Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (5 page)

“No, it isn’t visible
even when you stand on the highest part of it and look down.”

“And what if I want to
go to that village?”

“If you intend to reach
that village, forget about it.  Those people don’t have the patience for
regular people.  They are likely to hurt you as soon as you arrive.”

“Is that so?! So, how
did you get to them?”

“Because of another
mother, who stood beside me at our children’s execution.  She brought me to
them.”

“Ah, I prefer to do without them,”
Abigail laughed.  She was disappointed but still didn’t believe her.

Aisha noticed the
disappointment on Abigail’s face.

            “Perhaps you should go
there.  Those people, they are all spies and terrorists
,
and they are
the ones who made me one of them.  If they accept you – it will only be to your
advantage.”

Abigail shrugged.  Perhaps it wasn’t a
good idea to get involved with such suspicious people, who were so physically
disabled and mentally distressed.

Aisha went back to bed
and fell asleep in a few minutes.  Abigail continued lying with her eyes open, thinking
about the stories she had heard and wondering about the nameless village.  She
only fell asleep at dawn.

 Aisha arose early in
the morning, but Abigail had difficulty opening her eyes.  She continued
sleeping until Aisha called out her name.  When she opened her eyes, she saw
Aisha spreading out a black headscarf and waving it in front of her eyes.

            “I bought
this for you yesterday,” She announced.  “Come, sit on the bed.”

Abigail allowed Aisha
to cover her face with the fabric and saw how she smiled.

            “Get up,
and put on your new dress, your galabiya.”

Abigail yawned noisily and dressed
slowly in front of the mirror in the room.  When she saw her reflection, she
drew closer to the mirror as she screwed up her eyes at the sight of the figure
in black.

            “It looks
good on you,” Aisha laughed.

            “Really? 
How can you tell?  It completely covers me from top to toe.”

            “In my
homeland, in Iran, women also wear a chador,” Aisha explained, “It’s a single
garment that covers the whole head and body.”

            “Chador?”
Abigail repeated, her voice sounding muffled from behind the scarf.

            “Yeah! Just
what I need, right now.”

She twisted her body
back and forth and checked out her appearance in the galabiya that completely covered
her.

            “Aisha, how
does someone chase or flirt with a woman who looks like this?”

            “But that’s
the whole idea!  What is there to understand here?  They cover her purposely so
that men won’t see what’s underneath the bulky galabiya.  The custom is to do
everything to hide us.  Only the husband is permitted to woo her.”

            “Ah, yes? 
That reminds me to ask you if women in your country are allowed to work outside
the home.”

            “Work
outside?  Of course not!  A woman’s place is in the home.  There are children
and a husband to serve, you know that, right?”

            “Ah, so
it’s superfluous to ask if women work as waitresses, lawyers or salesladies.”

            “Oh,
Rania?”

On Tuesday, they went
out with a list Aisha had prepared,

            “Today we
will make Khoresh Badmajan with chicken quarters for lunch,” She announced.

“What did you call it, Khorsh
Baminjan with chicken?”

Aisha laughed.

            “No,
listen, repeat after me, Khoresh Badmajan.”

When they entered the supermarket,
Aisha looked around and gave Abigail the list she had prepared.

            “Let’s divide the work.  I
will go and select the chicken quarters, and you get the vegetables on this
list, okay?”

Abigail wandered down
the aisles of counters and collected eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, onions and
garlic and Aisha returned with chickpeas, tomato paste, two bottles of oil and
chicken soup powder.  When she placed the purchases in the shopping cart, she
was surprised to notice something.

            “Did I forget
to put hot green peppers on the list?” she asked.

            “Oh, yes, I’ll bring some right
away.”

They returned to the
apartment a half an hour later and put the shopping bags down around them. 
They enjoyed the excitement of preparing the dish and Abigail helped Aisha but announced
that on the following day, she would do the cooking and Aisha could assist her.

            “That’s
fine, no problem, only now, let’s concentrate on the food,” and Aisha added.
“Peel the eggplants and cube them.”  She brought a paper-lined baking pan closer. 
Abigail spread the cubed eggplant on it, sprinkled it with oil and put the pan
into the pre-heated oven.

            “What’s
next?”

            “Now it’s the turn of the onions
and peppers.  Cube the onions and I’ll slice the peppers, and we’ll fry all
that in this frying pan.  The oil in it is already hot.”

When the aroma of
frying onion and peppers filled the kitchen, Aisha grated ripe tomatoes, added
tomato paste to them and poured the mixture into the deep frying pan for five
minutes more.

            “Did we
forget the garlic and the chickpeas?”  Abigail asked.

            “No, we haven’t forgotten
anything. I will put the chicken legs in the pan on top of the chickpeas and
the garlic, and you can add the spices.”

Abigail sprinkled the
salt, black pepper, paprika, added the halved lemon and bay leaves while the
water bubbled and boiled in the kettle.

            “Ah, should
I add water?” Abigail asked.

            “Yes, but first pour water
over the tea bags in the empty cups,” then added, “I hope there are four cups
of boiling water left in the kettle for our dish.”

Abigail poured two cups
of tea and then measured four cups of boiling water and poured them into the
simmering pan.

            “Oh, I almost forgot,” Aisha
exclaimed, “we have to add the eggplant cubes in the oven to the skillet.”

Just then, they heard
knocking on the door and apprehension spread on Aisha’s face.  It was one hard rap
followed by three weaker ones, and then a key turned in the lock.  Barak
entered and called out:

            “Wow, what
a great smell!  It’s torture to come here without being invited."

            “What do
you mean by uninvited?  We’ve been waiting for you.  Come and sit down and
enjoy some genuine Persian cuisine.” Abigail exclaimed.

            “So Abi…,
Rania, are you already an expert in Persian cooking?

            “Of
course.”

            “I am
overjoyed, but wouldn‘t it be a pity not to let San try out a Persian meal?”

            “San? With
a name like that he should be eating Japanese food.”  Aisha stated.

            “Chinese
food,” Barak quickly corrected her and called San.

            “Come, San, you won’t
believe what a great meal awaits us here,” and ten minutes later the four of
them were sitting around the table.

After the meal, Barak was pensive.  He
pursed his lips and fantasized how this might be the dining table in their
shared home, his and Abigail’s. They would enjoy eating delicacies and living a
family life and, without realizing it, he stared at her.  She screwed up her
eyes, trying to fathom the meaning of his gaze and blushed when she thought she
understood.

In the evening, when they were alone and
prepared for bed, Abigail removed her blue contact lenses and placed them in a container
with transparent liquid.  Aisha glanced at what she was doing but said nothing
and Abigail wondered how it was that Aisha never expressed any interest in
Abigail’s past. 

On the following day, Aisha informed her
that they were to travel to Beer Sheba.  She spoke in Persian, and Abigail
answered her in Arabic, because she still found it difficult to hold a fluent
conversation in Persian, even though she was familiar with and had learned that
language.

            “Why to Beer
Sheba of all places?”

            “You’re
going to travel there as Rania and leave as a Muslim woman.  Trust me.” Aisha
said in Persian and added:

            “Till we get there, I agree
to listen to you speaking Arabic.  But, from the moment we leave the store –
your appearance will be that of a genuine Iranian woman, and you will speak
only Persian to me.”

That day, Abigail bought two galabiyas;
one was of rough black material with a black lace collar and the other made of a
shiny gray suede fabric.

From that day on they
ate only Persian cuisine.

            “Rania, you
are an unmarried woman.”

            “What does
that mean?”

            “It means
that you will never initiate a conversation with a male stranger, especially
not in public.”

            “Ah, and if
he approaches me?”

            “Firstly,
you must lower your eyes modestly; Secondly, you must never find yourself alone
with a man.  Period. Is that clear?”

            “Perfectly,” Abigail
replied. 

For days, she found
that she was speaking only Persian, and she found she was even able to think in
that language.

            “I think I
am already dreaming Persian,” Abigail announced to Aisha, who smiled.

            “Yes,
you’re almost cooking like a Persian and you also look like one in your galabiya.”

Abigail laughed with
satisfaction.

            “We’ve done a marvelous job. 
No one will mistake you for anything else, and I must add that you are a fast
learner.”

A day earlier Aisha heard that she would
end her assignment with Abigail the following day.  She hesitated to tell her
that it was their last day together and decided not to say anything but, in the
evening, she would talk to her again about the village of the disabled.

Aisha began speaking as
they undressed and prepared for bed.

            “At the
entrance to the village there is an enormous waterfall from above but it is
possible to enter beneath it without getting wet.”

            “Interesting,”
Abigail remarked without interest or curiosity.

She had almost fallen
asleep when she heard Aisha speaking quietly.

            “The people
of that village will be my gift to you and I believe it is a very precious
one.”

            “Ah, thank you very much.”

When Abigail rose the next day, Aisha’s
bed was empty.  She opened her closet and also found it empty, understanding
now that what Aisha had said the night before, were her parting words to her.

She heard Barak and San
talking in the living room.

            “Oh, I
would very much like to keep in touch with Aisha,” she said as she came to them.

            “That won’t
work out because Aisha was with you as part of her assignment.”

            “Okay, but it is also
possible to remain friends after an assignment.”

Barak and San were silent,
and Abigail continued speaking.

            “It bothers
me that you sent her off in such a manner. Why did she disappear all at once
like this?”

            “Look, it’s
good to connect with people and befriend them but it’s also important to know
how to part,” Barak explained and Abigail burst out furiously in Persian:

            “That’s
easy for you to say.”

She laughed when she saw his brows furrow
into a frown and knew that he didn’t understand what she had said.  So she continued
chatting away in Persian until his expression of confusion turned into one of delight.

            “Have you
finished?  Now, would you be kind enough to translate what you just said in
Persian for us.”

            “I said that one day I will
become attached to an attractive Persian fellow and I will make him fall head
over heels in love with me.  And after I’ve had some fun with him, I’ll just
disappear.  After all, that’s what the job demands, right?  That’s what I
said.”

Barak looked away, and
San replied:

            “You’re
quite right.”  He resisted laughing when he saw how shocked Barak was at just the
thought of this woman falling in love or starting a relationship with another
man.  San knew that Abigail’s remarks were causing Barak pain, so he changed
the subject.

            “Today
you’re going to your new home.  We have already moved all your belongings, and
it was very easy because your new apartment matches your previous one.  I would
say that it mirrors it accurately.”  He added immediately, “And, Abigail, you
won’t forget to continue keeping your eyes open.”