Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (27 page)

“I led a beautiful life here.  This
place is quite unique and everything that happens here is wonderful.”

Abigail remained silent, allowing her to
speak, and she continued.

“It’s difficult to describe how hard it
is for me to give it up, but I have no choice. So I’ve decided to sell it.”

“What’s to be done,” Abigail added,
“life leads us ever onwards.  How much are you asking for the house?”

“I will part with this house and its wondrous
grounds for four and a half million rials,” Hanin proposed, and Abigail
calculated that the sum she was asking was worth more than seven hundred
dollars.
 
The truth was that she found the price high for this property but her ingrained
business sense was aroused and she remarked quietly as she gazed into her eyes.

“Yes, Hanin, it is a really lovely
place, but you know it needs a lot of work.”

“You’re right.  I was so busy nursing my
Farouk and I had no time to trim the bushes and they’re out of shape.”

“Hmmm,” Abigail replied.

“Okay, it also needs a coat of paint and
some changes in the kitchen, but you should know that the cupboards are quite
new.”

“Really?  How long has it been since you
renewed them?”

“If I remember correctly, we changed
them when our Hamid was born, meaning:  less than four or five years ago.”

“Very nice.  So, am I to understand that
Hamid is your youngest?  Is he five years old?”

“No, Hamid is almost eleven.”  She
caught her error and laughed embarrassedly.

“Okay, it’s been a little longer, but
you must admit that they look like new.”

Abigail
sighed.  “I’m sorry; it’s too expensive for me, especially when I think of the
renovations it needs.”

Hanin knew that it would not be easy to
sell this house in its mountainous location and she thought how lucky she was
to have such an earnest buyer.

“What’s your name?”  She inquired, “I
feel as though this place is really right for you and that is why I am going to
offer it to you for three and a half million rials.  What do you say?  Y’allah,
(come on) here’s to our success,” but Abigail got up as if she was ending the conversation. 
She was pleased with the reduction in the price.  Hanin pulled her arm and
said:

“Sit down, listen, I have taken a liking
to you and I don’t believe that I am saying this price out loud.  Y’allah – two
million, nine hundred – that’s my last price and it’s just for you.”

Abigail touched the woman gently and
said:

“Two million rials.  That’s what I can
afford to pay you for this house.”

Hanin stood up excitedly and shook
Abigail’s hand in both her dry palms and cried out:

“I knew we would make a deal!”

On Monday, five days after the
arrangements were finalized and the house was registered in her name, Abigail
went back to leading tourist groups.  She received the keys to the house,
bolted the windows and shutters, locked the house and returned to Stary
Smokovec, pleased that she now owned a place of her own.  As time passed, she
forgot about the house she had purchased in the Caucuses.

She moved to a different hostel in the
beautiful village.  It was at the end of the same road, about one hundred yards
from the ‘Chai Huneh’.  She moved because it was a bother not having her own bathroom
and toilet.  She frequented the ‘Chai Huneh’ almost every morning as she was
not prepared to forego the meals and services.

At
one point, she wondered how it was that Emir, the devoted reception clerk never
said a word and continued putting her mail in the same pigeon hole and smiled
at her whenever she arrived.  It remained just a thought and nothing more.

*
* *

            The destination of the next
tour was a place she especially loved – the Tabriz Bazaar, one of the most
ancient bazaars in the country, if not in the whole Middle East.

They had been traveling for almost an hour
when she noticed the driver turning the bus onto an unfamiliar road.

“What happened?  This isn’t our usual
route.  Why is there a detour?”

 “Do you see the trees over there?” the
driver asked pointing to the right.

“There, on the parallel road, trees were
planted in pots and it has become a real forest now.”

“Is that so?” She was surprised.  “Are
you certain?  How did they plant a whole forest in one go?”

Indeed, there were many conifers on the
slopes of the mountain.  They were densely planted to form a block in the area to
its right and prevented entry from this direction to the section of the Bazaar.
 
She shrugged and continued looking down the road.  Further along, when they
skirted the planted area, she noticed a new, expertly asphalted bypass road
that replaced the uneven, gravel short-cut.

“Oh, what an excellent highway they have
paved here,” she exclaimed.

Now she made the association between the
new road and the freshly planted forest and decided that they signified
something important.  Her next trip preempted her decision to clarify the
matter.

It occurred when she led a group to visit
the port at Kharg.  She knew the way there, blindfolded, and was surprised when
the bus stopped in front of a metal fence stretched across the road.  Abigail
was confident that from here, they would be able to travel freely to the port. 
A signpost was attached to the barricade in front of them.

PRIVATE
PROPERTY

ENTRY IS FORBIDDEN

This time, she decided to act.

The following morning, she took the
light rail, on her way to the clergyman, the esteemed Ayatollah Karim.

Karim was an admired and honored man of
religion.  A meticulously barbered beard graced his noble face and the dark
turban he wore on his head, symbolized his status. 

It was told that people gathered at his
gates to listen to his sermons and hear his poetry and the intricacies of his
chanting.  None of the members of his entourage imagined that this man, who was
so respected by the country’s religious regime, actively and, of course,
secretly opposed it.

“A fence?  That’s interesting,” he said
and smoothed his beard with his fingers.  “Do you remember what the place
looked like before the barricade was erected?”

She shrugged.

“There was nothing unusual there.”

  She looked at him. His dark brows
joined together in a frown above his nose and Abigail momentarily reflected how
contrasted their color was with to the strands of gray in his beard.  The man
gazed with evident delight at her animated features, looked into her large pale
eyes, aware that a tempting figure of a woman, who was a great beauty, stood
before him.  He had already heard men, who had been on her guided tours confess
having to overcome their desire for her.

As he was speaking to her, it occurred
to her that perhaps this man might know where Karma was and she was surprised
when he asked her:

“Yes, what did you want to ask me, my
child?”

“Ah. I wanted to ask Your Honor about
something that bothers me,” she replied but hesitated to continue.

“Ah, I thought to ask what has become of…
I wanted to ask whether you are still in touch with…” she grew silent. “It’s of
no importance, I was just prattling idly.”

She turned her face away from him to
hide her emotions and had almost reached the door when she heard him say:

“Karma asks after you often and will
soon be returning to us.”

She nodded, still not facing him,
surprised that he knew who she was referring to and continued without turning around,
fearing he might see her burning cheeks.  She hurried out, trembling all over.

Abigail did not know that Karma would often
come here to listen to this clergyman’s sermons.  He also talked to him, not
only about religious matters, since Karma knew of the double role played by the
respected Ayatollah.
  In his period of absence from the
country, he had called Karim.  It had been a personal call, one that would not
endanger anyone, even if the line were tapped. It was an idle conversation
between men that dealt with matters of the heart.

“What is she doing?”

“Her usual work, leading groups of
tourists.  Oh, yes,” Ayatollah Karim recalled.  “She has moved to a different
hostel.”

“Is that so?”

“If I’m not mistaken, she also left the
country for a few days, but returned and continued with her tours.”

“Do you know where she went, perhaps?”

“Wait, why all this interest in her?”

“Ahh… I fear that it was a mistake to go
away and leave her like that.”

“What do you fear?”

At first, Karma did not respond and then
he asked:

“Is there any possibility of arranging a
“temporary marriage” between us?   And he did not see how Karim’s eyes opened
wide in amazement. 

There had been plenty of time for Karma to
think about his relationship with Abigail.  His idea was to consecrate their
relationship without it being discovered by his family in America.  He had not
forgotten what Nana Kahit had told him about the relationship between his own
parents.  He thought that if the story had suited the father it might also be
good for his son, who was tortured with desire.

Both Karma and Karim knew that an
Iranian man is permitted to take a second wife without any difficulty.  Thus,
the clergyman found it surprising and asked Karma:

“Why not marry her according to our holy
Sharia laws?  We could arrange it here in our jurisdiction in a spectacular
ceremony with a large attendance of dignitaries. Why would you enter into a
temporary marriage?”

Karma decided to be frank with him and
said:

“The truth is that I would not like my
wife in the United States, to find out about this additional wife.  I presume
that the marriage would be ratified by the clergy according to our laws.”

“I am not certain.  In my opinion you
would not be able to marry her because she is not one of us,” he said.  The
truth was that he was wary of the other clergymen and feared they might delve
into her past and, perhaps, even discover something about her activities or his
connection to both of them.

“The lady is a sort of Muslim,” Karma
said and Karim chuckled.

“Sort of Muslim? Karma, my dear, there
is no such thing in our Holy Books.”

“Listen, Naima was born into a migrant
Bedouin tribe that wanders in the desert.  Bedouins are like Muslims, they
speak Arabic and she, together with the members of her tribe dwell in tents,
sit on mats, ride camels and eat food cooked on fires fueled by their dung. 
She herded sheep in the shifting dunes and, in short – I don’t believe there
will be a problem.”

“So, what, if anything, is still an
issue?”  Karim insisted and Karma laughed.

“She still doesn’t know that I think of
her constantly and I’m not sure that she will agree to marry me.”

“Aha, then you are right.  You do have a
problem.”  Karim was of the same opinion, and then another idea crossed his
mind.

“I want to point out something else you
may not have considered.  This lady you speak of comes from a place where women
are free, not Muslims.  Her thinking is Western and even if she accepts your
proposal, how can you be sure that she will agree to that kind of marriage?”

“So, what do you suggest, Ya’Karim?”

Karma sounded stressed and Karim
laughed, “Lovesick, ha?”

“I didn’t know how deeply.  I must admit
that I have no peace of mind and cannot sleep at night for dreaming and
fantasizing about her.”

“Let’s talk – when you return,” Karim suggested.

And here she was, standing in front of
him and her question was actually a kind of answer to the dilemma and a
solution for Karma, who was suffering far from home. 

When Karim looked at her back, he did
not know, of course, that she was wondering how to answer him, but then she
waved goodbye, nodded and went on her way.  She was shocked by his ability to
guess and also worried by it.

A few days later, she returned after
dark from an extended tour.  The distant treetops seemed like a gray block on
the steep slopes and from far away she saw a tall image walking back and forth
when she suddenly realized who it was.  She immediately gathered up her long
dress tightly around her thighs and ran towards the figure, convinced that he
was waiting for her, alone.  When she reached him, she faced him, panting and
laughing happily.  She restrained herself and stopped, knowing what was
forbidden and what was permissible in public but her emotions flooded her and she
lapsed into emotionally charged words.

“Hey, Habibi, (my dear) have you come
back?!  Have you been waiting long?  Have you eaten?  Do you want to come in? 
And he laughed at her and said:

“Hello.”

She did not know that he was also
restraining himself from taking her in his arms, but his distant response froze
her with disappointment.

During the long months of separation
from him she would lie in her bed and reflect on what she would do if they ever
met again, what she would tell him and how she would behave.

Karma pulled aside the beaded curtain at
the entrance, entered the hostel and she quickly followed him.  He raised his
arm to say ‘Hello’ to Emir, who responded with a slight nod of his head that
was barely visible, but a glint in his eye disclosed his surprise. 

They sat on the sofa and an armchair in
the lobby and Karma whispered to her:

“What have you been doing till now?” and
his eyes shone.

She was sure that she read something in
his expression.

“I missed you.” She said and Karma let
out a sigh of gratification and smiled in response.  The stone in her ring grew
dark and Abigail felt sure that the man facing her reciprocated her feelings. 
She wanted to tell him how much she yearned for him, to share with him that she
didn’t know how he felt about her  Instead, she said:

“I called on Karim,” and she didn’t
understand why he looked at her in shock and swallowed his beautiful smile. 
The light in his amber eyes grew dull.

“Oh, did you really? What did he tell
you?  Why did you go to him?” 

He spoke with some agitation and screwed
up his eyes.

When they parted, she approached the
curved reception desk and asked Emir for her mail and caught that he was
signaling to her and hinted with his eyes.  His lips mouthed the words:

“Look.” He turned to hang a key on one
of the hooks nailed into the large wooden board that hung behind him.  Then he
pointed to and knocked on the number on which he hung the key with his finger
as if to say:

‘In this room.’  It was number 202 and
Abigail opened and closed her eyes again to signal ‘I understand’.  The man
disappeared from view behind the wooden board.

 Abigail turned around to check that no one
had seen the signals passing between them and went to the staircase beside the
elevator.  She swiftly climbed the stairs to the second floor and sought the
room.

The room was the last in the row, at the
end of the corridor and it was possible to reach it from behind, from the
narrow iron stairs that led to the back yard.  

The faded carpet muffled her footsteps
and she scanned the numbers on the doors.  A “Do not disturb.” notice hung on
the doorknob of room 217 and from another door sounds of the radio or
television could be heard.  She continued down the corridor checking out ten
rooms on either side.  At the end of the hall, beside the last door, there was
a window through which the complete darkness of the night outside could be seen. 
Abigail hurried, concerned that soon people would be coming to their rooms to
go to bed.

She stopped in front of room 202 and
listened.  Not a sound was heard from inside so she crooked her finger and
knocked.  The stone in her ring sparked and sent a wave of heat down her
finger.  It sparkled almost black and Abigail looked for a reason for the
change in color.  There was nothing to be seen around her, only the window on
her right and the empty corridor on her left.  It was likely that the stone had
been affected by something from the door.  She immediately stepped aside so as
to avoid being surprised when it opened.

There was no response and Abigail put
out her hand and knocked on the door again.  It suddenly opened just a crack, a
hand came out and grabbed her arm and immediately dragged her inside.  Abigail
dropped on the floor with a thud and a foot stepped on her back, holding her
down on the carpet.  Acting on instinct she turned around at once, grabbed the
foot off her back and pulled it forward.  The man lost his balance and yelled
when he felt her bite his ankle.