It was after midnight and the weather was hot and sticky this close to the sea. I was moving through the dark alleys of a city in the north of Africa. A very Arab country, and I was an American soldier attached to the local consulate.
I should not have been out like this, alone and unprotected. But I had a mission to complete. One that was personal. No one could know I was here, especially my superiors.
I had seen her several weeks before in the local bazaar. She wasn't alone, of course, but I could see her eyes as they gazed into mine. I could see the twinkle and the crinkle around her eyes as she smiled from the hijab surrounding her face. Then she was swept away by an entourage, back to her domicile, I supposed.
I would go to the bazaar as often as I could get away from my duties. Actually, part of my duties encompassed recon missions into the city to learn what I could. I wasn't a spy, but my superiors needed to know how the populace felt about us and our being in their country.
I needed to see her again. And I did. Several times, in fact. She was always surrounded by men and other veiled women. Clearly, she was the youngest and certainly her face was more than lovely.
I had developed an infatuation that needed to be realized. I needed to know her. It might be the death of me, but I would see her alone, at least once. I started making a schedule of the times she appeared in the bazaar, how long she stayed and which direction she traveled when her group moved away.
Finally, after a few weeks I was emboldened to follow her, as discretely as possible, dressed in my civvies. She and her fellow shoppers moved down a large street, finally arriving at a large, stuccoed building. It must be her home I thought. At least, it had the feel of a residence. There were children playing outside, and the windows were covered with colorful curtains, bracketed by open shutters.
I now knew where she lived. At least I hoped so. I hoped that she wasn't just visiting relatives or friends. She went inside surrounded by her entourage and I lingered in the neighborhood as discretely as I could, walking as if I was going somewhere, down the street, then back again on the other side.
I hoped no one thought I was odd or out of place. But westerners or Europeans were not unknown in this part of the world. After all, it had been held by the French for many years.
After taking all afternoon to finally decide she lived in this large residence I returned to the consulate to mull over what I knew and what I desired.
I was most truly obsessed with this little Arab flower. I thought of her as my "buttercup." I loved California buttercups. I had lived most of my life there and was terribly fond of my home state and everything about it.
Finally, I took the plunge and started making stealthy forays into the city streets after darkness fell, moving quickly and with purpose to her domicile. When I arrived I always took up station across the street.
After several days I saw that the curtains in front were never opened, but in the alleyways beside the residence one could see light escaping out the sides of the building. This caused me to cross over one night and work my way down both alleys. I found that one could see that some windows were not curtained.
This went on for several days, but on one occasion I saw someone leaning out a second story window. I could barely see her, but it was truly my little buttercup. I had frozen her face and eyes in my brain.