you come and she isn’t willing to come herself, it looks like we’re all going to stay here.”
Ali looked upset.
“Ali, go outside and play football for a bit,” Sarah said.
“But I want to talk to Dad.”
“But your father wants to see you practising your football skills. Go outside and we’ll watch through the window. Quickly, while the sun’s out.”
Ali ran outside to their minute strip of garden and began practising his football tricks.
“What do you mean, you’re staying here?” Sarah asked once their son was out of earshot.
“Perhaps not here in this house, if you don’t want me, but I’ve decided to stay in England so I can at least be near you and my son.”
“But what will you do?” Akbar was well-off but England was expensive and he couldn’t live off his savings forever.
“I’ve found a job at some stables. Not the one that I took Ali to. They weren’t interested—another one, a few miles farther away.”
“Doing what? Training horses?”
“No, at least not yet. Maybe one day.”
Akbar seemed reluctant to discuss it, but Sarah persisted. “So what kind of job is it?”
“Brushing horses down, cleaning out stables, that sort of thing.” He stared at his feet as he said it.
It seemed to Sarah that he had shrunk. The mighty ruler of the Al-Zafir tribe, known throughout his country, was willing to be a common stable hand, mucking out horses.
“What about your people? What will happen to them?” she asked.
“My nephew, Saeed, will have to take control.”
Sarah remembered Saeed. He was an aggressive, uncouth man who had married Minna, Rasha’s cousin and best friend. “But what will happen to the peace you’ve worked so hard to build?”
“Saeed will have to do his best to maintain it.”
Sarah couldn’t believe that Akbar was giving everything up. “You can’t do this. You have to look after the Al-Zafirs. You are their sheikh.”
“And you are their sheikha and Ali is the future sheikh, but if you won’t go, then I won’t either. I can’t live without you again and I can’t leave my son.”
“I don’t want to lose you either, but this isn’t the solution.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t know, but somehow we’ll work something out.” Sarah put her arms around her husband to check whether he really had shrunk as much as he seemed to have done.
After a long moment together, Sarah said, “If we came back with you, I would want to work at the hospital.”
Akbar’s face lit up. “Of course, anything. You must continue your work as a doctor. Yazan needs good female doctors.”
“What about the letter of consent?”
Akbar shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply.
“Akbar, I know why you didn’t write it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t read or write Arabic, can you?”
“I’ve learnt English. I hired a man from the city to come and teach me. I’ve been studying for more than eight years now. I can read and write it, too!” He was clearly very proud of his achievement.
“Why didn’t you tell me that was why you wouldn’t write the letter? I would’ve understood.”
“You would’ve thought I was a barbarian. You have all your books and learning. You know so many things that we Bedouin don’t. You would never have married me if you’d known.”
Sarah wondered whether he had a point. She hoped that she was above intellectual snobbery, but she remembered her feelings when she found out that he was illiterate. “I could’ve taught you,” she offered.
Akbar laughed. “How would that have looked? The great sheikh being taught by his wife like some kind of schoolchild! Impossible.”
“And what about Ali? If we go back, what will happen to him? Where will he go to school? Surely you don’t want him to grow up the same way, do you?”
Before Akbar could answer, Ali called out from the garden, “Dad! Come and watch me. Come and see what I can do.” Akbar went outside to be with his son.
Chapter
Ali looked upset.
“Ali, go outside and play football for a bit,” Sarah said.
“But I want to talk to Dad.”
“But your father wants to see you practising your football skills. Go outside and we’ll watch through the window. Quickly, while the sun’s out.”
Ali ran outside to their minute strip of garden and began practising his football tricks.
“What do you mean, you’re staying here?” Sarah asked once their son was out of earshot.
“Perhaps not here in this house, if you don’t want me, but I’ve decided to stay in England so I can at least be near you and my son.”
“But what will you do?” Akbar was well-off but England was expensive and he couldn’t live off his savings forever.
“I’ve found a job at some stables. Not the one that I took Ali to. They weren’t interested—another one, a few miles farther away.”
“Doing what? Training horses?”
“No, at least not yet. Maybe one day.”
Akbar seemed reluctant to discuss it, but Sarah persisted. “So what kind of job is it?”
“Brushing horses down, cleaning out stables, that sort of thing.” He stared at his feet as he said it.
It seemed to Sarah that he had shrunk. The mighty ruler of the Al-Zafir tribe, known throughout his country, was willing to be a common stable hand, mucking out horses.
“What about your people? What will happen to them?” she asked.
“My nephew, Saeed, will have to take control.”
Sarah remembered Saeed. He was an aggressive, uncouth man who had married Minna, Rasha’s cousin and best friend. “But what will happen to the peace you’ve worked so hard to build?”
“Saeed will have to do his best to maintain it.”
Sarah couldn’t believe that Akbar was giving everything up. “You can’t do this. You have to look after the Al-Zafirs. You are their sheikh.”
“And you are their sheikha and Ali is the future sheikh, but if you won’t go, then I won’t either. I can’t live without you again and I can’t leave my son.”
“I don’t want to lose you either, but this isn’t the solution.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t know, but somehow we’ll work something out.” Sarah put her arms around her husband to check whether he really had shrunk as much as he seemed to have done.
After a long moment together, Sarah said, “If we came back with you, I would want to work at the hospital.”
Akbar’s face lit up. “Of course, anything. You must continue your work as a doctor. Yazan needs good female doctors.”
“What about the letter of consent?”
Akbar shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply.
“Akbar, I know why you didn’t write it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t read or write Arabic, can you?”
“I’ve learnt English. I hired a man from the city to come and teach me. I’ve been studying for more than eight years now. I can read and write it, too!” He was clearly very proud of his achievement.
“Why didn’t you tell me that was why you wouldn’t write the letter? I would’ve understood.”
“You would’ve thought I was a barbarian. You have all your books and learning. You know so many things that we Bedouin don’t. You would never have married me if you’d known.”
Sarah wondered whether he had a point. She hoped that she was above intellectual snobbery, but she remembered her feelings when she found out that he was illiterate. “I could’ve taught you,” she offered.
Akbar laughed. “How would that have looked? The great sheikh being taught by his wife like some kind of schoolchild! Impossible.”
“And what about Ali? If we go back, what will happen to him? Where will he go to school? Surely you don’t want him to grow up the same way, do you?”
Before Akbar could answer, Ali called out from the garden, “Dad! Come and watch me. Come and see what I can do.” Akbar went outside to be with his son.
Chapter
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