“This is neither the place nor the time,” I said as I felt his warm breath on my neck.
I noticed someone was turning the doorknob. When they realized it was locked, they knocked.
“Fatima, are you there?” Dalal asked.
“Fouad let go of me,” I said in a low voice.
He straightened up his uniform while I pulled my skirt down in disgust.
“Just a minute,” I shouted.
Fouad opened the door and walked out without greeting Dalal. Then, he turned his face towards me.
“I expect to see you at home this afternoon,” he said slamming the door.
“Did I interrupt something?” Dalal asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, and I’m glad you did. I owe you one.”
“I just came to see how you and your hand were doing.”
“As well as can be expected. Thank God for work. It’s the only thing that will help me keep my sanity. Have you seen Dr. Ibrahim?” I asked.
“He’s in surgery for the next hour or so. I know you are going through a rough patch but think things over. Don’t make any rash decisions that you might regret. I’m always here for you.”
I squeezed her hand.
New Beginnings
I went to Dr. Ibrahim’s office right before lunch time and found the door was slightly cracked. When I pushed it open, he was wiping off the sweat from his muscular torso.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll come back,” I said embarrassed.
“Don’t go. Let me put my shirt on,” he said. “I just finished doing a couple of miles on the treadmill. I need to release some stress, especially after surgery.”
“I didn’t know you were a runner,” I said as I checked out his tight stomach while his shirt went over his eyes.
Wow! I was surprised at myself. I was reacting like a teenage girl noticing a hot guy for the first time.
“I just brought in the treadmill last week. I’ve been working long hours so, I thought I could exercise during my down time. May I ask, what brings you by?
“Yes, you may. A lunch invitation.”
“What’s the special occasion?” Dr. Ibrahim asked.
“Our future endeavors.”
“I’d be delighted to have lunch with you,” he said. “Do you like falafel? I know the best falafel shop in town.”
“Sounds great.”
“Just give me a little time to wash up, do salat, prayer, and change. I’ll meet you at your office.”
Ibrahim and I had a nice lunch. We talked about our project and scheduling our meeting for the upcoming week when I knew Fouad would be gone. After lunch, it was back to the office for a couple of hours and then home. Fouad wasn’t there which was good because I was faking being ill to avoid any physical contact. He came home rather late and seemed very tired. Probably Esmaa had worn him out.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Very busy,” he replied. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve been sick since this afternoon. Maybe something I ate.”
“So, are you going to make our last night memorable?” he asked.
“I’ll be right back, Fouad,” I rushed to the bathroom and stayed in for a while.
“Are you Ok?” he asked after knocking on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out.”
When I came out, he was lying in bed.
“Come next to me. Are you feeling any better?” he asked.
As I walked toward the bed, images of Fouad and Esmaa flashed through my mind. I wanted to react irrationally based on my memories but fought hard not to give in to my emotions. In bed, he hugged my body against his.
“Let me just feel you,” he said.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” I said in a sad voice wanting him to believe I had regrets for the lack of intimacy.
“It’s all right,” he said as he dozed off.
The next morning he was up before the sun. Samira had packed all his things and put them in his study.
“Do you have everything?” I asked.
“Just about. I won’t be calling you for a long time. I will be out in the field working on some very delicate operations, so I’ll have to focus all my attention on what I’m doing. There will be no contact number, no exact location. If there’s an emergency, I want you to call Rauf. If he can’t help, he’ll know where to reach me. I’ll miss you so much but I know Samira will take good care of you,” he said hugging me tight.
“I’ll look after Fatima. Don’t worry about a thing,” Samira replied.
“Everything will be fine, Fouad,” I insisted.
Samira wished Fouad well and left us alone.
“Come here, Fatima. Kiss me goodbye,” he demanded.
I gave him a quick peck on the lips.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as he grabbed me forcefully.
“You’re hurting me,” I paused. “I guess I’m a little upset. Your job is so demanding. You think I enjoy watching you leave for months at a time? Not being able to contact you? Not even knowing where you are or even if you are alive?”
“You know what my job entails,” he said.
“I thought it would get easier with time but it just gets more difficult,” I said with tears in my eyes. It was quite a performance if I say so myself. I gave him a big hug. “Be safe.”
“Thanks sweetheart,” he responded followed by a kiss that I couldn’t refuse.
As he walked away, I wiped my mouth in disgust. He was finally gone and I wished he would never come back. All the hurt, the anger, the disillusionment, it all left with him. I felt relieved, free. Focusing my attention on my work at the hospital would be the best therapy. Making a difference and getting back a sense of self that had been diminished by Fouad’s repeated betrayals was important to my sanity.
I had a big breakfast and headed to work full of energy and excitement. I was my old self again, if only for some months. I called the Presidential Palace and set up the appointment for our presentation.
I called Dr. Ibrahim and gave him the good news. In a couple of days, we would be meeting with the president and hopefully gaining his support to move along with our project.
It was great coming home and not having to worry about Fouad and his demands. Spending hours watching American movies, listening to Frank Sinatra tapes, everything that got on Fouad’s nerves, was delightful. It felt good to bring back the memories of my life in Washington D.C. and my college days in Boston. I even called some of my school buddies to reminisce about the good times. I avoided talking about my life and what it had become and focused on the positives, my work at the hospital and my future plans.
The next day, I was able to talk to Baba. At first, he tried to avoid giving me any explanations.
“I will have a serious talk with Fouad when he gets back,” he said.
“No. I don’t want him involved, I just need answers. Why did you arrange my marriage to Fouad? Why him? He mentioned something about settling an old score. What’s going on? What don’t I know?”
“This is a delicate conversation that I will only have face to face,” Baba said.
“That’s fine. I will go see you in Washington if that’s what it takes.”
“Fatme, not now. Give me some time to straighten out some Embassy business and I promise I’ll go to Antarah and tell you everything.”
“Okay, Baba. Just don’t keep me waiting for long. I love you, and nothing you could tell me will make me love you less. Trust me.”
I was somewhat relieved that in a matter of days I would have answers but not soon enough. That evening I barely slept imagining what secrets my father would bring to light, yet trying to keep myself focused for our morning meeting with the president.
I wore the most fabulous suit I had in my closet. It was something I h
ad brought from the U.S. and managed to salvage from Fouad’s destructive hands. It was a black, fitted, 3 button blazer with a matching skirt which I put together with an off white, silky, collarless blouse, a pearl necklace and earrings, a pair of sheer black hose and some very high, black pumps. A black scarf covered my hair and on my lapel, a golden, camel broach that my father had given to me as a gift. I was dressed to kill.
I gathered all the paperwork, placed it in my briefcase and headed to the palace to meet Dr. Ibrahim. When I arrived, he was waiting for me. He was wearing an Italian tailored, double-breasted, navy blue suit with a bright white shirt and a white and navy striped tie. He looked so handsome.
“You are a vision in black,” he said.
“You look quite handsome yourself,” I replied.
We went through a metal detector as we headed towards the president’s office. When we entered, President Saeed was sitting at his desk.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” I said.
“Good morning, my lovely Fatima,” he said as he stood up to shake my hand.
“This is Dr. Ibrahim Al-Kateb,” I said as they shook hands.
“It’s an honor, Mr. President,” Dr. Ibrahim said.
“My son speaks highly of you and your work at the hospital. Sit down. Rauf tells me you recently came from America. Many of our young men get their student visas to America and other parts of the world promising to come back to work and share their knowledge and don’t return. You are the exception. I’m proud of you,” the president expressed.
The meeting was off to a great start.
“So, Fatima, Dr. Al-Kateb, tell me about this idea to improve our health system.”
“Well, it was mostly Mrs. Aziz’s idea…” Dr. Ibrahim said.
We were with the president for over an hour. The meeting was a success. The president was very impressed with our proposal. He gave us the go ahead to start organizing the fundraiser and he committed government funds to jump-start the project.
“So, where are we going to celebrate our victory?” Dr. Ibrahim asked.
“You name the place,” I said.
“Are you up for a drive? I know this wonderful seafood restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s about 30 minutes away from here.”
“Let’s go. We could discuss the fundraiser on our way there.”
Lunch was great. We ate a fish that is native to the area and is coincidently called Sultan Brahim, short for Ibrahim. This is a small fish that has a neon yellow stripe running across the top of its body. What makes this fish special is that its bones are soft and edible. We ate a generous portion of fried fish, fried potatoes, salad and hummus with pita bread.
“Dr. Ibrahim …” I said.
“Please, call me Brahim, especially if we are not in the hospital.”
“Brahim, thanks for this lovely lunch. This place is breathtaking. The perfect place to kick off our future plans.”
“I’m glad to see you smiling again,” he said. “I hate to pry but why are you so sad most of the time?”
“I appreciate your concern but I rather not talk about it. I don’t want to spoil a perfect day.”
“I’m your friend. You can trust me,” he said.
“I’m in a loveless marriage and my husband is cheating on me,” I blurted out.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I wish my life were different. I wish I was in D.C. living my old life; a life where things weren’t so complicated.”
“I truly wish you were happy.”
“I know you do. Thanks.”
“Look at the bright side; we would have never met if you were in D.C.”
“You’re right,” I responded with a slight smile on my face.
On the ride back, I was quiet. I wished Ibrahim were Fouad. I wished we had met in the U.S., fallen madly in love, married and never looked back. I wished we could run off together and disappear where no one could find us. But, I couldn’t do that to Ibrahim. He had a life devoted to medicine. He was single, unattached and available with dreams, I’m sure, to remarry and build his future. I couldn’t be part of it. It was morally and legally impossible.
The following day, I found a dozen red roses on my desk with a note.
“Congratulations on a successful meeting.”
There was no signature, but I knew they were from Brahim. He was the only one who could always put a smile on my face.
For the next week, we worked closely putting the final touches to our anticipated event. We kept it professional, never mentioning our heart to heart conversation. I kept referring to him as Dr. Ibrahim.
Baba had agreed to come for the fundraiser. I hoped that whatever he had to say might give me an out to my situation with Fouad. Maybe I would have solid grounds for a divorce and could dream of a future with Brahim.
The fundraiser was going to take place in the same theater where we met for the first time; a place of bittersweet memories. We had booked the finest musical acts in Antarah and even some musical guests from neighboring Arabic countries. We had already received more than a few, hefty donations that had allowed us to purchase three of the ten vans needed for our project. Professionally, things were very good.
The day of the event was finally here. Nabil, Jamila’s husband, had volunteered to go with little Ramee to pick Baba up from the airport and bring him home. I was swamped with last minute details and couldn’t pull away. I knew he would enjoy spending time with Ramee, the closest he had to a grandson. I came home just in time to kiss Baba hello and get ready for the evening.
One of Antarah’s best seamstresses had sewn a dress that I had designed. It was a satin black, strapless long dress with a full, long skirt and intricate embroidery on the chest and on the hem line. The scarf made to match the dress wrapped around my hair and then fell as a shawl covering my exposed shoulders. I wore a diamond solitaire necklace with matching earrings.
I was so excited to be escorted by Baba. He wore his tuxedo and was so proud of me.
“My gorgeous Fatme, you’re just like me. When you put your mind to it, the sky’s the limit.”
“I learned from the best,” I said hugging him and kissing his forehead.
When we arrived to the theater, it was crowded. There was a line of limos unloading the most prominent people in the country. Security was tight, the whole presidential family and all of the government officials were there. I looked for Brahim but couldn’t find him.
My father was stopped constantly on our way in. Too many people were greeting us and congratulating us for the evening’s successful turn out. Some people asked about Fouad, someone I would rather not think about on this special day. Fouad was synonymous with my failures not my achievements. Today, I celebrated the woman I had always wanted and knew I could be, not the Fatima that was reduced to being a victim of a malicious plot.
As we walked into the theater, I spotted a very pregnant Dalal and her husband and introduced them to Baba. We also met up with Jamila and Nabil, Nur and some other close friends. Then, at a distance, I saw him, Dr. Ibrahim. He walked toward us.
“Father, I want you to meet Dr. Ibrahim Al-Kateb, my partner in crime. This event is also his success.”
“Dr. Al-Kateb, it is a pleasure to meet you. Both of you make a good team.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Ambassador. Your daughter speaks highly of you.”
Dr. Ibrahim was staring at me.
“Are you and your wife going to be sitting with us?” Baba asked.
“Just me, Sir,” he replied.
“Fatme go ahead with Dr. Al-Kateb while I go greet President Saeed and his family.”
“You look stunning,” Dr. Ibrahim said.
“Thank you, even though your stares are making me a little nervous,” I replied.
“You just look more beautiful than the day I m
et you in this theater for the first time if that is even possible,” Dr. Ibrahim said.
“You are making me blush.”
As we walked towards our seats, we saw Rauf.
“You get prettier every time I see you.”
“Rauf, how are you?” I asked.
“Not as fine as you,” he replied moving in close and whispering.
“Dr. Al-Kateb, congratulations to both of you on this spectacular evening,” as he shook Brahim’s hand.
“Thank you Rauf.”
“By the way, I kept your husband informed of your project. He deeply regrets not being here or calling you but he sent you this,” Rauf said as he handed me an envelope. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“The show is about to start. I’ll see you during intermission,” I said.
I walked away with Dr. Ibrahim and started crumbling the envelope.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Dr. Ibrahim asked as I threw it in a nearby trash can.
“Nothing is going to spoil this evening.”
When we got to our seats, my father and our closest friends including Samira were all there. The night was magical. We had been able to raise more money than anticipated which meant that our ideas were going to become realities. The poor and the children of Antarah would have access to health care even in remote regions. I think I smiled all night.
As we said our goodbyes, Baba collapsed. Dr. Ibrahim immediately loosened Baba’s bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt. When he realized he had no pulse and wasn’t breathing, he performed C.P.R. while others called for an ambulance. I was numb. Dr. Ibrahim worked hard on Baba trying to revive him but nothing could be done. I saw the disappointment in his eyes.
In a matter of minutes, my blissfulness turned to agony. I dropped to the ground and grabbed on to his lifeless body hugging it tight. I never wanted to let go. It took several men, including Brahim, to pull me off his body. I was in shock. It was too much to absorb at once. A piece of me had died. Again, the theater became a bittersweet stage for a devastating episode of my life.
The people around me tried to console me but the echo of their voices pounded in my head. In my confusion, I took a cab and rushed home. I wanted to cry but I was consumed with rage. I kept reliving the memory of the day Baba told me I was to marry Fouad. I remembered my wedding night, the way Fouad raped me again and again. It was Baba who offered me as a sacrificial lamb. All my love had turned to hate.
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