Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [164]
Curious, I headed downstairs with Theadora Celeste in my arms and walked out to the pool to investigate. Not seeing anything amiss, I stuck my toe in the water to test the temperature. But seconds later, the two bodyguards, now fully armed, appeared at my side.
“Madam! You need to be in the house,” they said in Arabic, quickly shepherding us toward the entrance. They continued speaking so rapidly I only understood about half of it. “What is the problem?” I asked in Arabic. “Mafeesh mushkila,” they told me reassuringly. No problem. “But you need to be in the house.”
Obviously, there was a mushkila.
When we got inside, our housekeeper Negisti and cook Emebet were hovering near the door. “What’s going on?” I asked. They shook their heads. “They told us to shut the doors and stay inside,” said Negisti. “I close them, but I did not know you were outside with the baby!”
“They didn’t say why?”
They shook their heads again. “Maybe it is protests. The petrol prices are up again. Ten riyals more,” said Negisti.
“Not just petrol. All prices,” added Emebet.
“No taxis on the street. Girma he said no taxis.”
“No dabaabs (buses),” said Emebet.
Often we were advised to stay home when there were protests in the street, and it seemed entirely possible that Yemenis were out protesting the increased petrol prices. But I wanted to find out for sure. I rang Tim’s work phone but got no answer, so I tried Colin, the head of Tim’s bodyguards.
He picked up and handed the phone immediately to Tim. “Hi sweetheart, I was just about to ring you.”
“What’s going on?”
“My car was attacked on the way to the embassy this morning.”
“No!”
“But I’m fine. The guys are fine. We’re not sure yet if it was a suicide bomber or a planted IED.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m okay. Rather rude start to the morning, but I’m okay.”
“Your team? And the car?” I didn’t care about the car itself, I wanted to gauge how bad the attack was.
“They’re fine. Ali’s a bit shook up I think. There was a fair amount of blood on the windscreen. The car is not too bad. The car did its job.”
“You’re okay?” I couldn’t ask this too many times.
“I’m okay. I will ring you later when we know more.”
I hung up and immediately realized I’d forgotten to tell him I loved him. How could I have forgotten at a time like this? I’d have rung back, but he’d said his phone was ringing off the hook.
I went downstairs to tell the staff. Negisti’s kind, brown face creased with worry and even placid Emebet looked alarmed. It was about eight-thirty A.M. I was expecting Rahel, Theadora’s babysitter, to arrive at nine A.M. “Should I tell Rahel not to come?” I asked. If our house was suddenly more of a target than it usually was, I didn’t want to put Rahel in danger.
“Yes, have her stay home,” they said.
I rang Rahel, who was already on her way. She sounded confused and worried.
My phone continued to ring—Yemeni friends and others from around the world, wanting to know if Tim was okay. An Omani friend was particularly incensed. “How could anyone do this? Tim is one of us!” he said. “He’s an Arabist! He loves the Arab world! He is one of us!”
Tim rang me again to say it had definitely been a suicide bomber.
“I won’t ask when you’re coming home, but I hope it’s not too long.” I never know when Tim will arrive home because he cannot—for security reasons—tell me over the phone.
“I hope so too.”
I went numbly about my day, nursing Theadora, reading her books, checking the news online. I was grateful to have Theadora to care for, to force me into some semblance of normalcy. I didn’t eat or shower or go to the gym. Guards surrounded our house. There was one on the porch, shouting into his radio. One clattering up the stairs to the roof. One in the garden on his cell phone. We were not to leave the house. Not that we’d left the house much in recent months anyway. Since I’d moved in with Tim and become his official partner, I’d been unable to leave home without a bodyguard.
Negisti came running upstairs to tell me that Tim was