Fatima had her veil all in place when Sara entered.
“Who is that man?” she asked excitedly. “He is American?”
“Yes, Fatima, he is American. He has come to take me home. But first he would like to bathe. He’d prefer a shower, is there another bathroom, or should he just use mine?”
Fatima looked aghast at the thought, “Oh no, I will get Hassad, he will know.”
Once Fatima had left to fetch Hassad, David sat on a cushion and studied the woman he loved. She wore bright purple satin harem pants and a matching short sleeved blouse with a contrasting pale lavender sash wrapped around her tiny waist. Her long golden hair was covered with a sheer purple head scarf (both Fatima and Yasmine had a fit when she didn’t cover her head, so she had gotten into the habit), and her feet were bare.
She looked extremely exotic and David longed to hold her in his arms, but she was unusually animated, and could not seem to stay in one place long enough. First she would sit, then suddenly stand up and look out the window at the garden, then sit down again. She offered him some fruit from the silver bowl on the table, asked him if he wanted a drink, and basically flitted around, fussing over him, while her attention seemed to be drawn constantly to the garden. David sensed she was uncomfortable with him. She had never been uncomfortable with him before. She had been marked by this experience, he wondered how badly. Finally there was a knock on the door.
“That will be Hassad,” she said as she pulled the scarf around her face, and affixed it with a tiny gold pin to cover her nose and mouth. “Hassad is not the most cheerful of fellows, but he’s all right,” and with that, she opened the door.
Hassad gave Sara a nod of his head, then spoke to David, “If you will come with me, sir.”
Unlike Rashid, who liked the looser Arabian style of clothing, Hassad preferred Western dress. He wore a dark gray business suit, white shirt, and gray striped tie, although on his head was the traditional white head scarf. He was a young man, about twenty-four, not tall, but appeared to be because he was so thin. His cheeks sunk in his long face, giving him a perpetual dour expression. He appeared stern and severe, and had intimidated Sara when she first met him, but during their ride in the desert, she had gotten to talk with him and discovered that he was an intelligent, sensitive man. And he had a subtle sense of humor—you had to think about what he said for a moment before it sank in.