Bin Laden's Woman (3 page)

Sammy
already had all the credits she
needed to receive the college certificate. She came back home
before the end of the year.

She
was sad about Giardini, her friend
also had his credits, he said he would give the diploma to his
father and start over, a new college in São Paulo. Anthropology,
his true passion. He got a job at night, in the processing center
of a bank. He was studying for the university entrance
exam.

She now had a problem. At best, her
parents would let her spend more time with aunt Nadia to continue
studying a little more, it wouldn’t be easy. George was counting
the days to his daughter’s graduation. He wanted her
back.

It was in this climate that Sammy heard
the news.

The C
ontract

Sammy
knew her people, their traditions.
Her mother’s strong and liberal personality was the only reason she
wasn’t already married to a cousin, and now this odd
story.

He
r dear father. Crazy about the
idea.

Her mother. Washed her hands.

Her sister was married, children, she had
a family of her own.

Giardini. With his own new thoughts,
anthropology. In São Paulo!

Her t
urn. That would come
anyway.

Here comes de bride!

When the cousin returned with the
contract, of course, there were a lot of fine print. The advantages
for the Naffahs were even better, but Sammy would be practically
unreachable in the next few years. They would have news of each
other, but secrecy was essential. For their own safety. The prince
was very rich.

They o
pened an account for Samira, in a
unusual bank in São Paulo, they put a large sum in it, and they
gave her a card for immediate expenses. She enjoyed computers, so
the cousin brought her a brand new laptop, state of the
art.

None of this cheered Samira up. She was
really disappointed with everyone. She could understand their
reasons, but until the last minute, she waited for someone to take
action.

Nothing, no one had courage enough to say
it was an absurd, that she was more important to them.
None.

Impressive how the group stands for what
seems correct. Everyone is afraid of getting burned. "Imagine if I
condemn this marriage and then, it works out, I’ll be shamed."
Nobody cared about the poor Sammy, gift-wrapped.

She even thought up that a few years
without contact would be a relief.

And there was Sammy toward her
destination.

Ge
orge was counting his thirty pieces of
silver.

Mrs. Samira regretted her omission, never
recovered her joy of living.

Carol had followed her destiny.

Eli spread himself through the
house.

- Abbotsomethingbad, what a name. It must be
something really bad.

Samira was in an awful mood, she wasn’t
even in the desert yet and was already cursing as a camel
driver.

The cousin escorted her to Islamabad.
There, he received his share and couldn’t go with her anymore.
Security issues.

You know what? - Samira thought - this guy
is an artist, he even tricked Mrs. Samira - that “monument” of
wisdom! - then received his share and left. I’ve got to learn that
from him. Idea, goal and class.

She wasn’t
introduced to anybody, just kept
herself quiet on the back seat. The younger brother was driving the
van, the elder looked dumb. They went along the dusty
road.

Samira closes her eyes and thought, all
the family struggle for this? For everyone else, the glory. For
her, an enormous emptiness. She tries to get distracted.

The trip wasn’t too bad at the beginning,
with her cousin, he was really polite. This step, by van, wasn’t as
good as she had planned, but whatever. Local customs!

Half asleep s
he imagines the van coming to a
huge castle! Stop, this is Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Ok, again. A
great camp with big tents, wonderful rugs, torches of fire. Got
better. She is received by Nubian slaves. Stop again, there aren’t
Nubian slaves anymore. By Arab ladies in charge of bathing her in
goat milk. Eww, stop again, stop, less Sammy, less!! A bath with
salts and oils that will scent her skin. Would they have
conditioner? Her hair can’t go without it. Then they would dress
her, put flowers in her hair and walk her to meet the prince. Not
bad! Thanks, Mr. George. What a trip! We are in the twenty-first
century, of course we go to a five star hotel where the prince has
a suite. He must have his women, a secretary who takes care of
everything. No, not that either. It must be one of the condos we
see on the internet, with artificial lake. Oh boy! I don’t
know.

When they a
re entering the city, Samira
wakes from her thoughts, looks at the incredibly green hills and
smiles, it looks like Marilia. When they come closer, nothing is
like Marilia, as a matter of fact. What a disappointment, no
buildings, where's the five-star hotel? Where's the
condo?

They p
ass right through the city, stopping
to buy some bread. To buy some bread? Her, a princess? Yeah, to buy
some bread.

The mute brother, who she would discover
that is called Arshad, gets out. She and the other brother, Tariq,
were waiting in the car.

They drive
some more, pass by the simple
houses on the outskirts. Stop in front of a high wall, a big house,
like a prison. Men armed with machine guns open the gate and let
the van go inside.

They s
top in the middle of an enclosed
passage, more guns, they enter a courtyard, chickens, goats, a
mess.

My God! - Samira thinks – I was kidnapped
by slave merchants! What you did to me, my father?

They get into
the house, Samira is
received by a woman and a little girl, five, six years old, rubbing
her runny nose in her mother's skirt and looking curiously at the
hair of the newcomer.

They s
how her the room where she’ll stay
and leave her to get ready, they would return later to pick her
up.

Samira hasn’t recovered from the shock
yet. My God, my God! What happened to me? The windows are barred.
Outside, it's getting dark, the city lights start to bright. It's
cold.

She tries to put
herself together,
there’s nothing to do. It’s impossible to imagine what’s going on.
She consoles herself; after all it was a cousin, a relative
indicated by her grandmother, who intermediated the arrangement.
OK, the business, but it can’t be that bad.

After
a time that seems huge, they bring
her a tray with a simple meal. A glass of water, bread, olives,
dried curd, eggplant with sesame oil. Nothing she didn’t know. It
wasn’t as good as Mrs. Samira’s, but she could eat it. For her, the
lunch hour had passed, there were eight hour difference in time
zones.

It was all very strange; she hasn’t been
being well treated. A guest in an Arab house was a king, as she had
learned. She hasn’t been being abused either, but that constant
tension was frightening her.

Later they picked up the tray and told her
to sleep; tomorrow someone would speak to her.

Someone w
ould speak! Who?

Samira was very intelligent, lively, her
head was trained to think, hours playing backgammon with her father
in the store, school, college, computers.

Arabs don’t forgive slow
people.

Yalah
- fast -, girl.

Sehif
!
No, she wasn’t silly.

She o
pens her suitcase, turns on her
laptop.

Nothing, no network within range.

It’s no
t possible! In
Tupã
, there would be four or five, but
here, nothing. She looks at the walls, an outlet, a switch, nothing
else. Not even a single telephone point.

She p
uts the computer aside and rubs her
face. What can I do?

The computer goes into screen saver mode,
pictures appear. Her, smiling, her nephews, aunt Nadia.

She c
loses the laptop and collapses in
tears.

She c
ries, cries, can’t sleep.

When she finally sleeps, is
awoken.

It's daylight.

It Can A
lways Get Worse

It’s a
lways a fuss, a tension. They tell
Samira to dress up quickly,
Yalah
!

She w
ashes her face, dresses up a bit.
Some women examine her again, looking for weapons or something; she
is taken through a passageway and enters the room. There’s a bed,
lying down on several pillows, there he is.

Samira smiles. She always does it, a
nervous smile. Fuck!

Bin Laden is also
embarrassed,
he smiles.

Samira’s head spins, she almost falls
down, my God, what the fuck?

With a gesture, Bin sends them out; he
wants to get alone with Samira.

- Samira! - he starts, she barely
recognizes her own name in the mouth of that man.

- Sorry - he continues. - I couldn’t
receive you yesterday as I should. My pain was killing me. I'm
medicated, but I'm not well.

Samira is still stunned.

He continues with that paused speaking,
looking into her eyes with that long beard and that messianic look.
Like dead fish look, actually.

- My life has been a constant struggle,
always running, always hiding. These past five years, you might
imagine, were the worst. I spent too much time in the caves, I feel
a horrible pain throughout my body.

Bin realizes that the young woman can’t
understand anything, he keeps talking.

- Please, have a sit. I know it is
difficult for those who live in the West understand our cause. I
was told you spoke kindly about our people. I know you were born in
Damascus.

- Kindness ... But three thousand people
killed ...

- I know, I know, it takes a while to
understand, I hope you don’t close your mind completely to our
ideals, our God. You've probably noticed that I am not in a
position to take a new wife, especially beautiful and young as you.
Not that I don’t have the resources, my health is not good
enough.

My God, what will happen to me? - Samira
wonders.

- You know our customs, a man can have as
many wives as he can support with dignity. It’s not as people
imagine, the man only sleeps with his favorite; the others had done
their role as mothers, become wise counselors and help taking care
of the family. Now, my wife is Amal, the fifth. She must have taken
care of you.

- But...

- We needed a reason to bring you here,
all our promises will be kept, but we need you for a bigger
mission. For all intents and purposes, you are my fiancée, everyone
will respect you as you deserve. Only Amal, the Doctor and I know
the whole truth. These two have given me proof of absolute loyalty
and I still believe they will do more. I hope you keep this secret
for your own safety. Anyway, don’t expect much understanding from
Amal, I assured her about her position, but you know how women are.
Please make yourself at home, our life is modest because the target
is our fight. Today, I can’t go on, my condition gets worse with
any effort; we’ll talk again tomorrow, sorry.

The man closes his eyes and sighs.

Samira leaves
the room.

In the following days, Amal explains to
Samira what is expected from her.

The situation was becoming unsustainable.
With twenty-five million dollars prize for her husband's head, the
world was shrinking.

The doctor thought that the only possible
escape route was Brazil, especially the inner cities of São
Paulo.

They were pretty developed; the arrival of
a group of immigrants wouldn’t arouse much attention.

They w
ere used to Arabs, who were part of
the people, immigration and miscegenation was massive
there.

Paradoxically, it was the only place in
the world where first word excellence and corruption could live
together.

There was many good hospitals
and doctors, Bin needed treatment and an important plastic surgery.
He still refused to accept the idea of
changing his face, he liked his image, but
it was the only way. He spent hours watching videos with his own
image, it seems he wanted to memory as he had been.

Samira had everything they needed. A
Brazilian passport, an unsuspected name, a bank account and was an
expert on computers, internet, these things.