Bête Brune (Brown Beast): The Saga of Judith Sanders

By Kim Hester

Judith Sanders lives in the war-torn Middle East, sharing a country with an America-hating, women-despising populace. But her work as a diplomat challenges her to not only stand up to long-held hostilities and prejudices but to do so while maintaining strength of character, femininity, and a deep, abiding love for her husband. In the face of war and terrorism, one woman learns not only to endure the unendurable, but to thrive under its weight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543939347

Book preview

75

CHAPTER 1

One cannot know the meaning of true love until your lover has been taken away from you forever. This is what happened to me one torrid, one hundred twenty-degree night in Al Khobar on the shores of the Persian Gulf. We had been in Saudi Arabia and had been in the eye of evil when fifteen Saudis flew into and destroyed the Twin Towers in New York City. I ached inside for weeks after that for my beloved homeland of America. But I should have known Roger and I were deep in the vipers’ nest, sitting here in Saudi Arabia where the mother viper laid birth to squadrons and hordes of terrorists bent on inflicting harm on Americans wherever they could be found. And we were to be found right here in the viper’s lair, posing as lame targets within the borders of the country that had killed three thousand of our compatriots back home.

How could a woman, twenty-three from Los Angeles, married to a handsome ex-Marine find herself in such a situation: waiting for her language teacher husband to come home from his work in Dhahran to Eurovillage Compound where we lived in a two-bedroom villa set among date palms and flower gardens, all the while fearing the savage beasts that roamed the streets and byways of Al Khobar seeking to wreak their vengeance on any Westerner they could find? My deep black hair was the same color as that of the barbarians who sought to destroy me, and who were to eventually annihilate my mate. But that similarity was but a small matter compared to the pulsating hatred which I did not have for others but which the viper mother’s children had for me and for all Westerners and their institutions. Twin Towers and Pentagon were not their only targets, but entire governments and the heart of Western civilization as represented by its societal products that made the Westerner a leader of the world in economic, cultural, religious, and technological spheres.

Three years after the World Trade Center bombing, Roger and I ached to escape the desert heat and the country of Saudi Arabia forever. We made our plans to go, but my husband had one last thing he needed to do before we left and never came back.

Dear, I’ll go ahead and climb Kili in July.

So you’re finally gonna do it.

I’ve chosen Thompson Safaris as my outfitter.

You sound excited.

I’ll climb the Grand Traverse route.

When’ll we leave Saudi?

As soon as I get back, we’ll start packing.

True, hon?

If all goes A.O.K., we’ll return in time to enroll for fall quarter at Stanford.

Roger, that robust, muscled man of my dreams, had been planning to leave me in Eurovillage for ten days to fly to Tanzania and climb the dream mountain he had long sought to conqueror - Kilimanjaro.

You don’t know what that means to me.

I know you wanna get out of here.

I’ll start packing while you’re on Kili. I can hardly wait to get back home.

I’ll call you every day ... cept when I’m climbing … and I’ll dream of you every night as I gaze up at the stars over Africa.

Boxes of supplies started arriving at our villa for Roger’s mountain expedition: trekking poles, REI day pack, Vasque hiking boots, Black Diamond bivvy sack, Mountain Hardware down jacket, freeze dried spaghetti and other trail food. As Roger opened the tan cardboard cartons and gazed on his new prized possessions, I could see the spirit of adventure in his eyes. He could not contain his masculine happiness at the prospects of both summiting Kilimanjaro and then leaving the dangers of the Middle East forever. I shared his joy and eagerly looked forward to his return from Africa and our flight out of Saudi Arabia back to our homeland.

As Roger spent time bent over maps and packing his gear, summer began as usual about April and arrived in earnest in May. If one has never experienced a Saudi Arabian summer, it is difficult to imagine what it is like.

For one thing, summer is a long period, occupying about six months of the year. It stretches from about April into October. The heat is a torturer that never lets up. The sun and its onerous rays bear down on all creatures unfortunate enough to be in their path; desert flora and fauna and humans alike suffer in silence in the scorching hotness that never relinquishes its onslaught, even at night. One summer, a man was driving his wife and an infant child in the desert and his Land Cruiser broke down. He went walking to get help and left his family in the vehicle, only to return hours later to discover both mother and child dead sitting under a small tree with the infant clinging to the mother’s breasts. Their bodies were bright red and swollen. Such is the fate of many unlucky sojourners of the desert in Saudi Arabia.

The summer was young in May, yet daily temperatures already were above one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit. Before the season was over, they would climb to over one hundred and twenty. Fortunately, the air conditioning in our villa was adequate to withstand the extreme radiance from the sun outdoors. Nevertheless, even though we had a cool respite from the weather, there was no respite from the bad news that month. The news was both electrifying and horrific and changed our destiny, even more so than the World Trade Center attacks three years earlier.

Did ya hear that, hon? Roger said one evening as he sat in the living room watching TV and I was cooking in the adjoining kitchen. There was an attack today on Westerners in Yanbu!

I rushed to the living room in time to hear the announcer on the nightly news say, The terrorists raided the offices of the Hargrove Engineering firm and shot to death two Americans, a Brit, and a Norwegian. They tied a rope to an American’s body and dragged him behind their car on a romp through the streets of Yanbu, waving AK-47s out the window and shocking youthful bystanders at an elementary school. It was learned the terrorists are graduates of King Fahd University of Petroleum and Minerals.

King Fahd University of Petroleum and Minerals is a technology university in Dhahran, the same city where Roger’s office was located. The university is considered one of the best universities in the country where the leaders of the nation are being trained. Roger once thought of working there before he was offered a better salary in the petroleum company he worked for in Dhahran. Yanbu, the location of the attack that killed the Americans and other Westerners, is located across the Arabian Peninsula on the shores of the Red Sea, a very long journey from us, but still in the same country we were in.

The news of the onslaught sank in like a thunderbolt. It was an epiphany. The attack was on Westerners in Saudi Arabia. We were Westerners. We were in Saudi Arabia. Were we safe? Was this the beginning of the apocalypse?

Dear, I’m not climbing Kili. I’m not gonna to leave you alone in this sorry country.

But you’ve looked forward to the climb so much. You go ahead. I’ll be alright. I said with a lame pitch in my voice, hoping Roger would not leave me by myself for two weeks as we had planned.

You think I’m crazy to abandon you with these lunatics here? We’re sitting targets.

I sighed a breath of relief. I knew Roger would not change his mind. Once he made an important decision, he stuck to it. He would not let me be alone in Saudi Arabia, and I was happy to realize he would be by my side no matter what dangers we faced. Yet, he was giving up a long held aspiration to climb Kilimanjaro. I was deeply grateful to know I meant more to him than the expedition. We were in a country fraught with hostility toward Westerners, and I would not be alone as we decided on a plan to leave Saudi Arabia. Roger’s manly warmth and strength and his love for me were treasures I clung to desperately.

The raid in Yanbu was an atrocious act, but before May was over all hell would break out in the country. Only days before we were set to fly out, Roger called me from his office with a frantic voice.

Hon, don’t go out! There’s been an attack on the Petroleum Building ... down the street from Eurovillage. Terrorists are in our neighborhood!

I abandoned my studies and sat dazed by the turn of events. Yanbu was on the other side of the country by the Red Sea in the west, but we were in the east by the Persian Gulf. Had the Yanbu savages come so far so quickly?

Half an hour later Roger showed up at our villa to keep me company and safe – as safe as he could against AK47s. He had rushed from his office to be by my side at this perilous time. I knew our odds of surviving were questionable with terrorists loose in our neighborhood, but at least Roger and I would be together no matter what.

That evening we turned off the lights and waited in the darkness, leaving only the soft glare of the TV to illumine our villa. In the blackness we watched news and heard details of the day’s attacks. The terrorists had attacked the Petroleum Building, a ten-minute walk from us. They had shot to death several Westerners in the establishment and grenaded a school bus waiting outside.

The grenade ignited the vehicle’s gas tank and children sitting on it were injured. One child could not get off the doomed vehicle, and he burned to ashes in the flames. To drive home their hatred of the West and Westerners, the terrorists repeated an act they had committed in Yanbu: they tied a dead Westerner, this time a Brit, to a rope and dragged him behind their car and drove like demons through the streets of Al Khobar in a gruesome display of their savagery.

Judy, it’s time we prayed for ourselves, Roger said to me after we had listened to the news, and he went to a cupboard and got his prayer book and Bible, which he had smuggled, into the country. We had to smuggle because the authorities prohibited Christian churches, Christian worship, and Christian materials in Saudi Arabia.

Our Heavenly Father, please protect us from the evil around us, he said and then commenced to read one of our favorite selections from the Bible: Psalm 23:4.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Yes, these words and the melody of Roger’s deep voice did in fact assuage me some, although trepidation whelmed up in my inner being that day as I had heard of the atrocities of the terrorists and felt them getting closer and closer to Roger and me. Even though Roger was well versed in the use of small weapons from his experience in the Marines, as foreigners in the country we were not permitted to have pistols or rifles and we were unarmed, sitting helplessly in our villa in a district of the city that was under siege.

The following day we listened to the news and learned about more atrocities in our neighborhood. At another housing compound called Oasis Compound the terrorists attacked during the night and had murdered fourteen people, mostly Westerners but also some Filipinos and Indians. Their throats were slit as they descended on a stairwell trying to escape from the grasp of the bestial savages. The fear in my inner being raised up again, and I knew we were in for a difficult day. Would the beasts raid our compound next? What would we do?

The day passed and night fell. We waited in the dark and talked of fleeing the country soon and eventually managed to sleep as I snuggled in Roger’s arms and felt the comfort of his strong and solid body next to mine. He squeezed me tight and I reciprocated, and for a moment, we lay together as one in an embrace that shut out the horrible world beyond us. Slowly I dozed off into fitful slumber.

It was in the stillness of the desert night the terrorists invaded our villa. The sound of breaking window glass in the living room abruptly woke us from our sleep, and Roger immediately bolted from bed. Wait here, he whispered and then crept through the dark. As soon as he entered the next room, there was a loud shout in Arabic. Then, in a moment, a bearded Arab, head wrapped in red-checkered gutra, ran into the bedroom and shrieked at me to follow him.

In the living room, there were four of them: disheveled Arab terrorists in filthy clothing, holding AK-47s and long bladed knives, and with menacing stares, as I stood nervous in my house robe. They reeked of days of hot desert sweat and were brusque and rude. Be quiet or I slit throat, the tallest said to Roger and me, making a slicing motion with his thumb across his neck. Then he motioned for us to sit on the floor, while the terrorists sat on our sofa and side chair. I sat on the flooring and tried to control my shaking arms.

Some time passed. The savages raided our fridge and ate like the animals they were, without the least hint of decent manners. They left the kitchen and our living room littered with dishes and food scraps, and then one of them walked toward us with a long-bladed knife in his hands and in a booming voice said, I think I’ll get rid of these two infidels.

At this, Roger sprang into action, quickly jumped to his feet, and struck the terrorist hard in the gut, grabbed his dagger and plunged it into his chest. Then Roger advanced on the other terrorists and began to punch at them, finding a spot in one’s belly to thrust the knife. At that, the tallest invader leapt back, got an AK-47, and leveled the barrel at Roger. One shot was fired and the bullet tore into Roger’s abdomen and through his body and hit the wall behind. The two terrorists Roger had not managed to plunge the knife into then darted out of the villa and left Roger and me on the floor of the living room, with Roger sprawled out lying in my arms.

In a soft, weakened voice, Roger said, Judy, this is it ... I’m losing conscious. If I don’t wake up, you take care of yourself. You know what you mean to me. I love you. I love... and with that the breath went out of his body and he lay very limp in my arms.

Those were the last words Roger would ever say to me. I sat still and broke into uncontrollable tears and sobbing. The man of my life had been cruelly taken from me. The rock upon which I built my life and all its aspirations had been destroyed. I was irrevocably alone in a hostile world.

CHAPTER 2

The frosty winds from the north slapped against my reddened cheeks and tore at my down jacket. I knew I should not be alone in Palo Duro Canyon in the winter snow, riding the chestnut colored filly on trails once used by Apache, Comanche, buffalo hunters, and Spanish conquistadors, but I had to be by myself.

The Texas Panhandle plains were experiencing a severe December storm, and the biting chill and howling winds caused me to momentarily forget my last view of Roger in his casket at the Amarillo graveyard. My grief of seeing Roger lowered into his grave at Llano cemetery, an act that forever broke the deep bonds between we two loving mates, was overpowering. The world shut down then, and I was more alone than I had been in the desolate remoteness of the Rub al Khali back in the Middle East, because then Roger was by my side to face the future. In Amarillo I had become a solitary wanderer in the vastness of a dark, cold universe.

All around me I saw the rugged red and tan sides of the canyon and the snow swirling and encircling me and my filly. My vision blurred.

Suddenly, I realized the danger of the storm was real and I should attempt to return to the stable before it was too late and I froze to death, though the thought of death actually sounded sweet to me. It could bring me closer to Roger, who awaited me in the unknown afterlife world where souls meet and reunite. But the sting of the snowy wind brought me to my senses, and I at last reached the stable and its protection from the winter storm.

I was safe now, but was that a good thing? Wouldn’t being with Roger in the afterworld be infinitely better? Wouldn’t it be better for my lifeless body to be found someday after the snowstorm blew over in the far reaches of the mesa? The answers to these questions were not apparent; only my grief remained to urge me to leave this three dimensional world, to travel into a fourth dimension where Roger waited for me.

At the stable, Roger’s father Michael greeted me, Hey, Judy! Where you been? We were worried.

Like Roger, Michael was a tall, over six-foot Texan. His graying hair prominently framed his stout handsome face. His steely blue eyes, mirror images of Roger’s, showed concern for his daughter-in-law who had just come in from a bitter winter storm and was dusting snow off her hooded, azure down jacket.

Sorry. I had to sort things out. The ride and snow were good for me. But it sure did get cold.

The canyon’s got over two feet of snow. I’m real glad you made it back O.K.

In Michael’s GMC pickup, we drove back into Amarillo, passing Elkin’s ranch, the Galleries, Sam Houston Park, and onto Route 66. My heart fell apart when I saw a young couple entering a motel office alongside the highway, hand in hand, just as Roger and I had done when we got married in L.A. The sight of their happy faces dug savagely into my inner sadness. I knew I had lost such happiness forever. In its place was a hollow void filled with an unfathomable emptiness.

Michael and his wife Susan, my mother-in-law, were hospitable to me in those weeks in Amarillo. They had a small three-bedroom ranch house, with a diminutive pasture behind with horses and a few head of short horn cows and a heavyset short horn bull. Susan didn’t let me do much around the house, and I was like on room service, or so it seemed. They knew I needed time to sort things out in my head. It was comforting to have them around me and to be in Roger’s room, to think of him and his days in the Panhandle before he went to Stanford and we met.

Roger had other family who came and went. His sister Rebecca and his twin brothers Mark and Rafael. They gave me warm company and yet also gave me much needed time and space as I silently went through stages of mourning for our beloved Roger. I grew to relish their banter and laughter on the many occasions we shared together. Mark and Rafael liked to kid me about my being a vegan in cattle country. They even dared me to go to a steak house with them for dinner, joking about me imbibing some ‘muscles’ from the restaurant atmosphere. Finally, I humored them and told them I would accompany them, and all of us, including Michael and Susan, went one December evening to the Big Texan Steak Ranch.

We headed out in the GMC and Rafael’s Buick on I-40 east and exited on Lakeside. The Big Texan Steak Ranch includes not only the restaurant but also the Big Texan Horse Hotel and the Big Texan Beer Garden, which features its own microbrews that I was told Roger savored. He didn’t drink a lot, but I knew he was fond of a good beer. Now I learned about one of his favorite watering holes.

The dining room was huge, with long wooden tables, and walls festooned with deer heads mounted as trophies. The heavy smell of cooking beefsteaks pervaded the entire room. I knew I was in Texas and could not let the atmosphere bother my vegan sensibilities. Besides the lively camaraderie of our family lifted my spirits.

Michael had told me that I would be able to eat vegan, but the menu was not vegan friendly. It prominently featured the Big Texan Top Sirloin, the Big Texan Prime Rib, the Big Texan Fillet, the Big Texan Strip, and the Big Texan Ribeye. There were only a few vegetarian side dishes I could choose from. I finally decided on a garden salad, sweet