Part 5 (1/2)
”Not until you tell me who you are,” she countered, ”trusted as you must be to pa.s.s along news to certain rug merchants.”
He shook his head. ”Actually I've never met him, it's Abdul I meet. Someone has to drive to Damascus twice a month to pick up supplies we can't get in Tadmor, and it's an a.s.signment I've asked for, so twice a month -on the same day-I lunch at the Al-Arabi restaurant where Abdul is stationed outside selling baskets or whatever, and we pretend to haggle over a sale. We've become friends, and he trusts me, but he's said only that his father sells rugs in the souk. Since just about every fourth merchant in the souk sells carpets-”
She interrupted him to say, ”You're still not telling me who you are.”
He said quietly, ”Not CIA , if that's what you're thinking. I suspect you are, but I'm not.”
”But you must have some connection -to pa.s.s along news.”
”Very slight,” he said, and when she looked at him skeptically, ”It began when I was a graduate student -in ancient history at the university-and was paid a very small stipend for my teaching stint, I can a.s.sure you. When Dr. Robinson accepted me three summers ago-a real honor to be chosen out of so many applicants, even though there's no money in it-I couldn't afford even the plane fare to Syria . My cousin- he has a desk job at the CIA -said he thought he could scrounge up some money for airfare if I .. .” He smiled wryly. ”If I would pa.s.s along any local news: mood of the workers, droughts, diseases, rumors, all vague and sounding innocent. Anyway, I was greedy for the job and frankly thought my cousin was just being kind, but my airfares have continued to be paid for very mysteriously. You're the first indication that any of my feeble reports -mostly agricultural-have ever mattered. Does that satisfy you?”
”So you've been here for three summers, then?”
He nodded. ”This is my last one, though, because I've finally landed a good, very good job teaching Arabic and Arab history beginning in February. Now it's your turn. What's it all about, you being here? To have come so far -d.a.m.n risky, too.”
”Fair exchange,” she said. ”It's due to a young American woman who was -” She stopped and began again. ”Six weeks ago-seven by now-a plane was hijacked and landed at the airport in Damascus , and thanks to this young woman the lives of over two hundred pa.s.sengers were saved. She was quite a heroine, interviewed in the airport on television, and then in plain view of the camera she got into what is believed the wrong car waiting outside, and hasn't been seen since. In a word, kidnapped. Surely you heard something of this?”
He shook his head. ”My radio ran out of batteries in August and we mostly get static anyway. I seem to remember Barney saying something about a hijacking but that was weeks ago, and if that's why you're here I don't see what you can do.”
”Find her, of course,” said Mrs. Pollifax. ”If she's still alive. The emba.s.sy thinks she's dead, but if Bazir Mamoul overheard an American girl talking in the desert somewhere I'm here to learn where. I want to find him.” She added crisply, ”I'll need a guide, and a Land Rover, or a camel or whatever transportation is available out here.”
He said in astonishment, ”You expect to find Bazir Mamoul just like that -and by yourself? This is a very big desert.”
”If he herds sheep,” she pointed out tartly, ”then he can be found where there's grazing. That's a start, isn't it?”
”You know deserts?” he said, surprised.
She smiled. ”A little, yes. I've money, rather a lot of it. I can pay any guide very well who can help me find Bazir Mamoul.”
”You're nuts -crazy.”
”Of course,” she told him cheerfully, ”but what I need from you is advice, not comments on my sanity. Can you help? At least until Farrell -” She stopped, not wanting to think of what he must be enduring. It's up to me now, up to me, she repeated silently, bracing herself.
He was scowling at her words, looking owlish with his tousled hair, gla.s.ses and boyish face. ”We have one Land Rover here,” he said, ”and Dr. Robinson would never agree to loaning it. One of the workmen -Argub-brought two of his camels with him, but. ..”
”Then I'll go on a camel,” she told him. ”American tourist who's lost her tour group.”
His frown deepened. ”Of course he might loan the Land Rover during one of our noon siestas, but .. .” He shook his head. ”Not today, though. It would need .. , well, negotiating. And meeting you.”
”Then let's go to breakfast and have me introduced,” she told him. ”There's also Barney with his shortwave radio; the emba.s.sy should be opening in an hour or two. You'll ask him to try to get through about Farrell? John Sebastian Farrell.”
Joe said wryly, ”I think I liked you better last night before I learned all this.” He grinned. ”So come along, Aunt, and meet everyone and see what we're doing here.”
By daylight Mrs. Pollifax had a very different view of the encampment; in the darkness she'd not seen the excavations, their many levels meticulously marked off by rods, nor the long stretch of open, canvas-shaded worktables extending out from the one adobe building that was the field office.
Joe said, ”The caravan route between the Euphrates and Damascus ran through here. What we've found is either an Umayyad khan -inn, or caravansary-you can see two of the vaulted arches we've uncovered-or possibly a military outpost. ... After all, the Qasr al-Hirt is only about thirty miles from here. Good morning, everyone,” he said as they reached the long dining tent. ”Look who's arrived last evening-my Aunt Emily Pollifax, removing herself from a guided tour to say h.e.l.lo. Dr. Robinson ...”
The man at the head of the table politely rose, looking startled: tall, spare, with a short gray beard, his face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. He said doubtfully, ”Yes er that is, welcome.”
Following this, names were flung at her: Barney from Brooklyn -she took special note of him-Fritz from Austria; Amy Madison, whose tent she'd almost shared last night; Julie and Curtis Lowell from California; Awwad; their Syrian archaeologist; and Branmin, supervisor of the workmen. At the second table sat the workers: Argub-with two camels, she remembered; Mustafa-she noted him especially, too-Fayah, Ali, Hamed, Ha.s.san, Mahmud .., the remainder blurred.
Room was made for her at the table next to Dr. Robinson and she at once began to artfully overwhelm him with conversation: how she wanted to learn everything about the Umayyads that her nephew researched, how she longed to see more of the desert, and while she waited for her cousin, delayed in Tadmor, would Dr. Robinson possibly allow her to help in the work so long as she didn't get in the way?
Across the table Joe listened to her with amus.e.m.e.nt; The witch., he thought, she's certainly determined to get that Land Rover. Her offer to help was masterful, too, since three of their party had left early: his bunkmate and Amy's, due to university commitments, and Cecil Burton for a family emergency, leaving them definitely shorthanded.
With breakfast finished Or. Robinson excused himself and Mrs. Pollifax caught Joe's eye and said, ”Barney, please?”
”Ah yes, Barney,” he said. ”Good man, Barney, ex-wrestler, ex-army.” He called him over, saying, ”My aunt has a question to ask you.”
She liked Barney at once, older than Joe, a friendly bear of a man with broad shoulders, a battered nose and a cheerful face, the sort of brash New Yorker with whom she was familiar, and she shook his huge hand.
He grinned. ”We a.s.sumed all of Joe's relatives would be Umayyads. What can 1 do for you?”
”Could you get a message through to Damascus on your shortwave radio? To the emba.s.sy, for instance?”
” Damascus !” he exclaimed. ”h.e.l.l no -if you'll excuse the language.”
”Why?” asked Joe. ”Weather?”
He shook his head. ”Not enough power. What we have here is really a ham radio, its frequencies are in the middle-range band -enough to reach Tadmor-but for Damascus I'd have to have a radio with a high-frequency range-three to thirty hertz, and the government wouldn't like that. I could forward a message to Tadmor and ask it be sent to Damascus .”
”Oh dear,” she said, frowning. ”But would the emba.s.sy know it came from Tadmor?”
He looked puzzled. ”Of course.”
She turned away. ”I'll have to think about that, Barney, thanks.”
He nodded and left, but not without a last curious glance at her.
”Why do you have to think about it?” asked Joe.
She sighed. ”I was so naive last night. I thought. ., but it's impossible. If the message comes from Tadmor the emba.s.sy will know where we are. Or where / am. You see, we had a Tuesday morning appointment at the emba.s.sy for the amba.s.sador to present his condolences on Amanda Pym's death, and for all I know they may have called the hotel by now and discovered our luggage is still there, but we've not been seen since Tuesday. They've no idea why we really came to Syria , you know -I'm supposed to be Amanda's aunt-as well as yours,” she added with a rueful smile. ”And they have not been told of the rumor that Amanda may still be alive.” She shook her head. ”They mustn't know where we are,” she emphasized. ”Mustn't. The police followed us to Palmyra but not here. Yet,” she added grimly.
”And all I was doing was meeting Abdul twice a month at a restaurant,” he said, staring at her with awe. ”But your friend Farrell?”
She didn't reply. ”I told Dr. Robinson I'd help,” she said curtly, and walked away before she had to answer that question.
It was to be a long, frustrating and hot day for her, and she found work a blessing. She was shown a contour map of the site that looked like an abstract Pica.s.so drawing; she learned that each new inch of earth had to be recorded, dated, and postholed. She was allowed to attend a flat screen set on legs and sift the excavated earth for any tiny objects or detritus brought up by spade or trowel. After lunch she took her turn at a long table helping Amy Madison a.s.semble bits and pieces or ceramics like a jigsaw. She was shown the interior of the held office building, where found objects were stored and locked up each night: a veritable treasure house of ceramics whose fragments had been successfully a.s.sembled by Amy and sh.e.l.lacked; fragments of clay pots, writing tablets, bones; a tiny bronze statue, quite beautiful; a necklace of stones and a cache of coins.
And during the afternoon a line of donkeys made its way over the stones and pebbles, each carrying huge tin containers of water for them, and driven by two men in long gray skirts, black jackets and white turbans. ”From the nearest village,” Amy told her. ”We boil the water, of course, and occasionally, when we tire of chickpeas and falafel, we have them butcher a sheep for us.”
”They're shepherds?” said Mrs. Pollifax in surprise.
”Oh yes, the village must have at least a hundred sheep grazing in the fields around the wadi, and when the grazing thins they move, but it's a real boon for us. We have s.h.i.+sh kebabs to celebrate.”
”I could look forward to that” said Mrs. Pollifax.