat as bitterly as the Germans did.  She could not possibly know.

     It was obvious the appearance of a European woman at their well was unusual.  The curious eyes that fled the doorway now appeared at the square openings in the house, little round heads silhouetted in the windows.  The old man waved toward the door again and said something, this time very soft and cajoling.  Elsa considered arguing with him.  The cool of the night was beginning to settle.  The light breeze lifted her scarf and the ends of her hair and reminded her that a long walk would be more pleasant at night, than in the heat of the day.

     She looked at the road and the miles ahead of her.  Her feet ached.  Her shoes were not designed for hiking.  They were little dress shoes with little practical heels.  Already one heel was loose.  She tried to smile.  She was hungry.  And tired.

     Perhaps this family had nothing to do with the murder of the government men and the theft of the car.  A donkey brayed behind her as if to concur.  This was a farmer and his family offering their hospitality to a lost stranger.

     She closed her eyes in defeat.  There was a greater chance of success staying here than hiking alone up the road for miles at night.  Eventually she would become barefoot, and who knows when she would get more water?  Roving brigands might be active at night.  That settled it for her.  This man was no brigand.  She bowed in acceptance and entered the house.

     The children instantly fled, as did the younger women.  The old man’s wife smiled at her and showed her where to sit.  Elsa sat carefully on the rug near the wall and tucked her feet under her.  Her torn skirt made it difficult to sit without baring a leg.  Another cup was given to her.  Strong tea this time.  She sipped it gratefully as she looked around the small room.  It was built from blocks covered with plaster and whitewashed inside.  The floor was packed clay covered by various rugs.  The only furniture was a low table and one three-legged stool.  An empty brass brazier stood in a corner.  Newspaper and magazine pages were randomly affixed to the walls.  She could not tell if they were there as decoration or if the walls served as a kind of bulletin board.  Elsa finished her tea and more was offered from an elegant metal teapot.  The farmer’s wife held the handle with a brightly colored cloth to protect her hands from the heat.  Elsa nodded her thanks.

     The farmer had disappeared immediately after she had entered his house.  She guessed he had gone to spread the news of her appearance.  There was no helping that.  She lowered the teacup as she tried to think of what might happen to her.  Until she saw the dead government men in the road she had not considered she was in any danger from the locals.