“No,” the moan vaguely formed the word.
“I’m sorry, but he did.”
“And I thought it was you—however indirectly—that you and your connections were responsible for his death.”
“Zahir, I tried to save him. I married him in ignorance and got a divorce as soon as I realized the truth. I only came with him to Paris to see you because he pleaded with me to, because I wanted to help him. I wanted him to believe in himself. His friends, friends like James, wanted to help him. He had the choice and he chose not to live.” She looked down at the rain-slicked courtyard below the window. “Not even for Matta.”
Zahir turned then, his face weary, his eyes ineffably sad.
“You have it wrong Anna. I was responsible for my brother’s death. I thought you disloyal but you were being loyal to Abduallah and I thank you for that. You kept your faith with him to the end—and beyond—you even lied for him when it wasn’t in your interests to do so. I thought you were the opposite of the things that I held dear, when you were in fact far more loyal than I could ever be.”
“No, Zahir, that’s ridiculous. You did what you could.”
“But it wasn’t enough was it?”
The bitterness in his tone shocked her.
Anna knelt on the bed and pressed her warm body to his wet one, trying to pull him towards her but he resisted, his eyes looking down upon her with a distance that chilled her. Still she would not stop. She curled her hands firmly around resisting, stone shoulders, her hands bunching into the damp material of his shirt.
“Zahir, stop it. Stop this. You can’t do everything. You can’t control everything. You can’t save everyone.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. He was the world I was fighting for. Without that? Where is the meaning?”
“Look at your sisters, look at Matta. And Abduallah—he loved you for who you were, absolutely. So don’t think your sacrifices were in vain. They weren’t. They’ve given your family, and your people, everything. Without you, they would have nothing.”
“But Abduallah would have been alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
She felt the tenseness in his body fall away then as if something stern that had been holding him together had been released. She cupped his cheek, the face that was so compelling, so stern, so arrogant, now vulnerable in the extreme.
“He died because of me.”
“No.” She’d never seen him this desolate, this out of control. Her hands found no resistance now and she pulled him closer to her so he would have to listen, have to understand. “No, he didn’t. He died because he couldn’t take the hand of cards that life had dealt him.”
He looked up at her with eyes that were grief-stricken. She’d never seen him like this, could never have imagined he would let anything get to him like this. He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said, hadn’t felt the touch of her hands on his body.
He closed his eyes, lost in a world of pain that he didn’t want anyone else to enter. “He turned away from his family because he believed we could not understand and would condemn.”
“You didn’t know him but he didn’t know you either.” She slipped her arms around his back, weaving her fingers together, and was shocked to feel him flinch. But she refused to let him go.
“Don’t try to comfort me. There is no comfort to be had.”
But she would not be pushed away and she held him more tightly still.
He fought her off gently but firmly, pushing her arms away until she became furious and hit out. He caught her hand and looked down.
“I don’t want your comfort. Don’t you understand?”
“Tough. Because you’re getting it whether you think you want it or not.”
Zahir smiled then. “Remember, Matta told you not to tell off a sheikh.”
“And since when do I take advice from my son?”
He shook his head. “One more thing, tell me, did Abduallah want to come home?”
It was tearing her apart seeing him so devastated but this time, whatever the consequences, she had to tell the truth.
“No. He couldn’t face you.”
He turned away so she couldn’t see his face and blindly pulled her to him, his arm curling around her waist, drawing her into his body. And she held him like she would have held Matta when he came to her seeking comfort.
“Zahir,” she said gently, “there was nothing you could have done. Abduallah was on a path to self destruction before I met him. He was a man not happy with who he was and unwilling to face the truth about himself. Even his love for Matta couldn’t save him.”