Two Testaments (51 page)

A soft rap on the chapel door interrupted her, and she walked to the back of the chapel. “Yes?” she said, squinting into the bright sun.

A stocky, ruggedly handsome young man in his thirties stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking quite lost.

“May I help you?” she asked. Then before he could answer, she narrowed her eyes. “Rémi? Rémi Cebrian, is it you?”

“Anne-Marie?” They shook hands forcefully, then embraced, laughing.

“Thank God you’re here! You made it! Did you know that Eliane is here? Let me go fetch her.”

Rémi caught her hand. He had the strangest look on his face. “No, don’t bother, Anne-Marie. I’ll go find her. But over there, in the taxi. I’ve brought our things and—”

“Of course, let me help you. But don’t you want to take them to your hotel room?”

She followed him across the square as he explained, “I wasn’t quite sure where to find the orphanage, so I just asked the taxi driver to wait over there.”

“Yes, of course. Oh, how wonderful to see you again. It is just what we needed today.” She wondered why Rémi didn’t hurry to his wife.

“There’s something here for you, Anne-Marie,” he said.

“For me?” She looked perplexed. Then she said, “Oh, you must have found the trunk.”

“Yes, I did. Go ahead.” He pushed her along to the taxi, then turned back to the orphanage. She looked back over her shoulder with a question in her eyes.

“Go on,” Rémi said. There was an urgency in his voice that made her feel funny inside. She broke into a run, crossing the cobblestone road to where the taxi sat in the shade. The cabbie stood on the other side of the car, leaning against the driver’s door. She saw that someone else was there, a man with his head resting on the back of the seat. A young man with long, curly hair.

Anne-Marie was beside the car now and peered in the window. She gave a cry and grabbed the handle. Pulling the door open, she burst into tears. “Moustafa?” She could barely get out the word.

He laughed and weakly held out both hands toward her. Anne-Marie climbed into the car, ignoring the thick, suffocating heat.

“Moustafa … how can it be?” She reached out to touch his face, run her fingers through his hair. “You are real. You’re alive! But how?”

“Shh,” he cooed softly. He put his arms around her and held her there in the unbearable heat. She could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“I love you, Anne-Marie,” he murmured.

She kissed him softly on the lips, afraid that even a gentle kiss might harm him.

The cabbie poked his head into the car, a broad smile on his face. “M. Cebrian said I was to take him to the hospital in Montpellier just as soon as a lovely young woman came.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Only let me tell his mother.”

Moustafa squeezed her hand. “Rémi is taking care of all of that. Come with me now, Anne-Marie. Just you and me right now.”

Anne-Marie felt that strange peace welling up inside of her again. She leaned very lightly on Moustafa’s shoulder, touching his face and hair every so often to be sure that he was real. He looked so thin and weak. “Are you hurt very badly?”

“I’ll be all right now, my love.”

“I thought you were—”

“Shh. A miracle. I’m back.”

She took the canteen lying on the seat and gently dabbed water on his face. “Rest, Moustafa. It will be okay.”

“I brought you this,” he said, handing her a sealed envelope. “You should have had it months ago.”

She carefully unsealed the envelope and took out two folded pages. The letter was dated May 20.

My habibti Anne-Marie,

Surely I will be with you soon, if we can only wait just a little longer. Surely there is something bigger than the terror that surrounds us here. Knowing that you are there spurs me on. Remember that you are beautiful to me, that all I have ever wanted from the first days of our childhood is to spend every day with you. To grow old together. And even if it must be in another country, far away from all we have known, I am sure we will be happy together, with little Ophélie.

To pass the time, David and I are looking at the Koran and the New Testament. It is quite fascinating. I am convinced of neither so far. David says there is a God, although he questions His silence amidst the atrocities of this war. I like this man. He is very real. We speak often of the women we love, and I dream of you at night. Someday very soon, we will be together.

Hug Ophélie for me very tight. Tell her that Moustafa will be coming very soon.

With all my love, je t’embrasse avec tout mon coeur.

Moustafa

Rémi Cebrian went back into the chapel and gathered up an armful of flowers. There must have been a funeral, but he didn’t think anyone would mind his taking some flowers away now. He found his way to the parsonage door and knocked loudly.

It opened a moment later, and Roger Hoffmann stood in the doorway, tall, distinguished, healthy.

“Rémi! Rémi Cebrian! You’ve made it, my boy. Come in! Your wife is just down in the courtyard.”

The older man, looking like a complete gentleman, led Rémi down the steps and through the basement.

“It’s nothing like I imagined,” Rémi confided. “And who has died?”

“Mother Griolet, the nun in charge. It’s been a most exhausting weekend. I’m afraid this place is a bit in chaos, but we’re trying to set things in order.”

Many children were running everywhere in the courtyard, so that it took Rémi a moment to spot his own. When he did, he dropped the flowers on the ground and yelled out, “Samuel! Rachel!”

The children wheeled around and, seeing their father, squealed with delight, tackling him in a bear hug.

Eliane came out of the dining hall with José on her hip, her face shining. “Rémi! Rémi, you’ve come.” She hugged him fiercely with her free arm and kissed him while the children clung to his legs. “How on earth did you find me here?”

“I called from Marseille, and the receptionist knew where you were. We got in around noon, and I was looking for the trunk.”

“We? Who do you mean? Did you bring others with you?”

“Yes! Yes, Eliane. Come, we must tell the others. David, the Dramchini women.”

There was a bustling from the dining hall, and soon Roger Hoffmann emerged with David, two nuns, and a striking redhead.

David embraced Rémi. “It’s so good to see you! Have you seen Anne-Marie?”

“Yes,” he said, beaming. “She’s gone to the hospital with all of our things.”

The small group stared at him, puzzled.

Rémi spoke slowly, a broad smile on his face. “She’s gone to take Moustafa to the hospital.”

David’s face went white. “Moustafa?”

“I know it’s impossible, but it’s true. He survived, and an Arab woman nursed him back from the grave. She brought him to my door four days ago.”

David erupted into a loud “Whoop!” as he hugged Gabriella, then ran to tell Moustafa’s mother and sisters, who were changing sheets in the dormitories.

“Moustafa!” he yelled. “Moustafa is here. He’s alive.”

Within the next few minutes, David had loaded Mme Dramchini and her daughters and Ophélie into his deux chevaux.

“Send the cabbie back here,” Rémi called. “He’s got all our things!”

He turned back to his wife. “After all, there was a reason for my waiting, Eliane. Moustafa appeared at the door an hour before I was planning to leave Algeria. Can you believe it? The incredible timing of the thing? I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but God did.”

Eliane kissed his lips very softly. “Who can explain it? All I know is that He is in control. Every moment of our lives is in His hands.”

30

When the dorm lights were turned out and the other boys were quiet, Hussein took the pistol from under his mattress, tucked it into his pajamas, and went to the bathroom. He stepped onto the toilet, climbed up to the window, and peered down into the courtyard. Dusk had fallen, but it was not yet completely dark. He could hear voices coming from the girls’ dorm, but the courtyard was empty. Quickly he slid through the window and ran into the shadows. He climbed onto the stone wall and let himself over it, holding on to the jagged stones as he let himself down fifteen feet into the small park below.

He did not know where to go, but he had all night to get there and complete his task before anyone at St. Joseph noticed he was gone. There was only one thing left to do. He held the letter he had written for Ali in his hand; it was addressed and even the stamp was in place. No one had questioned his need for a stamp amid the activities of the last few days.

Tonight there had been much excitement, with people coming and going. But Hussein had stayed to himself. He did not want to let anything deter him from his task. He kept repeating to himself, “There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet,” but the words sounded empty and dull.

He came to the little square with the fountain and cursed. There were too many people milling about for him to post the letter unnoticed. He should have done it earlier in the day.

He went back to the deserted park and waited in the shadows. He had all night. Nothing would spoil his plan.

Ophélie could not settle down. Moustafa was alive! She chattered excitedly with Mme Dramchini, who had tucked her into bed since Anne-Marie was still at the hospital.

“Mme Dramchini, we must tell Hussein. He has to hear the news!”

“No news tonight,” Mme Dramchini scolded her playfully, tucking the covers around her.

Ophélie pouted. “Please!” she begged. For some reason it seemed urgent to see Hussein, now that she had seen Moustafa. She thought of another tactic. “I didn’t get to tell Papa good night,” she complained. “Please let me see him.”

Mme Dramchini pursed her lips and frowned, shaking her finger at the child. “You tease me.” But she left the dorm room and came back a moment later. “Papa leaves. You must hurry.”

Ophélie sprang from bed and fell into David’s arms in the hallway. He looked at her with a hint of disapproval in his eyes. “Ophélie, I’ve already told you good night.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close to her. “Papa, does Hussein know about Moustafa? He has to know!”

“I have to go now; you know I’m going out to dinner with Grandpapa and Gabriella’s family. If Hussein hasn’t heard tonight, he’ll hear in the morning.”

“But that will be too late,” she blurted, without really knowing why.

“Too late?” He sounded irritated. “What do you mean?”

Ophélie started crying, real, worried tears. “I don’t know, Papa. I don’t know. Please tell him tonight. Please.”

David sighed. “All right. You win. Now run back to bed. I’ll tell him, even if it does make us late to dinner.”

She watched him carefully, until she was sure he had gone into the boys’ dormitory, then turned on her heels and dashed to her bed. She snuggled under the covers, feeling content. Everyone had made it home safely. Even Mother Griolet. And now Hussein would know that everything was okay.