Blink of an Eye (35 page)

“I'm not sure it is a moot point,” Seth said, looking down at his fingers. They were red. He touched the tips. Maybe bruised.

“And why not?” Clive said. “Miriam's gone, right? You turned her over to Samir. No one knows where they are, but wherever it is, it isn't Saudi Arabia. He'd be a fool to take her there. They're probably holed up in Spain under false names about now.”

“Seems sensible. But there's only one problem.” Seth wasn't sure how to say this. Wasn't even sure he believed it.

“And that would be?”

“That would be . . .” He frowned. “I can't get her out of my mind.”

Clive sat back and sighed. “The curse that follows beautiful women—”

“It's more than that!” Seth caught himself and looked away. “I can't get her out of my mind. What does that tell you?”

“That you're in love with her?”

“Or maybe it means that whoever put her in my mind hasn't taken her out. Maybe for a reason.”

Clive picked up a walnut off the table and began polishing it with his thumb. “Really? And who might that be?”

Seth stood at that most awkward juncture sometimes referred to as the moment of truth. He had been here many times over the course of his mind's travels. The road forked before him. One road, the beaten path, required that he explain himself only in terms familiar to Clive. This road excused him from taking the man out to a cliff, where they could glimpse a breathtaking vista of new ideas. The other road, the one that led to said cliff, required that he actually try to make Clive understand.

For the most part, Seth always found the latter to be a painful experience. Perhaps similar to a woman's pain during childbirth. Considering the subject, he found nothing to suggest this time might somehow be different.

On the other hand, Clive was a clever fellow. And the idea was begging to be birthed.

“You're pretty sharp, Clive. Don't ask me to explain now, but today I know a few things I didn't know yesterday. I know that everything we do changes the future. I know that something out there called God changed my future in the desert. Do you realize the implications of this, Clive?”

“Tell me.”

“Prayer may just be the most powerful tool mankind has.”

Seth sat back. His own words sounded absurd to him. Imagine the Berkeley faculty's reaction to that.
Our brightest student has just lost his
mind.

“What I'm trying to say is, there's a whole other dimension out there, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. It's a gift. But now it seems we have a problem.”

Clive set the walnut back on the table. “You're losing that gift.”

“But I still have it. Which means that I still need it.”

Clive sat still, eyeing him. “Don't let your infatuation with a girl—”

“I'm not. But I think Miriam may still be in trouble. And that, my friend, isn't merely about my love for a woman. It's about the stability of Saudi Arabia and the Middle East. It's about the future of America, far beyond what I can see with this gift of mine.”

chapter 31

m
iriam sat in a beach chair beside the villa's pool, overlooking the beautiful Madrid skyline, drawing delicately on a tall banana daiquiri, feeling as vacant as a dry lake bed.

Samir had brought her here, to this wonderful city in which they first spent time alone. To her surprise, no one interfered with their trip. Although he had false identification for her, she expected his own name to raise questions at the borders. But they cleared customs without the slightest delay.

The reunion was wonderful in so many ways—she was once again with the guardian of her youth, the man who represented freedom and love. That alone was enough.

Samir treated her with a measure of aloofness during the trip—he was, after all, a Saudi citizen traveling in the open with a woman. But she was confident that as soon as they arrived at their final destination, which she assumed to be Madrid, the flowers of love would once again bloom.

They had been in this grand villa for two days now, and Samir was gone, “tending to their future,” he'd said. Miriam wondered what that meant.

Seth would know.

A passing grin drifted across her face. Her mind had flitted to Seth a hundred times since leaving him in the casino. She'd become a different person in his company. He was like a fragrant aroma that had swept into her life and revived her from a living death. Delightful and intoxicating.

Your material needs are my spiritual needs.
She believed they were. Had been, anyway.

When she allowed herself to listen to the quiet voices of her heart, they told her that she'd been sick to leave him. Yes, sick—the kind of sickness that comes from having a hole in your heart.

But that was nonsense, because how could she have a hole in her heart while she was with Samir? Who was Seth but a conflicted American who'd stumbled into her life?

And he was Jewish. Or his grandmother had been. Not that it mattered now.

“Would you like another drink, madam?”

She looked up at the servant who'd approached from her right. “No, but thank you.” Even her voice sounded vacant, she thought.

The servant dipped his head and walked away. Miriam glanced back at the courtyard for Samir. A friend owned the villa. They were here for her protection. That's all Samir would tell her. Not that it mattered; she was here in his care and she trusted him. He'd been mostly absent since their arrival, returning only for dinner, because he was arranging a secret future for them. Perhaps a journey to an island, or a city in southeast Asia.

There was no sign of Samir now, and she settled back into her chair.

Seth wouldn't have left her alone by the pool, would he? He would have taken her with him to choose their future together.
Please,
Miriam, you cannot compare Seth and Samir. You're comparing a rose to
a Mercedes. They're incomparable.

For most of the trip, she'd successfully buried the images that kept trying to resurrect themselves. But here by the pool with hours to waste, she found herself powerless to resist them. Memories of Seth hauling her onto the toilet, and dropping from the vent over her bed, and praying with arms raised before his hasty altar, and leaning over the roulette wheel, pretending to be a lucky fool. If anyone else had done these things, she
would
think him a fool. But Seth was her rose in the desert. Her savior.

Perhaps one day, if Samir would agree, they would go to the United States and find him. They both were in his debt. Miriam for her very life and Samir for his bride-to-be.

Miriam rolled to one side, heart aching.
Think of the future, Miriam.
Think of the freedom before you.

But sadness swept over her instead, and she could not stop the tears that swelled in her eyes. How could these memories bring her so much pain? Why couldn't she just wipe him from her mind and indulge in her new freedom?

Seth, Seth. My dear Seth, what have I done?

“Miriam.”

She jerked up. Samir approached, dressed in a blue suit and dark glasses. She dabbed her eyes.

“We have to leave. Your clothes are waiting in your bedroom. Our flight leaves in one hour. Please hurry.”

Miriam stood, alarmed. “Our flight? To where?”

He hesitated. “To your father.”

“I'm going to see my father? How? I thought—”

“You can't be married without your father's blessing,” he said, smiling.

Married? Yes, of course, but would the sheik change his mind and bless this marriage? That couldn't be right! “My father's future depends upon my marriage to Omar! Now he's agreed to our marriage?”

“You think your father is so heartless?”

“But, I thought . . .” She didn't know what to think.

“Hurry, Miriam. The plane is waiting.” Samir walked away.

His blessing! And why not? She watched Samir—the suit looked good on him. He was not himself, she thought.
He's about to be married;
what do you expect?

Miriam flew to her bathroom, thoughts of Seth vanquished by this turn of events. She showered quickly, strung with nervous energy. It was Egypt to be sure. The sheik had gone ahead to Cairo and made the preparations. She was to be married to Samir in Egypt!

She ran to the bedroom. Married! Her suitcase lay open, already packed. And Samir had laid a black gown over the pillows for her to wear. He was thinking of his bride already. She took two steps toward the bed and froze.

It was an abaaya. And a veil.

The sight of it made her think only of Omar.

Trembling, she pulled on a dress from the suitcase and ran from the room. She found Samir standing at the large picture window, hands in pockets, staring out at the pool.

“Samir! There is—”

“You must wear it, Miriam.” He turned and she saw that his jaw was set. It softened. “Please, we are going to meet your father. Surely you know that he must approve. Are you thinking to throw out everything you hold dear and chase the American way? This is what that man has done to you?”

For the first time, she heard anger in his voice, anger directed at her, and it terrified her. He was talking about Seth. Did Samir suspect anything? He was wounded.

“No.” She took a step toward him. “No, Samir. But this is not Saudi Arabia.”

“But your father is a Saudi. Put it on.”

She blinked. Perhaps he was right. One last time, out of respect for her father. It was just a piece of cloth. They faced each other for several long seconds.
He is only trying to do what is best. Because he loves
me. This is no easier for him than for me.

Miriam turned, his chastisement burning in her ears.
Be a good,
obedient woman, Miriam. You cannot just throw out all of the past and pretend
you are someone you are not
.

She entered the room and stared at the black cloth. How could she possibly put it on? But refusing would only drive a wedge between her and Samir.

Miriam closed her eyes and picked up the abaaya. Working blind with her breath held, she pulled the robe on.

It is nothing. It is only a piece of cloth.

She slipped the veil over her head without looking. Ten days had passed since she last wore the veil, and to her it felt like a lifetime. The span between life and death.

She opened her eyes. The world was gray.

She would not look down; she would not look in a mirror; she would pretend she wore sunglasses. After all she'd been through, was this so impossible?

Driving to the airport, Samir sat in the limousine's front seat and ignored her entirely. She walked through the airport behind him, her mind buzzing. Rage and despondency formed a bitter pill that she swallowed and allowed to poison her. She saw nothing—refused to see. She stood in the corner, arms crossed, and let Samir make the flight arrangements. He collected her after some time, and she followed him again, toward a private jet ramp.

Just a few hours, Miriam. After you see Father, you will tear this sack
off
. Many Arabs did not require their women to wear the cloth. Most in fact. Islam was hardly about what you wore.

But she was a Saudi princess of the Wahhabi sect. She—

Miriam stopped. They were entering the Jetway. She'd been so humiliated by the dress that she hadn't paid any attention to her surroundings. Now she saw the pilot, and she was sure she recognized him. She glanced out the window to her left. It was too dark. She lifted the veil and saw the jet. It had Saudi markings!

A man angrily motioned to her to lower her veil. She dropped it and ran to catch Samir.

“Where are we going?”

“I told you—to your father.”

“But where!
Where
is he?”

Samir took her elbow firmly and pulled her forward. “Please, Miriam. Don't make a scene. There are those who will do anything to stop us!”

She hurried down the ramp with him. “Then tell me where,” she whispered harshly. They entered the jet, which was empty except for a dozen men seated near the rear. They stared at her as one.

“We are going to your father in Riyadh,” Samir said. “Sit here.” He pointed to a seat in first class.

Miriam's legs went numb. She wasn't sure she was breathing. She sat without realizing that she was doing so. Riyadh! Why? Wasn't that where Khalid and his son Omar were? Wasn't Riyadh the city she'd fled?

Samir sat in the rear of the plane with the other men. Something had gone terribly wrong. She could understand the possible necessity of everything else that had happened, but not this. Not Samir choosing to sit with men in the back when he had the choice to sit with his bride in first class.

Unless he was simply following the Saudi way. That would be it, of course. Saudi men were not even expected to know their brides, much less sit with them. He was only protecting their marriage by being discreet.

But why Riyadh?

Miriam hated every minute of the short flight. She spent the time carefully constructing scenarios in which all this made perfect sense. Samir was doing only what must be done for their future. She could not expect to walk into paradise without paying a price. The sheik wanted a Saudi wedding in Saudi Arabia.

But why not in Jidda, or Dhahran, his hometown?

They landed, and for a few brief minutes Miriam was thankful to be hidden beneath the veil from prying eyes. Then they were in a limousine once again, speeding for the countryside. Still Samir refused to talk to her. Of course. The driver.

The limousine came to a stop before a tent—the same one she'd met the sheik in less than two weeks ago—but this time a dozen smaller tents stood nearby, and at least a dozen vehicles. In her eagerness, she stepped past Samir and ran into the tent. She pulled off her veil.

“Miriam!”

She spun to the sheik's voice and walked in, confused but hopeful. He kissed her and invited her to the same table she had eaten at before. Two men stood to her left—guards.