Finding Nouf Page 5

  Nayir sensed a chance for transparency. "What about you? What do you think happened?"

  Othman stopped walking. He sighed and crossed his arms. "Ever since I discovered she was gone, I've felt that someone took her. We've talked to her escort, Muhammad, but he said Nouf had called him that morning and told him she didn't need him that day, so he went out with his wife. Meanwhile, Nouf told my mother that she was going to the mall to exchange her wedding shoes."

  "How did she manage to leave without an escort?" Nayir asked. "I mean, I'm just wondering why no one noticed that Muhammad wasn't here that day."

  "Well, my mother doesn't follow her every time she leaves the house. Usually Nouf met Muhammad in back by the stables. She went to the stables by herself all the time, usually in the mornings. She liked spending time with the camels. When she was ready to leave, she'd call him and he'd drive around to the back gate and pick her up there."

  Nayir nodded. "So she could have been gone long before anyone thought she had even left the house."

  "Yes. Nouf told my mother she'd be at the stables that morning and meet Muhammad around noon. For all we know, she could have left right after talking to my mother."

  "Did any of the servants notice her hanging around the stables?"

  Othman shook his head. "They didn't see anything."

  "Who discovered she was missing?"

  "My mother. She expected Nouf back around five, and when she didn't show up, my mother called Muhammad. He told her what Nouf had said that morning. Instantly the house went into an uproar. My brother went down to check the stables; we questioned all the servants; my mother sent them to look for her jet-ski. Sometimes Nouf would ski around the island on her own, but the jet-ski was still at the dock. None of the servants had heard or seen anything unusual."

  Nayir had learned of some of this before, but he wanted to hear it again. "She didn't leave a note?"

  "No."

  "And you don't have any idea where she might have wanted to go?"

  "None. Honestly, she spent a lot of time shopping. She was preparing for her wedding. That's why I couldn't believe that she would have run away on her own."

  Nayir nodded. "So it was natural for your mother to think that Nouf would spend five or six hours at the mall."

  "Yes, certainly. It takes a good hour just to get downtown from here, and that's when traffic is good."

  Nayir nodded reflectively.

  "Believe me," Othman said, "she was eager to get married. I don't believe she would jeopardize her future." He shut his eyes and for a moment seemed overcome with exhaustion. He rubbed his forehead vigorously and let his hands slide down his face. Nayir waited for him to continue. "Even if she harbored a secret desire to escape this life, it just doesn't make sense. She was not that deceptive."

  "I can't imagine anyone wanting to escape this life." Nayir motioned to the house. "She must have lived very comfortably here." The distant roar of an engine broke into their conversation. It sounded like a speedboat.

  "When she first disappeared," Othman said, "Tahsin thought that she was frightened by the prospect of marriage. That she'd had a change of heart. Sure, marriage is intimidating for a sixteen-year-old girl, but we all believed that she wanted it badly and she wouldn't have spoiled her plans. At the same time, why would anyone kidnap her and then not demand ransom? Nothing makes sense."

  The engine's roar grew louder and then abruptly receded. Nayir glanced idly at the ground. It was certainly a confusing situation, but his thoughts kept returning to the bruises on Nouf's wrists, and to the fact that she'd lost her camel.

  Othman's cell phone jangled. Hastily he excused himself, answered the phone, and walked away, stopping beside a row of hedges out of earshot from Nayir. Nayir imagined it was Miss Hijazi calling, and he felt a stab of guilt. Having met her without Othman's being present now felt like a betrayal. It occurred to him that Miss Hijazi was probably at the house right now. A strange envy struck him when he thought of the women's sitting room and of Othman's ability to penetrate that room, even if it was only through the telephone. What would she say? Would she tell him what the women were discussing? Would they be talking about Nouf, as Nayir and the brothers had done, or would they try to avoid the subject for fear of upsetting Um Tahsin?

  His thoughts circled back to the problem of her boldness, and he wondered if he should tell Othman that his fiancée had been so forward with another man. Othman glanced in his direction with what Nayir thought was a curious look, and with a touch of embarrassment Nayir turned away. No, he thought, better leave the whole thing alone.

  Beside him an iron gate led down a short path to a terrace overlooking the sea. Intrigued by the engine's roar, he slipped through the gate, walked down to the terrace, and stood at the edge of the balustrade. It was a breathtaking view. The sea spread to the horizon, oscillating between the cobalt of day and the soft red of twilight. The Shrawis were lucky to own property like this, far from the noise and dust of the city and its burgeoning suburbs. Jeddah was swelling rapidly, expanding up and down the coast and pushing its way deep into the desert to accommodate its two-million-strong population. One day it would become a suburb of Mecca, ninety kilometers to the east. The Shrawis, he knew, had grown tired of living in a metropolis of such monstrous proportions. Their island was paradise, close enough to be part of city life but far enough to provide a sense of privacy and calm. The royal family owned many of the habitable islands off the Jeddah coast; the rest were designated as natural preserves for rare bird species. This island had once belonged to the king's brother, but in a notable act of generosity, the crown prince had given it to Abu Tahsin for reasons that no one would tell.

  The sound of the engine grew louder, and Nayir looked down. A sheer rock wall fell to the beach, and when his eyes grazed the shore, he spotted the source of the noise. A woman was riding a bright yellow jet-ski. She wore a black cloak, but it looked as if her headscarf had blown off and was whipping around her neck. A long, thick ponytail hung down her back.

  She had to be a Shrawi. There were no other islands nearby, and certainly no woman would ski this far from the mainland by herself without a veil. It didn't seem likely that the Shrawis would let their daughters race around, especially on the evening of the funeral, but who else could it be? No servant could afford a jet-ski, and anyway he doubted that the servants would let their women expose themselves at work.

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then he turned back to the woman with unguarded interest. She stayed close to the island, and the ski's loud roar echoed off the rocks as she headed around to the southern dock. Even from a distance he could see the controlled bank of her body as she ripped through the water, slicing up waves and churning foam in her wake. He imagined that Nouf had skied like this, and that if this was one of her sisters or cousins, the angry cavorting was a fitting expression of grief.

  "What—?" Othman was behind him, staring down at the woman on the jet-ski. He looked horrified.

  "What is it?" Nayir asked.

  Othman continued to stare, unmoving, until the woman turned back toward the island, exposing her face. Slowly his hand went to his chest. His other hand clutched the railing. He bent forward, shutting his eyes tightly and breathing with the deep, intentional inhalations of a man trying to keep himself from fainting.

  Nayir stared at him. "Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem',' he whispered.

  Othman took a deep breath that seemed to shudder in his chest. Nayir turned away, feeling that his gaze was an invasion of privacy. He watched the jet-ski turn to the north and disappear beneath the overhanging rocks.

  A few moments later Othman put both hands on the balustrade and pushed himself up. His skin was the color of sesame paste. "I thought it was Nouf," he said. His arms were shaking. "That was her jet-ski, but it was only Ab—one of my other sisters."

  Nayir looked down; the engine was now a distant hum.

  Othman's arms fell to his sides. "She shouldn't be o
ut."

  "Perhaps she's upset." Nayir gazed at his friend. The color was slowly returning to his cheeks. "People do strange things when they're grieving."

  "I know," Othman murmured. "But it's going to upset my mother."

  "Does your sister jet-ski often?"

  "Yes. No." Othman checked his watch. The gesture seemed more like a nervous tic than a genuine desire to know the time. "Since Nouf disappeared, Tahsin won't let the girls go anywhere, and that includes riding on the water. If you'll excuse me, I'd better go straighten this out."

  "Yes, go ahead. I can find my way ba—"

  Othman turned away before the sentence was finished and hurried toward the gate.

  Nayir left the alcove and walked along the gravel path, wondering what exactly had happened. Nearly fainting at the sight of a perceived ghost seemed normal. But in the little episode that had just played out, the look of perfect terror on Othman's face when he'd seen his sister's approach had struck a strangely dissonant note. It wasn't the terror as much as the sudden plunge into a suspended reality that was, for Othman, not natural at all.

  I said it myself, Nayir thought ruefully, people do strange things in their grief.

  Nayir arrived at the courtyard just as the outdoor lights were coming on. The camel keeper, Amad, was standing at the stable door, staring at Nayir with a myopic squint.

  Nayir approached. "I recognize you now," Amad said, walking forward and stumbling on a shattered brick. He kicked it aside. "You're the desert guide. It's been a while."

  "Yes, Nayir ash-Sharqi." He extended his hand for a shake. "It's good to see you again." He seemed to remember that the man was desert-born. He recognized something Bedouin in him, although he wasn't sure what. The firm cut of the jaw, the steady posture, a certain choppiness of speech. Or perhaps it was the man's incessant blinking.

  "Will you take the family out again soon? The camels miss the desert, you know."

  "I miss it myself," Nayir said. He'd come back into the city only this morning, but this trip out had not restored him in the least. All the fruitless searching had worn him down, and that, followed by the blow of Nouf's death, had created a tight knot in his gut—anger at the family for being so secretive and at himself for not having found her. A strong part of him wished he could go back to the desert tonight and spend a few days relaxing with no one to bother him. But he would keep his word to Othman and wait for the private investigator to call.

  They were standing in front of a wide wooden door that led into the stables.

  "How is the camel they found in the desert?" Nayir asked. "I heard she was having some problems."

  Amad hesitated. Nayir could tell that he'd raised an awkward subject. "No problems," the keeper said. "She's fine. Who told you that?"

  "My mistake." Nayir reached into his pocket for a miswak. Amad squinted, watching his movements. It was a wonder the old man didn't wear glasses.

  "It's terrible what happened to the girl," Nayir said.

  "Yes. I'm sorry for their loss."

  Nayir was struck by the man's sudden reserve. He put the miswak in his mouth and took another look at the courtyard. "The Shrawi girl who disappeared—she spent a lot of time with the camels," he said.

  Amad eyed him—suspiciously, he thought. "She liked animals. She was down here a lot, with her escort usually. Or she came with her brother. All the girls come down to visit the camels, but that one especially." Amad peered vaguely at the gate.

  "But it's strange, isn't it?" Nayir said. "I can't imagine how she managed to get a camel into, what, a pickup truck? That seems a big job for a young girl like that."

  "Well, don't go looking too carefully now." Amad spat on the ground and looked up at the house. "Ask me, this is one of those things better left in the dark."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I've learned one thing here: when you enter the house of the blind, you put out your eyes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to unload the last of the feed."

  Nayir watched Amad enter the stable with one hand touching the wall and the other groping nervously. "Got to fix that light," he muttered as the darkness swallowed him.

  Feeling oddly exposed, Nayir looked back at the garden gate, but Othman was still gone. From behind he heard a scratching noise and turned to see a woman striding out of the stables. She had a sturdy build, was about as wide as Nayir, and her movements had a confidence that he recognized in people who spent time in the desert. She was, he felt certain, the keeper's daughter.

  When she saw him, she raised a hand to her face, which was unveiled. A black crest of hair fell over her cheek. Nayir couldn't help noticing the enormous bruise above her left eye before she skittered through a doorway in the stone wall to his right and disappeared.

  Perhaps someone had overpowered her to steal the camel, but who would knock out the daughter when the father would have been so much easier to handle, being elderly and half blind as he was? It might have been a matter of necessity. Maybe the daughter stumbled on Nouf—or her kidnapper. He wondered anxiously if Othman knew anything about it, and if so, why he hadn't men tioned it. Nayir wished there were a way he could talk to the girl.

  The camel, however, wasn't taboo. Glancing one last time at the garden gate, Nayir crept behind the stable door and waited for Amad to leave. Propped against the building were half a dozen long planks and a clutch of lead pipes. The planks were lighter than they looked; it would have been easy for Nouf, or someone else, to use them as a ramp for getting a camel into the back of a truck. Nayir picked up a pipe. It was heavy enough to knock someone out. He studied each one, but none of them had traces of blood. It also looked as if none had been cleaned recently. They were covered with thousands of tiny, soft splinters from the cedar chips that were strewn on the ground, just like the chip Miss Hijazi had found in Nouf's head wound.

  He heard Amad grumbling within. Moments later the keeper came out, calling his daughter's name and taking off in the direction she'd gone. Grabbing a handful of sugar from a sack by the door, Nayir slipped into the stables.

  The interior was as dark as the folds of a woman's cloak. He fished out his penlight and switched it on against his palm in case he was standing too close to the animals. He didn't want to startle them. The scent of manure lodged in his throat.

  Once his eyes had adjusted, he raised the penlight, approached the first stall, and peered inside. A camel was asleep on its belly. Nayir backed away and an instinct kicked in, telling him to speak softly to the beasts; they weren't awake, but they would hear him anyway and know he was friend, not foe. He whispered as he crept down the aisle. He passed stalls on each side, most of them locked, some stirring with life. Peeking into each one, he saw its prisoner sleeping, and he crept on to the next. He was looking for the camel that wasn't asleep, the camel that was too anxious to rest. He picked his way through the stable, annoyed for once that the Shrawis kept so many camels on a useless island in the middle of the sea.

  Finally he found her. The camel was white, her fur yellowed by the penlight. Nayir stood back from the stall door, murmuring a soft lure for the animal inside. It seemed to take a very long time, perhaps a full ten minutes, for the camel to climb to her feet with a rustle and a groan, blowing another whiff of dung in his direction.

  He continued to whisper phrases until he heard the beast nudge the stall door. He stopped whispering. The camel nudged again.

  With enormous care he unlatched the door and let it drift open. He kept his eyes on the floor and mumbled pleasantries until the camel shook her head with a delicate whinny, indicating that Nayir could approach.

  He looked at her then and saw an elegant lady standing knock-kneed on a tuft of straw. Thick lashes accentuated her wide brown eyes, and she seemed to gaze at him with a mixture of bashfulness and curiosity.

  "Salaam aleikum" he said. She nuzzled his arm. The keeper was right: this was not a traumatized camel, so who had told Othman otherwise? Nayir didn't think he would lie about the camel; it seemed more lik
e the natural exaggeration of rumor.

  He opened his palm, revealing sugar tablets in the penumbra of his penlight. She threw back her muzzle and gave another ladylike snort. When he raised the sugar to her nose, she gobbled it down faster than he'd ever seen a camel eat, and when she finished, she let him stroke her shoulders where the nerves and joints merged in a sensitive knot. She was tense—not as tense as he'd expected, but she'd had some exercise lately, more proof that she hadn't been kept in a cage. Finally, standing close enough to inspect her, he went over every centimeter of her fur with his light, looking for signs of injury or abuse. He found nothing. She was as happy and fit as if she'd just won a race, save for a lingering sense of alertness that had been easily quelled by a few soft words.

  He patted her, stroking the nape of her neck, the shoulder, and down the left foreleg, where his fingers encountered something odd. It felt as if gelatin had dried in her hair, but a closer look revealed that lack of grooming had not caused the marks. He directed the penlight to the spot, and pushing aside the longer hairs, he found a place where the hair was shorter than the rest. It was a series of lines—five, to be exact, each no longer than his thumb. They looked like burns.

  Five lines on the leg of a camel meant what? He thought for a moment, then it came to him. After tucking her in again and saying goodnight, he crept back out to the empty courtyard, baffled by his find.

  6

  KATYA HIJAZI SAT in the back seat of the Toyota as her driver, Ahmad, steered through the darkened streets. He stopped fully at every corner, sipped coffee from his favorite white mug, checked the side streets (which were always empty), and eased forward, content to travel like a snail. At one intersection he rolled down the front window to let in the cool air, and stealthily Katya rolled down the back window too, just enough to reveal a portion of the night sky.

  There was always a hazard heading out into the world, but on this morning in particular she was in a watchful, darkly expectant mood. The night before, she had called Ahmad to ask if he would pick her up before dawn. She didn't say why, and Ahmad, as usual, didn't ask.