The Sheikh's Scandal, Page 4

  “I think we may be in luck today,” Payla said, grinning from ear to ear. “Come take a look.”

  Sarah peeked at the ledger, working to read the cursive script. Her eyes scanned the page until she landed on the name she was looking for.

  “Ali Al-Jamil, born October 15th! And look here; it says that his father is deceased. This must be the one!”

  Payla nodded excitedly.

  “Yes. I think it is. Can you believe it? A message all the way from a river here in Al Jayah found its way to you, in Florida, twenty years later! It is a wonderful tale!”

  Sarah was smiling as she read his name over and over. There was a sentence added in beneath his entry, and as Sarah read it, her smile faltered.

  “It says here that his mother died the same year the letter was written. It couldn’t have been much longer after that.”

  “Oh dear,” Payla said, looking down and reading the passage herself. “It would seem true. That poor little boy was left an orphan so soon after asking for a friend. How terribly sad.”

  Sarah felt as though the wind had been taken completely out of her sails. She read the passage under his name one more time, realizing that there was no information about what had happened to the boy after his mother’s death. She had hit another dead end.

  She felt a reassuring hand on her own and looked up into Payla’s warm dark eyes.

  “Take heart, Sarah. The people of Al Jayah are brave and tough. We are fighters, and we can defeat struggle as it comes our way. Whatever happened to Ali Al-Jamil, I am sure he is doing great things with his life now.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. “You are most kind. I appreciate the quick work you were able to perform in finding this information. You’ve been beyond helpful.”

  “If you come across any other mysterious bottle messages, be sure to let us know. This was quite the treat.”

  Sarah laughed.

  “I’m glad. If something does come up, I will certainly be sure to return. Good day,” she said, giving a proper farewell as she made her exit.

  When she stepped back out onto the hot street, she found herself feeling more lost than ever. She had more information about Ali than she could have ever bargained for, but there was nothing to be done with it.

  Was there?

  A thought struck her then, and she realized she really had invested in a wild dream. The dream was still alive, though. While she had no reason to assume that Ali was still in Ferat, it was the next logical place to go searching for him. She reached into her purse and pulled out Fariq’s card and her phone, punching in the number and waiting for him to answer. When he did, she asked for his help, and he graciously agreed.

  She was standing on the sidewalk and debating whether to go inside when his cab screeched to a halt in front of her. She smiled.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, sliding into the backseat.

  “Anytime, Sarah Chamberlain.”

  “You can just call me Sarah,” she said with a lopsided grin.

  “All right, Sarah. Where is it you need to go?”

  “Ferat, please.”

  “Ferat? Why would anyone need to go there? There is nothing in Ferat.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s true, Fariq.”

  Fariq shrugged, putting the car into gear and speeding off toward the highway.

  “If you say so. Still, I can’t imagine what anyone would want in that tiny little village. Didn’t you say you were looking for someone?”

  “I did. I never got a chance to finish my story.”

  Fariq pulled onto the highway, which was only two lanes. Sarah realized then just how small of a country Al Jayah really was. Part of her liked that about the place. It was easy to get around, and the scenery was beautiful. She spent the rest of the car ride catching up Fariq on her story.

  “So, you are searching for a little boy who is no longer little,” Fariq said. “That is quite the task you’ve set yourself.”

  “Yes, but for some reason it matters to me to find him and give him his letter back.”

  “I think it would be much easier just to have an arranged marriage. Don’t you?”

  Sarah laughed.

  “I’m not looking to get married,” she said, and Fariq scoffed.

  “You should be. A beautiful girl like you? You deserve nothing but the best, Sarah Chamberlain. What do you hope to find when you find this Ali Al-Jamil?”

  Sarah thought about that for a moment. It was a question she had begun asking herself the moment she’d stepped off the plane in a foreign country. What was she looking for?

  “Closure,” she decided, staring out the window as the city melted into forested countryside.

  Beyond the open fields and woods, the sandy mountains towered around everything, giving Sarah the sensation of being safely enclosed. Fariq let her have the last word, and they drove on silently down an empty highway. Soon Sarah saw a few scattered houses that made up a small village.

  Fariq drove through the main street of the village, and Sarah gazed around at the people as they walked by, their heads down.

  “People don’t exactly smile a lot in this country, do they?” Sarah asked.

  Fariq sighed.

  “Not to people they don’t know, really. We are a very loyal bunch of people—we stick to our own, and we mind our own business. I am a bit of an outcast in that way, because I love talking to and meeting new people. There is so much one can learn. It’s the reason I became a taxi driver, though you are one of the first customers I’ve had who is willing to talk to me as a friend.”

  “I am happy to be your friend, Fariq,” Sarah said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Fariq smiled and pulled the cab over to the side of the road.

  “Well in that case, as a friend, I advise you to keep your wits about you. I don’t think you’ll get a very friendly reception up here.”

  Sarah opened the door and stepped out before looking back inside.

  “I have to try. Would you mind waiting while I search for information? I can make it worth your while.”

  Fariq waved a hand at her.

  “Go on and search for your lost boy. I’ll be here. There’s no one traveling at this time anyway. It is a work day, you know.”

  Sarah nodded and gave him her thanks as she closed the door and turned toward the shuttered faces of Ferat.

  “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, and she walked off in search of Ali.

  EIGHT

  The people of Ferat were less friendly than the people of the capitol city. Sarah did her best to try to make eye contact with someone, but the people she passed by either kept their eyes on the ground as they darted past her or cast her a wary glance before moving on. Seeing a small café, she stepped inside, hoping she might get some help there.

  The tables were filled with people chatting away, but when Sarah walked in the room went completely silent. She cleared her throat.

  “Hi there. Obviously I’m not from here, but I’ve come looking for someone—a man named Ali Al-Jamil. Does anyone know if he’s here?”

  A few of the people looked at her with interest before turning back to their conversations, leaving Sarah to be generally ignored again. She sighed in frustration, resisting the urge to stamp down her foot.

  “I think I can help you,” a voice said from behind her.

  Turning, Sarah met the gaze of an elderly woman with kind eyes and a curved back. She was clearly very old, but there was a youthful glow in her stare that belied her outward appearance.

  “That would be wonderful,” Sarah said.

  The woman gestured toward the door.

  “Come. I’ll make you some tea that’s much better than what they sell here.”

  Sarah glanced back at the counter to see if the owner of the place had heard, but he was too busy ignoring her to bother with the conversation she was involved in. Turning toward the door, Sarah followed the old woman back out i
nto the street and several houses over, until the woman opened the door to a small cottage and stepped inside.

  The house was compact, the furnishings threadbare. Her kitchen had a small gas stove, and the woman put a black kettle on it before lighting it. The subtle smell of gas permeated the air.

  “Thank you for offering your help,” Sarah said with a sigh. “It’s been a difficult road to get here.”

  The woman stared at Sarah for a long while, taking her in. Sarah began to squirm in her seat as the woman’s gaze held, unwavering, for far too long before she finally spoke.

  “What is it you’re looking for with Ali?” she asked.

  Sarah pulled out her phone and opened the picture of Ali’s letter before placing it in the woman’s old, liver-spotted hand. The woman pulled out a pair of thick glasses so she could read the letter.

  “He wrote this when he was just a boy, I see.”

  “Just before his mother died, yes. I found it in Miami, and I came to bring it back to him. I was hoping I could find him by coming to his home village.”

  The woman shook her head. Sarah realized suddenly that she was the first person in Al Jayah who hadn’t introduced herself before speaking with her. Perhaps Sarah was not the only unconventional one there.

  Her host checked the teapot, which was steaming, and made short business of pouring hot brown liquid into two clay cups before handing one to Sarah. Sarah gently blew on hers to cool it down.

  “Ali was a wonderful little boy, though a little wild for some people’s liking. His poor mother was doing the best she could to raise him, but disease took her fast and painfully. Ali was left an orphan at far too young an age. He was housed with another family for some time, but he was only there a few days before he ran away in the night, never to be heard from again.”

  The woman sat down heavily next to Sarah and sipped delicately at her cup of tea.

  “I knew Nadia fairly well, too. The tragedy of the story, Ali’s abandonment of his village, it all became something of a taboo subject. You might not be surprised then that your arrival, beyond you being an outsider, would be poorly received. No one has spoken the name Al-Jamil for quite some time.”

  Sarah sighed, taking a sip from her cup. The tea was delicious, flavorful without needing any kind of sweetener.

  “I appreciate you taking me in and explaining all this. So Ali left shortly after he wrote the letter. He could very well be anywhere in the world, couldn’t he?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Could be. Or he could be living wild in the woods, like a caveman. One could never tell where Ali was going to end up. He was a dreamer and a rule breaker. Neither of those traits are smiled upon here. It’s a wonder I’ve lasted so long here myself. Then again, many people have more tolerance for the follies of an old woman, do they not?”

  “I suppose they do,” Sarah said, forcing a small smile.

  The truth was, she was devastated. She would find a clue only to take two steps back every time. She finished her tea and thanked the woman before making a polite exit.

  “If you do find anything about him, do let me know. I have always wondered what happened to that boy.”

  “I will. Thank you,” Sarah said, giving a respectful farewell to the woman as she turned back out of her house and closed the door.

  Out on the street alone, Sarah considered heading back to Fariq and his cab. Gazing out across the landscape, she could hear the bubbling river through the trees, and, compelled, she headed in that direction instead. When she reached the wide, shallow waters, she held a hand up to block the sun from her eyes as she looked out at the place her bottle had started.

  She tried to imagine the rocky path it had taken, down the river all the way out to sea. She glanced up at a nearby tree and tried to imagine Ali sitting in its branches, writing his letter before he tossed it in. Then she saw a large boulder and reconsidered.

  Sarah strode to the boulder and leapt on top of it before sitting down. She knew instantly that that was the place he had written it. She couldn’t tell how she knew, but deep in her bones, she could feel his presence there.

  “Where are you, Ali?” she whispered to the wind.

  When no one answered, she sat for a few more minutes before calling herself foolish and jumping back down. She made quick work of finding her way back to Fariq, who was leaning against his cab, looking out at nothing in particular. When he saw her, he frowned.

  “You don’t look happy,” he said.

  “He’s not here.”

  “Did you really think he would be?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. I guess I’m just running on hope at this point.”

  “Hope is fine, but not a good energy source. You should try running on something else.”

  “What would you suggest?” she asked.

  Fariq thought for a moment before opening the back door to the cab.

  “Hop in. I think I know something that will cheer you up.”

  Unconvinced, Sarah nevertheless thanked him and slid into the backseat of the car. Fariq took off, the dirt from the ground crunching beneath the tires as he sped far away from the tiny village of Ferat. Sarah sat with her chin on her palm, watching the beautiful landscape with a dismal expression.

  The countryside began to dissolve as buildings and roads developed more firmly around them. They were back in the city before she knew it, though Fariq wasn’t heading back to her hotel. Instead, he pulled up beside a little restaurant and looked back at Sarah.

  “This has the best local food in the whole of Al Jayah. I don’t recall seeing you eat anything today, so perhaps this will brighten your spirits?”

  Sarah sighed. “Perhaps.”

  “Get something to eat. Everything will seem better with a full belly.”

  “I will. Thank you, Fariq. For everything.”

  Fariq nodded.

  “Your hotel is only a few blocks away, but if you’d like another ride, you know my number. I’m happy to assist.”

  “You are a lifesaver,” she said, pulling out the fare for the longer ride.

  Fariq put up his hands.

  “It was my pleasure. Keep your money.”

  “Fariq, no. That wouldn’t be right!”

  “I will not accept it. Perhaps if you had found your lost friend, I would, but I cannot see you so lost and alone and then take money from you as well. Spend it on a good meal, and think of me.”

  “Can I buy you an early dinner at least?”

  Fariq hesitated, considering it. After a moment, he nodded his head.

  “I think that would be fair enough. Let’s eat, shall we?”

  He turned off the car and the two of them headed into the restaurant. The interior was circular, like many of the buildings in Al Jayah, and the outer walls were furnished with tables while the center of the room remained empty for the wait staff to move about freely. Fariq asked for a table, and they were quickly seated. Compared to the cold shoulder she had received up north, the city felt like it was glowing with hospitality even as their waiter frowned while taking their order.

  “So what are you going to do next?” Fariq asked, taking a sip of clear soda.

  Sarah shrugged, toying with her straw. She had ordered a water but had little interest in drinking it. She had offered to eat with Fariq to be polite, and perhaps to have a friend while she was down in a foreign country, but the concept of food was anything but appetizing.

  “I wish I knew. I can’t think of where to go next. Ali left Ferat twenty years ago. He could be anywhere. There’s no way I could find another record of his whereabouts on my own.”

  Fariq thought on that for some time, sipping from his straw until he made a slurping noise as he tried to suck up the last drops from the bottom.

  “What about appealing to the media?” he asked, and Sarah looked up from the table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You could always write to the local newspapers. People here are very well read, and this is an in
teresting story! Talk about human interest. You could write a missive to them and see if he reads it.”