Before trying the rear door, Safeed sidled up to a narrow window and pushed his nose against the glass. He tapped three times, hoping to slip in, grab Alim, and exit the hospital undetected. An unkempt hoary head—in view but facing away—was all that showed above a linen sheet. Alim slowly rolled over and haltingly put a finger to his pursed lips. Shhh. He pointed at the back of the striped, high-backed chair near the front of the room, shook his head and mouthed, “He sleeps lightly. It’s not safe. Go away.” Then he pulled the sheet over his face to underscore his wishes.
Safeed slung the strapped black canvas bag over his shoulder, hugged the curved wall, and inched his way to the rusty door, where he paused long enough to read the handwritten words on the overturned license plate nailed overhead: Exit Only. He resisted the impulse to flee, depressed the latch, and slowly pried open the door. The hinges squealed. Undeterred, Safeed stuck his head inside the room; like an unleashed doberman, fear bounded across the room and grabbed him by the throat. Freeze-framed, he couldn’t breath. Karim of Kandahar snorted, his head come up from the striped,high back chair and bobbed forward out of sight. Safeed’s brain flashed a red-light alert to all points south, screaming, TURN. RUN. Trembling, again he resisted the impulse to flee. He left the door ajar, knelt, and crawled to Alim’s bedside.
Alim reluctantly pulled the cover from his face and sucked air. His brow folded and his eyes saucered in disbelief. His dry lips whispered, “I told you to go away. You are either a very brave man or a fool.”
“Alim, I am neither. I am a friend. I am Safeed of Rasht.” He reached out to grasp a quivering hand, webbed with veins, and forced a smile.
Alim refused the hand and grumbled, “How do you know my name? And why are you here?”
“I have brought water, a little food, and bandages; but as you say, we may be in grave danger.”
“May be, you say? We are one trigger away from being executed right here on the spot. YOU have put us both in peril,” he whispered. “Give me a little water, then I’ll thank you to get out.” Safeed unzipped and retrieved a plastic bottle from the bag. Slipping a hand under the old man’s rigid neck, he lifted, enabling Alim to gulp, and gulp again. “Enough!” Alim muzzled a cough. “Before you leave, tell me your name again?”
“I am called Safeed of Rasht . . . after my father.” He paused to quickly rewind his unraveling emotions. “Last night you were near death.”
Alim gazed into Safeed’s grey eyes. “So much for your diagnosis; now leave.”
“I am not leaving without you,” he replied. “We must make haste before the giant awakes. Come, I will carry you. Like two humps on a camel, we will travel together.”
Alim again used his hand to resist proffered help and gestured toward what to him now looked like a black and white striped chair. “Save yourself while the skunk sleeps. Leave me to myself. I don’t want your help. My life is over.” He turned away, shut his eyes, and muzzled a spasmodic cough.
Puzzled at the stern rebuff, Safeed arose, gingerly peeled back the large gauze bandage, and examined the crater in Alim’s shoulder. “Why do you say your life is over? There is no infection. You need care and time to heal.”
“Some wounds time does not heal. Now for the last time, go away.”
Nodding agreement, Safeed pressed the dressing back in place and whispered, “Come, Allah sent me to save you.”
Hidden wounds festered. “Allah? You dare to speak to me of Allah? Your ignorance is oppressive. Allah abandoned me on the road. I ask you, where was the great Allah during the attack? He left our carcasses to become meat for vultures.”
“Shhh.” Infrequently at a loss for words, Safeed added, “But Alim, your carcass attracts the eagles.” Does not the Al-Injil— holy scripture– bear record? ‘Wheresoever the carcass is, there will the eagles be gathered together.’”
“You must be a Christian.”
“Oh yes. Have you so soon forgotten the woman who flew to your rescue? The children? The hospital staff?”
“Me? Rescued by a woman, you say? No way.” The reluctant congregant rolled over to face his new rabbi—his imam khatib. “I only remember the gunfire; the screams of our women and children who were depending on me; my brothers and cousin dying in the dirt; my precious Banu, wailing.” His voice broke into restrained sobs.
“Banu?” Safeed paused.
Haunted and emotionally broken, Alim clutched at the gown. His chest heaved, raised, and fell. “My granddaughter; but three years old. How could the munificent Allah permit her to be carried off by savages? By that madman!” He pulled away. “You do not know my grief.”
“I do not. But this I know. Allah loves his children. He is above, and for a time, we are below. He will guide us home. “Alim, where is your home?”
“I wintered in Shiraz. But do not suppose your schmooze-talk will convince me to accompany you.”
“Very well. As you wish.”
Attempting to right himself, Alim winced and lay back. “Oh, that hurt! For the last time, get out. Leave me to dream of Alwadi aljamil ealaa shati albahr—my beautiful valley cottage by the sea.” His wrinkled forehead relaxed. “I have run my last race. No more running. No more war.”
Safeed stiffened. “War, you say? NOt with Israel?”
“Hmm, yes. You did not know?
“I did not.”
“Tel Aviv is no more.” Alim took a deep breath, as if he were starved for air. “On TV, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei denounced our enemies and called them The Axis of Armageddon. He must be mad. ‘One down. Two to go,’ he declared.”
“What two? Not the United States and Britain!”
“Yes, America and the English. The whole world is afraid of Iran. They have blocked the Strait of Hormuz. And that, my misguided missionary, is only the beginning of misery; for now, we have . . . the bomb.”
Overcome by the news, Safeed sank to the floor and drooped his forehead against the steel edge of the bed frame.
“I did not know. Would that I did not know now.”
Both fell silent. Alim began to see beyond the end of his own pointed nose. Touched by the angst of his shaken visitor, he gave in. “Safeed. Will you carry me? Time is short.” No response. “Safeed, I will go if you will help.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Safeed arose and, before zipping his bag closed, drew out the plastic center from a roll of gauze. Pushing it between Alim’s teeth, he added, “Bite. This may save your tongue.” Taking Alim by his good arm—and employing the fireman’s carry—he hoisted the frail old man over his shoulder, wrestled the bag from the floor, and shuffled toward the exit.
Alim groaned and passed out.
His dream disturbed, Karim muttered, “No! I didn’t do nothing. Huh?” Awaking with a start, he stood-stretched-tooted-did an about face and caught his breath between both cheeks. “Who the h_ _ _ are you, and why are you slinking around my HQ without permission? Are you hiding there so you can sneak up and cut my throat?” His boldness bolstered by his drawn weapon, Karim pointed in the general direction of Safeed’s head and advanced a few steps. “Tell you what. Let’s have a duel. I’ll point and I’ll shoot. Call it a warm-up for the big match. Whoever you are, you and your lame-duck say bye-bye to the great Karim of Kandahar.”
“Sentry! Get in here. Now! . . . Coco!” No response. “The roaches are asleep.” Karim’s grogginess gone, he slipped a finger through the trigger guard, pulled the slack from the trigger, and tried to steady his aim. The gun barrel batted the air like a berserk chorister’s baton; but from Safeed’s point of view, it looked a cobra’s fangs—poised, full of poison, and read to spit.
“Wait! Wait!” Safeed tried to raise a hand. “So sorry for the intrusion, Sir. When you arrived this morning, my friend lay confined to his bed, near death. Hoping to give him some water–I’m chagrined but confess—I overslept and arrived too late. He is dead. Not wanting to trouble you, I was just leaving the way I came in. Thank you, Sir, for your patience and hospital-ity.”
Karim took two steps forward, balled a fist to clear his good eye, and took aim.
Safeed parried by drawing from his pocket a stringed bag full of coins. After rattling it for affect, he laid it on the window sill. “I am a poor man, but this should more than cover the cost of his stay.”
“Okay, git!” Karim gestured with the gun.
Turning his back on the drunk, Safeed bore his burden through the open door, pausing only to sniff the limp body slung over his shoulder. “I was right, Sir. He stinks already.”
“Zing!” Missing by inches, the bullet zipped through the folds of Safeed’s thwab. The door closed. Karim fired again and angrily gesticulated. He deliberately knocked over his chair, shattered the frame, and screamed, “All Sunni stink! Come back here, and I’ll bathe you in your own blood.”
Safeed heard the curse. He shuddered. Thankful to be alive, he toted Alim to the planned rendezvous, a blistered corner wall chalked with an X, where he stopped to lean and wait. And wait. Rebuffed by desert wasteland on his left hand and a long row of apartments on his right, he waited in vain for promised helpers and a stretcher.
“We’re at the designated rendezvous but we’re late. Too late. Wait or go? Wait or Go? Alim, can you hear me?” Safeed unsuccessfully attempted to redistribute his load. “I’m sorry, old man; sorry, so sorry; only three blocks to go, my friend; hang on–as in breathe.” Unconscious and draped across Safeed’s shoulders, Alim couldn’t hang on. Blood oozed from his shoulder wound, dripped onto Safeed’s forearm and, like crimson rain, bit the dust, one drop at a time.
Three anxious men exited the hospital, yelling at one another. Heard before being seen, they ran flat out, around a corner, and saw Safeed and his unconscious burden in the distance. “Augh! We’re done.” Desperate for a place to hide, Safeed spun a full circle. “Nothing!” He scanned the long block of closed doors, stumbled forward, and then paused as if he’d received an electrical shock. A familiar voice calmly spoke one word: “Look!”
Filling with trepidation and draining of hope, Safeed muttered, “Look where, pray tell?” No reply. His eyes darted from one apartment to the next. “Incredible! An open door? But I thought I’d. . . How could I have missed it?” Staggering forward, and without knocking, he barged inside, closed, and bolted the bleached barrier behind him. The small living space was vacant and unfurnished. Kneeling to lay Alim on the floor wasn’t an option. Safeed worried that he’d not have enough strength for a dead-snatch. The kitchen counter tendered an alternative. After gently depositing his investment on the counter, Safeed turned and banked against the door. “Go ahead. Kick against the pricks,” he huffed and puffed. “You’re not getting in.”
Outside, Karim’s men had stopped. One yelled, “I’d swear I saw them right here. Blood. See?”
“Well they aren’t here,” countered the ringleader. “You go north and we’ll go west. Find them. Kill them! And hope we don’t fail. It’s their blood or ours.” Pounding feet drummed away in two directions. Safeed turned from the door and gasped. In slow motion, Alim shifted, tumbled from the counter, and landed on the floor like a sack of Kansas wheat.
“No. No. No. Old man, what have I done?”
Alim looked up and replied, “You’ve done plenty. Who are you? Where are we? And why am I bleeding?”
“It’s me, Alim. It’s Safeed. I am so sorry.”
“Yes . . . Safeed. Did you drop me?”
“No, you rolled off the counter.”
“Where are we? Is this your idea of safety?” he asked, tapping his knuckles against the hardwood tongue and groove flooring.
“No, we are in hiding.”
“Hiding from whom?”
“Our enemy in the hospital sent three of his foot soldiers after us. Where do you hurt?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
A quick examination revealed no broken bones and no concussion–or so Safeed hoped. He removed a displaced bandage, anointed a wound with oil, and bound it up with gauze. “Your color is returning.”
“It’s the heat. When I awoke, I thought I was in hell. I can tell you’re no doctor.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Before we continue on, you must drink.”
“Gulp. Gulp. Enough. You needn’t water-board me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Alim chided. Before attempting to dead-snatch his countryman from the floor, Safeed crept to the entrance and listened. He could hear heavy breathing and a heart thumping. His own. Unbolting the door, he pried it open a few inches.
“All clear.” Relieved, he let it swing wide.
“GOTCHA!”
Safeed screamed, “Ya alliah yusaeiduna– oh God, help us.”