Living Stones (9 page)

“I’m thinking of a counseling career. But that takes years of training, so I don’t know. God must have something in mind for me.”

“You must be religious.”

“Oh, maybe. But I do believe that God leads us somehow. Do you, Robert?”

He thought for a minute. What to reply? Didn’t he try to fit into Allah’s plan? “I, um, guess I do. You probably go to church somewhere.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s one I’ve discovered that is quite interesting. Partly because they teach about Israel and believe that we are close to the end times.”

“I don’t get it. Why would they care about Israel? And what do you mean, ‘end times’?”

“Oh, that’s easy! They believe that Israel becoming a nation in 1948 represents the beginning of the end, you know, when Messiah returns.” Jenny smiled, but with a quizzical furrowed brow.

“So they are all supporters of Israel?” he asked.

“Right. We even wave Israeli flags once in a while. There is an association of churches who support Israel in every way they can. They are all over the country.”

“I had no idea churches like that existed.”

“Would you like to come sometime? I’d be glad to take you.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt, you know. Why not? I’ll look at my calendar and get back to you.”

Watching television news in the living room of his landlord’s house, Robert realized the intensity of the national frenzy. He understood the corresponding determination of the FBI to find the bomber. What should he do to lie low? No way could he get out of the country without raising suspicion, not with a Pakistan visa in his passport. They would have that in their computers even in the process of getting a new passport.

OK, he would avoid any close contact with anyone. He would not even eat dinner at the brothers’ house. The FBI could be tracking them, or Imam Jabril. He would miss seeing Ali, but it would be better that way. With his small refrigerator and stove, he’d cook his own food in his room or eat out occasionally.

Then he thought of Jenny’s invitation to visit her church. He smiled. What could be better for his cover than attending a church that is known to be pro-Israeli? What a great idea for a jihadist looking for a place to hide.

The psychology lecture droned on, explaining the significance of conditioned responses. Robert had learned of Pavlov’s dog in junior high school. He spotted Jenny across the lecture hall, and she smiled when their eyes met. After class, they spoke in the hall, revisiting her invitation to church. Her eyes sparkled.

“Next Sunday will work for me,” Jenny said.

“Sounds good. Where do we meet?”

“How about right in front of the college where the flag and benches are located? On Broadway. Maybe nine-thirty in the morning? You driving?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll pick you up and you can show me how to get there.”

Najid listened to the news on his radio while he hurried to dress. It felt good to be home and showered, and he was anxious to see Ashley. He had solved the puzzle of riding the buses in Seattle and had no trouble arriving at Harborview Medical Center. He checked at the nurses’ station on Eight North before tiptoeing toward Ashley’s room. The door was partially open, and Najid eased his way in to find Ashley asleep. Beeping monitors and the screen showed changing numbers. Fluid ran into her arms through the IV tubing. He didn’t know what he should do. He didn’t want to hurt Ashley by waking her. So he sat down in a chair by the window to wait.

He watched over Ashley, beautiful and almost smiling in her sleep. His heart ached as he saw her, so open, generous, and loving—so seriously hurt. He wanted to hold her hand, to kiss it. He found a recent newspaper from Oklahoma City on the sill with headlines about the bombing in Seattle and immersed himself in it. So he didn’t notice when Ashley opened her eyes and turned her head toward the window.

“Najid, Najid! Oh, you’re OK!” She flung her arms upward,
forgetting about the IVs and cracked ribs. Najid leaned over the bedrail to join in the hug. “I’m so glad to see you.” She jerked and grimaced with pain suddenly. “It seems like every time I move, my chest hurts. They tell me I have some broken ribs. I asked about you but no one seemed to know if you survived the blast.”

“And I didn’t know about you after they took you away in the van with the flashing lights. You were bleeding on the sidewalk and couldn’t answer me. I didn’t know what to do except shout for help.”

“Did you get hurt too?”

“Just scratches on my arms. You took the force of the explosion and I was behind you.” Najid’s voice broke. “You . . . protected me.” He swallowed several times and couldn’t speak.

“I did? Well . . . that’s good. But tell me exactly what happened and what you did, where’ve you been. Nobody tells me anything, and I have so many questions.”

Najid stood by the bedrail and looked into the eyes of the most beautiful person he could remember meeting outside his family. He shook his head and smiled. Their eyes met as his face flushed and his eyes filled with tears. “Ashley . . . I prayed for you to live.” He became silent, nodding as she smiled. Then he began to grin. “So you want to know everything?”

“Everything, Najid.”

That began a long account of all that had happened to a bewildered foreign student in a faraway land who had become a terrorist victim along with Ashley. She had additional questions about his confinement as a “person of interest” and legal questions, many of which he couldn’t answer.

Then Ashley asked about the bombing itself: What had happened? She continued, “I don’t remember much at all. Being at the synagogue is a big fog. I must have been stunned if not knocked out. A policeman came briefly yesterday asking about what I remember, and I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. He said that people who lose consciousness in an accident often have no memory of the events just before it happened. The doctor confirmed it and called it ‘retrograde amnesia.’ ” She grew silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s best that I can’t remember anything.” She seemed to gaze beyond the opposite wall in silence. “But what about the reaction in the United States? I’m too
sleepy to watch the news on TV.”

“I know a bit about that. It’s international news as well. I’ve been isolated too, Ashley. But I did hear a bit on the radio this morning. And I found a paper from Oklahoma City just now with a lot of information. Someone must have left it.”

“Oh, that would be from my parents. They flew in to be with me. They should be here soon. My dad is a news junkie, and he’ll know the latest.”

“Junkie? Is he on drugs?”

“No,” Ashley laughed. “My dad getting high? No, he’s just hooked on news. Junkie’s another American slang word meaning he’s addicted, in this case to reading the newspapers.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“You will. Both Mom and Dad should be back soon.”

“OK. Now tell me how they treated you here in the hospital. You could have died. I thought you might not be alive.”

So Ashley related all she knew of her injuries and what Dr. Thompson told her about what had happened in the OR. Her memory remained clouded for most of the time after the blast, until today. “Pain medicine, I guess. I keep falling asleep.”

Ashley answered a soft knock on the door. “Come in. Oh, Mom and Dad! I’m so glad you came so you can meet Najid. You remember we spoke of him yesterday, and we didn’t know whether he survived the bombing. Najid, these are my parents, Frank and Dorothy Wells.”

Najid bowed slightly and shook hands with both parents as they approached Ashley’s bedside. “I am so happy to meet you. You must have been very worried for your daughter.”

“We were,” Dorothy said. “But I’m pleased that you both survived. It must have been a frightening experience for you.”

“Yes. But especially seeing Ashley lying on the sidewalk, bleeding and unable to speak. She protected me from the blast.”

“Really? Did you escape any injury?” Frank asked.

“I have a few scratches on my arms, that’s all. But I didn’t know what happened to Ashley. We are friends and classmates in graduate school at the University of Washington.”

“I understand that. So what have you been doing since the explosion?”

Najid briefly described his detention as a “person of interest” and then asked Mr. Wells for any current information from national or international news.

“You would be blown away by what is happening around the world. Ah . . . ,” he paused, “that’s probably a bad phrase to use.”

Dorothy grimaced at her husband’s choice of words.

“Anyway, intelligence agencies all over the world are investigating to determine where the explosives came from and who might be involved. It has triggered alarm also in Europe and of course, Israel.”

“It clearly targeted Jewish people,” Ashley said.

“No question, Ashley. Jewish organizations are up in arms. Everyone in the country wants to find the bomber. The departments of Homeland Security, the State Department, the FBI, and the White House started taking hits for not detecting the plot before it happened. They seem to have no idea who or what organization perpetrated the bombing.”

“It’s no wonder you were detained,” Ashley added, looking at Najid. “The authorities are desperate to find who did it.”

“Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility, but the intelligence people in the United States doubt that,” Frank continued. “It could have been a homegrown terrorist or organization as they have not been able to identify anyone from overseas. They’ve poured over the Watch List here in the U.S. to find leads, but that has proved a huge undertaking and takes time.”

The conversation turned to other subjects, including how Najid came to U Dub. He realized Ashley needed to visit with her parents. “I’ll come back tomorrow after classes.” He shook their hands, walked out, and tried not to wonder what Ashley’s parents might think of him. For some reason, their opinion mattered . . . a great deal.

So, how are you feeling, Ashley?” her mother inquired after Najid left.

“I hurt, but the pain medicine is enough. I have a little button here I can push when the pain gets worse . . . every ten minutes if I need it. I’ll be upright tomorrow and start walking, they say.” She chuckled and then winced, eyes closed. “Sounds impossible right now.”

“How long will you be in here, assuming everything goes well?”

“About a week total, Mom. Dr. Thompson says I’m doing fine. The ribs should feel better by that point. By the way, you don’t need to stay here since the crisis is over.”

“We’ll decide that later, Ashley. Tell us more about Najid. He’s not an American is he? He has an accent I can’t place.”

“He’s from Israel, here on a Fulbright Scholarship, a graduate student in zoology, finished in Haifa at the university there. I asked him to go with me to the synagogue to go to a Shabbat service. He speaks Hebrew, so he could translate for me. That’s how he happened to be with me when the bomb went off.” Ashley sighed. “We both could have been killed.”

Dorothy Wells shook her head, gazing out the window. After a
moment she said, “I didn’t realize he’s Jewish. That’s great, Ashley. We’re so pleased that you’re making international friends from Israel. They are such wonderful people who have gone through so much difficulty.”

“He’s not Jewish, Mom. But he’s an awesome guy.”

“I thought you said he’s from Israel.”

“He is, from a town near Nazareth.”

“So if he’s not Jewish, what is he?”

“He’s Palestinian, Mom. But he’s a Christian.”

“Wait a minute!” Frank Wells said. “I’ve never heard of a Palestinian Christian. Are you certain about his faith? His name sounds Muslim.”

“Dad, he’s part of an ancient church, the Melkites, who trace their history back to the first gentile church in Antioch of Syria. The one Paul taught. And his name is an Arabic name, not a Muslim one. Their family can trace their history in that village back three hundred years.”

“How do you know he’s really a Christian, Ashley? Besides, some of those very old churches are dead and formalistic from what I hear.”

“How does anyone know another’s faith, Dad? I take Najid as his word. His life is consistent with what he says.”

“Yeah, but he could be talking a good line and you’d never know it. He could be here on some kind of mission, posing as a ‘Christian.’ I would wonder with his proximity to the bombing, whether he might even have had some involvement in it unknown to the police. Anyway, I think you should stay away from him. I don’t trust him, Ashley. I don’t trust Palestinians after what they have done to the Israelis!”

Ashley lay silent in bed, overwhelmed with her dad’s tirade about Najid. She didn’t know about other Palestinians and generally trusted her parents’ beliefs. But Najid would not lie to her. What would she tell him on his next visit? She hoped her parents wouldn’t be around.
But what is the truth? Is Najid not who he says he is?

“I think you’re tired, Ashley,” her mother said. “You need to rest, so we’ll be going now and come back tomorrow. Have a good night and God bless.” She and Frank leaned over to kiss their daughter good night.

“Good night, Mom and Dad. See you tomorrow.” But Ashley couldn’t go to sleep despite the morphine. And not because of pain.