The Witness (24 page)

“Really, if you could just direct me toward a public dock, I’d—”

“Passports,” the officer interrupted again, holding out his hand.

Marwan pulled his passport out of his pocket and said, “You heard the chap, Dalia, hand him your passport.”

They both handed their documents to the officer. He looked at them both, then passed them to the second man.

“Where are you from?” he asked Dalia in Arabic.

“Just a minute, that’s not very sporting. Speak so I can understand you too,” Marwan said, even though he understood every word.

The first officer put his finger on Marwan’s chest. “You, be quiet,” he said in English. Then, turning to Dalia, he again asked in Arabic, “Where are you from?”

“My family is from Ma’an, but I have lately been living in Cairo,” she answered with surprising confidence.

That’s the way,
Marwan thought.
When you’re in a bad situation, stick to the truth as much as is possible.

“Where are you coming from?”

“We came from Dahab. I met Andrew on a flight—I’m a flight attendant with British Air. I met him on a flight, I had some time off, and he took me to Dahab. While we were there, I told him about how beautiful Aqaba was, so we decided to come here. Other than parking our boat in the wrong place, have we done anything wrong?”

Switching back to English, the officer asked a sulking Marwan, “Where are you coming from?”

“Dahab.”

“How do you know Miss Nour?”

“I met her on an airplane. She’s a stewardess—oh, excuse me,” he said, turning to Dalia, “a flight attendant.”

“What are you doing here with her?”

“Well, that’s just a bit personal, don’t you think?”

Once again, the finger went to Marwan’s chest. “I do not find you amusing, Mr. Cooper. Nor do I have time for your games.”

“Okay, okay. We were out on the beach in Dahab. I commented on how beautiful the water was. She said that it was much more beautiful up in Aqaba. I told her that I couldn’t imagine it being so. She asked me if I wanted to bet. I told her yes. So we came here to settle our wager—the terms of which I am too much of a gentleman to share with you. Let’s just say that I look forward to paying off my debt.”

The officer stared at Marwan a moment longer before quietly conferring with his partner. He nodded, then turned back to Marwan.

“If you say you were in Egypt, why is there no stamp in your passport?”

Marwan laughed. “I was wondering when you would get to that question. You see, I specifically requested that they not stamp it. Once I’m through with our little excursion, I’m expected in Israel for some consulting work in Tel Aviv. You know the hassle those Jews will give me if they see a recent passport stamp from an Arab country.”

The two men held eye contact, both waiting to see if the other would flinch. Finally the officer said, “Mr. Cooper, I do not like your attitude, nor do I care for what you are doing to one of the fair flowers of our country. However, you have done nothing illegal. Talk to the harbormaster to see if you can work out terms to keep your boat here. I’m sure you will be able to come to an agreeable price.”

Half of which will be going into your pocket, I’m sure,
Marwan thought as the officers turned to go.

Waiting until the two men got a good head start, Marwan and Dalia silently followed. At the end of the pier, Marwan struck a deal with the yacht club’s manager, paying what must have been close to a full month’s slip rental for a two-night stay.

Once they were clear of the harbor and had crossed into the town, Dalia broke down in tears.

“I was horrible! I ruined the story, but I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t say I was your wife after he asked for my passport!”

Marwan put his arms around her. “You did perfectly—exactly what I wanted you to do. That’s why I called you by your real name. I was hoping you would get the hint.”

“That’s right, you did,” she said, starting to calm down. “So I didn’t mess things up?”

“On the contrary, my little lamb,” Marwan answered, taking on the Andrew Cooper persona, “I’d say you put on a jolly good show.”

After wiping her eyes on Marwan’s shirt, Dalia said, “What do we do now?”

“The first thing we need to find is a bathroom. After that, it’s transportation, and hopefully we’ll be at your parents’ in time for dinner.”

53

It wasn’t difficult finding a car that they could steal—something Dalia protested against but Marwan justified by necessity. She stopped pestering him after he wrote down the license number, promising to use it to track down the car’s owner and send an appropriate amount of money in payment for the “borrowed” vehicle. After a quick stop to trade license plates with another car, they were on their way north to Ma’an.

Midway through the two-hour drive, Marwan blurted out, “I can’t believe this place! It is utterly and completely barren. It’s just miles and miles of nothing but sand and rock.”

Dalia nodded. “When I was a kid, my dad piled me and a bunch of the other kids onto a bus and drove us down here for a field trip.”

“Wow, lucky you. A picnic in the desert.”

Dalia ignored his remark. “It was during a vacation Bible school, and the lessons had been about the Israelites wandering around the wilderness for years and years. I remember him telling us to look around. He said, ‘How could all those people have trekked through this wasteland? Where would they have gotten their food? Where would they have gotten their water?’

“Before we came down, I heard the stories and thought, ‘It couldn’t really be that bad.’ But once I was here and saw just how much of a wilderness it really is, I understood how it made sense that God had to give them food from heaven and water from rocks. Without his help, they wouldn’t have survived a week.”

Marwan snorted. “For someone who doesn’t want to be called pastor, you sure like giving sermons.” He was getting weary of talking about Dalia’s God and hearing her Bible stories. It seemed like every conversation they had now ended up there.

A tense silence filled the car.

“What? Are you just not going to talk now?”

Dalia turned to him and there were tears in her eyes again. “That was a rude thing to say. I was just trying to tell you about me growing up.”

Marwan sighed. “You’re right. It was very rude, and I apologize. I’m really uptight and nervous and tired. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He looked at Dalia for some kind of response, but she gave none.

“Please, you were saying . . . ,” he encouraged her.

“What if the story has God in it?”

“Whatever you have to say, I want to hear. Please, Dalia. Finish your story.”

She paused a moment before continuing more quietly than before. “I remember thinking that there was no way they could have survived without God’s help. But then my dad reminded us of the Israelites’ complaining. You know, ‘We want to go back to Egypt. Maybe we were slaves, but at least we had meat to eat’—that kind of stuff. And I remember wondering how anyone could be so ungrateful. Here they were seeing God at work every day giving them food and water, and they were saying it wasn’t enough.”

Marwan found himself nodding. “I know what you mean. I sometimes think that if only I could see some miracle from God—some wild, crazy thing that could only have been done by him—that’s all it would take for me to really believe. Here these people had that every day.”

“But that’s just the thing, Marwan. Things like that do happen every day. Think about what a miracle it is that we are still alive.”

“Funny, but I thought it was my finger on that trigger,” Marwan said bitterly, the burden of having taken two more lives still heavy on his shoulders.

“But could you have done that without God’s help?”

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying that your God helped me to plunge a knife into one man’s throat and then put two bullets into the head of another.”

“I don’t know! I can’t tell you how it all works.”

“And that’s just the thing that I struggle with—and please don’t get upset or take this wrong,” Marwan said, trying desperately to avoid another quarrel. “It just seems to me that so many Christians overspiritualize things, putting God into places he never really was.”

“But don’t you think it’s also possible—and please don’t take this wrong,” Dalia countered, “that you underspiritualize things, keeping God out of places where he actually was at work.”

Marwan had to laugh. “My, my, my, Miss Nour. Whether you want to believe it or not, I do think you have some of your father in you.”

But Dalia didn’t join him in his laughter. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think I’m much more like those complaining Israelites. Even though I see the evidence of God all around me, I still can’t bring myself to truly believe. Or maybe I do believe, but I just can’t bring myself to surrender to God.”

Dalia’s words resonated with Marwan.
Which is it that I’m struggling with? Is it belief or surrender? Because honestly, neither one sounds all that appealing to me.

Marwan reached over and took her hand in his. They drove on in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

It was getting dark when they reached the outskirts of Ma’an. Marwan could tell that Dalia was becoming increasingly nervous. Her voice quavered as she gave him directions to her parents’ house, and the little jokes he told to lighten the mood received no response.

Finally she pointed to a tall, white-plastered apartment building. Marwan parked the car out front.

“I don’t really want this car sitting out here when morning comes.”

“Later tonight, I’ll ask my dad if you can park it around back,” she said, making no move to get out of the car. “So who am I going to introduce you as? I’d rather not lie to my parents.”

“I know, but let’s stick with Tariq Jameel. It’s safer for them, and it’s safer for us. Who knows if Marwan Accad has hit the news channels here yet?”

The sound of her tense breathing filled the darkening silence of the front seat. He reached over and pulled her close to himself.

“We’re going to get through this; I promise you. And once this crisis has passed and everything is explained, we’ll begin our new life together as Mr. and Mrs. Accad. Okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, but Marwan could hear the doubt in her voice.

He kissed her on the side of the head. Then, after letting himself out of the car and opening Dalia’s side for her, he put his arm around her and walked her to the front door.

54

They entered the building, climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, and stopped in front of the door. Dalia’s hands were trembling. Marwan used his fingers to wipe the beads of perspiration off her forehead and upper lip.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Dalia looked into his eyes, searching for the reassurance she so desperately needed. And when she found it, she whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Marwan smiled, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Naheem,” a woman’s voice shouted from inside the apartment, “there’s someone at the door. Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, I’m not. But I’m on the phone, honey. Can you get it?”

“Sure. One moment, one moment, I’m coming.”

“That’s my mother,” Dalia said as quietly as she could. “Rima.”

“And your father’s name is Naheem?”

“Right.”

Dalia’s grip tightened on Marwan’s hand. He noticed she wasn’t wearing the engagement ring he had given her. He was about to say something, but there wasn’t time. Besides, she was probably right, anyway. It was too soon to spring that kind of news on her parents. First they just had to survive the introductions.

The door opened and there was Rima Nour, standing face-to-face with a daughter she had not seen in years. She was in her midfifties, graying a bit and gaining some weight, but she was still quite attractive, and Marwan could see Dalia in her eyes.

Rima gasped at the sight of her long-lost daughter. Her hand shot to her mouth. It was if she had seen a ghost, and she seemed too shocked to speak. But after a moment, after blinking a few times, she finally asked, “Dalia, is that really you?”

“It’s me, Mama. I’m home.”

“Oh, my baby,” Rima cried as she threw her arms around her daughter’s neck. “God bless you, my daughter; God bless you. I missed you so much.”

“I love you, Mama. I’m sorry for staying away so long.”

“I love you, too, baby; I love you, too.”

They both hugged and kissed and eventually dissolved into tears. Marwan took a step down the hall to give the two women some room. He was moved by the obvious love and affection these two had for each other, and seeing them together again after so long reminded him of how much he missed his own parents, especially his mother.

But the emotion he felt quickly dissolved into nerves. He felt like an interloper—out of place and unwelcome. After all, how would Rima react to him when she came up for air and noticed him standing there? Had she even seen him at all? Maybe she thought he was the taxi driver or some other hired help, waiting to be paid. What would she say when Marwan explained who he was and why he was there? What’s more, how would Dalia’s father react to seeing them both? When it came down to it, he still barely knew Dalia, much less her parents. But there was no point speculating. He was about to find out for sure one way or the other.

“Mama,” Dalia said, sniffling back the tears. “Mama, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Marwan put his best smile on.

Rima looked startled all over again. “Oh, my. I didn’t realize . . .”

“It’s okay,” Dalia said, taking Marwan’s hand. “I want you to meet Tariq Jameel. He’s the reason I had to come home and see you after all these years.”

“Really?” Rima said. “Well, then, Tariq Jameel, you are an answer to my prayers. Please, please, come in. I will make us all some tea.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nour,” Marwan said with a smile. “You’re very kind. I can see where Dalia gets both her gracious spirit and her beauty.”

They entered the apartment and were removing their shoes when Dalia’s father came around the corner.

“Rima, what’s all the commotion? I could barely—”