Read Online The Scorpion’s Bite by Aileen G. Baron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aileen G. Baron
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Kuntze.” She gave Lily’s hand a vigorous shake. “You are the sister of el Tanib?”
Lily nodded.
All the while, the mubesha stirred the pan in the fire, taking it out red hot, blowing away the ash, putting it back in the fire to heat again, talking, talking, as he watched Gideon’s face.
Gideon’s eyes were large with terror. He sat with his hands folded, his cheeks puffy, his lips distended. The pebbles? The laban ? Would it work?
“Your friend is gone?” Gerta Kuntze asked.
She means Klaus? “It seems so. Would you like to speak with him?”
“No, no. Just asking.” Gerta gestured toward the mourner’s tent. “Terrible thing, that. In Iraq, under Rashid Ali, such things were not allowed to happen. But here…” Her voice trailed off and she swept her arm around toward the west, indicating the desert, the hills, and for all Lily knew, all of Trans-Jordan. “They let the British take over with their lax British ways. No discipline. No order.”
So she admired Rashid Ali, the former Prime Minister, the Nazi sympathizer, the man who led the insurrection and plot against young King Faisal, the man who fled to Berlin when Glubb invaded Iraq. What was Klaus doing with her?
Gerta looked pointedly at Jalil. “And now the British think they can do the same to Iraq.” A faint wind shifted the scarf on her head and she adjusted it. “We won’t have it. For the sake of Iraq, we won’t let it happen.” She held out her hand again. “Tell that to your British friends.”
She gave Lily’s hand a firm shake. “I bid you good day,” she said, and went back toward the mourner’s tent, while Lily watched the mubesha continue his preparations while watching Gideon.
A man detached himself from the Bedouin seated across from the elders, and squatted next to Lily. She looked closer, then recognized him as the man with the straw-colored hair from the sidewalk café. He wore a long white shirt and a voluminous blue cloak. A white kafiya covered his straw-like hair, and he had grown a mangy stubble of a beard the color of an old penny. Instead of the curved Bedouin dagger, he wore a knife with a steel handle jammed into a leather scabbard in his belt.
No matter what he did, he couldn’t be mistaken for a Bedouin.
The mubesha kept the pan on the fire, talking while Gideon nodded.
“In Amman, you ignored my offer,” the man with the straw colored hair said.
He moved closer. “That was a mistake.”
Lily felt her skin crawl. She shifted away from him, still watching the mubesha and Gideon.
“You will live to regret it.” The man stood up. “Soon. When you least expect it. You will find out what it means to ignore me.”
He turned and went back toward the mourner’s tent.
Now the elder cleared his throat and said to Gideon, “We do the fire test.” He leaned forward expectantly. The others around him did the same. “There is no way back from the fire test. You understand?”
Gideon nodded. The elder spilled some water from an ibrit into the hot pan. Gideon flinched at the sizzling sound of water hitting the hot pan, and nodded again. The elder spilled the water from the pan onto the sand and put the pan back on the fire to heat again.
“You understand what to do,” the elder said. “You will lick the pan three times with your tongue, moving your head neither to the right nor to the left.” He instructed Gideon by licking his own hand three times. “Then you will rinse your mouth with water three times. The third time you will hold the water in your mouth longer.”
Again, Gideon nodded, stiff with fear, his nostrils dilating with each breath.
It will blister, Lily thought, become infected. Please don’t let it blister. Don’t let Gideon die in pain from gangrene, from an amputated tongue.
Klaus had returned. He squatted among the men by the sheik’s tent next to Hamud.
“If the pan leaves a mark,” the elder said, “or a burn or swelling, then we know you lie. If your tongue is
Lily nodded.
All the while, the mubesha stirred the pan in the fire, taking it out red hot, blowing away the ash, putting it back in the fire to heat again, talking, talking, as he watched Gideon’s face.
Gideon’s eyes were large with terror. He sat with his hands folded, his cheeks puffy, his lips distended. The pebbles? The laban ? Would it work?
“Your friend is gone?” Gerta Kuntze asked.
She means Klaus? “It seems so. Would you like to speak with him?”
“No, no. Just asking.” Gerta gestured toward the mourner’s tent. “Terrible thing, that. In Iraq, under Rashid Ali, such things were not allowed to happen. But here…” Her voice trailed off and she swept her arm around toward the west, indicating the desert, the hills, and for all Lily knew, all of Trans-Jordan. “They let the British take over with their lax British ways. No discipline. No order.”
So she admired Rashid Ali, the former Prime Minister, the Nazi sympathizer, the man who led the insurrection and plot against young King Faisal, the man who fled to Berlin when Glubb invaded Iraq. What was Klaus doing with her?
Gerta looked pointedly at Jalil. “And now the British think they can do the same to Iraq.” A faint wind shifted the scarf on her head and she adjusted it. “We won’t have it. For the sake of Iraq, we won’t let it happen.” She held out her hand again. “Tell that to your British friends.”
She gave Lily’s hand a firm shake. “I bid you good day,” she said, and went back toward the mourner’s tent, while Lily watched the mubesha continue his preparations while watching Gideon.
A man detached himself from the Bedouin seated across from the elders, and squatted next to Lily. She looked closer, then recognized him as the man with the straw-colored hair from the sidewalk café. He wore a long white shirt and a voluminous blue cloak. A white kafiya covered his straw-like hair, and he had grown a mangy stubble of a beard the color of an old penny. Instead of the curved Bedouin dagger, he wore a knife with a steel handle jammed into a leather scabbard in his belt.
No matter what he did, he couldn’t be mistaken for a Bedouin.
The mubesha kept the pan on the fire, talking while Gideon nodded.
“In Amman, you ignored my offer,” the man with the straw colored hair said.
He moved closer. “That was a mistake.”
Lily felt her skin crawl. She shifted away from him, still watching the mubesha and Gideon.
“You will live to regret it.” The man stood up. “Soon. When you least expect it. You will find out what it means to ignore me.”
He turned and went back toward the mourner’s tent.
Now the elder cleared his throat and said to Gideon, “We do the fire test.” He leaned forward expectantly. The others around him did the same. “There is no way back from the fire test. You understand?”
Gideon nodded. The elder spilled some water from an ibrit into the hot pan. Gideon flinched at the sizzling sound of water hitting the hot pan, and nodded again. The elder spilled the water from the pan onto the sand and put the pan back on the fire to heat again.
“You understand what to do,” the elder said. “You will lick the pan three times with your tongue, moving your head neither to the right nor to the left.” He instructed Gideon by licking his own hand three times. “Then you will rinse your mouth with water three times. The third time you will hold the water in your mouth longer.”
Again, Gideon nodded, stiff with fear, his nostrils dilating with each breath.
It will blister, Lily thought, become infected. Please don’t let it blister. Don’t let Gideon die in pain from gangrene, from an amputated tongue.
Klaus had returned. He squatted among the men by the sheik’s tent next to Hamud.
“If the pan leaves a mark,” the elder said, “or a burn or swelling, then we know you lie. If your tongue is
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