“Face it, Himmar,” taunted Saied, “you have to wear the shirt you sewed. Paybacks are a bitch, ain’t they?”
Abu Adil shook his head. “I will be sorry to lose you, Umar. I couldn’t have cared for you more if I’d been your true father.”
I was amused, and glad that events were turning out as I planned. A line of American fiction occurred to me: “If you lose a son it’s possible to get another — but there’s only one Maltese falcon.”
Umar, though, had other ideas. He jumped up and screamed at Abu Adil. “I’ll see you dead first! All of you!”
Saied fired the seizure gun before Umar even drew his own weapon. Umar collapsed to the floor, writhing in convulsions, his face twisted in an ugly grimace. At last, he was still. He’d be unconscious for a few hours but he’d recover, and he’d feel like hell for a long time afterward.
“Well,” said the Half-Hajj, “he folds up real nice.”
Abu Adil let out a sigh. “This is not how I intended for this afternoon to go.”
“Really?” I said.
“I must admit, I’ve underestimated you. Do you wish to take him with you?”
I didn’t really want to be saddled with Umar because, after all, I hadn’t actually spoken to the imam. “No,” I said, “I think I’ll leave him in your hands.”
“You can be assured there will be justice,” said Shaykh Reda. The look he turned on his scheming assistant was chilling. I was almost sorry for Umar.
“Justice,” I said, using an old Arab saying, “is that you should restore things to their places. I would like my moddy now.”
“Yes, of course.” He leaned across the still form of Umar Abdul-Qawy and put the moddy in my hand. “And take the money,” he said.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “But I’ll keep the moddy I have of you. To guarantee your cooperation.”
“If you must,” he said unhappily. “You understand that I have not agreed to abandon the Phoenix File.”
“I understand.” Then I was struck by a sudden thought. “I have one last request, however.”
“Yes?” He looked suspicious.
“I wish to have my name removed from the file, and the names of my friends and relatives.”
“Of course,” said Abu Adil, glad that my last demand was so easy to fulfill. “I would be pleased to oblige. Merely send me a complete list at your convenience.”
Later, as we walked back to the car, Kmuzu and Saied congratulated me. “That was a complete victory,” said the Half-Hajj.
“No,” I said, “I wish it were. Abu Adil and Papa still have that goddamn Phoenix File, even if some of our names will be taken off. I feel like I’m trading the lives of my friends for the lives of other innocent people. I told Shaykh Reda, ‘Go ahead, kill those other guys, I don’t care.’ ”
“You accomplished as much as was possible, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu. “You should be grateful to God.”
“I suppose.” I popped Rex and gave the moddy to Saied, who grinned to have it back. We rode back to the house; Kmuzu and Saied discussed what had happened at great length, but I just rode in silence, wrapped in gloomy thoughts. For some reason, I felt like a failure. I felt as if I’d made an evil compromise. I also felt uncomfortably sure that it wouldn’t be my last.
Late that night, I was awakened by someone opening the door to my bedroom. I lifted my head and saw a woman enter, dressed in a short, clinging negligee.
The woman lifted the covers and slipped into bed beside me. She put one hand on my cheek and kissed me. It was a great kiss. I woke up completely. “I bribed Kmuzu to let me in,” she whispered. I was surprised to realize it was Indihar.
“Yeah? How do you bribe Kmuzu?”
“I told him I’d take your mind off your pain.”
“He knows I got pills and software to do that.” I rolled over on my side to face her. “Indihar, what are you doing here?” I asked. “You said you weren’t going to sleep with me.”
“Well, I changed my mind,” she said. She didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “Here I am. I’ve been thinking about how I acted when… after Jirji died.”
“May the mercy of Allah be on him,” I murmured. I put my arm around her. Despite her attempt to be brave, I could feel warm tears on her face.
“You’ve done a lot for me, and for the kids.”
Yipe. “That’s why you’re here? Because you’re grateful?”
“Well,” she said, “yes. I’m in your debt.”
“You don’t love me, do you, Indihar?”
“Marid,” she said, “don’t get me wrong. I like you, but—”
“But that’s all there is. Listen, I really don’t think being here together is a great idea. You told me you weren’t going to sleep with me, and I respected that.”
“Papa wants us to be married,” she said. Her voice took on an angry edge.
“He thinks it shames his house for us to be living together otherwise. Even if we aren’t, you know, sleeping together.”
“Even though my children need a father, and they like you, I won’t marry you, Marid. I don’t care what Papa says.”
Actually, marriage was something I thought happened only to other people, like fatal traffic accidents. I still felt an obligation to take care of Shaknahyi’s widow and children, and if I had to marry someone, I could do worse than Indihar. But still…
“I think Papa may forget all about it by the time he gets out of the hospital.”
“Just so you understand,” said Indihar. She gave me another kiss — this one chastely on the cheek — and then she quietly got out of my bed and went back to her own room.
I felt like such a noble son of a bitch. I’d made her feel better, but deep down I had no confidence at all that Friedlander Bey would forget his decree. All I could think about was Yasmin, and if she’d still go out with me after I was married to Indihar.
I couldn’t get back to sleep. I just turned from one side to the other, twisting the sheets up into a tangled mess. Finally I gave up and got out of bed and went into the study. I sat in the comfortable leather armchair and picked up the Wise Counselor moddy. I looked at it for a few seconds, wondering if it could possibly make sense out of recent events. “Bismillah,” I murmured. Then I reached up and chipped it in.
Audran seemed to be in a deserted city. He wandered through narrow, congested alleys — hungry, thirsty, and very tired. After a while he turned a corner and came into a great market square. The booths and stalls were deserted, empty of merchandise. Still, Audran recognized where he was. He was back in Algeria. “Hello?” he shouted. There was no answer. He remembered an old saying: “I came to the place of my birth, and cried, “The friends of my youth, where are they?’ An echo answered, ‘Where are they?’
He began to weep with sadness. Then a man spoke, and Audran turned. He recognized the man as the Messenger of God. “Shaykh Marid,” said the Prophet, may blessings be on him and peace, “don’t you consider me the friend of your youth?”
And Audran smiled. “Yaa Hazrat, does not everyone in the world desire your friendship? But my love for Allah so completely fills my heart that there is no room there for love or hate for anyone.”
“If that is true, “said Prophet Muhammad, “then you are blessed. Remember, though, that this verse was revealed: ‘Thou shalt never reach the broad door of piety until thou givest away what thou lovest best.’ What do you love best, O Shaykh?”
I awoke, but this time I didn’t have Jirji Shaknahyi to explain the vision. I wondered what the answer to the Prophet’s question might be: comfort, pleasure, freedom? I hated the idea of giving up any of those, but I might as well get used to the idea. My life with Friedlander Bey rarely entailed the notions of ease or liberty.
But my life needn’t begin again until morning. In the meantime, I had the problem of getting through the night. I went to search for my pillcase.