Chapter Fourteen

"...a final comfort that is small, but not cold:
The heart is the only broken instrument that works."
–T.E. Kalem

On the second day after their return, when Sayid received news that Nasser was well enough to speak, he made his way to the hatch where the invalid lay. He entered and watched Nasser's face for any hint of recognition. If the C.I.A. operative had known who he was, if he had played any part in the way Sayid had been used, he did not reveal his knowledge.

"I am Sayid Jarrah," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, just in front of Nasser's outstretched legs.

At this the man did startle. "You are…you are the one who saved my wife in Iraq? And now you have saved me too."

"I did as any man would have done," Sayid replied.

"No. You know that is not true. The world is not made of such men. If it were…" Nasser, who had half-risen to see Sayid, now lay back down. "How do you think my wife is fairing? That doctor told me where she is, what she chose to do."

"You of all people should know how well she can fend for herself."

Nasser smiled; his countenance was half-affection, half-disapproval. "She is headstrong, that one. But I suppose you, too, should know that."

Sayid turned to him. "What do you mean?" His first instinct was to think that Nasser was implying that he and Nadia had once been lovers.

"You could not break her."

"Oh, yes. That." Well, Sayid did not know if he could have broken her. He had never tried the worst methods—the ones that might have worked. But it was not her first interrogation, and perhaps she would not have broken even then.

Nasser closed his eyes. "Tell me, Sayid," he said, "what Jack has not told me. Tell me everything I need to know about this place. And tell me that my wife will return to me."

Six days passed, and the other six had not returned. Sayid continued to visit the hatch to check on Nasser's progress. Under Jack's care, Nadia's husband healed. It was, however, unlikely that he would be able to walk unencumbered for some time. A cane was fashioned for him that would aid his progress, and he insisted on making his way to the beach camp regardless of the pain. He was tired of his isolation in the hatch, and he said he wanted to be on shore when Nadia returned. Sayid offered to help Nasser build a tent for him and his wife.

Each time Sayid constructed a shelter or worked to repair the ones already in existence, he could not help but think of the tent he had built for Shannon, the tent he would never again share with her, the tent that, because it was so haunted with memories, he had given to Claire and Aaron. It was always a lonely thought, but today, another sad thought compounded it: the certain knowledge that Nadia was lost to him forever. It had been one thing to willingly relinquish his hope of her in order to open himself up to the possibility of a second love. It was another thing entirely to meet her unexpectedly again, to feel, in her presence, those old, surrendered longings resurface, and to know as a fact that they could never be realized. Yes, it was a lonely labor, but he labored nonetheless.

"Perhaps it will be ready by the time she returns," said Nasser as they worked together, relying heavily on Sayid's assistance because of his injury.

"Perhaps," said Sayid.

"Six days."

"Yes."

"Is that a long time?"

Sayid fastened a knot and let go of the pole. "Yes."

"I wish you had made her come back with you." Nasser was clearly trying to control the bitterness in his voice.

"I could never make her do anything. Can you?"

Nasser glanced at him; he seemed irritated. "She is my wife. If I were to insist…"

"Yes," replied Sayid coldly. "But as it so happens, I am not her husband, and so my insistence cannot equal yours. Do not blame me for her free will." He angrily fastened another knot and then headed for the common fire. Nasser continued to work alone.

On the ninth day, they returned. Locke was seen first coming through the trees, and Charlie shouted the news to the camp. All came out to greet the returning adventurers, and affection was exchanged before words could be. Sayid lagged at a distance, watching as Nasser limped forward to embrace his wife. Michael was the last to exit the jungle, looking more emotionally than physically exhausted. Walt was not with him.

The returning party was brought water and food, and they ate greedily before they were asked to tell what happened. They had searched for days, they said, but there had been no sign of Walt—no sign, even, of the Others. If they had ever lived in that part of the jungle, they had moved camp. It had been Michael, at last, who suggested they turn back.

After they had eaten, the six joined the rest of the survivors around the common fire, except for Nadia, who rose and began to slip away with her husband. He watched them walk for a moment, Nadia clinging to Nasser's left arm as he supported himself on the cane with his right. But when he saw them head for the tent—the tent he had built for them—he turned away. He was glad he had built it so far from his own.

Charlie was now extending Marcus his guitar. "Don't you want to play Kumbaya or something?"

The priest chuckled. "It's all yours."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint the swooning ladies, now would you?" Charlie glanced with irritation at Claire, who was pacing around the circle, bouncing a crying Aaron up and down.

Marcus took the guitar. "Any requests?" he asked. Claire had walked halfway around the circle by now, and from behind him, she said, "How about a lullaby?"

Marcus began to sing Bob Dylan's "Lord, Protect My Child," but when he got to the lines "He's young and on fire / Full of hope and desire / In a world that's been raped, raped and defiled," Charlie interrupted him with a shout.

"Blimey!" the musician cried. "Do you ever sing anything that isn't profoundly depressing?"

Marcus looked at him silently for a moment, and then he struck the chords of the guitar sharply. Soon, he was launching into a rousing rendition of You All, Everybody.

When he was finished, a clearly flattered Charlie said, "You know every word, every chord!"

"Oh, yes," said Marcus. "Why, do you know the song?"

"Do I know the song?" asked Charlie. "I am the song. I was in Driveshaft."

"Were you now?" asked Marcus while clearly trying to suppress a smile. Charlie appeared to be the only one who did not realize that the priest knew full well who Charlie was. "Could I have your autograph?"

Charlie smiled brightly, but then his smile faded. "I haven't got any paper or pen."

"That's a disappointment," said the priest. "Because I was really hoping that computer in the hatch had access to E-bay."

Claire was the first to let out a laugh, loud and feminine. But those close enough to hear the joke soon joined in. Sayid, who had not quite understood the quip, was nevertheless surprised to find himself smiling. The mood was infectious, and soon, everyone—even Michael, even Sayid—was laughing.