Finding Nouf by Zoë Ferraris Page A

likely that the Shrawis would let their daughters race around, especially on the evening of the funeral, but who else could it be? No servant could afford a jet-ski, and anyway he doubted that the servants would let their women expose themselves at work.
    He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then he turned back to the woman with unguarded interest. She stayed close to the island, and the ski's loud roar echoed off the rocks as she headed around to the southern dock. Even from a distance he could see the controlled bank of her body as she ripped through the water, slicing up waves and churning foam in her wake. He imagined that Nouf had skied like this, and that if this was one of her sisters or cousins, the angry cavorting was a fitting expression of grief.
    "What—?" Othman was behind him, staring down at the woman on the jet-ski. He looked horrified.
    "What is it?" Nayir asked.
    Othman continued to stare, unmoving, until the woman turned
back toward the island, exposing her face. Slowly his hand went to his chest. His other hand clutched the railing. He bent forward, shutting his eyes tightly and breathing with the deep, intentional inhalations of a man trying to keep himself from fainting.
    Nayir stared at him. "
Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem','
he whispered.
    Othman took a deep breath that seemed to shudder in his chest. Nayir turned away, feeling that his gaze was an invasion of privacy. He watched the jet-ski turn to the north and disappear beneath the overhanging rocks.
    A few moments later Othman put both hands on the balustrade and pushed himself up. His skin was the color of sesame paste. "I thought it was Nouf," he said. His arms were shaking. "That was her jet-ski, but it was only Ab—one of my other sisters."
    Nayir looked down; the engine was now a distant hum.
    Othman's arms fell to his sides. "She shouldn't be out."
    "Perhaps she's upset." Nayir gazed at his friend. The color was slowly returning to his cheeks. "People do strange things when they're grieving."
    "I know," Othman murmured. "But it's going to upset my mother."
    "Does your sister jet-ski often?"
    "Yes. No." Othman checked his watch. The gesture seemed more like a nervous tic than a genuine desire to know the time. "Since Nouf disappeared, Tahsin won't let the girls go anywhere, and that includes riding on the water. If you'll excuse me, I'd better go straighten this out."
    "Yes, go ahead. I can find my way ba—"
    Othman turned away before the sentence was finished and hurried toward the gate.
    Nayir left the alcove and walked along the gravel path, wondering what exactly had happened. Nearly fainting at the sight of a perceived ghost seemed normal. But in the little episode that had just played out, the look of perfect terror on Othman's face when he'd seen his sister's approach had struck a strangely dissonant note. It wasn't the terror as much as the sudden plunge into a suspended reality that was, for Othman, not natural at all.
    I said it myself,
Nayir thought ruefully,
people do strange things in their grief.

    Nayir arrived at the courtyard just as the outdoor lights were coming on. The camel keeper, Amad, was standing at the stable door, staring at Nayir with a myopic squint.
    Nayir approached. "I recognize you now," Amad said, walking forward and stumbling on a shattered brick. He kicked it aside. "You're the desert guide. It's been a while."
    "Yes, Nayir ash-Sharqi." He extended his hand for a shake. "It's good to see you again." He seemed to remember that the man was desert-born. He recognized something Bedouin in him, although he wasn't sure what. The firm cut of the jaw, the steady posture, a certain choppiness of speech. Or perhaps it was the man's incessant blinking.
    "Will you take the family out again soon? The camels miss the desert, you know."
    "I miss it myself," Nayir said. He'd come back into the city only this morning, but this trip out had not restored him in the least. All the fruitless