Paper Tree
NASSER WAS EXAMINING THE LAST SHEET OF PARCHMENT FOR A TRACE OF THE family tree when Yusuf grabbed it out of his hands. “Don’t waste your time looking for the family tree. It isn’t here. You should be helping me look for the remains of the fort.”
“What kind of fort do you think could survive centuries of erosion?”
Mushabbab made them go back over the testament from the beginning, but no matter how much they searched they couldn’t identify where the ruins of Ka’b ibn al-Ashraf’s fort should be. Mushabbab pulled out a bunch of maps for Yusuf. “My friends went to great pains to produce these maps and they were reviewed for accuracy by the Center for Hajj Studies and Muflih al-Ghatafani, may he rest in peace. They give us a rough idea of the fort’s location. It was the fourth side of a square formed on three sides by the Mudhaynib Valley, Ranuna Valley, and the Qaba Mosque.” There were some rough schematic drawings, which showed the fort at the intersection of the line running south from Baqi Cemetery and the line running northeast from the Qaba Mosque at a proportion of two to one. That is, the distance between the cemetery and the fort was twice the distance between the fort and the mosque. The two of them combed the entire area, though the city had begun to encroach, spreading out in every direction. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack of fourteen hundred years.
Bundug
THE AIRPLANE MADE A HALF-CIRCLE OVER THE MOUNTAINS THAT BLOCKED OUT the horizon as it prepared to land. Nora looked out over the peaks, which pointed menacingly into the sky like devil horns. Her heartbeat quickened and she began to tremble, as though she was expecting something horrible to happen.
The plane touched down lightly on the primitive airstrip in the middle of the empty desert. From the ground, the mountains blocked any view of the horizon and Nora felt like she was being held captive behind the devil’s cloak. She looked around as she descended the steps to the runway; there was no sign of life anywhere. The only thing she could see was a pair of signs in the road: one pointed to Khamis Mushayt and the other to Najran. On the six-hour journey, Nora had listened as the sheikh talked to his assistant about maps and plans and budgets for a deal they were about to sign. He was ignoring her on purpose. He was still angry, and he wore his anger was like a layer of fire immediately beneath the skin. It singed her even though he was focused elsewhere. As soon as she stepped onto the plane, everything about Madrid disappeared. Nora was used to it. Every time she hit the ground she was born anew, her memory wiped clean.
What she gleaned from their conversation was that they were about to meet someone very important. Someone they called the Building Crow. She was half-asleep when she heard the sheikh mocking the man, though he obviously envied him. “Our competitor’s a beast. You know he has several different citizenships. He’s a multinational citizen and he’s out of any one nation’s reach. He could get his hands on Satan’s property if he wanted to.”
“Well they don’t call him the Building Crow for nothing.”
“We need to think like devils to get him on board so we can complete this stage of the project. We can use his greed to get our hands on the whole world. Whatever property he wants, he gets. He could shake the ground beneath us. He’s this century’s King Shahriyar. He always gets the most beautiful women: he marries them and then when he divorces them, he gives them a house to be heartbroken in. If we want him to get on board, we have to go to him, all the way out to the Devil’s Horns where he’s hunting and camping.”
“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve made sure to bring him a mouthwatering bit of prey,” the assistant said, winking at the two female flight attendants waiting on them. “He has a soft spot for Egyptian sweets.”
Human falcon eyes tracked the motorcade of Mercedes as they entered the small, nameless village, disappearing between the run-down two-story buildings at the side of a pothole-ridden asphalt road. Nora shut her eyes in the face of all that decay, which had the power to revive buried fantasies. As far as she could see, the fruit orchards and beautiful mud-brick houses had given way entirely to soulless cement cubes, but the few orchards that remained at least gave the town a familiar feel.
By ten p.m., the town was dead and the only sounds they could hear were the rush of the river and the creeping thick night. She wouldn’t see the sheikh for three days; her assistant told her that he had to stay with the Crow at his camp. This was confirmed by a train of Land Rovers that drove into town, kicking up a dust storm against the evening sky and carrying her sheikh along with the Crow’s son to a nighttime hunt. A cacophonous show of walkie-talkies, blindfolded falcons and their trainers whistling, clanking rifles, and reckless driving. The women ate the party up with wheat bread and butter and the procession of Land Rovers invaded the dreams of the children sleeping inside the town’s dark houses.
It was clear to Nora that she would be spending the evening alone in the midst of that silence. After a long shower, she went back to her room, barefoot, a red bath towel wrapped around her. She’d been getting ready for bed when she heard a few soft knocks at the door. So soft she felt the knocking must’ve risen up from her distant memories. She turned away from the door and faced the bed: a five-star hotel in a village, it was clean but without an ounce of taste. Everything smelled like abandonment. The knocking got louder and she forgot she’d ever been sleepy. “Who’s there?”
Out of all the people it could’ve been, Nora never would have expected to open the door and find the head flight attendant standing there in an embroidered red silk dress with a plunging neckline. “Get dressed. You’ve been invited to dinner at the Building Crow’s camp.”
“Oh, but I’d rather sleep.”
“He sent for you specifically. No one turns down an invitation from the Building Crow. You’d never be forgiven.”
“But I’m not ready for a party. The only clothes I have with me are pajamas and a pair of jeans. My bags are still on the plane.”
“That’s not a problem. Just put on some makeup. You need some bright red lipstick. I’ll be right back.” The woman was gone before she had a chance to object, and a few moments later there was a fancy set of underwear and a hand-embroidered, brilliant gold caftan laid out on the bed waiting for her. Nora couldn’t get her head around anything. She knew that the sheikh would never forgive her if she turned down the invitation. A few moments later, she was sitting beside the two flight attendants in the back of a black Mercedes, dressed in an outfit conjured up by goodness knows what magic wand, as the desert night ushered them to the campsite.
An assemblage of lights pierced the darkness on the horizon, and when they got closer, they couldn’t believe how grand the campsite was. Large brocaded canopies had been erected against the desert sky. When the car stopped, they were greeted by a guard in white robes and a checked red headscarf who led them to the canopies. In the middle of each canopy, there was a fire that gave off warmth against the austere sand. They walked through a fantasy realm. The walls of the canopies were embroidered with Arabic writing in red, blue, and golden thread. Here and there, the large tents were studded with pieces of art, which reflected the gleam of night and fire. Their footsteps were muffled by exquisite Persian carpets that stretched as far as they could see. Confronted with that splendor hidden within the infinitude of desert and the scents of Arabic coffee and cardamom and ginger, Nora relaxed. What was she thinking when she said she didn’t want to come out to an oasis like this? Every canopy was air-conditioned and brightly lit with the power supplied by generators, whose roar could be heard far off into the dark night.