Call of the Trumpet (26 page)

Cecile could not believe what she heard. Or the sudden emotion in her heart. It rose in her throat until it became a painful lump, threatening to choke her. She moistened her too-dry lips. “You … you do me honor, Aza,” she whispered, “of which I’m not worthy.” Aza protested, but Cecile turned away, busying herself with replacing the gifts in their box. No wonder El Faris had turned to the girl, she thought bitterly.
She is everything I am not.

Cecile repacked all but the sleeping quilt, which she would need. “Here,” Aza gestured. “Put it here next to mine.”

For the first time Cecile noticed Aza’s bed in the corner. Their quarters were so filled with boxes and bags and various other feminine paraphernalia, she must have missed it. The sight of it now gave her a small jolt. “Won’t you … won’t you sleep with … with El Faris?”

“Oh, no. A man calls a woman to his bed only when he wants her.”

“I … I see.”

And would he call Aza tonight? Cecile wondered. She could stand it no longer. With a muffled apology, she stood and ran from the tent.

As promised, Hagar cooked the evening meal. Dusk had fallen, the herds had returned, and somewhere beyond the dunes an owl called his challenge to the night. The dust was slowly settling when the old woman appeared at the gaily striped blanket partition.

“I have brought your dinner,” she announced unnecessarily.

“You are so kind,” Aza said, and indicated a place on the carpet before her. “Put it here, will you?”

Cecile could tell Hagar smiled, but the old woman would not meet her gaze. “There is lamb tonight, children, but it is the last, so enjoy it.”

There was also rice, dates, bread, and
leben,
which Hagar further informed them would be no more. “The she-camels have dried up. Summer is truly upon us.”

Hagar left soon after, though Cecile ardently wished she had stayed. Any moment now El Faris would return to his tent. She wondered, in fact, where he had been all afternoon. Did he stay away on purpose?

The meal was a silent one. Aza concentrated on her food, eating in dainty bites. Cecile concentrated on how she would get through the night.

For, much to her amazement and displeasure, she found her heart was no longer numb, her thoughts no longer still. A thousand questions raced through her mind. Deep in her heart, a familiar, aching pain had returned to torment her.

Soon Cecile’s head began to ache, throbbing where she had hit it in her fall from Al Chah ayah that fateful night. Pushing aside her half-eaten dinner, she rose to her knees. “I’ll be back in a little while, Aza. I … I have to see Hagar.”

But she did not go to Hagar’s tent. Thankful for the anonymity of the darkness, she moved quietly through the camp. Her thoughts were so many and so confused, she was unable to sort them, and she was glad. She didn’t think she was ready to face what lurked in the depths of her soul.

Cecile stayed away until the moon had risen and she saw it was dark within their tent. She crept inside, saw the form sprawled on the quilt, and hurried to her side of the tent.

The night was so still, Cecile heard a camel grunt uneasily. Beside her, Aza’s breathing was soft and regular. But she could not sleep herself.
He
was still awake, or had awakened upon her return. She heard him stir restlessly. Once she heard him sigh, the hiss of his breath barely audible.

Sleep, she prayed. Oh, please let him sleep. For if he did not, he might wish to call Aza to his bed, and Cecile did not think she could stand it if he did.

The moments ticked by, one for every beat of her heart. She was not surprised, nor unprepared, when she finally heard his call. She remained still, her eyes shut as Aza roused and sleepily crawled from her quilt.

Cecile heard each soft step. She waited for the sound of low voices, but none came. There was only a vague rustling then silence.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She prayed it would drown out the sounds she now must hear. Quaking, she waited, but the silence stretched. A night wind rose, sighing through the camp. A mare stamped her foot, shook her head. Cecile could stand it no longer. She had to know. Unable to help herself, she pushed aside the quilt and rose.

The moon was nearly full, and the tent flap had been left open to catch a stray breeze. It was not difficult to see from where she stood.

He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other flung carelessly out beside him. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and regular. There was no one at his side. Aza lay curled at his feet, her hair scattered about her on the dark maroon carpet.

Cecile retreated. She tried to ask herself why she even cared, why it had been so important to know. But the question was driven away, shoved aside by the madly joyful pounding of her heart.

She did not try to analyze it, didn’t want to know, or name, the emotion that assailed her. She merely wanted to close her eyes and lie very, very still.

She slept almost at once.

N
EVER HAD A WEEK PASSED SO SLOWLY
. T
HE
boredom was nearly intolerable, not to mention the living conditions. Though it was impossible to dislike Aza, Cecile found the girl’s constant presence suffocating. It was a relief now to climb into the
maksar
with Hagar and spend the next six hours of the
rahala
in relative peace and forgetfulness. The old woman had little to say these days, a fact for which Cecile was profoundly grateful, and she took advantage of the long silences. It was easier now to make her mind a blank, to still, even if only for a little while, the ache in her heart.

Yet all too soon, early each afternoon, the march was halted and the camp erected. As soon as Kut and Hajaja had pitched the tent, Cecile was required to remain within it. Because of the marriage customs, there was nothing to do, nothing but talk to Aza. And wonder, increasingly, what El Faris felt for the timid, soft-spoken girl.

Cecile found herself listening to the small sounds he made as he occasionally moved restlessly about his quarters. She wished she might be more like Aza, apparently oblivious. After all, Aza was his “real” wife. She should be the one chewing her nails, burning with impatience. How could she be so calm? Which made Cecile wonder all the more … what was between them? Why did he not desire more of Aza’s company?

There were the nights, of course, the most torturous hours of all. Darkness fell, night deepened, and she heard him toss and turn. Eventually he called for Aza and the girl went to him, while Cecile’s heart contracted and her head resumed its throbbing. And always she waited, waited for any sounds. But they never came, and when she could bear it no longer and tiptoed to the blanket partition, it was always to see Aza curled at the foot of his sleeping quilt. They did not even touch.

Then she would sneak back to her own blankets, confused by the mixed emotions raging inside her. Sometimes his
saluqi,
Turfa, crawled into the tent and slept at Cecile’s side, and she found she longed for the dog’s presence. She pressed close to the warm body, despite the heat of the night, and stroked the animal until they both slept.

But until blessed forgetfulness enfolded her, Cecile’s mind reeled. Why had he married Aza if he did not desire her? Could it possibly be as Hagar had suggested, that he had done it to strike back at her, albeit unconsciously, for her apparent rejection of his proposal? He had long wanted a wife, Hagar had told her. But she had not been there when the hour was up … Aza had been.

Always at this point, Cecile felt unbearable anguish spill from her heart. If she had not fallen from Al Chah ayah, or if she had been able to go to him that morning and explain, before …

But no, she could not allow herself to think of what might have been. It was too late. And perhaps fate had been wise in its designs. Matthew apparently felt some sort of obligation toward her … but love?

Somehow Cecile found it easier to tell herself he did not love her, not even a little, and never had. Thank Allah she had fallen from the mare. What if she had married him, with love and hope in her heart, only to discover that he did not love her as passionately as she had thought she loved him?

Yes, she would end up telling herself, it was better this way. In a few weeks it would be over. She would be gone and could put the agony behind her forever. She would forget him, forget the desert. Thank goodness she had not sold her father’s house!

So engrossed was she in her own misery, Cecile did not realize when Aza’s seven days of enforced idleness were over at last. They had camped in a
millah,
a dry watercourse and, as usual, Cecile left Hagar and trudged in search of the tent. She had expected to see Kut and Hajaja, but there was only Aza, struggling all alone with the flapping tent walls.

The
Shamal,
the hot, dry northwest wind, blew almost ceaselessly now, and Aza had her hands full. But when Cecile rushed to her aid, the girl waved her away.

“No, no,” she exclaimed. “Your seven days are not up. I must do this alone.”

Eventually Hagar appeared, whose help was accepted. Together the two women managed to erect the tent, then moved the goods inside. Cecile felt worse than useless. But her discomfort had barely begun.

Aza cooked that night. She seemed to take great pleasure in the simple tasks: preparing the fire, boiling the rice, selecting the plumpest dates. Cecile envied her.

They ate alone together, as was custom. Aza was unusually cheerful and Cecile knew why. Her misery increased as she waited for the sound of his footsteps.

He came at last. Shining eyes betraying the smile behind her veil, Aza rose and hurried to the opposite side of the tent.

Cecile felt faint. Would the relationship between them change now? Aza would cook for him, bring his supper each night. They would spend more time together. And he must feel something for the girl, else he would not have wed her. Much as she tried to stoke the fires of her anger, Cecile had to admit he was not a cruel or unfeeling man. He had not married the girl with total lack of feeling. Whatever he felt for Aza would blossom and grow. Dizzy, Cecile closed her eyes.

Aza returned almost at once, filled the wooden bowls with his dinner, and departed again. Cecile heard him thank her, then silence fell. It was almost as bad as the nights. She couldn’t stand it, she had to see.

Matthew was absorbed in his meal. Aza knelt at his feet. Her eyes were downcast, her hands folded in her lap. The perfect little slave, Cecile thought. Another reason she should be thankful things had not turned out differently. Never would she have been able to be so subservient.

The thought stilled Cecile’s heart for awhile. But with the coming of darkness, in the terrible loneliness of the night, the ache returned, unabated.

It had been good fortune finding the
millah
yesterday, Matthew thought. It had shielded them from the ceaseless wind. They would be less lucky today. Winding the end of his
khaffiya
across his nose and mouth to keep out the blowing sand, he reined in Al Chah ayah to keep pace with Ahmed’s plodding camel.