and a jar of feta cheese floating in oil. He set it down beside the jugs of cooled, boiled water, and went back into the fort for more supplies.
Ibrahim hitched the hem of his abaya over his shoulder, rested the carton on it and started toward the Jeep, with his dog sniffing and haunting his footsteps. He dropped the box into the back of the Jeep with a thud, pushed the dog away with his foot, and went back for the water. Lily cringed as the dog whimpered, crept away and lay down on its side in the dirt beyond the Jeep.
Gideon emerged again, grinning this time, carrying a watermelon.
“Where’d you get that?” Lily asked.
“From the icebox in the Legion kitchen.”
“You stole it?”
“I only borrowed it.”
“So when we finish eating it we’ll give it back?”
“Some day, I will buy a bigger and better watermelon and dedicate it to the icebox at Azraq.”
“Even if it takes forty years?”
“Exactly so,” Gideon said, handing off the melon to Ibrahim.
Ibrahim reached for the melon with a smile, thumped it, dumped it on top of the box of food, and climbed into the back of the Jeep.
“Careful, you’ll break the water jugs,” Lily said.
She rearranged the box and then turned back to Ibrahim to pick up the threads of their old conversation, curious about what he said about Lawrence and Gertrude Bell.
“You don’t approve of Gertrude Bell?” she asked.
“She wished to be called al Khatun, the Lady,” Ibrahim’s nostrils quivered in anger. “She sailed around the desert from tent to tent with a train of camels loaded with chests of linen and silver and dishes, and a bathtub, in fancy dresses and flowered hats, throwing baksheesh to sheiks and camel-drivers. Like a queen.”
“I thought all the Bedouin liked her.”
“They liked her baksheesh. What can you say of a woman who acts like a man? She was a foolish piece of noise, always talking, always giving orders, a man-woman donkey.” He shrugged and wiped his hands together in a gesture of dismissal. “She was in love with Faisal,” he added, and Lily was surprised. “Made him king of Iraq.”
“Faisal? Grandfather of the present king? Gertrude Bell and Faisal had an affair?”
“ Laa .” He shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “No affair. She was too ugly. And I think, what I think, Faisal was in love with Lawrence, and Lawrence was in love with him.”
“A ménage à trois ?”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind,” Lily said.
“Faisal put up with el Khatan because she was Lawrence’s friend,” Ibrahim said. “And because she made him King of Iraq.” He rubbed at his face and shook his head again, this time in disgust. “Why Iraq? He was stranger. He was from the Hejaz.”
He twitched his head. “Now Iraq is ruled by a useless child.”
Lily remembered the picture of the curly haired Faisal, looking sad and frightened next to his confident cousin Hussein.
Gideon came out of the fort, carrying two canvas water bags that he hung on either side of the Jeep.
“Ready to go?” He turned to Klaus. “Got your camera, your film?”
They clambered into the loaded Jeep. As Gideon drove out of the fort compound, the dog chased after them, tangling with the wheels, snapping, barking. Gideon gunned the motor, sped away, and left the dog in a wake of whirling dust.
***
Jalil caught up with them by late morning.
The day was heating up. They had paused and rested in the shade of the Jeep, eating chunks of the watermelon, sucking the sweet, sticky juice, letting it run down their chins.
Awadh, the older Bdoul from Petra, was with Jalil. Both rode fine Arabian steeds, shining chestnuts, sleek and proud.
Jalil dismounted. “Brought you a new guide.” He indicated the Bdoul.
Awadh’s face was vibrant with smiles as he told Lily his new horse was called Ghalib, named for a great warrior.
Ibrahim stood, his hand resting on the hilt of the gaudy dagger at his waist. “He knows nothing. He’s an old
Ibrahim hitched the hem of his abaya over his shoulder, rested the carton on it and started toward the Jeep, with his dog sniffing and haunting his footsteps. He dropped the box into the back of the Jeep with a thud, pushed the dog away with his foot, and went back for the water. Lily cringed as the dog whimpered, crept away and lay down on its side in the dirt beyond the Jeep.
Gideon emerged again, grinning this time, carrying a watermelon.
“Where’d you get that?” Lily asked.
“From the icebox in the Legion kitchen.”
“You stole it?”
“I only borrowed it.”
“So when we finish eating it we’ll give it back?”
“Some day, I will buy a bigger and better watermelon and dedicate it to the icebox at Azraq.”
“Even if it takes forty years?”
“Exactly so,” Gideon said, handing off the melon to Ibrahim.
Ibrahim reached for the melon with a smile, thumped it, dumped it on top of the box of food, and climbed into the back of the Jeep.
“Careful, you’ll break the water jugs,” Lily said.
She rearranged the box and then turned back to Ibrahim to pick up the threads of their old conversation, curious about what he said about Lawrence and Gertrude Bell.
“You don’t approve of Gertrude Bell?” she asked.
“She wished to be called al Khatun, the Lady,” Ibrahim’s nostrils quivered in anger. “She sailed around the desert from tent to tent with a train of camels loaded with chests of linen and silver and dishes, and a bathtub, in fancy dresses and flowered hats, throwing baksheesh to sheiks and camel-drivers. Like a queen.”
“I thought all the Bedouin liked her.”
“They liked her baksheesh. What can you say of a woman who acts like a man? She was a foolish piece of noise, always talking, always giving orders, a man-woman donkey.” He shrugged and wiped his hands together in a gesture of dismissal. “She was in love with Faisal,” he added, and Lily was surprised. “Made him king of Iraq.”
“Faisal? Grandfather of the present king? Gertrude Bell and Faisal had an affair?”
“ Laa .” He shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “No affair. She was too ugly. And I think, what I think, Faisal was in love with Lawrence, and Lawrence was in love with him.”
“A ménage à trois ?”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind,” Lily said.
“Faisal put up with el Khatan because she was Lawrence’s friend,” Ibrahim said. “And because she made him King of Iraq.” He rubbed at his face and shook his head again, this time in disgust. “Why Iraq? He was stranger. He was from the Hejaz.”
He twitched his head. “Now Iraq is ruled by a useless child.”
Lily remembered the picture of the curly haired Faisal, looking sad and frightened next to his confident cousin Hussein.
Gideon came out of the fort, carrying two canvas water bags that he hung on either side of the Jeep.
“Ready to go?” He turned to Klaus. “Got your camera, your film?”
They clambered into the loaded Jeep. As Gideon drove out of the fort compound, the dog chased after them, tangling with the wheels, snapping, barking. Gideon gunned the motor, sped away, and left the dog in a wake of whirling dust.
***
Jalil caught up with them by late morning.
The day was heating up. They had paused and rested in the shade of the Jeep, eating chunks of the watermelon, sucking the sweet, sticky juice, letting it run down their chins.
Awadh, the older Bdoul from Petra, was with Jalil. Both rode fine Arabian steeds, shining chestnuts, sleek and proud.
Jalil dismounted. “Brought you a new guide.” He indicated the Bdoul.
Awadh’s face was vibrant with smiles as he told Lily his new horse was called Ghalib, named for a great warrior.
Ibrahim stood, his hand resting on the hilt of the gaudy dagger at his waist. “He knows nothing. He’s an old
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