please doctor
help hadi
I woke up to a dozen texts and phone messages.
we need $$$$$
can u help us?
Some of the texts were photos from the ICU. The little boy looked frail. Intubated. Eyes closed and taped (to prevent corneal abrasions. This hospital knew what it was doing).
But it was not a good sign.
I called back before I was fully awake, before I woke up Tucker, before I peed or brushed my teeth.
The phone rang and rang. No one picked up.
I threw off the warm covers and paced the tiny hotel room, glancing at the time (4:17 a.m.).
I didn't understand the Arabic voice message, but I spoke after the beep. "Sorry, Amal, I didn't see these until now. I'm trying to help. Where are you? What hospital? Call me back."
I checked my e-mail. Nothing from Isabelle.
On the other hand, Amal's parents hadn't sent me the bill. Isabelle had nothing to work with, even if she wanted to, on the weekend. I brought up the voice messages. Two from Amal, with her tiny voice saying the same thing. We need money.
Tucker sat up in bed, his hair askew, his voice rough with sleep, but alert. "What is it?"
I showed him my phone. Watched him scroll through ten more pleas. He handed it back to me.
"Did she message you?" I asked.
He reached for his phone on his bedside table. "No. But I didn't give her my number. Let me see how much my crowdfunder got, though."
Time to pace some more. Limited foot space, but I could circle the bed to the window, walk the small hallway to the door, and back to the window. Again and again.
Finally, Tucker said, "It's $139."
It took me a second to dig up an encouraging thought. "That's good. The first hundred is the hardest."
"The first hundred was from me."
"Well. All our friends are poor students. And maybe asleep. My parents will contribute. Hell, I'll put some in. Sorry I hadn't gotten around to it."
"This sucks." A bitter smile slashed across his face. "I'm poor, and I hate it."
"Tucker. You'll graduate in 18 months and start making money."
He shook his head. "You're doing the emerg year. That's another year of tuition and crap pay. And you know how much I owe on student loans and line of credit?"
I tensed. We'd never talked about money, and suddenly, I didn't want to.
"Over $275,000. I have to start paying that back the minute I graduate. And it's not just me. My sisters need tuition too."
I licked my lips. "You're a good brother."
"I'm a month behind after 14/11." He never brought up the hostage taking. I sucked in my breath before he went on, "And you know how much money L.A. cost me?"
I'd asked him once. He'd never answered. He'd told me not to worry about it.
He half-laughed instead of answering now. "Plus we're getting married. That's a wedding. And kids? You want kids, right?"
"Yes. But you know I'll earn money, too, and I don't have as much debt." My parents were saving up for Kevin's tuition. I'd help with that if I could, though.
"You're in the red. We want to have kids before we're 35, right? Which means one or both of us on parental leave, unless we want someone else to raise our kids. It's not like I started working when I was 22. We're fucked. I hate not being able to help Hadi."
"Yeah, but we are helping Hadi. We got him into resus and into a pediatric hospital. I asked Isabelle to look at his bills. You're doing the crowdfunding. And—" I hesitated. Tucker might hate me. Oh, what the hell. I'd say it anyway. "—I'm worried that Amal keeps asking me for money."
Tucker gazed at me from the window side of the bed while I stood on the bathroom side, one king-sized comforter between us.
I forced the words out of my throat. "She's not asking for our medical expertise. She wants money."
"Well, they're at a pediatric hospital now. They have medical expertise. That's not the issue."
"Right. So the one thing she wants from us is cash. She hasn't sent me a bill to forward to Isabelle. I'm not in Hadi's circle of care. I don't even know what hospital he's in. He didn't have any obvious injuries with us except he was unresponsive. She sent photos, but I can't be sure it's the same kid. Meanwhile, the cutest little girl keeps asking us for cash."
"Hope."
I wasn't sure what to make of his voice. Disapproval? Disappointment? Dis-something, anyway. "Sorry if I seem too suspicious, but the whole thing is strange. Amal says a scorpion bit him, but Muhamed told me there aren't scorpions in the city. We know that Hadi was buried in sand, but no one will tell us how it happened."
"Babe. We're both exhausted. Maybe you should come back to bed and sleep on it. We're not going to raise more money at four in the morning."
"It's 10:30 p.m. back home. The whole thing stinks, Tucker. Why'd we get a free trip to Egypt when a third of their own young people are unemployed? Was the IED a coincidence, or did someone kill Phillip Becker on purpose? Was Becker ranting, or did he actually keep treasure in the cobra bag that his daughter gave away?"
Tucker climbed over the bed and sat with his legs dangling on my side, but didn't try to touch me. "Okay. We can do something about the last part. We have today off. I was going to take you to the Pyramids, but we can try to find Abdallah Hussein instead."
"You know where he is?"
"He tweeted a photo from El-Malek Fouad yesterday, and he was at the Grand Egyptian Museum last week."
I sighed. "So we're playing Where's Waldo in a city of 20 million people? I guess of those two, I'll pick the GEM, since that's where Phillip Becker was headed. Also, I have no idea where the first one is."
"Perfect. Let me set that up. And you sleep, okay?"
"I can't sleep."
"Just try, babe."
I attempted to meditate to make him feel better. I lay down, breathing in and out for what seemed like an hour. Our friend Tori said she liked to inhale while thinking the word "Space" and exhale on "Freedom."
Maybe it worked, because I could've sworn I'd barely closed my eyes when Tucker made a choking noise.
"What is it?"
"He—he DM'd me."
"Who?" Maybe Rudy would direct message him in the wee hours of the morning.
"Abdallah Hussein. He wants to meet us. Now."