She had always stayed at the same hotel, the distinctive Seven Arches on the southern slope of the Mount of Olives, overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem. But she'd never had occasion to meet the manager, Mahmoud Nasser, until February 1998 as she was descending the staircase into the lobby.

Nasser spotted her, struck up a conversation, asked her to dinner.

For the rest of her stay, he dispatched fruits and flowers, sweets and candies to her room. Once she returned home, they stayed in touch through phone calls.

When Sain's daughter phoned Nasser recently to tell him of her mother's death, his wail of grief echoed across the ocean.

Azalee Baker Sain died in April of bone cancer. She was 85 and spoke to Nasser each day, twice a day, until the day before she died.

Sain was born in 1922 in Wilson, grew up there and met her husband, Shotwell Sain, there. Together, they traveled to Morocco, where he built an airport. They lived with their two daughters in Casablanca, on the coast. Not far away were the cliff dwellers, poor people who dug holes into the side of the mountain that plunged to the ocean.

Sain was kind to the cliff dwellers, ministering to their needs. When she returned to the United States, she became active in local homeless causes, volunteering at the Healing Place for men and women, the Salvation Army and the Raleigh Rescue Mission.

Sain had been a homemaker, and before that, she modeled hats. When she and her husband split up in 1966, she went to work for the state's community colleges division, ordering library books.

Her taste for travel whetted by her sojourn in Morocco, Sain continued to globetrot. Sometimes she traveled alone and sometimes with groups. Her sister, Mary Anne, often accompanied her.

A bond forms

She first visited Israel because, as a Christian, she had a long-standing curiosity to see the land about which she'd read in her Bible. She kept returning until she'd explored every tourist attraction many times over. She called the birthplace of three religions, with its age-old passions and furies, the most peaceful place on Earth for her.

Sain met Nasser during a difficult time in her life. Five months later, her oldest daughter, Pamela, died of breast cancer. It was Nasser who helped pull her through.

Because of the seven-hour time difference, Sain and Nasser had to schedule their phone conversations. They talked each morning at 6 and again at 4:30 p.m. They spoke of their children and grandchildren. Sain had two grandchildren and two step-grandchildren. Nasser had what seemed like dozens. Each time a baby was born, Sain would knit a blanket and dispatch it overseas.

"You are right behind my eyes," Nasser would tell Sain, which, in his stilted English, meant she was always on his mind.

Each conversation ended with Nasser proclaiming, "Well, my darling, I will talk to you tomorrow, inshallah."

"Inshallah" means "God willing" in Arabic. Nasser is a Palestinian Muslim, and Sain was a small-town Methodist who most recently belonged to Westminster Presbyterian Church, but they assured each other they both believed in the same God.

In November, Sain was diagnosed with bone cancer. Before she found out, she had planned a February trip to Israel. A year had passed since she had seen Nasser.

As the disease progressed, her prospects for traveling seemed slight. But she was determined.

"She called me one day and said, 'I am going to go if it kills me,' " said her daughter, Vicki Teachey.

The deal was sealed two weeks before she was scheduled to leave. She told her daughter she'd had a vision of Jesus standing in her bedroom beneath an archway. By the next morning, her pain had vanished.

So off she went. For 10 days, she toured the country with a group from her church. When they reached Jerusalem, Nasser brought her meals. They spent each day together.

"She was part of my heart, my life," Nasser said.

After Sain's death, Teachey sent Nasser some of her mother's personal items.

For years, Sain and Nasser had each worn two necklaces. One said "Azalee," the other "Nasser."

"He had a set, and she had a set," Teachey said. "I sent him her set."

Two months after her death and a continent away, he is still wearing them.

Azalee Sain is survived by her daughter, Vicki, two grandchildren and two step-grandchildren and her dear friend, Mahmoud Nasser.