by Judy Nunn
‘Why you is so good to me, Paul?’
The question was genuine and required a genuine answer.
‘Because I like you,’ he replied. ‘I like you very much.’
She thought upon this for a moment or so. And then …
‘I like you also. I like you also very much.’
‘I’m glad you do, Jalila,’ he said. ‘We’ve become friends. This is good.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘is good.’
She rose from the sofa and, to his utter horror, untied the belt of the bathrobe, about to slip it from her shoulders. He was sure she was naked beneath.
Dear God, he thought, not again.
He was up out of the armchair and by her side in a second.
‘No, Jalila.’ He grabbed the robe just as it slid on its way to the floor, ‘no, don’t do this.’ Hauling it back up over her shoulders, he ensured she was fully covered before seating her back on the sofa and sitting beside her.
‘You mustn’t offer yourself in this way,’ he insisted. ‘I don’t want payment for being your friend. Can’t you understand that?’ he begged. ‘Please, please can’t you understand, I do not want payment.’
‘No, Paul,’ she replied, ‘you not understand.’ This time there was no confusion, Jalila knew exactly what she wished to say, and her voice although soft, was firm. ‘Is not payment,’ she said. ‘Is gift. You give me much. I wish give back to you.’ She glanced down at her body, then looked into his eyes, begging his understanding. ‘Is all I have. Is gift.’
Nothing in the world could have stopped him from kissing her. Just as nothing in the world could have prevented the rush of emotion that shocked him to the core. He loved her. How could he not have recognised the fact? He loved her. He wouldn’t tell her this though. Not yet.
He held her close. Then kissed her again.
She responded to the kiss, just as she responded to the embrace. Not with passion, for passion was foreign to Jalila, but she returned his tenderness. Tenderness was some thing she welcomed, something to which she was quite unaccustomed.
He wanted her certainly, but despite the gift she offered he did not make love to her.
‘Not yet, Jalila,’ he said, ‘not yet.’
He got up and made them a cup of tea instead.
Bev arrived home to discover Paul watching the late night news with the sound turned off. He was seated on the sofa and curled up in his arms was Jalila, bathrobe-clad and fast asleep.
Good God, she thought, aghast, it’s happened.
Paul eased himself from the sofa without waking Jalila and crossed to his sister, who remained frozen to the spot.
‘There’s cold pizza in the fridge,’ he said.
She didn’t answer and he knew she was waiting for the explanation, which he also knew she deserved.
‘How was dinner?’ he asked, buying time.
‘Fine,’ she replied a little icily, ‘how was yours?’
‘Well, pizza, you know …’ He gave a shrug, knowing she was jumping to the obvious conclusion, but not sure how to tell her the truth.
‘Cut to the chase, for God’s sake, what the hell’s going on?’
There was only one way to put it. ‘I’m in love with Jalila,’ he said.
‘I know.’ Her tone softened. Despite the boldness of his admission, he looked so young and so vulnerable: she could see the realisation had shocked him. ‘I know you’re in love with her, Paul, I could have told you that yesterday. So you’ve slept with her, I take it?’
‘No.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. Things weren’t quite as bad as she’d expected then.
‘Not yet,’ he added.
Oh shit, she thought. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to marry her.’
Bev was struck dumb. My brother’s insane, she thought. He’s gone quite mad.
‘If she says yes, that is, I haven’t asked her yet.’ He looked at the girl asleep on the sofa. ‘I’ll sneak off now. Tell Jalila to wait for me, I’ll be here around ten, got a couple of things to do in the morning.’
He crossed to the front door, then turned back.
‘And, Bev, would you mind buying some new bathers for her, about two sizes smaller than yours I reckon. What say you get them at lunchtime and I’ll pick them up from the library? All right by you?’
‘Sure.’ What other option did she have?
‘Great. See you tomorrow then.’ And he was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paul arrived in Geraldton on the dot of nine the following morning, but as planned he didn’t go directly to Bev’s flat. Instead, he booked into the Ocean Centre Hotel on the corner of Cathedral Avenue and Foreshore Drive, the end room on the second floor, with a balcony looking directly over the water park. He was told he could move in at midday. Then he visited Mazzucchelli’s Jewellers in Northgate Shopping Centre.
Finally, carrying the small, empty suitcase he’d brought from the car, he let himself into the flat in Fitzgerald Street. It was shortly after ten and she was waiting for him, seated exactly as she had been the previous day by the window. As before she’d been gazing at the palm outside, but this time she heard him. This time she’d been listening for the slightest sound of his arrival. The key in the lock was enough, and as the door opened she rose to greet him.
‘Hello, Paul,’ she said, smiling at the sight of him.
Paul was overwhelmed. He remembered the day on the island when he’d given her the shawl, and how he’d so longed to see her smile. Smile for me, Jalila, smile for me, he remembered thinking. Had he been in denial all this time? Had he been moved by the depth of Jalila’s unhappiness as he’d told himself he was, or had he been in love with her from the very beginning? Whatever the answer, it no longer mattered and he no longer cared. He loved her now, and she was smiling now. She was smiling just for him.
He put down the suitcase. ‘Hello, Jalila.’
They met in the centre of the room, drawn like magnets into a world of their own.
After they’d kissed, he held her at arm’s length.
‘I brought that for you to put your things in,’ he said, pointing to the suitcase. ‘Your new clothes, the bathrobe Bev lent you, the toiletries, everything.’
Jalila looked bewildered. She understood the suitcase, which was fairly obvious, and she understood new clothes, but toiletries had lost her completely.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll help you.’
They packed her several items of clothing, then collected her bits and pieces from the bathroom.
‘Toil-et-ies,’ she said as they gathered the toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and other items.
‘Toiletries,’ he corrected her.
‘Toil-et-ries.’ Another new word; Jalila was very happy about that.
‘No, you won’t need those,’ he said as she started folding up the towel and the flannel Bev had given her, ‘they’ll have them at the hotel.’
She obeyed him unquestioningly, but the mystery deepened. Where were they going?
After driving the several blocks to the Ocean Centre Hotel he parked the car in the hotel’s car park, then they sat in the downstairs lounge overlooking the foreshore, drinking cappuccinos until their room was ready.
Jalila loved the view through the windows. ‘Water park,’ she said, staring out at the activity and presuming this was why he’d brought her there.
‘You wait till you see the view from our place on the second floor,’ he promised her. ‘There’s a balcony, looking right over the park.’
She was puzzled. Our place confused her.
‘I’ve booked us in here for a few days,’ he explained.
‘Us,’ she queried, ‘you, me, here?’
‘Yes, us.’ Her surprise aroused in him a sudden doubt. What if she doesn’t want to marry me? he thought. What if the prospect frightens her? ‘You, me, here,’ he said tentatively. ‘Is that all right?’
Again the smile, so guileless, so infinitely trusting. ‘Oh
yes, you, me is good.’ For Jalila, anywhere with Paul was good.
The very nice woman at reception informed them their room was ready, so they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Paul carrying the small suitcase, his own backpack slung over one shoulder, Jalila following wide-eyed, silently marvelling at the foyer and the staircase and everything that to her appeared so grand.
The ‘room’, as it was referred to, was really a fully equipped open-plan apartment, light, airy and comfortable. An island bench separated the kitchen area from the lounge and bedroom, beyond which sliding glass doors, flanked by huge windows that ran the full width of the room, led onto a large balcony overlooking the foreshore.
Jalila made straight for the balcony where the view over the water park and the ocean beyond was certainly impressive. There was a table and chairs, but she didn’t sit, preferring instead to lean over the railings and gaze at the revellers; she could spend all day there.
They unpacked their things, ‘setting up house’ as Paul said jokingly, wondering as he did why he was talking too much. ‘I’ll duck out and do some shopping in a tick,’ he went on. ‘We’ll need stuff for cooking and all that, and I have to call in at the library and collect your new bathers from Bev …’
He wondered if perhaps it was the prospect of Bev that was making him jumpy. He’d left his sister speechless the previous night, he knew, but Bev was never speechless for long. Bev was bound to have quite a bit to say. But Paul knew his nerves really had nothing at all to do with Bev.
Jalila didn’t understand everything he was saying – he seemed to be speaking more quickly than usual. She realised no comment was required, however, so made no enquiry as she continued to explore the cupboards and drawers and nooks and crannies of the kitchen. Besides, she simply liked listening to the sound of his voice.
Paul knew time was running out, that Bev would be returning from lunch soon, expecting to see him, demanding what was going on. No more delay tactics, he told himself, get on with it. But how?
‘Jalila, come and sit down,’ he said, pulling out one of the several chairs that were tucked around the room’s small dining table. ‘There’s something I want to talk about.’
He was speaking more slowly now and she understood every word. Paul had something serious to say. She sat, giving him her full attention.
He pulled out another chair and sat opposite her.
‘You offered me a gift yesterday,’ he said.
She nodded. So this was why he was serious, he wished now to take her. She was quite prepared to give herself.
‘I cannot accept the gift you offer unless you accept my gift in return,’ he said.
His reasoning made no sense at all to Jalila. ‘But already you give gift. You give much. My gift is return.’
‘Ah, but if that is so, then it would make your gift a payment, wouldn’t it,’ Paul replied emphatically, ‘and you know I do not wish payment. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes. No payment.’
Jalila was studying him intently. Even given the language barrier she recognised the impasse his argument presented, but what was his intention? She had no idea. She could not fathom where this might be leading.
‘I want to marry you, Jalila. I want to be with you always and I want to look after you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
She nodded, but did not reply. She understood the words and their meaning, yes, but she could not comprehend why he should say them.
Jalila was strong, her survival was proof of the fact, but she was also astute. She had recognised that, in the short time she had known him, this man had become her saviour. At this moment her whole world revolved around him. Paul had changed her, she knew this, but such a change could never last. She had revelled in her moments of freedom, of happiness even, but she expected them to be over, she expected to lose him. He was a good man with a life of his own. Why did he not just take the gift of her body for as long as he wished to enjoy her and then move on? She would be left with the greatest gift he could have offered: the memories he had given her, memories that might perhaps mask those she wished to obliterate forever. She continued to study him, bewildered.
Paul took the jeweller’s box from the top pocket of his shirt. He opened it and placed it on the table before her, revealing the rings inside, two simple gold bands.
‘I love you, Jalila,’ he said. Why was she looking at him so strangely? he wondered. ‘Please be my wife. Please marry me.’ He felt a desperate need to beg. She must realise this was no empty gesture, that he was in deadly earnest. ‘I love you and I want to look after you. Become my wife, Jalila, please. Become the mother of my children.’
She bowed her head. He presumed she was looking at the rings, admiring them, and the thought allayed his doubts. Until he saw the puzzling drops on the table. Reaching out his hand, he gently raised her head. She didn’t resist; she was incapable.
Tears were flooding down her cheeks, but they were not the tears of joy he might have hoped for. Her eyes were the haunted eyes of one tormented.
Oh my God, Paul thought, what have I done? What’s going on in her mind, what horrors have I brought back?
‘Jalila …’ He quickly closed the jeweller’s box, pushing it aside in case the rings had been some sort of catalyst, and taking her hand was about to offer words of comfort, although he could think of none. Then suddenly the tears were no longer silent rivers of pain, suddenly the tears were racking sobs from deep within her being, something primal; she was in agony.
He stood, raising her to her feet and holding her fast, feeling the convulsions of her body.
‘Shh … shh …’ he whispered, stroking her hair, caressing her, wishing the pain away, guilty for being the unwitting cause, but thinking also that such a release might perhaps be a further sign of her healing. He could only hope so.
She clung to him briefly – without his support she would have fallen to the floor. Then as quickly as the emotional outburst had manifested itself, it was gone, faded to nothing.
‘I sorry.’ She stepped away from him, turning her face so that he shouldn’t see her. ‘I sorry, Paul,’ she said, wiping away tears and mucous with the back of her hand.
‘There’s no need to be sorry, Jalila.’ He disappeared briefly to the bathroom, returning with a box of tissues, ripping out a dozen or so and thrusting them into her hand. ‘There’s no need to be sorry at all. I’m sorry.’
She wiped her face and blew her nose, then turned to him, strong once again, resolute, as if nothing had happened.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Yes.’
It should have been a joyful occasion. He had hoped that it would be. But he could see she was still haunted, and that perhaps she always would be. Perhaps there was no final healing for Jalila.
‘We’re going out shopping now,’ he announced, deciding a return to normality was called for, ‘and we’re going to see Bev and collect your new bathers.’
‘You go, Paul,’ she said softly. ‘I stay.’
‘Will you be all right?’ he asked, concerned.
‘Yes.’ She glanced over at the balcony. ‘I look water park.’
‘We’ll go there this afternoon if you like.’
‘Yes. I like very much.’
He left her sitting on the balcony staring out at the water park and the people at play, but he wondered if she was really seeing either the park or the people.
In fact she was, but the sight was bringing her no joy, not at the moment. She was simply using the image to blot out memory, a well-practised mind-control exercise that preserved her sanity. There were some places Jalila dared not revisit for any extended period of time, knowing that way lay madness.
‘You do realise, don’t you,’ Bev said with deliberate brutality, ‘that buying a couple of gold rings doesn’t in any way whatsoever make it a marriage.’
They were seated in the library’
s deserted staffroom with cups of half-finished coffee. She’d been appalled when he’d bluntly announced he’d booked into the Ocean Centre Hotel, bought two wedding rings and that Jalila had accepted his proposal.
‘It’ll be a marriage to us, and that’s all that matters,’ he calmly replied, ‘for now anyway. Perhaps further down the track we’ll be able to legalise it.’
‘Further down the track!’ she exclaimed in disbelief. ‘Where the hell do you think Jalila’s going to be further down the track? Have you thought about that?’
‘Yes.’ Paul refused to be rattled, he’d known he’d cop a big serve from Bev and was quite prepared to weather the storm.
‘She’ll probably be sent to Nauru – what’ll you do then?’
‘If that happens I’ll go to Nauru myself and set up camp right outside the refugee compound and I’ll see her every day.’
‘If,’ Bev scoffed. ‘Try when!’
He just shrugged.
‘And what if she’s sent back to Iraq?’
‘Then I’ll go there too. I’ll go wherever she goes. I won’t be separated from her, I can promise you that.’
Bev was starting to fume. She knew he’d have an answer however illogical and unrealistic to every obstacle she could throw in his path, and there were so very many obvious obstacles begging to be thrown. This was a side of her young brother she recognised only too well. The unruffled, immoveable Paul Miller, obstinate to the bitter end when he’d set his sights on a particular path. As a rule though, she thought, he’s not so blind to reason.
Quelling a desire to scream, she tried a different tack. ‘You’re obviously not taking her back to the island.’
‘Obviously.’
‘So what are your plans? A brief honeymoon at the Ocean Centre Hotel, and then what?’ Aware her attempt not to sound cynical hadn’t worked, she opted for simple common-sense. ‘I mean honestly, Paul, what are your plans, have you thought them through? How are you going to hide her? Where are you going to run away to?’
‘I’m not going to hide her and I’m not going to run away. I’m going to bring my wife home. We’re going to live in Shoalhaven.’