Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 (97 page)

* * *

Mary waited in the lobby for the elevator, grocery sack in hand. Minutes passed. The elevator never descended—apparently it was broken again—so she headed up the stairs, grateful she lived only five flights up.

Letting herself into her apartment, she kicked off her leather shoes behind the door and headed for the kitchen. Azadeh was sitting at the small table, the newspaper spread out, reading the front page. A large picture of blackened Washington, D.C., took up most of the space above the fold. Mary glanced at it. “Anything new?” she asked.

“I don’t understand most of it,” Azadeh answered. “I read to help me with my English.”

“That’s good,” Mary said as she placed the small sack of groceries on the narrow counter next to the refrigerator. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you looked in on Kelly?”

“She is asleep,” Azadeh answered. She hesitated, then added, “She seemed cold. I put another blanket on her and sat with her for a time. I did not try to wake her, but I just wanted, you know, I just thought she might like someone there, even if she was asleep. I hope that was OK. I sat by her on the mattress and sang a little song.”

Mary turned to face her. “That’s sweet, baby. You are kind. And you’re right, I sometimes think she’s asleep but then I’m surprised to find out that she was awake and hearing everything that I said.”

Azadeh pressed her lips together, thinking of Miss Pari. “My father used to sing me a song when I was young,” she said. “It is a beautiful song, a little sad, but in a nice sort of way.” She started singing in Farsi, the words gentle and slow.

Mary closed her eyes as she listened. “That is beautiful,” she said when Azadeh was finished.

Azadeh looked away, embarrassed.

“Will you teach me the words? Will you translate them into English?”

“I will try,” Azadeh answered. “But they don’t translate exactly.”

“Try. Please. Do the best that you can.”

Azadeh thought a long moment, then started singing.

The world that I give you

Is not always sunny and bright.

But knowing I love you

Will help make it right.

So when the dark settles,

And the storms fill the night,

Remember I’ll be waiting

When it comes,

Morning Light.

Mary smiled. “So beautiful. I love that!”

Azadeh let her eyes fall to the floor. Mary watched her closely. The young woman was dressed in a black skirt that rested on her knees and a red blouse with a matching sash around her waist. Her thick black hair fell past her shoulders and was tied with a ribbon at the back. Her skin was a perfect bronze, her eyes large and bright. She didn’t have on any makeup, but she didn’t need any and never would. Staring at her, Mary realized she was as naturally beautiful as anyone she had ever seen before.

“Gosh, it’s so good to have you here!” she exclaimed.

Azadeh smiled shyly.

Mary stared at her a moment longer. “You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you, Azadeh?” She sat down at the small kitchen table as she spoke.

Azadeh lowered her eyes but didn’t answer.

Mary leaned toward her. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

The look on Azadeh’s face assured Mary that she didn’t. Mary thought for a long moment. It was going to be hard. And it almost seemed wrong. But she had to tell her. She had to warn her. She had to strip away some of her innocence if she was going to survive in this place. She had to lay it out to prepare her to live in this new world. It was a wonder, an absolute modern-day miracle, that someone as old as Azadeh could be so innocent. It was—she didn’t know how to describe it—renewing and beautiful. Many of the children around her had little babies of their own, yet Azadeh seemed to be completely innocent of such things. “Azadeh,” she started, “you are a beautiful young lady. I know that all this is new, but you’re going to have to be careful.”

Azadeh looked at her. “Careful,” she echoed.

“Careful, baby. There are people around here, people in this city, in this neighborhood, in this building even, who will hurt you or take advantage of you in very bad ways. Some of them will try to fool you. They’ll pretend to be your friend. They’ll act one way one day, then turn on you, baby. Do you understand anything I’m saying?”

Azadeh met Mary’s eyes. She remembered the Iraqi who had come to fetch her from the camp, the man who claimed to be an agent for the uncle she didn’t have. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the way he had summed her up with his eyes. She remembered other men, some old, some young, who looked at her the same way. So yes, she understood. She understood much more than Mary thought.

Mary waited, intertwining her fingers nervously. “We’ll talk more a little later,” she finally said. “Now, did you get some breakfast?”

Azadeh’s forehead furrowed.

“Breakfast. You know, did you get something to eat?”

“No, not yet, but I made myself some tea if that’s all right.”

“Sure. Anything. This is your home; you can have anything you like.” Mary stood up, went to the counter, and started putting the little bit of groceries away. “Azadeh, I have to go down to Columbus tomorrow,” she said as she worked. “Kelly has an appointment with a doctor at a special clinic down there. It’s been scheduled for months. She has seen him a couple of times, but this will probably be her last visit. I really hate to leave you, but it’s a long drive, about four hours each way, so I’m going to leave tonight.”

“I will be fine,” Azadeh answered. “You do not have to worry about me.”

“Really? You’ll be OK?”

“Of course, Mary.”

Azadeh heard a child’s voice calling from down the hall. Mary heard it too. Both of them stood and walked toward the bedroom.

* * *

Mary went in first while Azadeh stood near the doorway, unsure of whether she should go in or stay out. Mary knelt on the mattress, lifting Kelly’s hand. “How you doing, baby doll?” she asked.

Azadeh noted Mary’s cheerful voice. She knew the woman was forcing herself to be so positive, and she admired her ability.

“Good morning, Mom,” Kelly answered.

“You slept in this morning.”

“I was tired, I guess.” Kelly didn’t notice the stranger standing at the door. Mary leaned over and kissed her forehead, then stood and pulled up the heavy Venetian blinds. The sky was clear, and sunlight flooded into the crowded room. “Kelly, remember we talked about the young lady who was going to come and stay with us.”

The child’s eyes immediately brightened. She slowly turned her head and looked toward the door. “She’s here! You’re here!” She reached for Azadeh’s hand. “Azadeh. You’re here! My mom and I have been waiting! My name is Kelly Beth.” The little girl struggled to sit up.

Azadeh moved toward her and dropped to the floor. She took the girl’s hand and held it. “Hi, Kelly Beth,” she said.

The two young women appraised each other. “Oh my gosh, you’re so beautiful,” Kelly said. “Even more beautiful than your picture. Isn’t she beautiful, Mom?”

Mary had to laugh. “Funny you should mention that,” she said.

Azadeh held her hand more tightly. “Miss Kelly, you are the beautiful one.”

The little girl shook her head and smiled. “No, Azadeh. Not since—” she shot a quick look toward Mary. “You
have
told her, Mom?”

Mary moved back toward the floor mattress and sat down beside Azadeh. “Yeah, baby. She knows.”

Kelly turned back to Azadeh. “I used to be beautiful like you. Well, maybe not so beautiful, but I was pretty. But not now. Not anymore.”

Azadeh shook her head. “No, Miss Kelly, I can see it. I can see through the sickness. You are still beautiful.”

The younger girl looked uncomfortable. “I hate for people to see me anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

Azadeh whispered something to her in Farsi.

“What was that?” Kelly asked.

Azadeh repeated the phrase, this time in English: “
Beautiful is the soul that looks out from my eyes.
”

Kelly listened and thought a moment. “I like that,” she said. She looked away, her forehead furrowed, then slowly turned to Mary. “Mom, last night I woke up. I told you about my dream? That’s true, right?”

“Yes,” Mary answered.

Kelly turned back to Azadeh. “She was in my dream,” she said, pointing, her voice animated now. “I remember it all perfectly now. There was a funeral. A little girl. Lots of soldiers. But Azadeh was there too. She was standing in the back. And she was, she was crying.”

Kelly looked into Azadeh’s eyes. “Why were you crying, Azadeh?” she asked. “Why were you in my dream?”

It took less than five minutes for King Al Rahman to know which of his brothers were going to join him.

Soon after he had shot the first two men, the remaining six began to see the light. Later, when two more faltered upon understanding what he intended to do, they were quickly taken care of. The four remaining princes had agreed to join him, swearing allegiance to his cause.

King Al Rahman had known that two of the four would join him. The third one, he had been uncertain about. And the fourth prince who had chosen to support him had come as a complete surprise, proving once again how difficult it was to truly judge a man’s heart.

After getting their agreement, the king had given the four conspirators two hours to ponder, sending them to their rooms under guard. Once the sun had set and left the desert to swallow up the yellow light from the moon, once the hot wind had quit blowing from the dry lands to the south, the four princes had come together in the Great Hall and waited on their king again.

* * *

Al Rahman looked at them through a gap in the bricks where the mortar had cracked away. The old man stood beside him, his hot breath in Al Rahman’s ear as they watched the four men mill together, their faces drawn and tight.

“Do you see them?” the old man whispered.

Al Rahman shook his head.

“They are there,” the old man assured him. “Believe me, they are there. Now that the sun has set, they are more free to move about. They hate the light, any light: the light of the sun, the light of freedom, the light of the truth. As it is they love the darkness, but there is plenty of darkness now.”

Al Rahman stared, shaking his head. If they were there, he couldn’t see them, but he believed the old man.

The old man pulled away and folded his arms defiantly. “You know that what you are about to do is not original,” he said.

King Al Rahman continued to look through the gap, not saying anything until the old man placed his cold hand upon his shoulder and turned him around. “This thing that you are asking has been done a thousand times before. The Great Enemy, in His hypocrisy, asked it of His own prophet. The ancient Jews, in their apostasy, required it of their own. There have been altars built for this purpose on every continent in the world. It has been a sign and device of Master Mahan since the first blood was spilt upon this world.”

Al Rahman looked at his own hands, remembering the evil things he had done. “I understand,” he offered simply.

The old man waited, then pushed against his shoulder, edging him toward the hidden door. “Go then. I will be watching. You will not let me down.”

* * *

King Al Rahman entered the Great Hall and stood before his brothers, reading the looks on their faces and the darkness of their eyes.

“Brothers, we are almost finished,” he said. “Our greatest enemy, the Great Satan, is within a few minutes of being brought to its knees. Once it stumbles it will die, suffering a long and violent death, ripped to pieces from the inside as it seeks to right itself. We will propel the Great Satan to that moment, let there be no doubt in your minds, but we will only push it. It will finish the job itself.

“When it is dead, you and I will be the most powerful men on earth. Then we will turn toward the Little Satan. It will not last a week. The entire world hates the Zionists and will gladly see them destroyed. Then we rise again, the chosen people, and lead our Arab brothers into a Pan-Arab world.”

The four princes were silent. Deep in their hearts, they believed every word that he was saying, for they could hear the dark spirits around them whisper the same lies into their minds.

Al Rahman watched them, satisfied. One more step and he would have them. One more oath and they were his.

Anything they could conceive of, it would be given to these men.

But the power and the glory that he offered was far too great to merely give away. There was a price to pay.

Of course they would agree to join him when a gun was pointed at their heads. That had been a simple exercise to weed out the weakest of the men.

And they might agree to join him for the promised wealth and power.

But it was time now to find out what was really in their hearts. It was time to find out if they were driven by simple brainless lust or greed, or if they could be driven by something else. Something even more powerful. More eternal. More compelling and wonderful.

They had sworn a sacred oath to him, but was their loyalty real? Would they pay the price to join him, or would they cut and run? Would they do what he had done? Would they spill the blood of their family? The blood of their own kin?

He didn’t know.

But he was about to find out.

He clapped his hands, and a hidden door opened at the back of the room. Two of his agents came out holding the oldest son of the minister of defense between them. The boy was bound, his hands tied behind his back. And though his eyes were wide in terror, he didn’t struggle against his bonds.

Al Rahman walked to a couch, reached under the cushion, and pulled out a ten-inch, serrated knife. He turned toward his brother and placed the long knife in his hand. “Brothers,” he said, his voice low and raspy, “it is time to prove your oath.”