“Is there no sour fruit in America?” she asked.
“We have green apples, dipped in caramel.”
“What is caramel?”
“Candy.”
“Everything in America is dipped in candy,” Ashur said.
“Or fried in oil,” Hudson said. “I had a fried candy bar once at the county fair.”
“Fried candy?” Layah couldn’t imagine it. “Was it good?”
“Delicious.”
“Where did you eat this awful thing?” Ashur asked. “Tea-fare?”
“The county fair. You might call it a bazaar, or a market. There’s food and amusement park rides.”
Ashur’s eyes lit up at the mention of amusement parks. He ate another sour plum and stared into the distance, probably fantasizing about roller coasters and guns. Two inventions made infamous in America.
After a short rest, they continued hiking. The sour plums lifted her energy level a little. They reached the outskirts of Baglar well before she expected. She blinked in surprise, as if the village in the valley below might be a mirage. It was quaint and medieval-looking, with stonework houses set into the hillside.
Hanna and Yelda hugged in celebration. For them, this was home. For the others, it was another resting place.
Yelda took the lead as they approached the village. There was a cobblestone bridge guarded by men with rifles. They spoke a different dialect of Kurdish, too quickly for Layah to follow. Yelda was given a warm welcome, however, and the travelers were allowed entry. They continued down a dirt road to a house with a large courtyard. There was a water pump in the center, with a dozen empty plastic buckets nearby.
“If you want to bathe, you can fill a bucket,” Yelda said.
Layah went straight to the pump with an empty bucket. The others followed suit. While the men stayed in the courtyard, the women went inside to a private bathing room. There were towels and privacy screens. Layah stripped down behind a screen and scrubbed her body from head to toe. When she was finished, she soaked her hair. It wasn’t a warm, relaxing bath, but she felt clean afterwards.
All the women used their leftover water to wash clothing. Layah laundered her undergarments, wrung them out and hung them over a screen. She had two tunics, both dirty. She was trying to decide which one to wear when an old woman came in with a basket of secondhand clothes.
“You can pick whatever you like,” Yelda said.
Layah thanked the woman profusely. The travelers gathered around the basket as if it were a pot of gold. Aram’s wife found the most colorful dress and twirled around. She was young and brash, like him. Yusef’s wife picked something more sensible, but seemed just as pleased. Layah watched them with a smile. Her cousins were both newly married, to brides that suited them. Now they would have a chance at a happy life.
Layah selected a long-sleeved blouse and a long skirt for herself. The items were faded and worn, but comfortable. She didn’t want to put on wet lingerie, so she wrapped a scarf around her breasts before she got dressed. Then she combed and braided her hair, humming an Armenian folk song her father had taught her.
“Your American is handsome,” Aram’s wife said. Her name was Oshana. “Do you wish to keep him?”
“He’s not a pet,” Layah said.
“He could be a husband. You already sleep together.”
Yusef’s wife, Nina, made a shushing sound.
“Has he tried to mount you?” Oshana asked.
Layah flushed at her impertinent question. “He’s been a gentleman.”
Oshana looked disappointed, as if she wanted to hear all about Hudson’s bedroom prowess.
“He has a healthy appetite,” Nina said. “You could cook for him.”
“Good idea,” Oshana said, beaming with approval. “If you can’t lure him to your bed, tempt him with food.”
Layah didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused by their advice. She finished her laundry and sat down to rummage through her pack. While she was organizing, she noticed something missing.
Her passport.
Khalil’s was still in the side pocket, where she’d placed it. She knew none of the women would take her passport. They had documents of their own.
Hudson must have done it.
She smothered a sound of outrage. He didn’t trust her, so he’d searched her belongings and stolen her passport. He’d wanted to have power over her. She should have been more cautious. She couldn’t complete the journey without her passport. It was a symbol of freedom, and now it was in his hands.
Taking a deep breath, she removed her medical kit from her pack. No need to panic. She’d get her passport back by whatever means necessary.
She returned to the courtyard to look for him. The men had finished bathing. Her cousins were smoking cigarettes and lounging around. Hudson was sitting nearby, lacing up his boots. His hair was damp. He had on the same pants he’d been wearing earlier, with a red soccer jersey. His eyes traveled down her body and pulled away.
She was acutely aware of her lack of undergarments as she approached him. The loose clothing didn’t cling to her curves, but she felt self-conscious, as if he could see though the fabric. His expression suggested that he was trying not to stare. She didn’t think she’d need any fancy meals to tempt him.
“I will check your stitches now.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed as he tugged his shirt over his head. She sat on the stone bench behind him to examine the wound. It had healed nicely, despite the constant physical activity. He even appeared to have gained a few pounds. He looked healthy and fit, with hard muscles and taut skin. When her fingertips grazed his back, his shoulders tensed.
“These can be removed,” she said, reaching for her scissors.
“Are you really a doctor?”
“I went to medical school, but I did not finish.”
“Why not?”
“Classes at the university were canceled. Hospitals all over Syria were understaffed. They were taking medical students to do the jobs of doctors. So that is what I did. I worked in the emergency ward for over a year.”
He held still as she snipped the sutures. “What part of Syria?”
“Damascus.”
“How was it?”
She paused,
