Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (25 page)

“I understand,” Abigail said.

“No, you don’t. Not really. All of us,
who live here, strengthen and support each other, in spite of our handicaps
and, perhaps, because of them.”

When they parted, she added:

“We are meeting today to plan an
attack.”

In the afternoon, wheelchairs rolled up
the path as many people arrived and filled the house.

After reciting their anthem, Mullah
wheeled his chair right beside Abigail so that he could see her from close up. 
He was fair-haired with large brown eyes and she had already inquired and knew
that he had been shot in the back, leaving his legs paralyzed.

“Will you dine with me?” he smiled at
her.

“When?”

“Tomorrow evening, at my place, together
with my brother, Benjamin.”

“Yes, it’s a date, why not?  Who’s
cooking?”

“I am.  Benjamin says the food tastes
good and he seems to be getting big and strong on it.  He has no complaints.”

“Well. Sure.  Does he have a choice?  What
if he says he doesn’t like the taste?”

“Just let him dare!” and they both
laughed.

The following evening, when she was dressing,
she looked in the mirror and noticed that the fair roots of her hair were
showing and she wondered how to continue hiding them.  At first, she thought to
seek advice from Kahida but she didn’t feel like sharing this with her and
decided to go to town and have her hair colored.  She did not trust them enough
yet.

Mullah’s house was on the parallel road
to theirs and Kahida explained that she would recognize it by the huge leaves
of the eggplant and the small hothouses of marrow plants in his garden.  She
added quietly:

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, the food will be delicious,
I’m sure.”

“Who knows what will follow the meal?”

Abigail stared at her, not fully
understanding what she was getting at.  She knew that in Muslim society, there
was no likelihood of consummating a relationship between couples without the
blessing of a Qadi. But when she was about to leave, Kahida whispered to her at
the door:

“Mullah isn’t a Muslim. What about you?”

Apparently Mullah had made a great
effort and had sought the advice of half the village with regard to the menu. 
When she saw the beautifully decorated platters of food, she suddenly wondered
why he was trying so hard to impress her.

“Amazing!  Did you make all this
yourself?”  Mullah nodded proudly.

“Here, you have a profession.  You can
prepare meals and sell them to your friends.”

“Sell?  We don’t sell anything, we give
and receive and are remunerated with everything we require.”

“Is that so?  So, how do you earn a
living?”

“Well, what would we do with the money
we take from one another?”

“You could buy the things you need.”

“But, we have everything we need here.”

Abigail sighed.  She looked at
Benjamin.  From the beginning of the evening, he had been staring at her,
large-eyed with curiosity.  She laughed when Mullah sent him off to his room
with a reprimand and a slap on the back of his neck as he passed him.

“Why did you slap him?” she asked.

“He has to know who’s the boss here and
someone has to discipline him, right?”

After they had finished the meal, he
suggested that they move to the living room and Mullah told her, without her
even asking:

“My parents were killed in an
explosion.  Benjamin was only seven years old at the time.”

“Were you also injured in that
explosion?”

“No, I was a soldier, wounded fighting
in the battles between the Iraqi and Iranian armies at about the same time as
our house was bombed.”  He seemed to be waiting for a remark from her, but she
remained silent.

“I received inferior medical care in the
hospital.  They treated me like a dog and when I was released, I decided to
join the organization.”

“Which organization?” she inquired,
“Mujahadin or Kaukab?”

“Excellent!  How come you’re so well
informed?”  He was surprised.

“From the media.” She replied and opened
her eyes innocently as he moved his hand closer to hers.

“I am a Christian, not a Muslim.” and
when she did not react, he continued hesitantly.

“Perhaps it’s not important to you but I
wondered if you would agree.”

“To what, to join the organization?”

“No, to live with me.”

 “To live with you?!” she almost shouted
and the wheels of his chair squeaked,

 “I… we don’t yet know one another,
haven’t you thought of that?”

 “I don’t have enough time and every
minute is critical.  I am attracted to you.”  He stated, and she thought:
‘Actually, why not.’

She agreed.  Mullah called his brother,
who was told of the decision and embraced her, looking into her pale eyes.  The
expression of happiness on his face left no doubt about his feelings and she
thought that it was worth staying if only for this youngster.

“This room is for you,” he said and
began rolling his wheelchair, which squeaked and squealed deafeningly, towards
it.

“Doesn’t the noise drive you mad?”  She
stared at him, “lubricate the springs with a little oil and then they won’t
hear when you come to me.”

“Oh, so that’s our only problem?” he
said and laughed happily.  Till now he had not made any attempt to touch her
and she wondered how it was possible to make love to a seated man with
paralyzed legs.

He came to her room in the evening.  He
closed the door but stayed beside her and she glanced at him.

“Today the wheels were quiet,” she remarked,
but he did not reply.

Abigail waited; Mullah wheeled the chair
up to her and pulled her to him.  His grip was strong and she found herself
embraced in his arms and seated on his thighs.  She tried to extricate herself
from his grip.

“Help me undress,” he asked and Abigail
began to unbutton his shirt.  There was no passion in the way he regarded her
and he suddenly said:

“Don’t forget, that we are meeting at
Nadia’s house today.” 

Abigail stopped and got off his legs.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know Mullah.  I’m sorry, but I can't,”
she apologized as she sat back down on the bed.

She saw him grow angry and her heart
beat wildly.  Without a word, Mullah turned his wheelchair around and left the
room in silence.

A stormy meeting about the proposed
attack took place that evening.  For the first time, some of the people were
not happy about the decision to act that day, but most of the opponents of the
attack were women and their voice was not the decisive one.  Abigail did not
intervene but observed the proceedings with interest.

“Who will place the explosive?” Abigail
heard the question, “and why are only two people going out today?”

She pursed her lips, wondering how
decisions were reached here and considered whether to make a remark or
intervene.

“May I ask something?” she inquired and,
without waiting, she continued in a loud voice.

“How do you plan to secure the site
you’re going to attack?” 

No one answered.

“Has an escape route been planned?”

The silence continued but, then Qassem
spoke:

“Excuse me! We don’t bother with
security. We can get past any guards. We will simply plant the device we’ve
prepared and get out of there.”

“Ah, would someone like to tell me about
the attack planned for today?” she asked.

“As usual,” Ibrahim began, “the plan is
to place the bomb in the offices of the Revolutionary Guards.”

Abigail screwed up her eyes and Nadia
whispered to her that it was the building with the signpost that read “Ministry
of Labor.”  She added that it was an open secret that matters dealt with there
had nothing to do with labor.  Abigail was familiar with the place and knew
that the lights were always on there and that it buzzed with activity and she
shuddered.

“There, of all places? Have any of you
checked out the security measures they have in place there?”

“Listen, we don’t wait until the guard
arrives and we don’t care if or when the guards change shifts.”

“Is that so?  What if I tell you that
you’re playing with fire?  Do you think that they are amateurs?!”  She was
angry.  “Allah only knows how you have managed till now without problems.”

“The truth is, we haven’t managed,”
Nadia whispered.  “Each time we have suffered casualties.”

“But we have caused them damage every
time and we’ve never been caught,” someone added.

“That’s enough nonsense and women’s
chatter!  Let’s arrange the explosives and get on with the job.” Naweel said, “See,
the bomb is here.”

This was too much for Abigail and she
got up to leave the room but, then thought that she should try a different tack
with them, without anger and without snapping or criticizing.

“Just a moment.  Does this bomb have a
delay mechanism?”

“Why would we want to add one?”

“To have time to get away without being
injured.”

“That’s really not a bad idea,” Ibrahim
pointed out, but Qassem was aware that no one knew how to attach such a
mechanism, so he said:

“It’s a lousy idea there’s no need to
add an extra gadget.”

“Wait, are you planning to place the
bomb and leave?” she wondered.

“Yes, we always do that.”  Qassem
declared.

The tone of anger and impatience in his
voice made it clear that he was fed up with her remarks.

“I’m surprised you haven’t had problems
till now.  How did you operate without raising suspicion?”

Now, he shut up and tried to avoid the
stares of the people.  The last attack in which he had been involved took the
life of Mahmoud and caused the mortal injury of Said, who had still not
recovered.
  And, all this was the result of not getting away
in time.  They stared at him.  They all remembered the incident and Qassem
protested.  

“Wait, why are you looking at me? No one
actually discovered us!”  When the silence continued, he said:

“In the end we all got back and don’t
forget that the damage they suffered was enormous.”

No one made the point that Mahmoud had
been killed and Said was still struggling to recover.  They all knew that
everything was not alright and the attack Qassem referred to resulted in
soldiers pursuing them till they saw them in their wheelchairs and presumed
that they were mistaken in suspecting them.

“What do you say to the suggestion that
Naima prepare the bomb and let her tell us what she needs?” Mullah suggested
and Abigail hurried to reply so as not to allow them time to object. 

“Okay, I need a watch, a battery, and an
electronic igniter.” She took a breath and continued talking without looking at
anyone in particular.

“I will also need a detonator and an
accelerator and, of course, the bomb itself. I will take care of the rest.”

“Hey, is someone making a list of these
things?  Kahida asked.

Qassem was in charge of explosives.  He
stood up, in spite of himself, and returned a short time later with a bag and
muttered that only a watch was missing.

“Here, take this,” Naweel offered him
her wristwatch.

“You understand that you won’t be
getting this back, ha?” Abigail laughed.  She took the package and went into an
adjacent room. She returned at once to the living room full of people and the
conversation stopped as they all stared at her.

”Forgive me. It seems I’ve forgotten
about taking precautions.”

“What do you mean?” Mullah asked.

“I thought that if I blew up while
preparing the bomb, I would endanger all of you,” She said. “I’ll go to our
apartment and return with it when it’s ready.”

She looked at Mullah out of the corner
of her eye, knowing this was an announcement to everyone that they were now a
couple and living together.

She spent half an hour assembling the
bomb and set it to explode at 10:59.  It was an estimated time she chose matter
of factly.  Then she came out of Kahida’s house and placed it in the yard,
under a palm.
  On second thought, she covered it with a cloth and
went into the house.  The seat beside Mullah was vacant and awaited her.

“What do you suggest we do now?” Qassem
asked in a restrained voice.

“You should go out there now, observe
the security arrangements and look for the best place to plant the bomb and
when you bring back the results…”

“Just a minute, so are you also against
attacking today?” asked Miriam from where she sat in a wheelchair, near Mullah.