Imorah has lived her entire life underground. She found a note this morning warning her to escape to the surface before it's too late...
Above ground, in the desert wasteland, Liran has lived a life in hiding. There's a warrant out for his arrest...
note: I changed the name of Wewe, to Weywey, since I had a bit of feedback that it sounded like wee-wee ;)
Here's an image that represents what Weywey might look like during the day, although it's much bigger than this, and the following scene takes place in the evening.
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When they arrived at Weywey, Liran felt a wave of anxiety rise up in his stomach. He couldn't believe he was back to this place he swore he'd never come back to. He wondered if she was still living here, and prayed to the gods that she wasn't.
The camp still looked exactly the same after all these years. Dirty, dusty, red and black tents made from goat hides and heavy goat wool flapping in the evening breeze. From where he stood on the outskirts, the camp looked dead and abandoned—long forgotten—but he could see by the various spires of smoke trailing into the sky that there were probably quite a few hundred people calling the camp home tonight. Liran wished it so, for the more there were, the less likely he and Imorah would call attention to themselves.
He suddenly realized he was grinding his teeth, and forced himself to relax.
He looked behind him. Imorah had dragged back quite a distance. Something was up with her—but Liran didn't necessarily want to find out what that was. He was fine to let her be sullen and distant. He felt like punishing her for something that he didn't even really understand.
He waited for her to catch up and once she did, he reminded her, "Keep your hajab on tight, always look down at the ground, and stay behind me or beside me, but don't walk in front of me—it's uncustomary for a woman to lead. If any men look at you strangely, avoid eye contact and say very softly, "habib," to me, and I will take your hand. Don't take my hand—and whatever you do, don't speak! Not even if spoken to—do you understand?"
Her eyes were wide with fear. She swallowed and nodded.
Liran realized it was the first time she'd been in a community above ground. Until now, the only people she'd met were his father and him. He wasn't sure why, but this made his stomach twist with envy—he suddenly realized he felt scared of losing her... to another man. That's ridiculous, he told himself, and tried to push the notion away.
She was just standing there, looking at the camp.
"It's very important you don't speak—not even one word. This is a small camp—word will travel very fast that you are an Iddy. I can't protect you if that happens."
He turned back to face him, her eyes bulged.
Liran backtracked—he didn't want to terrify her. "I mean, I will protect you, of course I will. I just mean that it will be very dangerous for both of us if they figure out that you're an Iddy. We want to find my friend David, and hopefully he can hook us up with a ride to the City, but that could take a few days. ... . We'll settle you in a tent and you must stay there until we leave."
She didn't say anything.
"Do you have any questions?"
She hesitated.
"Now's the time to ask them because we won't be able to speak while we're here. You can hear everything in the tents—there is no privacy in a place like this. They can't hear us speaking Standard. I'm sorry."
"W... won't it seem weird that I'm not speaking at all?"
Liran shook his head slowly back and forth. "No, not at all. It's customary for desert women to be silent in public. It's a sign of respect and loyalty to me. I mean... to your husband."
"Oh," she nodded. She was silent and finally she said, "So we're pretending that you're my husband?"
"Of course—why else would a woman travel with a man—I mean a desert woman—I mean..." Liran felt he was putting his foot in his mouth. "What I mean is that you're pretending to be a desert woman, and so you would only travel with your husband and no one else. They will all think you are my wife. They... will be shocked because I left my home many years ago...."
"I don't understand," she said. "Who are 'they' and why would they be shocked?"
"They are maybe some of my old... friends I guess you could say. I used to live here. When I first ran away from home when I was eleven. I lived here for quite a few years."
"Oh," she said.
"And... they'll be shocked I chose a traditional woman after...." Liran didn't want to say it.
"After what?" Imorah urged.
"After who I chose in my past."
"What do you mean—who did you choose in your past?"
"That's none of your business," he snapped, and then immediately regretted it. "I mean, it's a long story—and I really don't want to get into it. Just listen to me, alright!?"
"Alright, alright—chill out!" she said. "Sheesh."
They were silent.
"So is there anything else I should know—anything else that I as your wife should do or not do?"
"Well," he stammered. "Don't... don't make any sudden movements. Walk slowly. Don't be curious about things. I mean, just keep your eyes to the ground. That's customary in public. And don't smile at anyone, especially not any men." It was actually embarrassing to describe the perfect woman he'd actually always dreamed of having. Someone just like his mother. She'd truly been the perfect wife. But it was strange to say it out loud. Backwards. But he continued, "If anyone gives me something—I'll give it to you to carry. You should carry everything for me, including this," he said, kicking the pack that was on the ground.
Without hesitation, she picked it up and put it on. "okay, anything else?"
"Um... I don't think so. Are you okay with that big bag?"
"Of course I am! I'm not a flower."
"Okay, I just feel—it's weird, that's all."
"It's fine," she said. "Are you sure there isn't anything else?"
"Well..." he gulped, not sure how to say it.
"What?"
"Well... if by any chance we eat somewhere together in public—which we shouldn't, we probably shouldn't just to be safe—but if for any reason that does happen, then you should... wash my hands and feet before."
"What?" she asked. "Like wash them, with what?"
"Well, you don't actually wash them... there probably won't be water, so you can use sand—it's a custom. It would look weird if you didn't."
"So, what do you mean, 'wash them with sand'?"
"You just ceremonially wash them, not really. It's symbolic. You pick up some sand—clean sand, and you rub my hands and feet with it."
"Okay—that's weird and kind of gross. And do you wash my hands and feet?"
"No, no, no... It's what the wife does for the man." Liran felt his face blushing. He was ashamed of his culture. It didn't make any sense. "But never mind—we won't eat anywhere in public. I'll bring you food in the tent."
She exhaled a deep breath—"yeah, that's probably better, right?"
"Ayah, it is." He realized that people would know she wasn't a desert woman by the way she ate. "Yeah, never mind. We won't eat in public."
"Okay. So anything else?"
"I don't think so," he said, exhaling a deep breath. We can do this, he told himself. We can do this. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer. "Okay, let's do this."
"Ayah," she said, and they turned and started walking into the camp.
