He fell upon me after the excited flight of release and took a deep, satisfied breath. “That was good,” he said, smiling. “You are the best.” He held me tight against his chest.
My breathing grew heavy and labored, and rage surged within me. Mother was dead and no amount of “duty” could bring her back. My going with Rhoda, Father, and Jamac hadn’t helped her and it brought me nothing but misery.
Jamac rolled off me. “What is the matter? Did I hurt you?” He smiled and waited for my answer, as if we were two consenting people who had just made love together.
The smell of his sin nauseated me. I wanted to get up, to wash his filth from my body, but I couldn’t move. My head ached, and I felt dizzy.
“I’ll be in the house if you need me.” He wished me a good night.
I stayed in bed long after he stumbled out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A sudden noise pulled me out of my stupor.
“What have you done?” Father’s angry question caused me to sit up and pay attention.
Jamac mumbled a response I couldn’t discern.
“Why?” Father’s voice boomed over the silent house.
Jamac chuckled. “To make Idil mine, like you said I should.”
“To force yourself upon her?”
“I did nothing she didn’t enjoy.”
Father must have slapped or kicked Jamac, because I heard a harsh bang, followed by a loud yelp.
Father’s familiar, heavy strides filled the room as he paced the floor. “Never say that.”
I could imagine the expression on his face; the deep lines around the mouth, large creases snaking up to his forehead. “I said make her agree to marry you, and you stand here, telling me you raped her! You’re disgusting. Don’t you realize I am her father—your uncle? How dare you do that without marrying her first? Don’t you know that is a sin?”
“Is that much different from the mistresses you keep, or Omar’s—” Father struck Jamac again before he could finish.
“Take care of this. Talk to her and convince her to marry you before I return with the sheikh in the morning. Rhoda! See to it that Idil is not violated again.”
Is he going to leave me here with Jamac still in the house? New terror gripped me. I stood up and went to the door, wrapped in a bedsheet. My pain transformed into an unmatched energy as I turned the doorknob and found it unexpectedly open. Rhoda, Father, and Jamac stared at me, surprised, when I appeared in the sitting room. Father called my name several times, but I didn’t respond. I took everything within reach—flower vases, table lamps, decorative pieces, photo frames—and hurled them. Within seconds, the room looked like a war zone. Still, I continued to find more objects.
Father and Jamac, took hold of me and pulled me back into the bedroom.
Father spoke to me as if he were reading from a note. “It wasn’t supposed be this way. The plan was for you and Jamac and Rhoda to discuss how to finalize your wedding to Jamac. I am sorry this happened, but we can’t change it now. We can only prepare for the future. Everything will be fine from here on, I promise you. You just wait here and listen to them.”
“I want to go home to my children.” I knew I was dead to Father. I knew he had set our house on fire. But I never dreamed he would participate in organizing my rape. That was low, even for him.
“You’ll have nothing to do with those children. If you care for them and love them, you will pretend they do not exist. That is safer for them.”
“You are telling me to abandon my children?”
“The children are with their family just like you are with yours. I could send them some money so the old lady can provide for them, or I could offer their uncle a job. But you are to have nothing to do with them from now on. You are not their mother, and they are not your children.” Father turned around, and locked the door behind him.
A few minutes later, Rhoda entered the room. Her eyes landed on the framed pictures of Sheila and Omar on the night tables. “This whore’s face is everywhere.” Rhoda walked toward the bed and turned the photos face down with force. The lamps swayed and threatened to fall. She took a dress from under her arm and threw it at me. “Wear this. It should do.”
I picked up the dress and traced my finger around the V-neckline. The sheen and luxurious softness of the fabric felt unfamiliar. The war that took everything from me—the love of my life, the glow of my skin, the shine of my hair, the meat of my bones, and, above all, my dignity—had not touched Rhoda. She existed in a bubble where no harm dared to go. “You knew what he was planning, and still, you sent me away with him.” I choked on the words.
“I had nothing to do with this. I had no idea he would do this.”
“You mean rape me. Say the word, you coward.”
“I had no part in that. Like your father said, we were to discuss the wedding plans. The original idea was to do it when your mother returned from the cottage, but once she died we decided to go ahead with it anyway,” Rhoda said.
“So, Mother was part of this?” Each revelation was worse than the one before.
“She was not part of it, but we intended to tell her and you at the same time. It would have been a pleasant surprise for both of you. She would’ve appreciated it, I am sure.”
“My mother would’ve appreciated my being assaulted?”
“I told you, the attack wasn’t part of the plan at all.”
“If you keep saying that, you might even believe yourself after a while, but I never will,” I said.
“Look, I stayed with your brother and his whore. You left Jamac for a Boon. No one—not your mother, Omar, or your father—did anything. They all watched as you eloped, built a relationship, and had children. Jamac and I were left to languish in our respective lonely beds. This plan was only a way to collect the debt owed.”
“I owed nothing.” I picked up Sheila’s photo and flipped it upright to annoy Rhoda.
Rhoda focused on the frame. “A girl doesn’t borrow, but always has to pay the debt—always.” She walked back, picked up the two picture frames, and dropped them in the garbage bin by the door. “Still, unlike Omar, Jamac is willing to do right by you.”
“And that was to rape me?”
“No. He was supposed to ask you to marry him.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near me or my children.” The thought terrified me.
“The children are not yours anymore. Like your father said, they are where they belong, with their Boon relatives, and you’ll leave them there.”
“No.” The very notion was unthinkable. “They are my children, and I’m not marrying the man who raped me! Not today, not tomorrow.”
“Every night, when your brother gets into my bed after leaving the whore, I want to shriek ‘Get away from me!’ Still, I keep quiet, because I know my crying would do nothing, except add to the shouts of so many women to whom no one is paying attention.” She cleared her throat. “I lie next to Omar after each violation, then I wash, dress, and smile. I suggest you do the same. You can’t change what’s happened, so why not get what you want—a husband and his protection. Think, Idil.”
I fiddled with the hem of the fabric. “There’s nothing to think about.”
“There is a lot to think about.” Rhoda glanced at me. “Let me know how the dress fits.” She left and closed the door.
*
“You are coming with me until her father is ready to do the nikaax tomorrow.” I couldn’t see them, but I knew Rhoda was speaking to Jamac.
“I want to be here with Idil. I must keep an eye on her, so she doesn’t slip away like she did before.” Jamac was shouting by the time he finished speaking.
“You’re not to be anywhere near her until she is your wife. Look what you did when she was left with you for one hour.”
“It was your idea.”
“I didn’t say to rape her. I said get what is yours; make her marry you, even if by force.” Rhoda pronounced the words with undo care.
“I did not rape her. I took what was mine and made love to her. And why should I need to force her into marrying me?”
Rhoda laughed. “You are not only twisted, but you are a fool. Can’t you see you have nothing to offer her?”
“I can give her more than Omar gives you. I can promise to be in her bed every night, and she won’t have to share my love with a gaalo whore.”
“And you proved that by ripping the clothes off her before she had a chance to remove them herself?” Rhoda laughed aloud. “At least I am afforded the dignity to disrobe.”
“Every time I trust others to keep her, I lose her,” Jamac said. “This time I am not leaving it to anyone else.”
“I will take care that she doesn’t get away, but you have to come with me now.”
“The same way you took care of her mother?”
Rhoda slammed something on a table. “Never say that! The woman died in a car accident, and I was not there.”
“Sell that story to someone who would buy such a tale, dear sister.”
I hoped Jamac would say more about Mother’s death, but he didn’t.
“Come with me now!” Rhoda ordered, and their footsteps retreated together.
*
The house became very quiet, with no trace of Rhoda, Jamac, or Father. The only human contact I had for the rest of that evening was a kitchen girl who brought food and water to me. She didn’t say much, but only watched from two large brown eyes. I asked her for Father or Rhoda, but she gave no response. “Here’s food for you, madam,” she placed the plate on a small table. “I’ll return to collect the dishes.” She rushed out.
Gradually, I became sleepy. I sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes because I didn’t want to be caught off guard. The house remained quiet, and the gloomy darkness of night arrived with its shadows until the sound of heavy boots and men’s voices took over.
“How long does he want us to keep her?” one man asked.
They were talking about me.
“Until morning,” responded another. “Mr. Nuur is bringing the sheikh to perform the marriage ceremony for his daughter and Jamac after breakfast tomorrow.”
That was it. They said nothing more about me. They drifted into casual talk of the latest tribal disagreements and what militia group they thought had the upper hand. After an hour or so, I heard a car pull into the driveway and the doorbell ring. The occupants of the car hurried inside the house and chaos ensued. “Let’s go,” someone said. “No time to collect anything. We must leave now, before they get here. The whole city is under siege and the battle is moving this way!” They stampeded out, as if the place was on fire.
As soon as the heavy footsteps died, I got off the bed, put on my sandals, and went to the door. I turned the light on and saw my canister lying on it is side. I looked inside, and my heart thundered in my chest when I saw that the money, the drawing, and the bracelet were still there. It was lucky that Rhoda hadn’t seen it. I picked it up, grateful it had escaped notice. I lifted the latch to the door gently, and to my great relief, it was unlocked. I hurried through the sitting room and out the side door. I walked quickly until the image of that dreaded place slipped into the darkness.
*
The sound of heavy shelling followed me home. It was hard to tell in which direction the fighting was taking place. From east to west and south and north, one shelling responded to another. It was pitch-black when I arrived after hours of walking, terrified and alone, through the city. My mother-in-law cried with joy when she saw me.
“Oh, God! I haven’t slept since you left. I felt so guilty for encouraging you to go the funeral. I’m glad you are back, safe.”
“What happened?” Hasan asked.
“They kidnapped me after the funeral and tried to force me to marry Jamac.”
“How did you get away?” My mother-in-law’s eyes opened wide.
“Those who were guarding me deserted the house.” Neither Hasan nor my mother-in-law asked any other details. They didn’t inquire how I went from getting Mother ready for burial to becoming a captive.
I went inside and kissed my sleeping children, resisting the urge to wake them and hold them tight. I shook my head to dispel the thought of how close I’d come to losing them forever and went back to the cooking area to sit with Hasan and my mother-in-law.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was well past midnight, but Hasan lit the fire and the three of us sat around it. I waited until the heat from the flames warmed my body before I spoke. “We have to get away soon. We must take the children and leave.” Father’s warning that my children would be safer if I stayed away, flooded back. “I had to escape, and I have defied them again. They know where we live and they will harm us unless we go now.”
The sound of heavy fighting in the distance increased my fear. Each explosion, louder than the last, shook the ground beneath us.
My mother-in-law got up and wrapped her shawl around her head and face. “I’ll go to Idris and see if he can help us find a way out,” she said.
“This late?” Hasan asked.
“With this raging battle, only innocent children are sleeping tonight,” she said as she left.
Hasan and I sat by the fire, waiting and listening, as one loud explosion followed another.
Half an hour later, my mother-in-law returned with good news. “Idris and some other merchants have hired a truck to take their families to Bledley. We can travel with them but we must pay a hundred dollars for each adult and fifty dollars per child. I told him I would sell a piece of land and give him the money when we get to Bledley. He agreed.”
“You don’t have to sell anything. I have money.” I untied the end of my scarf and exposed the American bills that had survived Jamac’s attack and my flight afterward.
Hasan extended a hand toward the money, but stopped before he touched it. “Where did you get all of this?”
“It was a gift from my mother.” I looked at my mother-in-law for a reaction, but all I saw was gratitude.
“The truck will leave soon, before sunrise,” she said. “We should get ready.”
We discussed how to hide the money. Putting it in Hasan’s belt sack was too obvious a choice. Women’s undergarments—bras and panties—were usual hiding places for valuables, so we avoided them. In the end, we tied it in my mother-in-law’s scarf and hoped no one would check there.
I shook Amina awake. “We have to go home to Bledley.”
She seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation as soon as she opened her eyes. She peered at me for less than two seconds, got up, pulled her sandals on, and stood next to me. “I am ready.”
I did the same with Adam. “Wake up, my love. We have to leave right away.” He awoke, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and got out of bed. “I am ready to go.” He stood next to Amina.
My mother-in-law, following the directions Idris had given her, led us through the back alleys of the market to a cattle truck parked behind a large warehouse. A gun-toting boy of about fourteen shouted, “Idris begged me to wait! Two more minutes and we’d have left!” The deafening thunder of firearms roared in the distance. “Put the children on your lap!”
We climbed the ladder into the packed truck as quickly as we could. Inside were four families—twenty-eight people, plus the driver and four armed guards on the roof.
“You move—no, not that way, this way.” The boy paced the flatbed of the truck, stepping over or on people, determined to find space, though none existed. He pushed one passenger with the butt of a revolver. “You, sit here.” He moved ahead. “You there, yes you. Move! Do you not hear?” The tirade continued. “You are taking up too much room! This is not your house!” He pointe
d at two spaces not big enough for a two-year-old, let alone for an adult. “You sit there and you here.” He directed us and stretched out his hand for the payment. “Four hundred dollars for the family!”
Hasan gave him the money.
He counted and walked away.
Hasan sat in a tight-fitting nook. “Amina,” he called, “come here with me.”
Amina’s eyes lit up, and she flew into his arms.
With his sister beaming in her uncle’s lap, Adam felt left out and unsure of where to go.
My mother-in-law called. “Adam come to Grandmother.”
“I’ll sit with my mother.” Adam’s steps coincided with the truck pulling out, and he staggered but steadied himself and sat on my lap.
*
The tires bounced over boulder-sized gashes in the road. I held on to the metal bars to keep from falling forward, only to return to a sitting position with a thump. To free my mind from worries of what Father, Jamac, and Rhoda might do once they found out I had escaped, I turned to the woman to my left. “How old is your daughter?”
“Fourteen. I lost four children and my husband in a mortar shelling two days ago.” She looked away. “Why did I survive, and they didn’t?”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” I offered. “What is your daughter’s name?”
“Aisha.”
“She is a beautiful girl,” I said.
I waited for her to say more, but she only leaned against the metal side and closed her eyes. Desperate to escape the encroaching fear, I turned to the woman on my right. She had four young children, the youngest asleep on her lap. “How old is he?”
She shielded the baby with her scarf as though I might hurt it. “It is a girl. He wanted a girl so much.” She tilted her head to the side.
“Who?”
“My husband. He was so thrilled to have a daughter. The last two months were the happiest of his life.”
“Where is he now? Is he in the village?”
No answer.
The child squirmed and whimpered. “You should give her something to eat.”
Tale of a Boon's Wife Page 20