The Yemen Contract by Arthur Kerns

Author:Arthur Kerns [Kerns, Arthur]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781682300695
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2016-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

• • •

At the Al-Ahqaf library, Zaki introduced them to a guide, whom Stone suspected was either a relative or a close friend. The man’s English had a hint of a British accent. They didn’t stay long, but did manage to view one of the oldest copies of the Quran. Sandra appeared uninterested in the exhibit, and Stone suggested they go to the marketplace.

“Is this market any different from the one in Sana’a?” she asked as they got back into the car.

“They all have their own flavor,” Stone said, finally catching a glimpse of Paolo. He stood across the street next to several parked motorcycles, in plain view. Stone wondered if it was a signal.

Zaki drove through the town and in a few minutes parked off the street next to overloaded trash dumpsters. A slight breeze blew dust over the market area. They got out and headed for the souk. Zaki insisted he accompany them.

“What do you want to buy?” Sandra asked.

“Nothing specific, but you can find neat things.”

They wandered past large bins of spices of varying colors—yellow saffron, rusty cinnamon, golden turmeric, and bright red chili powders. Brown hemp bags stuffed with Mocha coffee beans lay to the side. They overheard a great deal of bargaining, but little attention was directed toward them. The smell of incense floated in the air.

“Smell that incense,” Stone said. “Incense and myrrh were the big exports to Rome two thousand years ago,” Stone stopped before a makeshift stand displaying ornamental knives and swords. “The region became quite wealthy, then the market collapsed when the Roman emperors adopted Christianity in the fourth century. Incense was seen as a pagan trapping.”

“Really,” Sandra said, holding up a silver Marie Theresa Thaler. Stone bargained with the tradesman and, when he thought he’d reached an acceptable price, handed over the riyals for the coin. He put it in her hand.

The wind had increased, and the tarps covering the merchants’ goods flapped, making sharp cracking sounds. Traders began covering their wares. Stone could taste the dust.

Sandra adjusted her scarf, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She placed the coin in her bag. She whispered, “I’m surprised the men aren’t leering or staring at me.”

“You’ve had the good sense to cover up,” he said, then added with a grin, “and look submissive.”

She pretended a docile look. “Screw you, Stone.”

They wandered awhile and came across the Abufaraj Honey Center. The blue-door entrance was shoehorned between two clothes merchant stands. The lopsided building had significant cracks running down its front. Inside, florescent lights illuminated a warehouse-size room with disorderly rows of wooden tables, all holding jars of honey.

Zaki, their driver, led them to a table on the right side and introduced them to another cousin. In classical Arabic, the cousin told Stone that here was the best honey in Hadhramaut and it came from Wadi Du’an. “Taste it,” he said, and offered them spoons of the thick, mahogany-colored liquid.

“This is what the Arabs call bariyah, the best,” Stone said. “Comes from the flowers of the buckthorn tree, which makes it buttery and gives it a pleasant aroma.

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