The Repentant Demon Trilogy Book 1: The Demon Calumnius (9 page)

“This is a friend,” said Doug, in Arabic to the taller one. “She is here to work at the excavation with me.  Her name is Abigail.  Abigail, this is Abdul bin Jabbar, our host, and his oldest son, Jamal.”

Abigail bowed and lowered her eyes according to Arab custom, and answered in Arabic that she was honored to meet them.  Even Doug seemed amazed, though she had told him she spoke the language.  At the doorway, the younger son, Jahmir, the wife, Noora, and their daughters, Malik and Kasi, eagerly waved everyone inside. 

“Breakfast awaits us,” urged Noora. “Come, before it becomes unfresh.”

The large, low table had been set, and the daughters quickly rushed to make two more places.  The smallest girl, about eleven, bowed while motioning Abigail to the basin of water so that she could wash.  Doug waited behind her, refusing her motion to go before her.  When all were seated on floor cushions, Abdul began a prayer, which was said over their food as all bowed their heads. 

Only Abdul spoke, the rest bowed their heads in silence, and Abigail prayed to her own God, refusing, no matter what the consequence, to acknowledge Allah.  She assumed Doug was doing the same, and then she heard strange words coming from this Arab's mouth.  In her quickie course in Arabic, she had not studied any prayers.  It was an academic study meant for students and travelers, which included basic words and phrases only.  She clearly heard the word Kathuliki—a word she learned so that she could explain her religious preference and perhaps find a church, which would have been nearly impossible but hoped-for treat in her travels.  This man had said the Arabic world for Catholic as well as the word Yasu, which meant Jesus.  She gazed at Doug with shock and disbelief on her face.

Their host, Abdul, said to her in English, “You know some words, some of the language,” he stumbled, “do you not?  You heard me asking Jesus to help the Catholic Church in Iraq.”

“I thought I did,” she admitted, “but it didn't seem believable. You are Catholics?”

Her question was greeted with smiles and nodding heads.

“Who converted you?” she asked, wondering what missionaries had been brave enough to come to this land.  They looked confused.  She thought they didn't understand the word.

“Jesus,” they said in unison.

“Yes, I understand that Jesus is the one who comes into our hearts and converts us all to new beings,” she explained, “but what missionaries came here, and when?”

“No missionaries,” answered Abdul, “we were here before the Arabs.  We are descendants of the Assyrians, the Chaldo-Assyrians, who lived near Mosul centuries ago.  Most of us were killed off, but our ancestors survived by hiding their faith.  We only reveal ourselves inside this house.  It is permissible to call God Allah in our religion, so we pray to him in public, understanding that He knows who we mean.”

“How did you meet Doug?” she asked. “Is there a church around here?”

“Doug did not tell you?” the older boy, Jamal, about fourteen, exclaimed, eager to tell the story.  But a quick glance from Doug signaled that he should not say any more on the subject.

Abigail caught the meaning of the exchange and did not press for further information.  It was not something that she would forget, however.  She planned to eventually get Doug to tell her how he came to know these amazing people.

“Perhaps it is a more interesting story,” said Jamal, “of how he met you, lovely lady.”

Everyone laughed, and when Doug told them that she was his teacher, they laughed harder—at the very thought that a woman could be a teacher to males.  Such was unheard of in their culture.

As they finished the meal, Abigail began picking up dishes and taking them to the kitchen along with the rest of the women, according to expectations.  The men sat back to await the serving of coffee, which came after the meal, a rich unique grind served with warm milk and honey.  Abigail had enjoyed this drink before, and sat with the women in the kitchen while they poured some for themselves, leaving the men to talk before rejoining them in the living area.  Normally all would be going about their chores by that time in the morning, but they were making exceptions to the schedule to welcome their guests.

Doug and Abigail went to their suitcases to get the gifts for the family.  They were so amazed to see chocolates—and that they were not melted. 

“I wrapped them in thermal insulation,” explained Doug, “hoping that would help.  They are soft, but at least not liquid.” 

“Even liquid chocolates would have been good,” said Jahmir, the youngest boy, who begged to play with his truck outside.  His father said he could, after his chores.  So Jahmir agreed to take care of the goats, camels, chickens, and other animals first.  He then approached Doug.

“How do American children play with this dump truck?” he asked. “They do not have sand.”

Everyone laughed, since the older children and adults knew a little more about life in other countries.

“You won't believe it, Jahmir,” said Doug, who seemed to have a special bond with the boy, taking him on his lap.  “They have a little sand in America—along the coast by the ocean and in the southwest, but so that all of the children can have the fun of playing in sand, they build boxes—small wooden boxes on the ground—and they pour sand into them from huge bags.  And would you believe it, they pay money for it?”

Jahmir laughed with the belief that Doug was teasing him.  “They pay money for sand?” He giggled. “But sand is free, and it is everywhere.”  When everyone laughed at him, Jahmir realized it must be true.  “Then let us sell them our sand, Father,” he said with excitement, “and we can become rich.”

Jamal was thrilled to see his gift was a chess set, saying he did not know how Doug knew he wanted one.  “It is beautiful,” exclaimed Jamal, “and in a wooden case, too.  Thank you, Doug,” he said in English, knowing it would please him.  “This is something you can play without sand, Jahmir.  I will teach you.” 

“Tonight?” Jahmir asked. “Please?” And his father nodded yes, so Jamal put the chess set aside for later and thanked Doug again for the gift.

“I saw you looking at them in the marketplace last time I was here,” he said.  “It is not carved of ivory or precious stone, but I hope you have fun with it.”

Kasi, a young woman of almost marrying age for their culture, admired the perfume and scented bath powder, smelling it and thanking Abigail.  It was something she would not have seen in the marketplace near them—a special perfume made without alcohol.  Such was forbidden under Muslim law.  This was something very exotic to a girl her age, and she was very excited to have something from another world. 

“I hesitate to use it,” she said, “because then it will be gone.  I will just smell of it every day and save it for my wedding—someday.” 

Everyone laughed at her, and she blushed, smiling.

“No, Kasi,” said Abigail, “use it freely.  I can send you more.  Invite me to your wedding, and I will bring you a case of it.”

“You are invited,” she gasped, “though I don't know the date yet—I don't know the groom yet, either.”

“She has her eye on someone in the next village,” teased Jamal from the kitchen.

“Time for your chores, Jamal,” she yelled back at him.

“I thought you wanted to marry me?” said Doug. “Don’t tell me I've been replaced.”

“That was when I was a child, Doug,” she said shyly.  “I still love you, though, as a brother.  I hope to come to your wedding someday—the two of you can get married here so we all can throw you a celebration.”

“No, you misunderstand,” said Abigail. “Doug and I hardly know each other.  We only just met, really met, a week ago.  But he was in my class since spring.”

“This is so strange,” said Kasi, “a land where women teach men. Young, beautiful women, too—I think I like that.  But don't worry, Father, I'm not getting ideas.”

The group laughed, and little Malik asked if she could open her gift next. She was given permission, then, thrilled, tore into the colorful paper with pink ribbons.  The other family members had hesitated to destroy the pretty packaging, but not Malik.  She opened the bright red plastic case to find it filled with art supplies, and her mouth dropped open with joy.  She stood to bow deeply to Abigail and Doug, thanking them even more by this than jumping up and down like a much younger child.

“You remembered that I love to draw and paint,” Malik cried. “I will paint the beautiful sunsets we have here in Iraq.  I know they are everywhere in the world, but I think ours must be the most beautiful, are they not?” she asked her American friends.

“They are among the most beautiful,” said Doug.  “I think you should paint them and sell them to tourists.”

“Yes, I will do that,” she said with excitement. “Then I will get rich, and I can go to America.  But then, I would no longer see the beautiful Iraqi sunsets,” she said sadly.  “So I will not sell all of them.  I will keep some for myself.”

The opening of each gift had brought laughter.  In Abdul's family they did not follow the Muslim custom of not opening gifts in the presence of the giver when given.  He thought it was a stupid tradition and did not know why it was followed.  Perhaps it was because he was a Christian and looked differently upon the whole notion of giving gifts.  Since the children had had their turns, Abdul began to open his gift from Doug at the urging of all the family.  It was a large hunting knife with a beautifully carved onyx handle in the shape of a lion.

“This is a most expensive gift,” said Abdul, in awe. “Surely you have spent too much for this.”

“Not really, Abdul,” he said. “It was very reasonable, I promise you.  And I wanted to show you how much I appreciate your friendship over the years.  This is nothing compared to the value of that, my friend.”

“My friendship will always be there for you,” he stated sincerely, “and of my family for your family forever.  We will always be grateful for what you did, and you will never be forgotten in all our posterity.”

Doug looked embarrassed and shook his head, denying any need for gratitude.  Then the two men rose to their feet and embraced in a formal way—a sight Abigail had never witnessed before.  They kissed—on the mouth—then both sat back down on their floor cushions.  Abigail saw tears in Abdul's eyes and knew that there was something really profound beneath the surface that she did not yet understand.

The mother, Noora, began to open her gift, deflecting attention away from the seriousness of the display of emotion the men had shown.  She graciously thanked Abigail for the sewing implements in the basket, and then sweetly asked her if she enjoyed traveling in the Middle East.  Abigail told her about her few trips and about the class she taught back in the United States.

“I am fascinated to learn about other cultures, too,” admitted the older girl, Kasi, about sixteen, “but we do not get the chance for that much.  Our books at school portray America as an evil place, and I don't believe that.”

“Unfortunately, there is evil there,” said Abigail. “Actually, everywhere in the world, there is some evil.  But there are good people who avoid evil and try to make the world a better place.  Those people join together in churches and in other groups that gather to help others, so I try to stay with them as much as possible.”

Yes,
Calumnius thought to himself, listening to their conversation,
you have no idea how near you are to evil—none of you do.  And you will succumb to my temptation, Miss Abigail.  Wait, you will see.
  He touched her hand resting on the low table, and she grabbed it back.  He could tell by the frightened look on her face that she had felt him.
She felt something
.

“What is the matter, Miss Abigail?” said the youngest girl, Malik, who was about eleven and had hardly taken her eyes off the woman since she had entered her dwelling.  She had never before seen anyone with green eyes the color of precious stones.

“You look startled or alarmed.  Did you perhaps feel a foreboding?” said Malik.

“Nonsense, child,” scolded her mother, “don't frighten our guest with your talk of forebodings.”  Then she explained to Abigail that the girl seemed to have a knack for knowing when bad things were going to happen—like a bad sandstorm or a death in the family.  “It was probably just nothing at all,” she assured Abigail.

“I don't have a foreboding now,” explained Malik, “but I thought she did.”

“Actually, what I felt was a cold chill on my hand,” said Abigail.  “It was so strange because there certainly isn't anything even remotely cool around here that I can see.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Doug looking out the window, anxious to get to work. “We can leave for the dig now if you are ready.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” said Abigail, noticing that the males had gone outside to their chores as she and the women had begun talking among themselves.  “I just need to get a headscarf and my straw hat from my bag.  Are you bringing water, or do they furnish that there?”  She went to the other room adjoining the kitchen, where the women had taken her suitcase.

“We will prepare for you a comfortable bed, over by the window,” said Kasi, “and you will be back for the evening meal, so you can tell us about your adventures during the day.”  She hugged Abigail, and it warmed her heart with a feeling that could only be described as what it had once felt like to have a sister.

Abigail was adjusting her wide-brimmed hat over her kerchief-covered hair while she came out through the door to find Doug holding the reins of two large camels.

“Ready for your first riding lesson?” he teased.  “Meet Al Haml, your mount. Al Fahl, the larger one, is for me.”

“Is it like riding a horse?” she asked. “I'm pretty good with horses,” she said, “at least the few I've ridden—and that was a long time ago.”

“Forget everything you know about horses.  They walk entirely differently.  Instead of rocking back and forth, as with a horse, you sway side to side.  A horse walks with a front left and a rear right together.  The camel walks with left-left together, then right-right together.  And the worst part is getting on and off,” he teased, “then staying on while he tries to bite you and spit on you, then getting him to go where you want.”