by Tom Corbett
“I am also confused, about a lot of things,” Azita murmured. “Here, alone in this room, I had a chance to think. Maybe, somewhere deep inside I am not such an advanced thinker as I wish to be. You just don’t throw out all your old culture, your old ways.” She grimaced as she moved onto her side. “Funny, I would sometimes imagine us both married, with our own children, and we would picnic on the Oxford green with our husbands, who would be perfect of course, though mine would be considerably more perfect than yours. Silly, but there you have it.”
“Of course, that is silly. I would have gotten the perfect husband. After all, I am the family beauty.” Deena brushed back some of Azita’s hair that had fallen over her face. “But you have turned into quite a beauty yourself. When you smiled at Ahmad in the restaurant earlier…well.”
“Well what?” Azita said groggily, the pills kicking in.
“Nothing, dear sister. But let us never forget, as you keep reminding me, you cannot take out what God has put in you.”
Azita opened her eyes as if trying to understand those last words, then closed them again. “I love you Deena, never forget that. Please, never forget. You are my life.”
“You get some sleep,” Deena said as she took a couple of steps toward the door. “The part about returning to Afghanistan. What about that?” Then Deena kicked herself, her sister was too far gone to respond.
The girl lying on her good side did respond though, with obvious effort. “I think so. There is much to consider, however. It seemed the right thing to say in the moment. I thought…” There, her words drifted to an end.
Deena looked back at the woman turning in a futile effort to find comfort from her severe bruises. “Sister, one thing. I don’t want us to be separated, ever again. I am certain I will return home. I will break off my relationship with Karen. I will do it. And then…” She wasn’t sure if Azita still heard her, the sedatives and pain medication had taken hold. Still, she thought she heard an assent, an agreement. Had she? It was impossible to tell.
Deena merely smiled. “I love you, dear sister.” Then she went out the door.
CHAPTER 15
CHRISTMAS DAY
Chris sat pensively on the end of a comfy sofa. Stretched out next to him with her head resting on his thigh was Azita. She, of course, was impatient with her recovery. Each morning was agony as she stretched her body out from the night’s rest and remained so until she fought her way through some exercises and the morning meds completely kicked in. Despite her training, she somehow believed the pain was part of the healing process, the more she felt during these morning tortures, the better it was for her. She would ambulate around the apartment with great determination for a while before dropping into some comfortable place with a semi-audible expletive. To make matters worse, Deena would bustle about her to attend to her needs while Azita griped at her attentions. Chris thought the sibling drama hilarious. Today, Azita tried to read but then dozed off while Chris pondered how long he could last without urinating.
For the first time in days, the place was mostly empty. Gifts had been exchanged in the morning and the debris from the gift giving was still largely evident. Amar and the girls had adjourned to Jamie and Kay’s place where more gift exchanges would take place and additional celebrations would occur, this time with medical and personal friends. Chris had begged off. He wanted time to think. It was his default position, solitude and the absence of others. That was odd, he realized. He had come to terms with the dichotomy between his public and private selves. Every so often, quite often in fact, he needed his private space to regenerate his internal batteries.
Besides Azita, only Deena remained, ostensibly to care for her sister. That was nonsense, Chris concluded. He could take care of his daughter but chose to avoid alternative explanations for her sisterly attentions. Tension between Deena and Karen was now evident. That would soon work itself out, he thought, and hoped that the fallout would not be severe. In fact, just underneath the seasonal cheer, unrest seemed to bubble about him. Karen and Jamie remained the same in public, but he could read between the lines, now that he knew the truth. Even the Masoud sisters squabbled a bit more than usual. It is mostly the classic seasonal disorder, he concluded. It contributes to the worsening of all family discord. All this good cheer makes people cranky. He had said that for years, assuming the mantle of Mr. Scrooge. People dismissed his negative attitude but, damn it, he was serious…sort of. Better for people to avoid trying to generate too much good cheer, that was bound to end in disappointment.
He gently stroked Azita’s hair, as he often did on the picnics the family enjoyed during summers at Oxford. On those occasions, she would pretend to be annoyed but he knew that she enjoyed his gentle touch. His mind turned to what would happen at the end of her internship. She already had the technical skills to practice in parts of the world desperate for her talents. She seemed to be drifting toward returning to Afghanistan. That seemed like a noble gesture when it was far off. Now that the real possibility loomed, it frightened the daylights out of him. How could he let her go back? The war continued. It was less intense in some ways, but the Taliban had been emboldened by America’s diminished presence. People still died daily, and the Taliban held sway over a considerable part of the country. He could not shake the hollowness he felt that day when he heard Deena had been shot while visiting the original Masoud village.
He shook his head. He did not have to deal with that today, but he would have to push along his plan to steer her in a different direction, a place where her brilliance might shine. That was her gift, her talent, dammit. Alright, that might be his wish and not hers, but he was permitted an ounce of selfishness, was he not? Or had he used up all his earlier in life? No matter, he would do his best to keep her in England, even the States would do, without seeming obvious about it. He had to. The thought of losing her had become unbearable.
And what was this thing with Ahmad? He was supposed to be there for Christmas eve, but she put him off until she was feeling a bit better. He might be there later, when everyone returned. Something was up. Amar had warned him not to be surprised by anything at this point, but she hardly knew this boy. Chris knew him not at all. Was he good enough for his pride and joy? Of course not, no boy was good enough. Karen vouched for him but what did she know, she was on the wrong team? Chris sat in his spot ruminating about raising girls. What would he do when his biological daughters hit puberty? He often joked about locking them up and out of harm’s way, knowing what he was like as a horny teenager. Everyone laughed but now he thought seriously about the possibility. Perhaps he could get away with chastity belts. They weren’t against the law, were they?
Then he chuckled inside, which he then realized had come out as a sound. He looked but Deena was in the kitchen, she had not seen him talking to himself. But really, a chastity belt was not so ridiculous. Hell, all boys wanted was sexual gratification, something of little interest to girls. Why did females even put up with lecherous juveniles? Why had they put up with him? He now shuddered at the thought of what he had been. These were considerations he seldom permitted to linger long in his mind when he had been a young man on the prowl. He tried to recollect his behavior during those years. Had he been a predator? No, not really. In truth, he had been passive, not seeking conquests and often turning them down. Opportunities came his way, due to wealth, position, and athletic reputation. When they did, he always calculated the price associated with sexual gratification, and there was always a price. Girls that he thought would be too clingy or obviously manipulative or not witty and clever enough to interest him were avoided. The more he thought on the matter, he had been far, far from the lothario others believed him to be. He had dabbled enough to justify his reputation but always circled back to Jules, always Jules.
He dared not move at the risk of waking Azita, whose hair he continued to gently stroke. Unable to reach a book or his laptop, he merely sat there permitting his mind to wander freely. It drifted back to the election.
He found anger rising inside. He probably could have held off the pleas of his younger sister to abandon his now comfortable life and get involved if only the stupid Democrats had not blown it. Okay, he thought, he was angrier at the American people than the politicians. Voters were, on balance, dumber than the water buffalo he came across in some of the rural areas his programs served. Those beasts lumbered down dusty roads and reacted to a passing bus several seconds after it passed them by. The route to their brains apparently was a laborious one. Yup, just like Republican voters. How could they support such an obvious conman and habitual liar? How could working-class voters, riven with angst about diminishing economic opportunities and rising debt, turn to a man whose whole life had been dedicating to stiffing his creditors and fleecing others? Just how stupid were they?
Chris felt the flush of rage and frustration rise inside, feelings he hated and which he typically tried to repress by cauterizing his emotional self with a sharp wit. But there was no one to joke with there, just himself. Defeated, he let the anger sit there. Part of the problem, he knew, was the orchestrated and systemic campaign on the right, something they had been at since the 1970s. Most people fought out the political battles in front of them. But the hard-right, people like his father, were in this for the long haul. They had strategic initiatives designed to erode democratic principles and shape the political dialogue through the body politic, the courts, the universities, and the media, and the very creation of ideas and philosophical arguments. He had waxed eloquent on that broad campaign to create a permanent ruling class of the elite many times, daily it seemed in the past months. His liberal donors and supporters would nod their heads in agreement, but did they understand? Sometimes, he felt so isolated and alone. Kat understood, as did Ricky.
He also felt totally inept for the task he had assumed. He was not a politician. He hated that game. No, he was more of a social entrepreneur or policy wonk or, heaven forbid, an intellectual. Someone else should have been taking those guys on. His real weakness, much like that of so many on the liberal left, was that he believed in fairness and reason. He still believed that principles, like objectivity, accuracy, and real elections mattered. He believed that process mattered, that fidelity to the rule of law must be upheld no matter what. How naïve. The other side entered the ring without such onerous impediments. Winning was everything, no matter how it was achieved. Reason, evidence, truth, process, and fairness were concepts for losers, the weak, and they were not about to lose. It was a final struggle, and everything was at stake. They could feel that permanent control was in their grasp, nothing would stand in their way now.
Could his father have been right? Why not be on the winning side for once? That would have made life easier. But no, that as not tempting in the least! He simply was not like them. In the end, he was not his father. He never could be, never. He would rather be correct and kind and thus a loser than powerful and successful and therefore a winner. Sometimes, Amar would take him to a remote place where they could look at the night sky. She would tell him about the stars and things about the cosmos that astounded him - no longer an easy task - things she apparently learned from her brother. He loved those moments, as did Azita. They uplifted him, gave him a sense of peace and connectedness with things beyond himself that was both soothing and inspiring. Now, he was mired in the raw sewage that was the struggle for power and leverage. He was grubbing for money, not necessarily to help the dispossessed directly, but to fight an apocalyptic battle against a grim and implacable foe. Worst of all, he had put his family in jeopardy, at least he feared that he had. How had all this come to pass?
He looked down at Azita once again. How had she wormed her way so deep into his heart? Did she have some potion that she placed secretly into his drink? After all, she did know all that sciency stuff. No need to get into wild conspiracy thoughts, the answer was certain: large brown eyes that reflected the kindest and purest soul imaginable. Was it for the Azitas of the world that he fought this battle? He was about to ponder this thought further when the doorbell rang. Azita stirred and grumbled. Deena emerged from the kitchen and signaled that she would get it.
A moment later, he heard her surprised tone. “Ahmad, what are you doing here?”
After some confused and awkward conversation among the four of them, Azita and Ahmad wandered off to converse alone. Chris looked after them wondering if he should intervene in any way. Intervene? He caught himself, she was a grown adult. Rather, he asked Deena to join him. She had brought out something to eat which they ate in silence as Chris looked at the debris of wrapping paper and scattered gifts that always accompanied yuletide festivities. He enjoyed the memories of the morning for a few moments before turning to the topic he had turned over in his mind several times since his trip with Kay to pick up Kat.
“Deena, I want to ask you something. It is somewhat delicate so…”
“Yes, Karen and I will split soon,” she said the words with little emotion.
“Wow, I was wondering how to even ask.”
Deena looked at him with her large, open eyes. “I assumed that Kay might talk with you about her and Karen. I have wanted to talk with her, not to complain but to tell her I understand. She is agonizing over this and does not know how to approach me.”
“Wow,” Chris uttered. “I am not sure I understand. You seem very calm about this. Am I wrong? Are you torn up somewhere I cannot see?” He looked at her searchingly.
She continued to eat for a moment. Then she stopped, looking directly at him. “It is complicated. A Muslim woman is raised to believe there is only one pairing in life. One love, one God, one truth. It is all rather simple and, I suppose, symmetrical. Then, of course, they tell us nothing about the ultimate human connection, about the one emotional love that is supposed to complete you. How do you know when you have it, when it is right? Perhaps if something had been arranged for me but I doubt that even my sainted parents would have arranged a woman for me.” She forced a smile at what she considered a witty remark.
“You know, Deena,” he said looking at her with admiration, “you don’t need to explain anything to me. It is not my place.”
“Please, Chris, don’t apologize. I want to talk about this. It is…I do not have many people to talk to here. There is Azita, but I feel I am a burden on her. Sometimes I envy that she has Amar. I miss a mother in my life, another close female. Even among friends and coworkers, I am separated by something, my preference for women or culture or gender or something. Somehow, you are okay. I don’t believe you will judge me.”
“Really…me? I am okay?”
“Of course, you are the one that would - what does everyone say? - mount a coat rack. How could you judge others?”
“Oh my God.” Chris winced.
“No, no, that is a good thing, at least in this case. You will not think poorly of me, no matter what I say. I can just talk, and you will just listen, without much judgment.” She paused and looked at him. Satisfied at some level, she continued. “You must understand what was happening when I met Karen. By this time, I realized that my sensual feelings were not…typical. I was not like other women. Of course, there was no one in my own culture with whom to talk. Yes, some women caused me to pause, I wondered about them. In the end, the taboo was too strong. I doubt you can have any idea.”
Chris was going to disagree but realized that would be stupid. “Probably not,” he merely said.
“My parents had died. Azita found a new family in you and Amar. I was a young adult but alone. My extended family, aunts and uncles, were rural and not like my own parents. They were much more traditional and conservative. I was uncertain and frightened.” She paused as if seeing herself back in those times. “And then Karen started paying attention to me. I knew what she was, of course. To me, she was a person of authority and she was paying attention to me. It seemed a miracle at the time. She was…an answer.”
“Deena, I need to ask something.”
“Anything.”
&n
bsp; “Did you ever love her?”
The beautiful girl thought hard about his question. “Perhaps as much as my sister loved Benjamin, perhaps like that.”
“I’m sorry, I should not have interrupted you.”
Deena raised a fist to him in mock anger. “I have one rule for you sir. Do not apologize. My poor sister knows my wrath, but you don’t.” Then she smiled at him.
“Ah, yes, I have learned one thing over my long and adventurous life. Always agree with the woman. How do you think I survived this long?”
“Yes, a mystery for sure. But to answer your question, I liked her a lot. She opened so many things for me: my sexuality, my education, my exposure to Western thought, so much. For a while I thought this was love and all I might expect. Then, small things began to happen. We didn’t talk as often, laugh as often. There were no big issues, and perhaps that was a problem. We went through our days without disputes or passion. It was comfortable. You know, I probably could have gone on forever like that. It was fine. But Karen needed more, I doubt that I was…passionate enough. Then Kay returned to the picture to provide that. Funny, I recall Karen saying that her initial fling with your sister had been a mistake, that Kay was no lesbian. I guess she is.”
“Well, we all have had problems figuring out Kay.”
“Yes, I suppose so, she is a complicated woman. Then, however, my sister made me think hard about things, nothing she did intentionally but more by example. How to explain this? She had this strange new relationship with Ahmad. I looked and saw a transformation in her. That…inspired me.” She paused with a smile. “You do realize that they are alone in her bedroom, right now.”
Chris started. “Really?”
Deena laughed. “You would make a terrible Muslim father.”
“I am not worried. She could barely get off this couch, what trouble could they get into?”
Deena laughed aloud. “You underestimate her. I watched her fall for this boy almost without knowing him, and then loving him desperately from afar. Then, she told me what Amar said about falling in love with you. She knew, from the first moment, when she touched you. Azita knew, from the moment she embraced this boy, that he was the one. I never had that connection with Karen, with anyone. Perhaps it is a boy-girl thing. I suspect I knew it would not last with Karen after that. Time to accept the inevitable.”