Vial of Tears, page 6
“I’m not,” Sam said, twisting to look over her shoulder.
Meem shoved her hands into Sam’s back pockets, digging to the bottoms. Sam squirmed, tamping down the urge to put an elbow into Meem’s chest.
“What is this?” She slid Jiddo’s letter out. Sam had forgotten it was there.
“I can’t read it,” Sam said. “I don’t know what it says.”
Meem unfolded the paper and made a face. “It says nothing. These are only lines and dots. There are no meaningful shapes here.”
“Yes, there are,” Sam said, gritting her teeth. “It’s just in a different language.”
“An encoded message.”
“It’s Arabic, that’s all.”
Meem set the letter aside and dipped her probing fingers into Sam’s front pockets this time.
“You want to go home?” Meem asked, bobbing around her a second time. Her wild hair tickled Sam’s neck like a plume of feathers; Sam grimaced and scratched at her skin. “Do you not?”
“I need to find someone first.” Sam glanced once more at the lock on the front door. With every passing minute, her worry grew sharper and deeper, sinking itself into her bones. Rima.
“Might this someone have the coin?” Meem’s round eyes never seemed to blink. “Or—if you have the coin, then you would be wise to hide the coin,” she reasoned, circling, “so that Eshmun would want to find your someone, who might have the coin, if you do not. If you gave him the coin now, he would have little incentive to look for this someone. So you keep it from him.”
“Is that what he thinks?” Sam said, twisting left and right to follow Meem, feeling like she was being spun into a knot of bewilderment.
“That is what I think,” Meem said, stopping to face Sam. Her eyes were owl-like, Sam decided. Luminous, yet predatory. Perhaps she was not so harmless, despite her diminutive size.
Meem cocked her head. She took a step closer, examining the buttons on Sam’s shirt.
Sam knew she could only stall for so long before her clothes would have to come off. But what are ḥayuta? Why do she and Teth call Eshmun my lord? A hundred more questions needed to be answered. She looked around Teth’s home with its primitive furnishings. “What year is this?” she asked, bending down to slip off her sneakers.
“Year?” Meem repeated.
“How long ago are we?” Sam tried. She tapped her wrist. “You know, where are we in time?”
“Time abandoned us after the horrible siege of Tyre.” Meem held Sam’s shoes in her hands with a certain kind of awe. She studied them intently, turning them over to look at the soles. “Ever since our ancestors fled here to the underworld.”
Baalbek, Sidon, Tyre. Something finally clicked. Sam put the city names together.
“I’m in Lebanon,” she said with disbelief. “But… but why is everything so ancient? This must be…” Her mind flashed to the books on Mom’s shelf in her bedroom. Mostly romance novels, along with crystal and tarot reference guides, and the few books Jiddo had sent over the years. “… Phoenicia? The coin brought me to its own time and place.”
“The coin brought you to its rightful owner,” Meem said. “You may give it to me now.” There was lust in her voice as she held a small hand out in front of her, cupping the air. “To have a coin forged by the great Chusor…”
“Someone named Chusor makes these coins? So he can make another one,” Sam reasoned. “Couldn’t Eshmun ask him… or her?”
“Teth said you fell,” Meem said, then pursed her lips to a point.
“Yes.”
“And were your senses knocked from your head? Such questions! Chusor was a deity. He was an artisan. And he is gone,” Meem said, sounding indignant. “He crafted obols from gold and the feathers of angels, first turned to ashes over a sacred fire that was never allowed to die. Also, of course, a royal peacock’s feather, and a drop of Chusor’s own blood. But Eshmun’s obol went beyond even this, because he is the son of Melqart and a Tyrian princess. His coin also contained a drop of his mother’s blood. Royal blood. Ancient and powerful blood.”
“But why does he think I want it?” Sam pressed. “What I would do with it?’
“Melt it. Sell it in small increments, each worth a fortune,” Meem said, the word fortune lingering on her lips. “The buyers would consume their share, eating it to attain godlike powers. Some would wear it as royal jewelry. Others might reforge it with hellfire and add the scales of crocodilians, in hopes of summoning the damned from hell to command them.” She watched Sam closely. “An obol is meant to take its owner to paradise, but there are countless tales of a sacred coin’s repurposed power. It has been a long time since there was an obol in this world. Many would like nothing better than to find out if those alchemical tales are true, or merely legend. There are even gods who would covet this.”
“And you?” Sam asked. Something glinted in Meem’s spiky hair, she noticed now: a tiara. Golden, studded with green stones. “Would you wear it as jewelry? Are you a princess like Eshmun’s mother?”
“I am of the noble class,” Meem said. “My grandfather aspires to match me with a royal.”
Sam gauged the tone in Meem’s voice, the fire in her eyes. She sounded bitter. “Weren’t you with Teth?”
“He is not suitable,” Meem said. “If he had more wealth, perhaps. If only—”
A series of rhythmic knocks at the front door interrupted. Meem slid a chair in front of the door to climb up and peer out through the small square window. “What have you there?” she asked.
Before an answer came, she snapped the window closed, climbed down, and unbolted the metal lock. The front door creaked opened and Teth ducked back inside, barely dodging the low lintel. His huge hairy body and its pungent smell once again filled the house.
And again, he was hiding someone behind him.
5
Rima tripped across the small room, knocking Sam against the wall with the desperate force of her embrace. Sam clutched her fiercely. “Rima!” she cried with relief.
“Are we dreaming?” Rima asked shakily into Sam’s ear, after pulling a wad of gray fabric from her mouth and dropping it to the floor.
“I hope so,” Sam replied. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged like this. Rima still smelled like home, a mixture of coffee and the crisp air in their backyard. She pressed her nose into Rima’s hair. “I’m so, so happy to see you.” Gently, she pushed her sister away so she could look her over, holding her by both shoulders. “What happened to you?” There were a few scratches on Rima’s neck, but otherwise she seemed unscathed. “Are you okay?”
“Um,” Rima said, letting out a pained laugh. Tears had run lines down her cheeks, streaking what was left of her makeup. “Let’s review. First I did the barfy tornado ride. Then a bunch of stranger-dangers grabbed me and tossed me in a cart. They were taking me somewhere to sell me. Then three of them got in a huge argument, like trying to kill each other, and the cart tipped over and I ran. And then Bigfoot here grabbed me, shoved a nasty sock in my mouth, and tossed me over his shoulder.” She cast a reproachful look at Teth.
“You would be wise to resist speaking in strange tongues,” he said, squinting at Rima.
“I do not care for your language,” Rima said to him, forming her words slowly, as if she had to think about them first. She turned to Sam and made a face, and in that instant, Rima was five years old again, the kid sister pushing her plate away at dinner. “Can you speak it, too?”
Sam nodded, and Rima switched back to English. “Half the words sound like you’re trying to cough up a phlegm-ball.” She shook her head. “What is happening to us?”
“Search her as well,” Teth grumbled, and then exited through the small back door into the courtyard to join Eshmun outside. Sam could hear him through the mud-brick wall—the triumph in his voice as he told Eshmun what he’d caught wandering through the streets.
“Do you think we died and went to hell?” Rima asked Sam. “I stole lipstick from Walmart and this is what I get for it? I mean, really? Okay, and there was also the Ecstasy that one time, and maybe what I did with Jake in the bathroom at school—”
“We’re not dead,” Sam said. “And Jake? What?”
“Remove your clothing.” Meem interrupted, extending a small, bony hand. “You must give all of it to me. It is what Eshmun has ordered.”
“Who ordered what?” Rima asked. The lilt in her voice had vanished; she sniffled and hugged herself, her knuckles turning white. “Are you sure we’re not dead, Sam? I saw ghosts out there, I swear.”
“Now.” Meem waved an arm toward the back door. Outside, Teth’s voice rose and fell, penetrating the house’s thin barrier of dried mud. Barter, he boomed. Prophecy. “Unless you would like one of the men to help?” Meem cupped a hand to her mouth, ready to call them.
“No!” Sam said.
“What is going on right now?” Rima asked, her eyes flashing with fear.
“We’re going to be strip-searched. We’re going to prove to them that we don’t have the coin,” Sam said, trying to sound calm, “and then we’re going to find our way out of here.”
Rima drew her eyebrows together. “You have got to be kidding.”
“It’ll be okay,” Sam said, but her fingers fumbled over each button of her shirt. She had to peel it off, it was so damp with sweat.
“If you say so?” Rima gave her a fearful look and retreated to the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress, her back turned.
“We’re just going to get it over with,” Sam said, handing the shirt to Meem, “and then they’ll let us go.”
“No more talking,” Meem commanded sharply.
Sam unzipped her pants, her hands doing one thing and her mind telling her to do another. Meem’s throat looked so fragile. Sam could choke her. She glanced at Rima, who had pulled her knees to her chest, hugging herself into a ball. Sam didn’t think she would be able to stand the sight of Meem touching her little sister’s bare skin. She felt sick to her stomach.
“It would be unwise of you to fight me,” Meem said, as if she could read Sam’s mind. “Did you make this?” She peered at the shirt’s stitches, turning it inside out. “The method and the fabric confound me.”
“I don’t sew,” Sam said, handing Meem her pants. It felt like a gesture of surrender. Rima glanced over her shoulder and quickly turned back to face the wall.
Meem held the pants to her nose for a moment, and then pulled them inside out as well. “You have an unnamable odor,” she said, studying the zipper with a look of consternation.
“Juicy Couture,” Sam said. A disconcerting Christmas gift from Mr. Koplow to Mom, which she hadn’t wanted, so Sam ended up with it.
Meem furrowed her brow. She tugged on the zipper, making it slide up and down with childlike fascination. Her tiny mouth twitched with glee. She tugged the zipper up one more time and finally tossed the pants onto the floor. Glancing at the back door, she lowered her voice, speaking so quietly that Sam could hardly hear her. “Are you his lover?” she asked.
“No!” Sam said with such force that Meem took a step back.
“Then you are truly strangers to each other?” she asked. “Who are you?”
Sam countered with a question of her own. “Did Eshmun ask you to interrogate us?”
“No,” Meem said, a note of disappointment in her voice. “He did not.” She snapped her small fingers at Sam. “Give me the breast cloth next.”
Sam shook her head. “You can see that I’m not hiding anything.”
Rima’s hunched shoulders shook. She looked like a miserable kid who’d forgotten her winter jacket. Sam wanted to hug her again. She wanted to get them out of Teth’s house.
“I cannot,” said Meem.
“I promise you,” Sam said. She shivered, too, even though she felt like she was suffocating. The fire still snapped within the fireplace. Outside, Teth talked in urgent tones.
“Undress.”
With hands shaky and uncooperative, Sam unhooked her bra and slid it off. It was warm with her body heat. She handed it to Meem, who held it like an untrustworthy animal. She squeezed it and stretched it in every direction, trying to rip the elastic straps apart without success. Finally, she pulled a long knife from underneath her tunic.
She had been armed all along. Of course she had. If Sam had actually been able to summon the courage to grab her by the neck, she might have ended up with a knife in her stomach.
“Don’t cut it,” Sam said, her arms folded across her chest. “I’d like to put it back on.”
But Meem sliced into the padding anyway and proceeded to pull the entire bra into pieces. Eshmun’s voice filtered through the door, and Sam felt a hot edge of hatred cut through her. Search them thoroughly, he had said.
Rima spoke to the wall. “You sure about this?” she asked in English. “We could… you know? It’s two against one right now.”
“We can’t,” Sam answered. Meem held the long knife firmly in her hand. “She’s got a weapon.”
“Get dressed,” Meem said abruptly.
Sam narrowed her eyes, not sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”
Meem untied the sack she had brought and emptied the contents: a folded white garment, and a pile of brown clothes that could have been mistaken for dirty rags.
“You’re done?” Sam asked warily. “But I thought—”
Meem halted her with a hand in the air. “You have been searched,” she said pointedly, giving Sam the white clothing.
Sam slipped the gown over her head, hurrying before Meem changed her mind, or before the men walked back inside. Although it was sleeveless, the dress was modestly cut with a V-neck that showed only a hint of cleavage. The fabric along the neckline was dyed a pale shade of purple, and thick golden threads weaved their way along the bottom hem, which hit just above the knees.
“This?” Sam asked, holding a long piece of fur. A scarf? she thought. A boa?
“The belt.”
Sam glanced at the pile of dingy brown clothes, and Meem followed her eyes. “That will not fit you,” she said. “You are… fuller than Teth described, and shorter. It will do for her, though.” She tipped her head toward Rima.
Though the white dress was thin, Sam was relieved to be covered again. Meem gave her a pair of brown leather sandals, plain and flat, with a ring to hold her big toe in place and a strap across the center.
“I want my own shoes,” Sam said. Only hours ago, she’d thought of them as worn out and old, but now she saw them as broken-in and comfortable. She could run in them, if she had to.
Meem laughed. “Your shoes are an oddity. You cannot wear them without attracting attention. If you are to blend in here, you will also need to cut your hair.” Meem assessed Sam’s grown-out bangs. “I do not have an appropriate hat for you, either.”
“I’m dressed, Rima,” Sam said.
She put a hand on her sister’s back and took her spot on the bed; the process was repeated behind her back, and a few minutes later, she turned to find Rima dressed in a drab brown dress. She was tugging at it, trying to pull it down to cover her knees.
“This thing itches,” Rima said. “And it smells like ass.”
“What are you conspiring?” Meem asked angrily. “Stop speaking in your foreign tongue.”
“She only said that her dress has a bad odor,” Sam said.
“Teth told me there was but one of you,” Meem said, frowning. “You are lucky I brought a second garment.”
“Yeah,” Rima said. “Super lucky. I should run out and buy a lottery ticket while I’m enjoying such a charmed state.” She twisted her shapeless and stained dress again. “You can get us back home,” she said to Sam, her voice turning desperate. “Right? Mom’s probably worried.”
Sam nodded. “Don’t cry.”
Outside, Teth barked something, an expression of wonder. Now Eshmun’s voice could be heard: a steady stream of murmurs, as if he were giving instructions or making a list. The tenor suggested their conversation was coming to an end.
Meem’s eyes were on hers. She leaned in toward Sam’s ear.
“I believe you,” she said, lowering her voice. “You do not have the coin—not at the moment. And I believe that you are here for a reason. A reason bigger than any of us know. You are not of this world, are you?” She leaned in farther. “If we are to meet again, I would like you to look kindly upon me. I have done you a favor.”
“I see,” Sam said. “So now we owe you one.” She studied the girl’s face. “What do you want?”
“I do not know yet,” Meem said, her small lips curling into a smile. “Time will tell.” Then she called out to the men, and a moment later the back door swung open with a creak.
Teth came through first, and when he took in Sam’s new appearance, he made an unhappy noise. Eshmun stopped short, too, with a flustered double take.
Rima leaped sideways into Sam, her terror palpable. “It’s the guy from our backyard!”
“It’s okay,” Sam said, trying to calm her, taking her hand.
Eshmun glanced at Rima and then continued to stare unabashedly at Sam.
“Do you find them acceptable?” Meem asked.
“No,” Teth said at the same time Eshmun said, “Yes.” Both of them sounded a bit too emphatic.
Teth turned toward Rima in her sad brown dress. “She will have to play the attendant of the other,” he said. “And what is this malady?” He squinted at Sam’s green toenails.
“It’s nothing. It’s paint.”
“It’s Jungle Canopy,” Rima murmured shakily. The name of the polish shade.
Eshmun took a step toward Sam, his eyes on her set of bracelets. Meem had never asked her to remove them. Another favor. “What did you find?” he asked Meem.
“Only this,” she said, handing Eshmun the letter from Jiddo.
“No obol?” he asked, his voice laced with anger.
Meem swiveled her head back and forth.
Eshmun’s face shifted; his jaw clenched. He stared into the fireplace and the flames licking upward. The moment lengthened.
Teth finally spoke. “What do you have there, my lord?” he asked, motioning to the paper Eshmun held in his hand.
