"They are so few in number, but thanks to them people around the world associate the name of Islam with bombings and terror," He shook his clasped hands in front of him. "The Kabaals of the world are the worst of the lot! From the comfort and safety of their homes and palaces, they fan the flames of bitterness and violence among the poor and downtrodden. Then they send the brainwashed fools out to kill themselves along with all those innocent people." His voice grew quiet, and he looked down at the sofa. "They defame our Faith, Miri. Making Islam look to the rest of the world cruel and vindictive when it is anything but."
"It's just another right-wing newspaper," Samira said tenderly.
"One paper at a time. Soon he'll have all of them," Eleish murmured as he turned back to the article. Reading the last paragraph, a sentence caught his eye. "Listen to this, Miri," he said to his wife and waved his paper again. "'Hazzir Kabaal was not available for comment as he has been out of Egypt on vacation for the past week."'
Samira put her iron down. "So?"
"In eight years, I've never known Kabaal to take a vacation," Eleish said. "The man is a workaholic."
Samira eyed her husband for several seconds. "There's something else, isn't there, Achmed?"
"I make it my business to know whenever Kabaal leaves the country," he confessed sheepishly. "And I hadn't heard about him going anywhere."
Samira's lips broke into a smile that Eleish recognized as part admiration and part exasperation. "What do you intend to do, Achmed?"
Eleish shrugged. "Find out where he is."
She stared at him without comment.
Eleish folded the paper and put it down on the couch beside him. "Miri, I have been a detective my whole life. It's all I know. And it's the only thing I've ever been good at."
"Come, now." Samira's brown eyes twinkled. "You're a pretty good father, and not so bad a husband."
Eleish smiled, but when he spoke his tone was serious. "I have a feeling that Hazzir Kabaal is up to something. Something bad. I cannot tell you why, but you know my hunches are rarely wrong."
The smile left Samira's lips. She nodded. "Go find out where he is and what he's up to. But, Achmed…" Her voice trailed off.
"Yes?" Eleish said.
"Never forget what happened the first time you crossed his path. Our girls need their father. And I do not want to be a widow." Her face creased and her eyes bore into his. "Achmed Eleish, you be careful with this man."
Though she had to rise in a few more hours, Khalila Jahal was no closer to sleep than she had been the rest of the night Even more than her apprehension about her looming predawn viral inoculation, the continuous soft sobs of her neighbor kept sleep at bay for Jahal.
Unlike the men's section of the complex, which was an open dorm, curtains partitioned the women's side into rooms so small that the women had to sit on their beds to finish dressing. More than twenty women stayed at the complex. Khalila had been given the spot next to Sharifa Sha'rawi. In Cairo Jahal and Sha'rawi hardly spoke, but their friendship blossomed in the Somali wasteland. Khalila had naturally assumed the role of a protective big sister to her emotionally fragile neighbor with the round face and wild, black curly locks.
When Sharifa's weeping showed no sign of abating, Khalila slipped out of her bed and peeled back the curtain separating their rooms. She knelt down by her friend's bed. "Sharifa?" she asked gently.
"Oh, Khalila, I am sorry." Sha'rawi sniffed, but then broke into an even louder cry.
Khalila reached out and squeezed Sharifa's arm. "May I lie with you?" she asked.
Sharifa nodded her assent, and Khalila climbed onto the bed. Though neither woman was particularly large, the wooden cot was so narrow that they had to lie on their sides to both fit. Even snuggled against Sharifa's back, Jahal could feel the rough edge of wood digging into her buttock and shoulder. And she felt the dampness on her cheek from where Sharifa's tears had wet the sheets. "What is it?" Jahal asked.
"You are going, tomorrow," Sha'rawi sobbed.
"It is time."
"How come you are not more frightened?" Sha'rawi asked.
"I am." Jahal rubbed the other woman's shoulder, thankful for the human contact. "But what can I do? It is what God has chosen for me."
"But it is men who have chosen this for you," Sha'rawi said. Then she grabbed Jahal's hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean that!" she said fearfully. "You know, it's just that sometimes—"
"I know, Sharifa." Jahal reassured Sha'rawi with a squeeze of her shoulder. "Sometimes men are fools." She paused, then added in a quieter voice, "And sometimes they are hateful and very dangerous."
Sha'rawi giggled nervously.
"But not Abu Lahab," Jahal continued. "Sheikh Hassan explained it to me. Abu Lahab is fighting the only way he can to preserve our faith."
"But you, Khalila." Sha'rawi sniffed again. "It is such a waste…"
"It is our duty — our honor — to serve God." She paused. "Zamil would agree. I know it."
