Sworn Enemies, Secret Lovers

by Eve Rabi

  I grin like the jackass I am these days.

  At the door, he pauses, turns around, and winks at me.

  My grin widens as he leaves. I knock my forehead with my knuckles. Gotta stop this shit right now. Get him out of your mind, you silly girl!

  “Ahem!”

  I look at Leeanne, whose eyebrows have disappeared behind her nun’s head scarf.

  “Something brewing, kitty?”

  “No!”

  “You sure, kitty?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, kitty. But kitty, you have that gaga look in your eyes.”

  “Nonsense!” I say and quickly turn away.

  “Careful Kitty,” she says, her voice imbued with warning.

  “What? What?” Darla says. “Tell me, tell me. I wanna know. I wanna know.”

  “You worry too much,” I fling over my shoulder as I race into my bathroom and shut the door on Darla. I sit on the side of my bathtub and re-read the pages. After I finish, I hold the pages to my chest and close my eyes. Kitty … why does he call me that?

  ***

  I sit in front of the camera and prepare to speak. Behind me is a giant screen where footage of the militants’ victory over coalition forces usually rolls along.

  “Americans, I urge you, pick up a weapon and join the holy war. Fight for the nation of Islam. Disown your family and loved ones if you must, like I have. Together we will be strong, we will be focused, and above all, we will win the fight against the infid –”

  My speech is suddenly interrupted by a roar of triumph among the men. I follow their eyes to the screen behind me.

  I gasp at what I see – a video is showing militants posing for photographs with the heads of five US soldiers on … sticks!

  Unable to help myself, I rush into the nearest bathroom to throw up. After a while, I sit on the side of the bathtub with my head in my hands, my body shaking from what I saw. Imagine what those soldiers went through before they were beheaded. The shock, the horror of just thinking about it has me throwing up again.

  “Megan?” It’s Reed, knocking lightly at the bathroom door. “Megan, are you okay?”

  I throw open the door and say, “I can’t do this! I can’t do this. I just can’t, Reed!”

  He nods understandingly, steps inside the bathroom, and quickly shuts the door.

  “That is barbaric and unnecessary. I’m a US Soldier, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Okay, calm down,” he urges in a stressed voice.

  We are interrupted by two of Omar’s men knocking loudly on the door.

  Reed puts his finger on his lip and opens the door for them.

  “You come now,” one of the men says. “You make finish your talk.”

  I groan and place my hand over my forehead. “I … I don’t feel well … please …”

  “You come NOW!” he shouts.

  “Please!” I’m crying now.

  Unmoved, the second man raises his rifle and points it at my face.

  Reed quickly steps between us and pushes the rifle out of my face. For a few moments, they argue. I suspect that Reed wants them to give me a break but I don’t hear any concession from them.

  Finally, Reed turns to me and I see helplessness on his face. “Megan, they will give you five more minutes, then …” He gives a small shrug.

  My shoulders drop.

  “Megan,” he whispers, “they’re riled up today. Not a good idea to refuse right now.”

  I nod slowly and wipe away my tears.

  Steering me by the elbow, he takes me back into the recording room.

  “America is a bully, but that doesn’t stop us from fighting back and taking revenge like … like you … see on the … screen behind me.” Feeling faint with disgust, I summon a deep breath and force myself to conclude. “Come take my hand, join us and let’s fight together.”

  As ordered, and since I’m being watched by more than a dozen hostile eyes, I reiterate that my statements are being made by my own free will and that I am in no way being coerced into the making of these speeches.

  “I am now a soldier in Allah’s Army.”

  I groan with relief as the recording of my Arabic speech ends.

  Guantanamo Bay, here I come.

  ***

  “What is it?” I ask, accepting the newspaper from Leeanne. She sports a somber look. Behind her are two patients looking intently at me.

  My eyes light up when I realize it’s a US newspaper. “News from home, cool!”

  Under their watchful gaze, I turn the pages and gasp. On page three is the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Terrorists.

  I, Megan Saunders, am number seven on the list. I look up at everyone watching me. No wonder they are so somber. “This is a joke, right?”

  Nobody answers. I read on, and as I do, my breathing becomes labored.

  Conspiracy to Kill U.S. Nationals; Conspiracy to Murder U.S. Employees; Conspiracy to Use Weapons of Mass Destruction Against U.S. Nationals; Conspiracy to Destroy Property of the U.S.

  I look up at Leeanne. “Weapons of mass destruction? Are they fucking crazy?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  I read on.

  Reward: The Rewards For Justice Program, United States Department of State, is offering a reward of up to $5 million for information leading directly to the apprehension or conviction of …”

  “Oh my God!” I sink slowly into a chair. “This can’t be happening, Leeanne. There’s a bounty on my …”

  “I know, I know. I think you’re safer in here than out there.”

  A feeling of desolateness washes over me as I cover my face with my hands.

  This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I’m having a nightmare.

  ***

  We’re at one of our jihad meetings when Damien appears on TV, dressed in official police uniform and looking as dashing as ever. It’s been almost a year since I’ve heard his voice and I get really weepy when I see him on TV.

  “He’s your husband?!” Darla whispers.

  I nod, pride, in spite of my low spirits, welling inside me as he takes his position in the press conference to defend me.

  “Wow! He’s too good looking for you. Looks like a movie star. I would do him any day.”

  “Shhh!” Leeanne scowls.

  Just about everyone in the bunker is present for today’s motivational pep talk/video, and all eyes are on me right now.

  “I can say with confidence that I had no idea of my wife’s involvement in terrorist activities in the past, or that she was predisposed this way,” Damien reads from a page in front of him. “I too feel deceived and even violated by her behavior and furthermore ...”

  My jaw drops.

  “Ha! Knew it was too good to be true,” Darla says.

  “I would like to express my apologies to all those affected by her recent insensitive and traitorous behavior where …”

  “No, Damien, no,” I mutter. “How could you say …?”

  “…and it is therefore with a heavy heart that I finally initiate divorce proceedings from my wife of five years.”

  My gasp is drowned by the collective gasp around me. Stunned, I stare dumbfounded at the screen, both my hands on my head. Around me, the cries of disbelief from the men in the bunker, the enemies of the US, mutate into murmurings of sympathy.

  This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming for sure. I look up into Omar’s face. His smirk is huge.

  The moment we are dismissed, I stumble out in a daze, while everyone watches my every move.

  In my room, I hold my head and pace. He can’t be divorcing me.

  Leeanne and Darla burst through my door moments later.

  “Sold you out there, didn’t he?” Darla sneers.

  “I’m so sorry,” Leeanne says, putting her arms around me.

  “Couldn’t have loved you that much,” Darla continues. “Probably got some size zero lined up waiting to fill your shoes. Probably already been in your bed. Maybe even moved in and …”

&
nbsp; “Darla shut up!” Leeanne hisses. “Stressing her out is not good for the baby.”

  “Baby?” Darla’s eyes fly to my stomach. “Eeewww!” She shrinks back as if the word leprosy was mentioned. “Who’s the baby daddy?”

  Silence.

  “You don’t know? Aaah! So it’s like that. Well, you gotta get onto Maury Povich. They do the DNA thingi and voila! You’ve bagged the baby daddy. Better not be any of these dropkicks.” She motions to the men in the bunker. “They solve every problem with explosives, remember?”

  “You said you were gonna divorce him anyway, remember?” Leeanne says, flinging Darla an angry look.

  “God, Leeanne, I just said that. I’m not the type to file for divorce. I was …” I wring my hands till they hurt. “I was trying to have a baby, Leeanne. I thought … man, I thought maybe, just maybe, a baby would help fix our broken marriage.” I drop my arms to my sides. “Darla is right – how could he sell me out like that? He knows me. He should be defending me. I would do it if the tables were turned. I would stand by him no matter what.”

  Overcome with disappointment and close to tears, I cover my face with my hands and sink into a chair.

  Then, someone is removing my hands from my face. It’s Reed.

  “Not now,” I choke.

  For a moment he looks into my face, concern all over his. “Leeanne, Darla,” he says, “give me a few moments with Megan please.”

  “Sure,” Leeanne says.

  “No!” Darla says. “Anything you have to say to her, you say in front of …” She stops when Reed turns his whole body to look at her.

  “Darla let’s just go!” Leeanne says.

  “A few moments, that’s it. Not a min –”

  Leeanne grabs her arm and yanks her out of the room.

  Reed grabs a chair, places it in front of me, and lowers himself into it. For a while, he just looks silently at me, concern all over his face.

  Right now, not only am I devastated by the betrayal of my husband, I’m embarrassed that he would publicly dump me like that. Shame makes it difficult to look at Reed.

  “Not now, Reed,” I murmur again.

  “Megan,” he says in a grave voice, “it’ll all work out.”

  “How?” I croak in a voice hoarse from crying. “I’m one of the ten most wanted terrorists by the FBI, Reed. Who wants to be married to someone with that tag on their head? By the time I leave here, and try to explain, he’ll have divorced me. I … it’s all my fault. That last speech …”

  “No, it’s not!” he says vehemently. “Nothing here is your fault, Megan. You’re a victim – you did what you had to do to survive.”

  I look up at him, deriving an iota of comfort from his kind words.

  “You’re a POW, kitty, and yours is a worst-case scenario – prisoner in the hands of Iraqi militants; some of Saddam Hussein’s men. Even I, as an Iraqi, can tell you that you can’t do worse.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nods. “But Megan, you still have family, your siblings, your friends – they’ll come through for you.”

  “But … but they’ll experience what he’s …”

  “It doesn’t matter. Family is different. They’ll weather it and they’ll be only too happy to let the world know the real you. You’ve got to trust that they will. Large families, domineering siblings – they come in handy in times like this.” He gives a small smile. “I know from personal experience. Just you wait and see.”

  Could he be right? I know Maya would be furious with Damien’s betrayal. She’s just two years older than me, but she’s very protective.

  Reed reaches into his pocket and fishes out a coin. “Bet you this – in the next week, your family will go into damage control.”

  “You think so?” I long for him to be right.

  “Yes. I think so. And I need you to have a little faith. And I really want to win this bet cos I could do with the money.”

  I smile. After more comforting words, he eventually leaves.

  Alone in my room, I hold no hope for my family stepping up to anything. My dad’s worked for the same plastic manufacturing company for twenty-five years. My mom is a teacher’s aide.

  Unlike Damien’s family, who’s into politics and always running for something, they’re pretty humble churchgoing folk, who wouldn’t have the courage or the gall to brave the country and pledge their support for me, a bona fide terrorist.

  As for my siblings – both my brothers are tradesmen and Maya, like my mom, is a kindergarten teacher. They’re the type to pay a traffic fine the day they receive it. So, I don’t blame them if they silently distance themselves from me.

  I would forgive them, but I would never forgive Damien – his words were vicious and brutal. He didn’t have to say all those nasty things; he could have just announced a separation. Just thinking about his statement makes me so furious, I pick up a lamp and hurl it against a wall. “Fucking sellout!”

  Forty-eight hours later, Reed bursts through my door, bristling with excitement. “Megan,” he says, “come with me!”

  “Where …?”

  He grabs my arm and rushes me to the ward where a group of people are gathered around a laptop.

  As I approach they clear a path for me.

  I look at the screen and gasp. My sister Maya is at a press conference. Behind her are my mom, dad, and my brothers Carl and Ben, all looking like deer in headlights.

  Without even hearing what they have to say, I burst into tears. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen any of them and I just want to reach out and hug them.

  Reed squeezes my hand in a comforting gesture as I listen to Maya’s shaky but defiant voice.

  “... and we feel it is unfortunate and sad that our sister and daughter, Megan, has to pay for the carelessness of the US Government in Iraq ...”

  “Whoa!” I stop crying and listen, slack-jawed. Maya, shooting so straight?

  “Clearly the insurgents who have captured Megan are using her to propagate their ideas by having her deliver inflammatory speeches. She defended her country. She was a soldier in the US Army fighting for her country when she was captured. She still is. We are confident that she will always be. We beg for understanding right now and ask that everyone not judge her, as she is not here to defend herself. Megan is our hero. We urge you to make her yours.”

  Maya looks up from her speech. “Megan, if you are listening …”

  Suddenly, her jutting jaw slackens. “Megan … if …” Her voice cracks and tears stream down her cheeks as she fights for composure, her defiance and pride vanishing.

  The rest of my family rally closer and link arms behind her.

  Tears stream steadily down my face at the sight of my family distraught and broken.

  “Megan …” Maya croaks, her face contorted with pain.

  Carl quickly comes to Maya’s rescue. “Megan, Megpie, we … we love you and ...” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he too fights tears.

  Ben steps up and takes the mike. “Eh, Megan … eh, we miss you, sis,” he says. “Get your ass back home so I can beat you at chess again.”

  My chuckle emits like a sob.

  My father steps to the mike to speak, but is overcome with emotion; he withdraws a moment later and hugs my mother, who is sobbing loudly.

  “Come home,” Maya finally manages to say.

  I reach over and gently try to wipe her tears on the laptop screen.

  “We need you, Meg,” she says. “We are here for you, every step of the way.”

  When the screen goes blank, I turn and race to my room where I collapse on my bed and bawl.

  Reed follows me into my room and sits next to me quietly while I cry. He reaches out to me, then quickly draws back. After a few moments, he puts his arms around me and I literally cry on his shoulder. When my face feels wet against him, I draw away, realizing I’ve soaked his shirt with my tears.

  He squints at his shirt and says, “With the money I won from our bet, I’m going to
buy me a new shirt, so pay up.”

  My smile is more of a grimace.

  “Silver one with gold threads …”

  He reaches over and turns my chin so he can look into my face.

  My eyes are puffy and my nose is runny so I try to turn away, but he holds on. Slowly, he wipes away my tears.

  “Diamond buttons. Think I’ll look cool like Liberace?”

  I don’t know who Liberace is, but I nod.

  He chuckles.

  “You were right,” I say, blowing my reindeer nose loudly. “My family came through. They braved everyone and everything and … and stood up for me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Why you sighing?” Reed asks.

  “I didn’t sigh.”

  “Yes you did. You looked at the TV and you sighed.”

  Actually, I did sigh. Been low in spirits for the last two weeks since my husband fucked me over.

  I smile. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

  He shrugs. “I’m smart. Like a superhero.”

  I chuckle. “Well,” I nod towards the TV, which is showing some documentary about the galaxy. “The moon and stars. Been a while since I saw them. Now that I’m in prison, I realize how much I took for granted.” I smile ruefully. “Just reflecting, I guess.”

  “Mmm. Reflect away then.”

  I cover my face with my hands and place my elbows on the table. “That, and macadamia and fudge ice cream,” I mumble. “Don’t usually like it, yet I’m craving it. Anyway, back to work,” I say and move on.

  ***

  Reed knocks and enters my room. “Megan, I’m taking you somewhere, but I have to blindfold you and zip-cuff you. Turn around.”

  “What?!” I glance at the clock. 11 PM. Has to be serious. “Is something wrong? Where you taking me?”

  “Stop fretting. Just do as I say and don’t try anything.”

  Reluctantly, I turn around and allow him to blindfold me, then zip-cuff me.

  He drapes a light blanket over my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going, Reed?”

  “Shhh! You talk too much. You have to be really quiet now. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I whisper.