I saw pills and a glass of water on the nightstand, but Azza shook her head. “Not until you’re gone. I want to remember everything you say. I want my mind clear when you tell me why you did it. Why did you warn Qais? I told you not to.”
“I didn’t know you would end up getting hurt.”
“You knew,” she said, her tone harsh. “You just didn’t know it would happen like this. You knew it would hurt me if he got away.”
I hesitated, then offered the only excuse I had. The words felt foreign to me, as if they belonged to someone else, because I hadn’t often had occasion to use them myself. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You are not God. You don’t get to decide what is right and what is wrong.”
“I do,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry, Azza. I…I’m just…so, so sorry. But while judgment over other people belongs to God, I get to judge the man in the mirror. What he would become if I’d done what you wanted wasn’t something I could live with. It wasn’t right.”
“That’s selfish.”
“Yes. I guess it is. But it is all I’ve got.”
Azza gently passed a hand over her wounded face. I noticed that she too was no longer wearing her engagement ring. I guess it was going around.
“Leave,” she said.
I didn’t argue. I just made my way to the bedroom door. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting that because she called out, “Wait. I need something.”
“Anything,” I said.
“Go see Abu. He’ll be worried. I didn’t leave a note this time.”
“He’ll be…” I took a deep breath and swallowed the indignation that made me raise my voice. “He’s the one who did this to you.”
“Yes. Now he’s going to be feeling guilty about it. He wanted to leave, to go wherever Qais is, right away, but he felt I was too badly hurt to travel. He still cares about me, Anvar.”
I shook my head.
“When you see him, tell him you saw me. Tell him I got on a bus for the airport. Please. He’ll be at the mosque. It’s Friday today. Promise me you’ll tell him. It is the last of what I owe him.”
It also happened to be the least of what I owed her. She didn’t say it, but I heard the unspoken words just the same. I took a deep breath, then nodded.
“I’ll find him.”
Azza looked away from me then, with the air of someone who would never look back.
“Do you think, after everything I’ve done, everything that happened with Fahd…Do you think Allah will forgive me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Yet you don’t think I should forgive my father? You know that the Prophet said that mercy is not shown to those who do not show mercy?”
“This is different,” I said.
“It isn’t. Abu Fahd—Fahd’s father—is not a bad man. He is just broken and angry, and what I did helped make him that way. What happened—to him, to me, to my brother—none of it was fair.”
“No,” I agreed. “It wasn’t.”
“You know, Abu told me that in Afghanistan they say there are no good men among the living. Until I met you, I thought that was true.” She looked back at me then, her green eyes full of tears that did not fall. “Even though it went wrong, even though I don’t like what you thought you had to do, I’m really glad that happened. I’m glad I met you.”
* * *
—
“Are you leaving?”
Zuha stood in the kitchen, watching a pot of tea brew, and she nodded in response to my question. She had put on her long summer dress again. Her chestnut-colored hair was up in a ponytail, her makeup redone. Her eyes still looked tired and exhaustion was evident in her body language. My couch wasn’t exactly comfortable.
“I called in sick to work but I need a change of clothes and stuff. I’m going to go after Azza eats something. You’re out of coffee, by the way. You want some tea?”
“No. I’m fine. So you’re coming back then?”
“Of course. In a couple of hours.”
“Thank you. You’re a good person.”
She smiled a little. “The absolute best.”
“I’m heading out too. You can take my keys. Hafeez Bhai can let me in, if I get back before you do.”
Zuha frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To the mosque. Azza wants me to tell her father that I saw her get onto a bus. So that he won’t worry about her.”
“How is that going to keep him from worrying?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. She wasn’t clear on that, but I don’t really feel like I’m in a position to refuse any of her requests.”
“She did seem really fuzzy last night. She was rambling quite a bit.”
“Maybe we should have taken her to a hospital.”
To her credit, Zuha managed to keep from saying that she’d told me so.
“I’m sure Azza will be fine. She doesn’t need a hospital.”
“How do you know?”
“Aamir would have insisted that she go to one immediately if it was necessary. Nothing you said would’ve stopped him.”
This was indisputably true.
“Aamir will be at jummah too,” Zuha said. “You should apologize. From what I overheard, you were a real jerk to him yesterday.”
“He started it,” I protested. I’d said what I thought needed to be said to get what I wanted from my brother, but that didn’t make it any less awful. “It feels like I’ve been apologizing to people a lot lately.”
“If you don’t like it, maybe you should consider not being wrong about everything.”
I gave her a reproachful look. “Don’t start. This isn’t the right time for banter.”
“It won’t kill you to admit you don’t have a comeback.”
It was a little amazing how transparent I still was to her, after all these years.
“I’m not taking any chances,” I said. “Today is dangerous enough as it is.”
AZZA
I didn’t know the time. There were no clocks in Anvar’s room. I tried to guess how long I’d slept based on the light coming in from the window, but in San Francisco the sun cannot be trusted.
“Are you all right?”
I looked up at Zuha, startled. “I thought you left.”
“Not yet. Penny for your thoughts?”
I shook my head. “They aren’t worth that much. Just nonsense. The medicines Anvar’s brother gave me don’t make the world clearer.”
“You should still take them. And try to rest, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
I sat up straighter to ask her something important, but pain shot through my right side and I couldn’t remember what I wanted to know. My body did not want to move. Every time I tried, it begged for mercy. Mama told me once that on the Day of Judgment our bodies—gifts from Allah—will testify against us for the sins we’ve committed using them. I suppose in that sense, mine was getting what it deserved. As they say on American television, snitches get stitches.
I started to laugh at that. It sounded a little less sane than I would’ve liked, and the hurt in my ribs got worse, but it was nice to remember, if only for a moment, that even though the world was heartless, it was still funny. As long as there were dates in palm trees, God would laugh at us all.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Zuha asked. She sounded genuinely concerned.
“Why do you care?” It sounded harsher than I’d meant it. I really wanted to know. But she didn’t understand that. The slant of her shoulders became more pronounced. In an instant, she looked exhausted, and her brown eyes lost their spark.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Zuha said. “I meant what I said the first time we met. I didn’t set out to—”
“You didn’t,” I agreed. “But you Americans never think much about who may get hurt, as long as you get what yo
u want.”
We hadn’t spoken much yesterday, at least not that I could remember. I’d been falling in and out of sleep, and Zuha just sat with me and tried to make me as comfortable as possible. It was sweet of her and she had absolutely no reason to do it. I should’ve liked her a lot more than I did.
I couldn’t make myself like her, but I could make her feel a little better. That is, after all, what she had tried to do for me.
“You are not one of the problems in my life,” I said. It was the nicest thing I could say about anyone just then.
“Azza, I just don’t want you to think that I meant to steal Anvar from you.”
“That was always going to pass and be lost. It doesn’t matter. I should thank you before you go for trying to take care of me.”
“You’d do the same for me,” Zuha said.
“No,” I told her. My voice was tired and, truth be told, I was tired too. “I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ll see you later, okay?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t think that was going to happen. I would lie down, only for a moment, and close my eyes, but not for very long. The fact that there were no clocks didn’t mean that time wasn’t slipping away. Soon I would have to move. It wasn’t safe here. I’d have to try to leave before Anvar and Zuha got back. If they didn’t know where I was going, they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone.
I was about to lie back down when I saw that Zuha still hadn’t left. She was standing very still and looking at me with the air of someone risking everything on one throw of the dice.
“I wish he’d told me about you when I first met him again. I mean, I knew there’d been other women.” She hesitated, then breathed in resolve, and asked the question that must have been sitting like a splinter in her soul. “Did Anvar ever tell you he loves you?”
And, despite the fog of drugs on my mind, I saw it. A chance for revenge.
I could lie. It would balance out the truth Anvar had felt the need to tell Qais.
I could tell Zuha that Anvar had told me that he loved me. That he told me so all the time, that he’d promised me he was over Zuha, that he’d said horrible things about her when she agreed to marry his brother. It would be such an easy thing to do. All the wonderful blessings of Zuha’s life would turn to ash in her mouth. Then she’d get a small taste of the heartache that had been my existence.
Anvar had taken the fate of Qais out of my hands.
With one word, I could take Zuha away from him now.
After all, what reason had I ever had to not set fire to the entire world?
ANVAR
I arrived for Friday prayers before Imam Sama had taken the pulpit, so I was free to peer down row after row of congregants to look for Abu Fahd. He should have been easy to find, given his height.
However, my search was in vain. By the time the Imam cleared his throat and tapped his mike, I’d given up. I sat down facing the door. Abu Fahd either hadn’t gotten there yet or was still in a different part of the mosque.
Sama’s sermon was about the Prophet Abraham. The Imam described how, furious with the monotheism Abraham was preaching, Nimrod ordered that Abraham be burned alive. A giant fire was constructed and Abraham stood over it, facing his own destruction.
“What was his state of mind in that moment?” the Imam asked. “You know, my friends, the Urdu poet Iqbal asked this question. You see, Iqbal struggled all his life with how to approach God. Can we understand God with our minds or do we have to surrender our reason? Iqbal said that the answer to this question could be found in the moment Abraham leapt into this fire. Jumping into fire is not a rational act. His leap was an act of pure love and surrender to the will of God, and God rewarded him for it by saving him. It was, my friends, an act of true Islam. You cannot approach your religion with your mind. As Abu Bakr said, your inability to comprehend God is your understanding of God. You must transcend reason if you are to experience the divine. The path to Allah runs through your heart alone.”
With that, Sama sat down for a moment, then rose again to start the Arabic portion of the sermon. In this lull, I saw Aamir across the prayer hall and went over to him.
He made a questioning gesture with his hand when he saw me.
“Have you seen Abu Fahd?” I asked him in a whisper.
He nodded.
“Where is he?”
Aamir shook his head and pointed to the Imam. Then he gestured for silence. We were not allowed to speak during the sermon, even the Arabic portions we did not understand. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to wait until the Imam was done. Aamir Faris always did what he was supposed to do.
I had a short window in which he would speak. It would be only a minute, the brief pause between the end of the sermon and the start of the prayer itself. As soon as Imam Sama fell silent, therefore, I grabbed Aamir’s hand and pulled him to his feet. He looked annoyed and jerked his hand away. We exited the hall just as the iqama, the last call to prayer, began.
I heard the muezzin start. “Allah hu Akbar.”
God is Great.
“Abu Fahd. Where is he?”
Aamir smiled a triumphant smile.
From inside the mosque, the call continued. “Hayya ‘ala-s-salah.”
Come to prayer.
“Abu Fahd was here. He was frantic, asking everyone if they had seen his daughter. He was worried someone had hurt her. He even had pictures of her with him, one with a niqab and one without it. With those green eyes, though, it was obvious she was the girl from last night. I told him you had her. I told him she knew you well. That I suspected you had an ongoing relationship with her.”
“Hayya ‘ala-l-falah.”
Come to salvation.
I reached over and gripped his arm, wrenching him forward. “You’re insane. Why would you do that?”
He yanked himself free once more. “What was I supposed to do? A father was looking for his daughter. I couldn’t just let him continue to worry to keep your shameful secrets.” That horrid smile never left Aamir’s face. “Besides, you will clearly not stop sinning. He has to save his daughter from the hellfire you’ll drag her into if you’re allowed to continue.”
I stared at him. He didn’t know. Somehow, he hadn’t realized that it was Abu Fahd who’d beaten Azza. He didn’t know anything about Abu Fahd’s past, the history of his family, what they’d been through or what they had become. Aamir had done what he always did—the right thing, as he saw it. It never occurred to him that he might not have the complete picture, that the world might require more nuance from him than simply picking between virtue and sin.
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him why what he’d done was so reckless, so dangerous, so incredibly stupid, but I shook my head at the impulse. There was no time.
Oblivious to what was happening, and what might yet happen, Aamir went on. “I told you there would be a price to pay, little brother. I just never expected it to come due this soon.”
“Qad qamat as-salah.”
The prayer was starting.
We ran.
Aamir toward the mosque. I away from it, with the call of “Allah hu Akbar” echoing behind me.
* * *
—
Having once dressed up as Oscar Wilde for the Bay to Breakers race, I knew that San Francisco, with its fifty-odd hills, was not built with runners in mind. It was a fact I rediscovered quickly as I ran home from the mosque. Ten minutes in, my breath was already breaking when I paused to call Zuha for the second time. She did not answer. I cursed and dialed her number again.
When she picked up, her voice was distant. “I’m driving.”
“Don’t go back to the apartment.” I paused to fill my lungs, to let my heart find its rhythm again. Then, putting her on speaker, holding the phone in front of me, I started to run again. “Azza’s father
is heading there. Stay away.”
“I just left her.” There was a pause. Then Zuha said, “I can get her out.”
“No. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
There was a small silence, followed by a whisper. “Anvar, I love you.”
“Zuha, no. Don’t—”
She hung up on me.
I cursed. I thought about calling her back, but she wouldn’t pick up again. It’d be a waste of time. Instead, I tried to reach Agent Hale. Yes, there would be consequences later, but just then I didn’t know who else to call. She didn’t answer. I left her a message and raced on.
* * *
—
The door to my apartment was open. It didn’t appear to have been forced. It was not broken or splintered. I rushed in, thinking of Zuha, thinking of Azza, calling out their names. I nearly slipped on a checkers piece and, looking back, saw that the coffee table had been upended, and the game board lay, empty, on the floor. There were no moves left to make, I thought, as I flung the door to my bedroom open and saw him. Abu Fahd, sitting on my bed, staring up at me, a revolver in his hand.
I backed away, slowly retreating into the hall. He rose to his feet and followed in a languid fashion. I wanted to turn and run. The front door was directly behind me. I was still gasping for breath, however, and my legs were burning, my calves aching. I would not make it far. Abu Fahd had already raised his firearm and pointed it, not at my head, but at my heart.
The weapon’s barrel gleamed like silver and the grip seemed to glow, as if crafted out of pearl. I wondered whether the beauty of the gun was meant to be a luxury for the owner or a courtesy to the victim.
“As-salamu alaykum, Anvar,” he said, perfectly calm, perfectly in control.
My heart was wild, though from running or from the desire to run, I could not tell. I failed to manage a reply to his greeting of peace.
“You were sleeping with her.”
It was not a question, but I nodded.
“This whole time? You were defiling her this whole time?”
The Bad Muslim Discount Page 34