Chapter Two: Desert Rose

Zaira Fayed sat on the terrace at home, north of Jerusalem, looking out at the
grounds of her property, breathing in the coolness of the early February morning. It was
her ritual, starting off what would be a hectic day with moments like this, of quiet
reflection. The voices in the house drew her out of the solitude, and a slow smile came
over her face. Her husband Tamir and their daughter Leila. She rose to her feet, a
striking, beautiful woman in her mid thirties, with long black hair, dark brown eyes, and a
slim figure. She was dressed in a tan trouser suit, just conservative enough, but fitting in
with her sense of style. Zaira was, in short, the sort of woman to turn heads wherever
she went, with a commanding presence, a sense of grace, and self-confidence.
She could have been a model on the world stage, but instead she had gone into her
parents' world of business, learning her way through the hands-on realm of
manufacturing, importing, and exporting, and through her own academic career. When
her parents had died three years ago, she had taken over the business, and Rassim
Industries had since continued to grow, with financial interests through the Middle East
and the Mediterranean. Zaira stayed on here, in her homeland, despite the constant
tension; a symbol of what could be, a woman who bridged the gap between Arab and
Israeli, living in both worlds.
  The voices from within the house drew her towards the door of the large,
comfortable home. It wasn't overly opulent, but tasteful and refined, fitting into the area,
set on a few acres of land. The terrace door was open, and she stepped in, finding her
husband and their daughter sitting in the living room. Tamir was on the floor, sitting
beside Leila, the four year old girl finishing off her breakfast. Zaira smiled impulsively,
seeing so much of herself in her daughter. And she had Tamir's green-brown eyes.
Seeming to sense her gaze, Tamir looked her way, and smiled at his wife. He was a
bear of a man, large built, with unruly brown hair. He was already dressed for the day,
tan slacks and a dress shirt. They had met in their college days, her in business, and
him studying the law. His kindness and warmth had won her over, and to this day, she
still felt lucky to have him. He might have reminded one of a bear at first glance, but
there was intelligence and passion to him. Now he taught the law to new students, while
serving as an outspoken advocate of peace between Arabs and Israelis.
  There was a long, unspoken moment while they held each other's gaze, and then
Leila broke it by speaking. "Poppa, where are you going today?"
  He looked over at his daughter. "Off to the university, dear. Marking papers. All
those dreadful, boring things," he answered solemnly.
  Leila looked at him, not knowing what to make of what he was saying. Oh, he's
joking, Zaira thought to herself. It's not that dreadful. Zaira watched him wink at Leila,
and the girl giggled. Yes, like I knew. He's joking. She smiled to herself again. The
pregnancy had been a difficult one, and the doctors had told her this would be her only
child. Some fathers, she knew, would have been disappointed with only having a
daughter. The need to have a son, to have someone carry on the name, seemed to
prevail in the minds of some men. Not Tamir. He had been overjoyed to hold his
daughter in his arms for the first time, and he would be the first to admit that he was
entirely wrapped around her finger. I'm very lucky to have him, Zaira told herself,
certainly not for the first time.
“And what about you?" Tamir asked, looking up at Zaira again.
  "A full day at the office. I have some contracts to sign, and calls to make," Zaira
said. Then she smiled. "Like you, I've got all those dreadful, boring things to do." Tamir
grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Now, Leila, Saida will be here soon,"
Zaira reminded her daughter. Leila rose to her feet, picking up her bowl off the table,
heading for the kitchen. Zaira brushed her hand over her shoulder as she passed by,
and looked over at Tamir. "What would your students say, seeing you sitting on the floor
like that?" she asked, still smiling.
  "I'd expect they'd think that at least I'm comfortable," he replied, getting to his
feet, walking over. He took her in his arms, as she wrapped her own arms around him,
and the two shared a tender, lingering kiss. "Now that, my love, is even more
comfortable," he added, his eyes warm.
  She laughed. "Oh, certainly. Have a good day."
  He nodded. "Thinking all day of that kiss? I definitely shall." 

***
Tamir and Zaira were finishing with putting away the morning dishes in the
kitchen, with Leila nearby at the table, happily coloring, when they heard the sound of
the front door opening, and Saida's voice. "Good morning," came the call of the nanny.
Leila came off the chair, dashing out of the room, and both parents heard the chatter
between the two out in the hall. Now Saida came in, with Leila at her heels. She was ten
years older than Zaira and Tamir, and was a godsend to them, a wise, kind, and calm
presence in the home.
  "Good morning, Saida," Tamir called, setting away the glasses. "Busy day
planned?"
  "I think I'll take her over to the zoo today. Leila wanted to see the elephants,"
Saida replied breezily.
  Zaira smiled at her daughter, nodding. "She always seems to go there first at the
zoo, don't you?" Leila nodded now, returning to her coloring, and Zaira glanced over at
Tamir. "I think we're running late."
  He glanced at his watch. "Not too much, but we will be," he remarked. He moved
over towards the table now, bent down, and got a ferocious hug from Leila around the
neck. "Oh! You're getting so strong, little one," he told her, kissing her on the forehead.
Zaira smiled as she watched. Yes, Tamir, she's got you wrapped around her finger.
  Now he stepped back, as Zaira came closer, kneeling by her daughter. "Have a
good day at the zoo, Leila," she softly said, her smile lingering, kissing Leila on the
cheek. Leila looked over at her, and Zaira paused, holding her gaze. There was
something odd there, just her expression, that seemed more... adult? Was that the right
term for it? "I love you, little girl," Zaira told her, rising up, walking out with Tamir.
  They paused at the door, getting their shoes, and then stepped out together.
"Just marking papers today?" she asked as they walked towards their cars.
  "And an interview with the BBC. They're asking about the peace process, again,"
he answered, sighing softly. She glanced at him. It was never ending, and frustrating,
especially for him. They both wanted peace, as much for their daughter as for anything
else. Still, wanting it to happen didn't mean it would. If it wasn't Palestinian terrorists
making trouble, it was Israeli settlers demanding yet more space in the West Bank. And
that was barely scratching the surface of it all.
  "Just smile, dear, and be positive," she advised, kissing him on the cheek.
  "Coming from you, I can almost believe that would work," he said, getting into his
car, an Audi. She moved over to her Mercedes, getting behind the wheel. She waved
goodbye to Tamir as he pulled out of the driveway, and started up the car. Glancing at
the house, she thought of that look Leila had given her, but she didn't understand why it
troubled her. Soon, however, she would know.

***
It was one of those days when nothing went according to plan. Sergeant Selig
Eitan was pinned behind a car in the streets of western Jerusalem, with one of his men
sharing the same shelter. The plan was supposed to be simple: move in on a
warehouse containing Hamas militants. The group had been involved in a growing
series of bombings in Israel as of late, and if things had gone according to plan, they'd
all be in custody right now. Instead, two of them had breached the perimeter before he
and his men had been in position to stop them. Now, two of his men were down, hit by
stray rounds before they could take cover. Two more were circling around the nearby
city streets to take the enemy from the rear.
  The militants were pinned behind another car, firing at the soldiers with their AKs,
while a handful of civilians were huddling on the ground nearby, trying to keep out of the
line of fire. Women and children mostly, Eitan thought with a grimace. Damn. We're
near the Zoo. Of course there'll be children. Eitan and the corporal returned fire, careful
not to show themselves. Let the car take the bullets, Eitan told himself. What the hell is
taking Eshel and Ophir? he wondered.
  He glanced over at Lotner. The corporal was five years younger, but like him had
stayed in the Army after his mandatory time of duty. A good soldier, steady nerves,
disciplined. We're better trained then them. Better equipped. Professional. That's the
difference, Eitan told himself, seeing Lotner fire over the hood, careful to keep low.
There was a scream from the far side.
  "Got one," Lotner told his sergeant.
 "One to go," Eitan answered, taking a quick glance. He could see a body just
barely visible beyond the other car. Better yet, he could see the head wound, the blood
mingling with the dusty road. The man wasn't moving. "Well done, Corporal. He's dead."
  One less terrorist in the world, Eitan told himself. The other one started shouting,
firing wildly. Undisciplined. Impatient. Yes, you're not getting away today. Give up while
you can. And I'll try not to shoot you for killing my men. He heard the screams of the
civilians, particularly the children, and shook his head. Just stay down, damn it! Then he
heard something else. A metallic click. An AK out of ammunition, Eitan realized.
  "He's out," Lotner said, taking a glance. "Sergeant..." His voice seemed wary.
  Eitan shifted upward, seeing the terrorist, just twenty feet away, standing up from
behind the other car. Eitan rose, aiming his machine gun at the man, and he saw Lotner
doing the same. "Do not move!" Eitan yelled, speaking in Arabic. The man glared back
in hatred. And the sergeant saw it. Something in the man’s right hand. Detonator, he
thought. Next he saw the man’s robes open up, and he managed to gasp. "Hell..." he
muttered. The terrorist had C-4 strapped to his body. A lot of it. The car wouldn't be
enough protection for them, and the civilians were out in the open. Dear God, Eitan
thought.
  "Alahu Ackbar!!" the man screamed. God is great, the sergeant remembered.
Even as both soldiers shifted to fire, it was too late. The terrorist pressed the button on
his detonator. There was a bright light, a roar, and then oblivion.

***
Zaira sat quietly in her plush office on the top floor at Rassim Industries, going
over contracts late in the afternoon. A soft knock at the door interrupted, and she called,
"Yes?"
  The door opened, and she looked up. A dark haired beautiful young woman
stepped in, pausing at the door. Hadiya Selim was her secretary, executive assistant,
right hand, and good friend. She looked concerned and pensive. Something was
wrong. "There's… there's a man to see you, Zaira."  She stepped aside, and Zaira saw
motion beyond her.
  The man moved past Hadiya, dark hair, brown eyes, in a black suit. His posture,
and the way he moved, suggested something of the policeman. He looked just as
concerned as Hadiya, as if he was the bearer of bad news. "Mrs. Fayed?" he asked, in
fluent Arabic. "I'm Captain Shaul, with the city police. May we speak?"
  She nodded, moved away from her desk, to the two couches off to the side of the
room for conversation. She sat on one couch, and the Captain sat across from her.
Zaira noticed that Hadiya hadn't left, and that the Captain hadn't asked her to. "What
brings you here?" she inquired, aware of Hadiya coming to her side on the couch.
  "There was... an incident earlier this afternoon," Shaul started, hesitant. He
looked her in the eyes. "Army troops were trying to capture a Hamas cell, Mrs. Fayed.
Two of them managed to flee, and were pursued. The last of them set off..." His voice
trailed off; Zaira wondered why. Hadiya reached out, taking her hand. "He was a suicide
bomber. He set off an explosive. There were casualties. We've identified them. There's
no easy way to say this, Mrs. Fayed. Your daughter Leila, and a woman named Saida
Khouri were among them."
  Zaira felt a wave of fear come over her at those words. Now it was clear why
Hadiya was with her. "Where..? Where are they? Which hospital?" she managed to ask.
My little girl, she thought, fearing the worst.
  Shaul shook his head, his eyes sad. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Fayed. They... they
died at the scene."
Zaira only stared back, feeling herself trembling, feeling the tears at her eyes.
"You... you must be mistaken," she stammered.
  Hadiya wrapped an arm around her. "Zaira, I'm sorry."
  "No," Zaira said forcefully. "This is a mistake. It has to be."
  "We made positive identification. The nanny was able to identify herself and your
daughter to the medics when they arrived. I'm very sorry, but it's not a mistake," Shaul
told her gently.
  Zaira looked at Hadiya, whose eyes were tear-filled, and shook her head. I said
goodbye to Leila this morning, she thought. They were going to the zoo. She's fine. This
can't be true. It's a mistake. Still, seeing the expression in Hadiya's eyes spoke
volumes. Zaira shook her head, trying to banish the thought, to deny the unthinkable.
Yet it lingered. My little girl... dead...?
  And now the tears came. Zaira couldn't hold it back, found the tears rushing
down her cheeks. Hadiyah held her close, let her cry against her shoulder, while Shaul
held back, awkward, as if unsure what to say. As she wept, Zairas' heart broke utterly,
and her world shattered. Nothing could ever make it whole again. My Leila... my
daughter... how can this be? There was no answer, just the grief and the pain, and the
knowledge that she would never hear her baby laugh again.

***

In eastern Jerusalem, at the Mount Scopus campus of Hebrew University, Tamir

sat in the lounge in the faculty of law that afternoon, chatting with two colleagues and
friends during tea. The subject was the usual: family, vacation, how classes were going.
Soon enough it would be time to write the exams for the end of the term, and they could
look forward to time off yet to come. He glanced up, his eyes drawn by motion at the
door, and he saw a man standing there. A dark suit, dark hair, wary eyes. The man was
accompanied by a secretary from the faculty. She looked into the room, and pointed at
Tamir. The man nodded, stepping into the lounge. 
  "Professor Fayed, I'm Captain Maimon," the man said, showing his police
credentials, sliding the badge back into an inner pocket. "If I might have a word...?" He
was looking at the other two.
 Tamir frowned. "Birhan and Yehuda are colleagues. And friends. Is there
something wrong?"
  Maimon looked at the two men, and nodded. "Perhaps it's just as well that you
stay." He took a seat at the table, facing Tamir, his eyes grave, concerned. "Sir, I have
some... very bad news."
  Tamir felt a sudden dread, somewhere deep inside. His stomach turned, as if he
was ill. "What is it?" He found himself not wanting to hear the answer. Zaira? Leila? Is it
them?
  "There was an incident earlier in the day," Maimon began. "A suicide bomber
near the Biblical Zoo. Sir, there's no easy way to say this. Your daughter was there."
  Tamir felt the wall of shock hit him. No, he thought. That's not possible. "What..?
Where is she? What hospital?" His voice didn't sound like itself. It was throbbing and
soft, as if it was damaged somehow.
  "Professor, I'm sorry. She didn't..." Maimon's voice broke off for a moment. "The
paramedics tried, but there was nothing they could do for her. She's dead, sir. I'm very
sorry."
Tamir felt the words hit like a sledgehammer. Staring at the captain, he saw the
compassion in his eyes, the sorrow. He looked over at Yehuda, and at Birhan. Both of
them were looking at him, the same expression of sorrow on their faces. How can this
be? Tamir asked himself, his head spinning. His mind flashed back to the morning, to
spending time with his little girl. This must be a mistake. It has to be. My daughter can't
be dead. Now he shook his head, trying to banish the idea.  
  "You must be mistaken," Tamir told the captain.
  "I wish I was," Maimon replied, reaching across the table, touching Tamir's arm,
trying to express his sympathy to the man by a gesture. Tamir stared across at him, and
knew absolutely that it wasn't a mistake. It was real. He felt his heart break utterly, his
loss erupting to the surface, but there was no way to process it. Leila, how can this be?

***
  Tamir felt as if he was outside of himself, part of him hearing Maimon's
explanation, but not really listening. Yehuda and Birhan stayed with him, both standing
nearby, each with a hand on his shoulders, trying to help him to cope with the
news. Tamir only felt the numbness, some part of him realizing it was the shock. How
could this have happened? he asked himself, and asked God. But there was no
answer. God was, as ever, silent.
  "How can you be certain about the identification?" Birhan asked Maimon. It was
enough to draw Tamir out of his thoughts, to listen for the answer.
  "We'll have to confirm it, of course, but the nanny was still alive when the medics
arrived," Maimon replied. "She identified herself, and... the child, before she passed
away. Professor, if I might..."
 Tamir rose to his feet, not looking at anyone, feeling a sense of hollowness, the
enormity of what had changed. "Please excuse me," he softly said. He walked out, past
the captain, out the door and down the hall. He wasn't thinking now; everything he did
was automatic. The need to be alone drove him on. His mind flashed back to watching
Leila playing with a skip rope. Just a couple of weeks ago, wasn’t it? She had laughed,
singing one of those sing-song rhymes that children sang when playing. Which one was
it? Coming to his office door, he stepped inside. It was so familiar; the law books, the
pictures of Zaira and Leila, the desk. And after less than an hour, it looked so very
different. Or had it been that his world had crashed around him?
  He locked the door, walking over to his desk, sitting down in the leather chair.
Absently he stared at the books, and then the drawers. Tamir reached, opening them
up, looking, rifling through the contents. And there, buried amid papers, at the bottom of
a drawer, was the knife. Usually he'd use it to peel fruit. Leila, he thought, feeling tears
in his eyes. My little girl. He stared at the blade, sitting back in the chair. His fingers
brushed against the blade. It was still sharp. How could this be? Tamir shook his head
again. My little girl is dead. Once more he stared at the knife. And once more he felt
outside of himself. As if he was looking at himself. It was all automatic, no thought to his
actions. Tamir looked again at the photos, his eyes fixing on the picture of Leila. On the
beach in the Aegean last summer, he remembered. Tears flowed down his cheeks. My
little girl... She was laughing, building a sand castle with his help. The memory brought
more tears. There would be no more days on the beach. No more skipping rope. No
watching her grow up. No seeing her excel in school. No chance for her to make her
place in the world, or fall in love.
  He brought up the blade in his right hand, and with one quick move, drove it
against the flesh of his throat. Tamir felt the blood start to trickle down; the blade had
cut into the artery. He gasped, wondered why there wasn't more pain. Somewhere he
thought he could hear knocking and voices. Strangely it sounded muffled, as if it
was very far away. The knife dropped away out of his hand, and his vision started to
blur. His thoughts returned to the memory of that day on the beach. His daughter
laughing. Leila... I'm sorry. The blood continued to drain down onto his shirt, and the
noises sounded further and further away, even if they seemed to be more insistent. He
felt himself fading, slipping into unconciousness, and into the end of all things.

***
Zaira remained on the couch in her office at Rassim Industries, staring at a
painting absently, her mind trying to process the news of Leilas' death. She was
oblivious to the presence of Captain Shaul, still in the office, speaking with one of her
staff members. Hadiya was beside her now, had held her through the tears, sharing
some of her own tears for Leila. For the moment, the tears were spent, and Zaira could
only feel the overwhelming magnitude of grief. My Leila... is dead. The thought ran
through her mind, plaguing her, blocking out everything else. Why did this happen?
Why her? Why did this have to be? It must be a nightmare. This can’t be real.
  There was a phone ringing, and she was vaguely aware of Shauls' voice, her
peripheral vision seeing him taking a cellular phone out of his pocket. Zaira didn't listen,
only stared at the painting, the landscape oil she and Tamir had picked up in Greece
two years ago. She felt Hadiya with her, the reassuring hand holding her own. Then
something in Shauls' voice caught her attention.
  "What? Are you...?" There was weariness in the tone, a sense of gravity that
drew her attention. Zaira looked that way, and the Captain glanced at her. His dark eyes
had a pained expression to them, as if he had bad news. What could be even worse
then what's happened? she asked herself. He was listening now to whoever it was, and
his face looked grave. "Yes. Yes, I'll tell her. Thank you, Captain."
  He ended the call, placing the phone back in his jacket. For a moment, he
paused, as if hesitant to come over, and then he walked back towards Zaira and
Hadiya. Shaul moved back to the chair opposite the couch, sitting, facing Zaira, his eyes
conveying that there was still more bad news.
"What is it?" Zaira asked, not recognizing her own voice, which seemed ragged.
"Mrs. Fayed, there's... there's been some bad news," Shaul said, his tone trying to
convey some measure of compassion. "It's your husband." Zaira stared at him, her eyes
wide, as her world took yet another crushing blow.

***
The morgue was quiet, subdued, as would be expected. Zaira came down the
corridor, accompanied by Hadiya and Shaul, trying to cope with the unimaginable.
Tamir had taken his own life. It was the shock, she thought. It was that one moment in
time. If someone had been with him, or if he had waited... he wouldn't have done it. She
saw the two officers at the doorway ahead, and both turned, seeing the trio coming.
Hadiya kept an arm around Zaira, trying to be a comfort in her darkest hour. Shaul
paused at the door, opening it, and Zaira stepped in, followed by Hadiya and Shaul.
  There were two doctors in the medical bay, and the scent of disinfectant, of
chemicals. Two gurneys were visible, sheets draped over two shapes, one smaller than
the other. The doctors looked grave; there was a silent moment, and Zaira stepped
towards the closer gurney first. It was Leila, the sheet hiding her, but she knew.
She drew back the sheet, staring at her daughters' face. There was damage to
the left side of her face, some cuts, abrasions, and bruising, but not as much blood as
she might have thought. Of course not. She died almost immediately, Zaira thought.
She leaned closer, kissing her daughter on the right temple, agonizing, her heart utterly
broken. Of course there was no response, the skin cool to the touch. My little girl....
There were no tears; perhaps she had done all of her crying for the moment. She
touched her cheek, and carefully replaced the sheet over Leilas' face. Her heart felt
utterly broken, and she knew nothing could ever heal it again.
Now Zaira moved over to the other shape, to her husband, brought here to the
same morgue as his daughter. Together in life, together in death, she thought, looking
at the doctor alongside the gurney. He looked at her, his eyes sad, expressing remorse.
After a moment, he drew back the sheet slightly, exposing Tamirs' face. Her beautiful
bear of a husband was utterly silent, his eyes never to be opened again. She drew the
sheet back somewhat further, saw the raw, open cut on his throat. Oh, Tamir... why did
you do this? The tears would not come, despite the anguish. My husband... our
daughter... everything I love is gone.
She leaned close to her husband, kissing his forehead, her hands touching the
stubble on his chin. Why did God let this happen? There was no answer, no easy
solution. Just silence. She stepped back, looking at the love of her life, and nodded. The
doctor replaced the sheet, and Hadiya came to Zaira, holding her, wrapping her arms
close around her. Zaira only stared at the dead, at the shapes of the two people she'd
loved most of all in the world, and knew that all she cared about had been taken away
forever.
. 
***
The funeral was to be held at their local mosque, to the north of the Old City.
Zaira had Hadiya by her side as she arrived the following morning, coming to speak to
the imam. Fasel Wasem had been the imam for many years, and he was a highly
outspoken critic of Israel, sympathetic towards groups such as Hezbollah, Hamas, and
Islamic Jihad. It had always been a sore point for Zaira and Tamir, who had always
considered those groups to be terrorists. Wasem would, as it was, disagree with that
point. Zaira and Tamir had often had their share of disagreements with the imam, who
nonetheless remained very much in charge of his own private domain.
The two women entered the prayer hall, pausing at the entrance, hearing voices
coming from the far side of the large space. A minbar was set up in the otherwise empty
room, where the imam would speak later in the day at the funeral. Two men were there,
both in traditional robes, both with grey beards. Both had their backs to them. One was
Wasem. The other belonged to a man she vaguely knew, Ali Khouri. The two were alike
in their sympathies, both older men, both still firebrands of activism and their cause.
Neither of them noticed the entry of the two women, their conversation continuing.
“…it really is a shame,” Wasem was saying. “If he had taken his life as a bomber,
walking into a market place in Tel Aviv, his place in Paradise would have been assured.
Such a waste, but then he never did see things like we do.”
The words struck Zaira deep inside, a shattering moment. The imam was talking
about Tamir. Surely that was the only thing he could mean. How dare you? she thought
in outrage. How can you say that?
Now it was Khouri who spoke. “We can’t all be martyrs, Fasel.”
“No,” Wasem agreed. “And so Tamir takes his life, and wastes his opportunity to
serve his people.” Zaira glanced over at Hadiya, saw the outrage in her eyes, the
pained look of sympathy mixing with it. She strode across the empty space of the
prayer hall, with Hadiya directly behind her, and now the two men heard their footsteps.
Wasem turned, saw her angry eyes, but couldn’t step back in time.
Zaira slapped the imam, all of her anger finding an outlet. “Damn you!” she
cursed. Khoury seemed about to move to intervene, but one look at her face seemed to
change his mind. “He’s dead! My daughter is dead! And you say that about my
husband?” Her voice was raw, filled with pain, along with a growing rage. “I just lost my
family! And you care more about your damned cause, old man. Damn you!” She looked
away for a long moment, could see the fine calligraphy on the wall nearby, the words of
the Koran. It was meaningless to her now. Not after what she had heard. She glared at
the imam again. “I will never forgive you for that.” She walked out, followed by Hadiya,
the two women leaving the prayer hall, departing from the mosque.
“Zaira?” Hadiya called out to her. Zaira looked at her, seeing the concern and
worry in her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”
“Call the funeral home,” Zaira managed to say. “Tell them not to move Tamir or
Leila. I will not have their funerals presided over by that… that bastard.” Her tone was
pure fury. “How dare he say that!” She shook her head. I shouldn’t be surprised.
Wasem was always sympathetic to the terrorists. How many of them have come to him
for guidance? How much funds did he raise for them? Damn him! She walked towards
the waiting car, where a chauffeur was waiting expectedly. Damn him to hell, she
thought, her anger consuming her.

***
The funeral wasn’t what people might have expected. Word quickly got around
among the network of Zaira’s friends and loved ones that the service would not be held
at the mosque after all, but confined to the funeral home itself. It might have surprised
some of them to know the reason why. The place was crowded, as could be expected,
given Zaira’s prominence, and the fact that she had suffered two grave losses all in one
day. Some of them would have noticed the absence of the imam, and indeed, the
absence of any religious authority. All of them saw the hardness in her eyes, the pain,
and the overwhelming grief.
It was Hadiya who gave a brief eulogy. That had been the only part of the service
Zaira wanted to keep, in the aftermath of walking out on the imam. She could not give it
herself; the pain cut too deep, and so Hadiya did it for her, speaking at a lectern in the
crowded hall, reciting Zaira’s words. As Zaira heard those words coming from Hadiya, of
her husband and their daughter, her mind was consumed with all that she had lost. The
love of her life was dead. Their child was dead. Each had been taken away, one after
the other. The men responsible for it were dead. And now, in an instant, her faith-
tenuous as it was- had been shattered by an old fool. She knew she would never forgive
him. Some pain ran too deep to ever be healed. For the first time in her life, she
understood why.
 ***
Late in the night, three days after the funeral, Zaira was alone at home, sitting in
the darkness of the living room. Four days ago, she had been here with both of them.
Four days ago her world had come to an end. Nothing could ever be the same again.
Her memories drew back to that morning, to her last moments with Leila, to that last
kiss in the driveway with Tamir. I never saw this coming, she thought to herself,
horrified. The grief was consuming her, accompanied by the anger. Her fury at Wasem
had not subsided. In fact, it had gotten worse. All of them. They’re all alike, she thought
bitterly. They use their positions as clerics to spew their venom. To further their
agendas. Damn them all. She walked towards a window, looking out into the silence of
the night. In the distance, she could see a minaret, dark against the city skyline. My
husband and daughter are dead. The people responsible are dead. I can have no
justice. But I can have revenge. The thought struck her suddenly: revenge. She
continued to view the minaret, thinking of it as a symbol. Of religion. Of faith. Something
she could despise now. This city, home to three faiths, was the place where she had
lost everything. You let my life be shattered, she thought, wondering if God was
listening. My husband and child are dead. Damn you for that. She shook her head, the
anger building ever more in her. I can’t have them back. So I’ll have blood instead. This
I swear. This I promise.

***
The months went on. Spring went onward to summer, and Zaira returned to work
at Rassim Industries. To those around her, she seemed to be coping with what had
happened, though subdued. To herself, she was lost in her grief and her anger. She
had not returned to the mosque, of course. And she had refused any contact from
Wasem or Khouri. It was, for the moment, only for her to mourn, to wonder how to carry
out her vow. Only when the fall came, when her life took an unexpected turn, did she
find the way to fulfill her vow.