Then Catherine rushed forward and kissed him, her husband subtly turning to look at the warship offshore. Her sad eyes, those beautiful sad eyes he remembered from Martinique, were glistening, almost breaking his heart, as she brought her mouth to his ear. “Peter, forgive me. Someday you will understand . . .” she said, then returned to Henri’s arm.
Rork tugged at his sleeve. “Time to shove off, sir. Royal Navy’s waitin’ for us.”
Wake looked at the launch’s boat officer and crew, immaculate in their blues, and realized he was returning to the world of the sea. His world. The world he had dreamed of in the desert but thought he’d never see again.
Then Sokhoor stepped forward and held both his shoulders, embracing him and kissing each cheek. The scholar had tears running down his face.
“Peter, we will meet again in heaven, my dearest American friend. For remember this, we are all the children of the God of Abraham and our greatest rewards are not of this world, but the next. It has been an honor for me to be your friend and to have you as mine.”
There was so much Wake wanted to say but didn’t know how. “Sokhoor, you have taught me so much. About Islam. About life. About God. Thank you my friend. Peace be upon you. Shukran, Sahdeeq.”
Sokhoor looked skyward, then touched his chest. “Wa Àlaikum as-salaam wa-raHmat ulaahi wa barakaatuh. And peace upon you too, as well as God’s mercy and his blessings.”
As they clasped hands Sokhoor said, “In gratitude, Allah will soon show you a magnificent cosmic celebration. It will come when you are far from here, Peter. When you see it, rejoice and think of the true peace of Islam, of our beloved Sultan Hassan, and of the things that you have accomplished and have learned, here in my land. And perhaps, God willing, you will kindly remember me, too.”
Sokhoor paused, looking into Wake’s eyes. “And when you see what Allah has sent you, that which has troubled your heart will be gone.” He held up a hand. “Oh yes, I know you have had tears inside. But all will be better.”
Wake tried to speak but the scholar shook his head. “Now the time has come for you to go forth, my friend. It reminds me of another old Roman saying—Porro et Sursum. Onward and upward. Goodbye, Peter.”
As Rork steadied him down into the boat, Wake felt his throat swell while his eyes filled. Sniffling, he choked out, “Under way, Rork. Get us under way, now.”
The oars dipped and pulled, propelling the launch quickly away from the dock. Rork was violating naval tradition by sitting in the stern with an officer, but he didn’t care. He knew his friend needed a steady hand right and whispered, “All right, sir?”
Wake muttered yes and looked aft at the people on the dock. They were waving and calling out good luck in three languages. He waved back.
Wake stared for a long time at the scene astern of them—the brown mud huts in front of the gray stone fortress with the green banner of Morocco flying overhead in the blue pastel sky, the lusty singing of the beach fisherman as they hauled their catch ashore, the plaintive wail of the muezzin atop the minarets calling the faithful to prayer.
Africa had almost killed him, but he was incredibly fascinated by it all—like the beautiful snake that had almost killed him. He let out a long breath.
“Peace be unto all of you. Inshallah.”
43
Allah’s Gratitude
June 1874
At Malta they saw HMS Lord Warden and Wake was pleased to learn he and Rork would make the passage to Genoa aboard her, for she was still flying Admiral Drummond’s pennant and Pete Allen might be aboard. His hope was justified when he climbed through the entry port and heard the Royal Marine exclaim.
“Well, the Devil couldn’t kill him and God doesn’t want him, just yet. You consistently amaze me, Peter Wake. I’ve been hearing outlandish tales about you and Rork. We must immediately repair below so I can ply you with spirits and get to the absolute truth of the matter, which, knowing you, will be more farfetched than the rumors.” He gave Wake a hearty handshake. “Damned glad to see you, old son.”
It was an easy passage with nothing to do except think as he lay in his berth. Wake spent most of the time thinking about Linda and his children, going over in his mind again and again her letters and his replies and wondering what the fleet mail would have for him when he arrived. Would she tell him it was over, practically if not legally? She was strong-willed and had already endured ostracism during the war, he knew she could handle the kind associated with an estranged marriage.
Would she understand his need—which even he couldn’t justify but knew it was part of his soul—for the sea and for the navy? Would they keep what they had started during those dark days of the war, when everything, and everyone, was against them?
He grew more fearful and withdrawn the closer they came to Genoa and the certainty of his finding out her decision.
***
Unlike his first arrival, it was sunny when they glided up the bay into Genoa. Colors he hadn’t noticed before, red roofs, flowers, the green hills, gaily welcomed him, complemented by saluting guns echoing off the hills. A heartfelt goodbye to the officers and men of the ship culminated with Allen’s farewell. The Royal Marine knew of Wake’s fears for his marriage.
“It’ll be all right, Peter,” he said with concern. “It will get better, my friend. She’ll still want you.” Then he laughed. “But God knows why, for you really are bloody daft!”
The farewell to the Lord Warden was more emotional than their welcome back aboard the Franklin, anchored three hundred yards away. They came up the entry port and reported in to a drowsy officer of the watch, who
