It was no easy thing to start studying again, after all this time. One of my teachers, a woman with a kind smile and hair that shone like silver, said to me, “You know that you’re a long way from getting a GED, my dear?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s a good start then.”
I liked going to class, even though it meant walking in a wet cold that made me shiver, despite the ridiculously oversized coat that Abu had bought for me from Goodwill. I liked that San Francisco was a tall place, and everyone was busy, and seemed to know exactly where they were going, unless they had cameras in their hands and were pointing all around them. I loved watching those people. They were so happy even though they seemed to barely know where they were.
I saw plenty of new things. I walked past a restaurant once and I watched as a car went up to a box, the driver poked his head out, and started speaking. The box answered back, and then the car rolled forward to a window, where a person was waiting to exchange money for food. Why couldn’t the person at the window have just taken the order?
I went up to the box to ask why its existence was necessary, but the box told me I could only use the “drive through” if I had a car, which made sense, and asked me to go inside if I wanted something. So I did.
It was warm and everything smelled of baked things and coffee. I asked a man in an apron about the box, and he laughed at me but not unkindly, and he asked me what I would like to drink, but when I saw how much everything was, I told him I couldn’t afford it. He smiled and said it was “on the house,” which for some reason meant that I didn’t have to pay.
Sometimes I got strange looks because of the niqab, but I also had people who were probably not Muslim smile and nod and say “As-salamu alaykum.” They almost always stumbled over it so much that it barely had any meaning, but they seemed so proud of themselves that I never thought of correcting them. I didn’t even correct the guy who, instead of saying “May Peace Be Upon You,” ended up saying “May Death Be Upon You.” After all it is, as the Americans say, the thought that counts.
A few people even came up to tell me how glad they were that I was in the country, and that the idea of a “Muslim Ban” was un-American, and that I should let them know if anyone ever bothered me. I didn’t know how I was to contact these strangers if I did end up having trouble, but it seemed impolite to ask, so I simply nodded gravely and thanked them for their kindness.
I never walked too far from home. Abu had forbidden it and, also, I didn’t want to get lost. I’m sure it would’ve been no problem if I had. There were always plenty of people to ask for directions. However, I didn’t want to ask anyone for anything. I wanted to belong here. I wanted to be home.
* * *
—
Qais was waiting for me as I left the building one day, heading for a math class. He grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me toward him. I struggled. He laughed. I took the keys I was holding and drove one into his left arm, and he yelped and let go. His hand came up to strike me.
“I’ll scream,” I said.
“There is no one here.”
“Not out here, but there are people inside their apartments. They’ll come to help.”
He glowered at me, his lean face so close that his thin nose was almost touching mine. There was a moment of doubt, and then he stepped back, arms raised. “I’m owed a debt.”
I thought about going back inside but decided against it. If I retreated, he’d see it as a victory. Any sign that he could control me would make him bolder.
I should’ve been scared. My mind was telling me that, but my heart wasn’t. What I felt was not fear. It was a hot coal at the pit of my stomach that lit my blood on fire, and all that was left inside me was the desire to set the world alight.
Even when I’d been furious with Abu, even when he had hurt me, I had never wanted to hurt him. I had wanted to punish him. I’d done that with silence. This, however, was more than that. I didn’t want to just punish Qais. I wanted to burn him to ash.
“Touch me again,” I said, “and I will end you.”
He laughed. “How?”
“I’ll call the police.”
Qais folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a parked car. “And then what? If you do that, I’ll tell them that you’re here illegally, that Abu Fahd is too. I might go away, but no matter where I go, you both are coming with me.”
I looked away from him, and when I looked back, he was grinning.
“Why are you being so unreasonable, Safwa—”
“Azza.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why are you treating me like I’m a bad person? You’re the one who broke our deal. I’m owed payment. I’m just trying to collect. Nothing wrong with that. It is only fair. Doesn’t Islam teach us to keep our promises?”
“Don’t you dare—”
He shook his head, like a man wronged showing great forbearance. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly, as if he was speaking a language I had difficulty following. “You know I can win whenever I want, yes? All I have to do is go to Abu Fahd and tell him I’m ready to marry. Then all this nonsense of leaving the house will stop. You’ll be mine to use, mine to keep.”
“You don’t want to marry me.”
“I don’t,” he said, “but I will. If you make me. So don’t try my patience by making empty threats. Otherwise”—he held up a warning finger—“I’ll take your life from you. Whatever it is you’re trying to build, I’ll knock it down. So…” He stepped forward and grabbed my arm so hard that I knew I would bruise. “When I come knocking on your door tonight, you open the door. Do you understand?”
I tried to pull away from him, but he just held on tighter, his grip a ring of pain. Then he pushed me and I stumbled back, my shoulder hitting the gate I’d just walked out of. As Qais left, his promise to return that night heavy in my heart, I decided not to go to class after all. My hands were trembling too much to take notes, and I didn’t think I could learn anything at all.
* * *
—
Qais was done knocking. Instead, he’d been slapping his hand against the door as hard as he could, again and again, screaming my name. I sat on the ground in the kitchen, leaning against the old green fridge that came with the place, my head between my knees. The hum of the machine, so routine, so disinterested, was comforting somehow.
He’d go away soon. He’d go away. Soon.
When? It felt like he’d been out there forever.
For a moment the strikes stopped, and then there was a heavy, strong thud, and a muffled grunt from outside. Still Qais. Throwing his shoulder against the door now, as if he could break it down. Could he? No. It wasn’t possible. Not—
Again he slammed into the door. If there had been any pictures on the walls, they would have fallen.
The door would hold. Let the door hold. Of course, it would. Even still, because I had nothing else I could do, I prayed.
Then I heard a new voice. A shouted warning, and Qais’s assault stopped. Arguing. I got to my feet and stepped closer. I heard Hafeez Bhatti’s voice.
“You need to leave here. All the people are calling and complaining about your noise. What is it that you’re doing here exactly?”
“I need to get in there.”
“And why are you needing so badly to get in there?”
“I left something I own in there.”
“Very good. Most excellent,” Hafeez Bhatti said. “And trying to get what you own, you’ll ruin what I own, will you? This is my building. Mine. It is no place for loafers and thugs. If you need something, you come back in the morning, when Abu Fahd is here. You understand?”
Qais slapped his hand against the door again, and I jumped back.
“Abay, what in the heck do you think you’re doing, you…you…rough person. You think I’m messing around with you? I wi
ll count to three, and if you’re not gone from here, I’ll call the police, you understand?”
“No, Mr. Bhatti,” Qais said, suddenly sounding calmer now. “There is no need for that.”
“One.”
“This is a personal matter between me and my fiancée and—”
“Two.”
“If you will just let me explain—”
“And the last one,” Bhatti said, “is going to be number…that’s right. You better run, you no good piece of…this and that. If I ever see you in the building without Abu Fahd, I’ll call the police on you. I swear by Allah I will.” He heaved a great sigh, and after a long moment of silence said in a calmer tone, “He’s gone.”
I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do, and then I unlocked the door. The landlord, armed with a cricket bat, was red in the face. If he was surprised to see what I looked like without my niqab, he didn’t let on. Instead, he reached over to pat my head awkwardly.
The gesture was so much like something I imagined Abu would’ve once done for me but couldn’t now because I was caught in a web of secrets, that it threatened to break a vital part of the dam I had built within myself, and for a moment I was worried that I might break down and cry.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Bad apple that one.” Bhatti waved his bat in the general direction Qais had walked off in. “You’ll be having more trouble with him in coming days, I’m afraid. Tonight, I think, you’ll be fine.” He peered at me closely, then said, “Still, if you’re not very much against it, I would like to talk to you. Will you come to my office?”
“You could just come in.”
Bhatti bobbed his head up and down, but I think he meant to shake it. “I don’t think your father would be liking that very much. I’m old but not old enough, I think, to visit a young woman alone in her home at this time. Come down when you’ve gathered yourself. Besides, I must return this bat to Mr. Sethi. He’s very much attached to it.”
* * *
—
When I got to Mr. Bhatti’s office fifteen minutes later, he offered me a styrofoam cup with steam rising from it. “My thinking is,” he said, “that you are in desperate need for some tea. A good Indian chai is the cure for everything in the world.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true,” I said. I took the cup from him though.
“It won’t work if you don’t have faith. Belief is a must for things to turn out the way you want,” he said. “The universe is magic. Tell me, is the Heisenberg principle something you know anything about?”
“No, I’m—”
“Once upon a time, there was a man called Heisenberg.” He frowned, took a sip of his tea and smacked his lips together in appreciation. “He found out…So the universe is made up of atoms, right, and these atoms are having protons and electrons in them. You understand this?”
I nodded and tentatively tried the milky tea he had given me. It was nice, but it didn’t make anything about my life better at all. Except, I guess, for the few moments I was having it.
“Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d been to school. Your English is most surprisingly good for a refugee. I myself have lived here many years of my life, which is why my English, also, is very excellent.”
I had no idea what to say to that. Bhatti didn’t wait long for a response.
“Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, Heisenberg. So, he realized that human beings can’t ever know the location of an electron and the velocity of that electron at the same time. We can know where it is, or we can know how fast it is going to where it is going, but we can’t know both. Are you seeing how that’s magic?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
Bhatti threw his arms up in the air and slowly brought them back down to put them on his head. “The power of the human mind, don’t you see? We focus on this tiny thing, and the power of our focus makes it move. It’s magic.”
I blinked. I didn’t know anything about this Heisenberg, but I doubted that he had discovered proof that magic was real. If he had, he’d be famous. Anyway, even if Bhatti was right, and human beings could move tiny particles with our minds, it seemed like a pretty useless trick. If that was the extent of magic in the world, then it was a sad thing.
“The point,” Bhatti said, “being only that in order to achieve any change in the world, the human mind must act on it. Simple, no? And, as you must already be knowing, they say that two minds are better than one. So, Azza bint Saqr, tell me your story, and I will put my most considerable mind to trying to solve your problem, and like magic we will find you a solution.”
“It isn’t a very happy story,” I said.
“How many happy stories do you think I’m getting to hear in this office?” he asked.
I wanted to tell this man my secrets. There was something about Mr. Bhatti. His eyes seemed to shine out from his round face with a light that was soft and warm. And it would’ve been a relief to just talk to someone.
But I didn’t. I barely knew him, nice as he seemed. The risk that he would tell Abu was too high.
I shook my head.
“There it is,” he said.
“What?”
“The Heisenberg principle as applied to human beings. Can we call it the Azza principle? I’m allowed to know where you are, but the knowledge of where you have been and where you will go is not for me. Human beings, I’m thinking, are not so different from the electrons.”
“I know you’re trying to help, Mr. Bhatti.” I sat up in my chair, leaning forward a little to convey my earnestness. “But I just—”
He waved off my explanation. “It is your story. Tell it. Don’t tell it. That is for you. I can, being myself keen and sharp, guess that you’re having trouble with this Qais Badami character, no?”
I nodded.
“Your father wants you to marry him. You don’t want to marry him. In point of fact, you see, I got this much from the very first time you were here with him in my office. That is why I didn’t give him a home here.” He smiled and sat back, nodding appreciatively at his past self. “You need to be rid of him. Tell me, Azza— No, no, for this part only, I must insist that you look at me. Look me in the face and tell me only the truth. Has he hurt you?”
I met his eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you told your father?”
“I can’t.”
“And you can’t or won’t go to the police.”
I nodded.
“And this man, Qais, in your opinion, he won’t stop?”
“He told me he would take my life from me.”
Bhatti drew a deep breath. “I believe it. I saw his face. I saw how much anger he’s got. You very much need to be ready to protect yourself. I’ll be doing what I can to keep him away from the building, but…”
“I understand. And thank you for tonight. I—”
He gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Not at all. It is most unfortunate that I can do so little for you.” Then he paused and seemed to consider something. “Actually, there is a lawyer who lives here. He could maybe help somehow.”
“A lawyer? I don’t need a lawyer.”
“Most people who end up having to say that out loud,” he chuckled, “find out they were very wrong. Listen, there is a youth group at the mosque. College children and the sort. Imam Sama himself told me my lawyer friend is going to be a special guest there next week. I want you to go.”
“Why?”
“Indulge me. Just go and be sure to speak to the speaker. You don’t have to tell him anything about Qais. Not unless you want to. I just think that he’s the kind of person that…Let’s just say I suspect knowing him will be making a difference in your life. He’s a good man. Well, okay, so maybe not a good man. But he’s not a bad man. Not really. He’s tried to help people.”
I frowned, skeptical and more than a lit
tle confused by what he thought speaking to some stranger would do for me.
Bhatti held out his palms, as if to show that he had nothing up his sleeve. “It is just a feeling that I’m having. My hair, you know, I haven’t bleached it white in the sun. I know a thing or two. Besides, what I ask is but a small thing, no?”
ANVAR
Allegations that I had defamed the Imam of our mosque quickly caused any goodwill I had accumulated with the Muslim community here to evaporate. For the record, I would like to state that I never actually said that the Imam had a venereal disease. That should be absolutely clear from the outset.
I probably wouldn’t have bothered going to the mosque on Fridays if it weren’t for my mother’s spy network. I was certain that she’d had the masjid uncles tracking my attendance, because if I missed a couple of services, I started getting calls.
Debt collectors are relentless, but they’ve got nothing on Bariah Faris.
When I missed more than a couple of prayers in a row, Ma started sending Aamir, who worked near my apartment and attended the same mosque as I did, to pick me up. This was enough to ensure that I showed up for Friday services regularly. I’ll torture myself voluntarily, thank you, before I let Aamir do it.
The Imam, Ahmed Sama, was an earnest and cheerful man of about forty from Burkina Faso. He usually walked around San Francisco in a skullcap and thobe, his beatific smile bright and unwavering. He had this manner of making you feel welcome and wanted, as if he had been waiting a long time for the exquisite pleasure of your conversation.
Last Friday, he came up to me after the service was done and said that he needed a favor. He had organized a youth group and was hoping I could come talk to them. He wanted to give them an idea of what it was like to work—or in my case, not work—as a lawyer.
“They should have role models in the real world. Not just movie stars and rappers and sports guys.”
“You’ve got the wrong person, Sheikh. I can’t give a talk at a mosque to inspire people. I’m a remedial Muslim.”
The Bad Muslim Discount Page 17