Before the veil falls
STEVE LOCKE
Salah reached out in the darkness, the palm of his hand gliding along the worn varnish of the hotel desktop. He had been sitting in the same position for God knows how long — back straight, arms crossed above his chest in an attempt at meditation. Crawling along the desk, his fingers touched something cold and metallic that shot a spark into the soft pad of skin beneath his index nail. It made a miniscule thunder crack, which was possibly more startling and unsettling than the flash of pain. Salah clenched his hand into a trembling fist before it unfolded to lie upon the metallic object. Illuminated at second contact, it was a base for a touch lamp, the only light in the room besides the neon OTEL sign that was burning brightly through the closed drapes.
Between the pockmarks on top of the desk were a cell phone and a photograph, framed in plastic and glass. Salah’s parched, weary eyes focused on the image of his wife holding their young child. Her name was Jessica. She was a white American, with curly tendrils falling about her supple, bare shoulders where her flowered dress hung off in spaghetti straps. She had a bright, toothy smile that their toddler inherited, along with Salah’s nose and complexion. The little boy wore corduroy Osh- Kosh overalls; one hand playing with a button while the other squeezed his mother’s thumb. He was held upon her lap, both hands across his stomach, one on top of the other.
They were his family, and also the reason his fanatically religious parents disowned him. In truth, he had made the first division as a boy, watching his father beat his mother when she was insolent. Afterwards, she showed her quiet devotion to her husband and held Salah on her lap. Though her traditional garments covered most of her body, Salah remembered the pain in her eyes, showing above the cloth that covered her face. After his brother went to learn how to fly planes and make mother and father proud, Salah left his house and met Jessica. She was strong and taught him not to be afraid of her body, gently taking his hands and placing them on her breasts the first time they made love.
Soon he would have to say goodbye to her. The door behind him would be forced open and men would come in, armed and wearing balaclavas. They would make him submit to the ground with their fists and gun butts, put a sack over his head, and take him from the world. It’s what they do to family members of people who crash planes into tall buildings. Salah would know. His mother and father had disappeared two weeks before. A sound like a buzz saw erupted from the desk, cajoling a violent tremor from within his body. My God, just let it be over, he thought and calmed down once he saw that the cellphone was dancing in a blur across the desk. On the digital display screen, the text read: HOME.
“Hello darling,” Salah mumbled through still quivering lips.
“Salah? Are you all right? Where are you?” Jessica’s voice boomed from the little speaker just outside his ear. It wasn’t unusual for him to hold a phone three inches from the side of his head when his wife was on the line. Her vivacious beauty was only an indicator of her spirit.
“I am okay. I’m in a hotel room. I’m alone. How are you and Johnathan?”
With a heavy breath, Jessica replied. “We’re fine. Today Jonathan wanted to play outside, but I couldn’t go out. I was too afraid of the FBI or whoever watching us. I feel so afraid of making some kind of move that would give you away. I wish you were here. At least I can talk to you. It was a good idea to send me a cellphone. I thought they would have checked the mail, but they must have missed that package.”
Salah sighed. Her voice could have been the only thing in the world that would have comforted him, and it did. “Yes, at least we can talk. I am sorry I have to be away from you and Jonathan. You’ve been strong, Jessica, even when they took you into custody.”
“I didn’t tell them anything! They threatened to take Jonathan away, but I told them I was American and I had rights. Maybe that’s why they didn’t keep me there . . . . ”
“I know you didn’t say anything. I believe you with all my heart. Thank you. And I must apologize for my family.”
“You don’t have to do that, Salah. You are not your brother. Your face isn’t on TV everyday with the word MURDERER scratched across it in red letters. Remember, it was me who told you to go hide. I wanted you to be safe and maybe come back when it all blew over. You’d do anything I ask. You are a good man. A good father and husband. You shouldn’t have to run or be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” Salah lied. “Everything will be okay.”
Just then a light knock emanated from behind him. Salah stood up, stiffened with fear. Thoughts were annihilated with the basic choice of answering the door or jumping out the window. “I’m not ready,” he said.
“What did you say?” Jessica asked.
Salah realized he hadn’t removed the cell from the side of his face and had spoken right into the receiver. “I’m not ready to leave you,” he said. In her silence, Salah could hear his wife’s eyes moisten and spill over. “I love you, Jessica. I must go now, but I will call you later. I promise. Tell Jonathan that his father loves him and to be a good boy.”
“Okay. I love you too,” Jessica whimpered. “Bye.”
Salah folded the arms of the cellphone together and placed it gently on the desk. He took a few inhibited steps towards it, slid the chain lock from its chamber and turned the handle until it clicked open.
With a great sudden force, the door was pushed against him, causing Salah to teeter backwards and nearly fall along the face of the sidewall. Two men stepped through, wearing camo and black vests, and balaclavas. They pushed Salah into the room so that he fell face-first onto the bed. With phantom hands binding his own in plastic ties, knees pressed on his back as he struggled to see the men who were assaulting him. A third man stepped in from the shadows, revealing something from within his vest, speaking in an authoritative voice, “Ever hear of a trace?”
By the light of the desk lamp, Salah could make out a black bag dangling from the man’s grasp. He whispered the names of his wife and child as darkness took him from the world.
