BAB EL SAMA

By Jashi

N O T E:

Frank/Jazira ficcie. I do not own Hidalgo, sadly. Wish I did, vehemently. This chapter is more a prologue than a chapter, and it is divided into little sections. Time passes between each of these sections. Bab el sama actually means something…but you won't find that out until later. ^_~

PROLOGUE

There is no more quiet. I remember silence, the silence of the sands and of the wind in the deep night. The wind spoke in soft caresses and I could not even hear the sounds of my own breath. Everything was still. But now, I cannot remember what the sound of silence is.

He is with me even now as I pretend to sleep. I hear his breath, so loud and raucous. His name is Gamal, and I am his third wife. Again and again he watches me like this, as though I am plotting against him inside my head as I sleep.

I will have been his third wife for a year and a half next month. His other two wives are older, and they have daughters. Quiet daughters, daughters that do not speak, that barely breathe.

I can hear the wind now, outside. Its blowing the sand everywhere, and I hear it batter the sides of the tent.

…

I search for the silence, the familiar silence that tells me everything is alright again. The silence of the women hiding behind the veils. The silence of the sandstorm creeping across the desert. These are not good silences, but they are familiar and I take comfort in them now that there is hardly any silence to speak of. But they are scarce, and now there is the unfamiliar quiet of my own fear.

"Why have you not yet conceived?" Gamal's voice is harsh and gritty as though he has swallowed sand. The Arabic he speaks seems to be being carved unto the walls of my brain, such is it's sharpness.

I only shake my head and say, softly, behind my white, silk veil, "I do not know…"

"How can you not know!?" says he, his eyes flaring as he pushes me down on the bed.

My fear is now burning in my chest as I breathe shakily and do not answer. Gamal comes closer, his face barely an inch away from mine. I smell his breath; I see the sweat droplets clinging to his eyebrow hair. I wish my veil was made of steel like a cavalry helmet.

His mouth goes close to my ear, and I feel his breath, sticky and warm, upon it.

"Jazira," he whispers, and his voice saying my name makes me shake. It is deceptive and kind, but he speaks such awful words.

"Jazira…if I see blood on your legs again before my first son is born…" His mouth is so close to my ear I feel his tongue upon the lobe, "…I will be forced to kill you."

He bites my ear then, hard, and I cry out in a small, weak-sounding voice that I hate, but it is lost to the silence. I fade like I always do when he does this, into a corner my mind. I am not here. I am among the sand dunes, on a horse, riding far away to a place that I cannot name, but I am happy there.

…

Somehow, it is quiet now. I'm not sure why, or how, but it comes as I move with great precision. I am thankful for the quiet, for it hides me. It is all my husband hears at the moment as I slip away.

My things are ready. I packed them yesterday before Gamal got back from the bazaar. It's of good size, since I'm never coming back here. My mother's gown, my saddle blanket…these and other things that I cannot bear to leave behind. As I slip into a servant's dress, a tiny glimmer catches my eye. I wrap the veil about my face and look. It is Gamal's knife. A sliver of it has come out of the scabbard. It is an odd sheen, almost blue. The scabbard is both delicate and harsh at the same time, a beautiful thing, but it's designs are cruel and made to strike fear. I take it and slip it into my bundle. He will miss this. It was a part of my dowry. He might have been planning to kill me with this knife.

I slip on shoes and walk out of the tent, disguised as a servant girl.

I do not look back.