I have no personal knowledge of what those people do. But I’ve researched it. It is vile. It defiles the body that Allah has given us. The Quran forbids tattoos, and this defilement of the body is far worse. There is no way Kerem can cleanse his mouth enough to be worthy to taste the food that Allah provides.
It is an unholy act.
And I don’t want to even think of the other. Surely they are not doing that. Unclean, unclean. And dangerous. Kerem is setting himself up to die a wretched man. Broken and condemned.
And he is taking our family with him. Dragging us into the dung. Burying us in the garbage of his sin.
I pray for him. I pray that these urges are taken away from him. That he steps back onto the righteous path.
I fear he has already strayed too far.
May Allah strike him down before this family is lost.
Because of him.
Because he sins.
Chapter 16
Gabriel
“YOU WOULDN’T believe how happy Mom was when your mother and Aysel declared her co-wedding coordinator.” I lightly run my fingertips along his perfect body.
One week to the wedding, and Kerem and I are stealing more time together. In my bed.
“Mama told Aysel, ‘if Mary is going to be with us, helping us make decisions and doing all this work, she deserves the title.’ And then she added, ‘I’m surprised a woman of her many talents isn’t doing this for a living. She is the complete package: exquisite seamstress, insightful planner, and if people wanted it, she could even bake the cake, I’m sure.’”
He shivers as he touches my hand, brings it to his lips, and plants tiny kisses on it.
“It feels good that Maria—it’s weird calling your mom that—has such regard for my mother. I’ve always known she is extraordinary. It’s great hearing her praised by someone else.”
And lying here, enjoying this, is a side effect of that high regard. This close to the wedding, Mom’s spending more and more time away from home. And Dad works late an awful lot, leaving me to my own devices. Devices like what’s taking place right now.
And I adore those devices and Kerem. If he’s as turned on as I am right now, I can’t imagine how we can keep up this conversation. But prolonging it can only make what comes after sweeter.
“Well, believe me, Mary’s been a big, big help.” He caresses my face. “When Aysel sprung this wedding on Mama, it seemed like it would be a simple thing, so Mama didn’t hire a coordinator.” He kisses me, a gentle angel kiss. “That was foolish on her part because she knows my sister all too well. But anyway, once she realized she was in over her head, it was too late to find anyone competent. Then Allah, via one of his precious angels—the Angel Gabriel—sent Mama a coordinator who is far more incredible than any hired hand could be.” He gives me two more of those light as air kisses.
I’m ready for more, and I can’t help myself. I reach down and play, gently, and he is getting aroused again.
“Stop it, Gabe.” He takes my hand and forcibly moves it away. I leer at him. He smiles. “You devil. Quit thrusting temptation on me. You know we have no more time for that. Oh, how I wish we did, but your dad will be home soon, and our moms could pull up any minute from their trip to the reception hall.”
He slides away from me and out of my bed—away from my grasp. I sigh. As he dresses, he says, “Timur has gone off the deep end with this praying at Hasan’s mosque thing. He even has Baba over there tonight, saying evening prayers.” He looks heavenward. “Forgive me, Allah, if I’m late with mine. I promise to do them as soon as I get back home.” He continues his banter to me. “Baba even canceled some appointments last Friday to do noontime prayers at Hasan’s mosque because Timur insisted. Baba never does Friday prayers at a mosque, much less someone else’s mosque.”
“Why all the sudden devotion?” I ask. Kerem is tying his Nikes as I languish in bed. I don’t want to lose the feeling, but I do need to lose the erection. And watching Kerem go from naked to dressed is a turn-on, rather than a turnoff.
“For Baba, I think it’s just a way to show unity with Hasan’s family. My baba is a nice guy, and he wants to reassure Hasan’s father that his son’s marrying a girl from a good Muslim family.”
“And for Tim?”
“Tim, I think, is rediscovering his roots. His family was so ultradevout. He’s missed that, I’m sure, since mine’s very modern in their Muslim ways. And, too, recently Timur has seemed to embrace our family more deeply. Perhaps he thinks he can pull Baba into being more orthodox by exposing him to Hasan’s family’s ways.”
“Sounds like Timur’s confused, wanting to be more a part of your family, yet migrating to another family’s ways and customs.”
“You know, my friend,” Kerem says, giving me a sly look as he dubs me “friend” as if to say “that was a misnomer, wasn’t it?” I smile at him.
“Friend? I think we are much more than that, babe.” Finally I feel his grip loosening. I’ve never had that happen before. Usually the stiffy just goes away, doesn’t linger. But then again, before I was not in love.
“Whatever,” he declares, with fake annoyance. “My cousin has to be conflicted. After all that happened to his family.”
“True, true.”
“Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and show me to the door?”
“You’ve drained me,” I say. “I don’t have an ounce of strength left in me. You can show yourself out. After all, both my parents know everything about us, including this. Out of respect, I don’t think we should do it when they are home. And yes, if we forgot to lock the door, one of them might barge in on us, so there’s that. But I have no secrets from them.” I let that hang on the air. I don’t know if I said that to reassure him or if I said that to encourage him to come out to his folks.
He sits on the edge of the bed. I can tell he’s struggling to tell me something.
“I haven’t mentioned this.” He stops. I can almost see the words formulating in his brain and trying to burst out.
“You can tell me anything, babe.” For a brief moment, I am gripped with fear. What if he’s saying goodbye? What if he’s decided we aren’t meant to be? No! I scream deep inside. That isn’t it. It can’t be. He’s not breaking up with me. It’s something else. Inshallah.
“Remember that first time for us? Last week?” Again, he pauses, gathering his words, gathering courage.
“Of course I do. It was the most magical time I’ve had since I moved here.” I stroke his arm, hoping to give him courage to continue.
“When I went home that day, Mama was there alone. She wanted me to sit and visit. I thought nothing of it.”
Oh, no, oh God, no. His mother figured it all out and does not approve. She wants him to end it with me. I feel a tear form in my eye.
But if that’s the case, why today? Kerem would not disobey his mother for an afternoon of goodbye sex.
“Mama said something that shocked me.” Again, the damn pause. Please, oh, please, oh, please, God, Allah, Goddess, Great Spirit, Thor, Vishnu, Mother Earth, all the gods ever invented, push him to get this revelation out.
“Mama told me I was in love. She saw it. She knew it. She said she knew I was gay years ago. She’s happy about us.” He takes in a long, deep breath to replace the short shallow ones he has been expelling.
“That’s a good thing! Mothers know. That’s what Mom’s always telling me. And the fact that Maria knows and approves is a cause for celebration. So why haven’t you told me this good news?”
I feel the warm air he expels. “Truth?”
“Of course, truth. We will always be honest with each other.”
“Mama said, with the wedding consuming our lives, I should wait to tell Baba until all this madness is over.”
My heart skips. “She doesn’t think he’ll be happy?”
“No, she says she’s certain he’ll be fine with it, but if he has a hard time processing, it’s best that he’s not trying to do so amid all of Aysel’
s drama.”
“Well, I predict he will accept it because your baba’s a really nice guy who wants everyone to be happy. And what is it he says?”
We say it together: “That is between you and Allah.”
It’s good to see a smile break out across Kerem’s face for the first time in the last ten minutes. But the darkness returns.
“Okay, babe, spill it. It occurs to me that you still haven’t told me why you’ve kept this from me.”
He hesitates. “I—I—I was afraid if you knew about it, you would press me to tell Baba now, instead of later.”
I sit up, grab him into a hug, and whisper, “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry you’ve had this weighing on you. I wouldn’t do that. Ever. Coming out is so very personal. Your family will embrace your sexuality like they’ve always cherished everything about you. I’m absolutely certain of that. But I don’t want you to ever think I would try to force you out of the closet or to reveal any secret that is burdening you. That is—” I pause to put a smile on my face and a bit of wickedness in my voice. “—between you and Allah.”
He punches me. Then he stands up. “For that bit of wayward humor, you’re not getting a goodbye kiss.” And he walks away.
I leap from under the covers, totally naked, my dick swinging recklessly in the air, and rush to him, turn him around, and grab him. I smother him in kisses, and then I scream, “Not as long as I walk this earth will you be able to get away from me and my kryptonite kisses. May they protect you until next we meet, inshallah.”
“Go on with your bad self,” he says, pulling from my grasp. “I gotta go. I still have evening prayers—late, I might add, thanks to you.”
“Allah will forgive.”
And he leaves, shaking his head.
It takes a while to get to sleep. I’m head over heels with Kerem’s mother’s declaration. That’s half the battle. A battle that I want to believe won’t take place. I want to think that his baba will be accepting also. But I know that fathers think differently than mothers, and acceptance of a son’s homosexuality, for dads, can be traumatic, bound up in feelings of failure and confusion. I was lucky with my dad, but some aren’t so blessed. And then, too, Aram Uzun is a devout Muslim. They, as a rule, don’t accept this. I pray to God that all goes well for Kerem when he finally does speak to his father.
Exhaustion or a feeling of well-being overcomes me, and I finally sleep.
Next morning, Mom is filled with Aysel this and Aysel that. I am so happy for her that she gets to experience this. When the time comes, if ever, for Kerem and me to marry, I’d be happy to show up at city hall for a quickie ceremony. But that’s guys for you—or at least this guy. Mom wasn’t blessed with a girl she could shower with elaborate nuptials, so doing this for Aysel is the next best thing.
“Aysel has such definite ideas. About everything. Each and every little detail has to be her way. I don’t blame her. I get it. Poor Maria gets exasperated with her daughter, but she tries not to show it. I can’t imagine the quarrels that might have happened if I had not been there as a buffer.”
“She’s a stubborn one, that Aysel. At least that’s what I’ve observed. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.”
“As a mule.” Then she laughs. “But not like a Bridezilla, thank God.” I remember seeing some of that old show. Those girls were horrible. “Aysel just wants the perfect wedding for her Hasan. And herself. I truly think, though, that she’s deeply committed to her man.”
“From what I’ve seen and heard, she’s plunged right into the deep end when it comes to taking on his family’s ways.”
“Yes, she has. Maria tells me that Aysel is far more dedicated to the old ways than Maria and Aram’s family ever have been. But that’s a good thing. The man she’s chosen comes from a very strict family, and her marriage will be stronger if she adopts their ways. But as I told Maria, don’t expect Aysel to knuckle under all the time. The girl has her own mind.”
“She certainly does. Yessiree, Bob.”
“Don’t call me Bob,” Mom teases. “I’m worried, though, a bit, about Timur.”
“What about him?” I didn’t think Mom even knew Timur, aside from his brief introduction the day she was there to plan the dress.
“Poor thing, he seems to be getting deeper and deeper into the orthodox version of Islam, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“How do you know all this?” I’m intrigued my mother knows so much about this cipher who lives across the street, and I know so little, despite the fact that he’s the cousin of the man I love.
“Maria and I talk. She’s concerned as well. Timur’s life was thrust into turmoil very quickly at a very young age.”
“She told you, huh?”
“Everything. You know too, huh? How horrible. Maria says she and Aram have done everything they could to make Timur feel a part of the family, but he remained distant. Lately, though, she says an incident that happened turned him around, and he’s opening up a bit more and embracing the family.”
“The computer breach?”
“Yes. Timur must be a whiz, solving that problem. Aram and his practice faced a world of hurt. Timur saved them, Maria says. Aram’s gratitude seems to have brought him and Timur closer. The boy needs a father.”
“He’s not a boy, Mom. Tim’s a man.”
“Not really. He may be a man physically, but after what he experienced, there’s no way he has grown up. Not emotionally. He’s still that traumatized little boy. And I’m afraid his newfound love for the old ways is just a cover to mask his stunted emotions.”
“You think he may be turning to terrorism?” I shudder at the thought, not wanting to believe it. Timur can be unpleasant with that continual smirk on his face, but surely he’s not capable of anything that extreme.
“No, no, no. I didn’t say that. I doubt seriously that anyone who grew up in that family could turn to anything that vile. It just doesn’t happen in most good families—not in our country, anyway. At least I want to believe that. God knows some kids go crazy on their parents. What I’m saying’s that Timur is trying to replace his need to process with the outward trappings of Islam.”
“So when did you get a degree in psychology, wise mother?” My smile, I hope, is a trophy, a golden prize full of my love for her.
She laughs at me. And it’s a chuckle that says I love you back. “You need to skedaddle. You’re gonna be late for school.”
She’s right. So this in-depth discussion of the damaged cousin will just have to continue later. If at all. I’m not sure I care.
SCHOOL RUNS like clockwork, and I love swim practice. With my concentration on my technique, and Coach screaming at me from time to time, I have no room in my thoughts for Timur Uzun. I barely have time to sneak a few memories of last night with Ker—and smile.
After practice I skype with Kerem, figuring he has no time for us to get together.
A warm feeling comes over me when I see his face on the screen. That always happens these days.
“Hey, babe. How’s it going? You’re all tied up in wedding, wedding, wedding, I suppose.”
“Not really,” he answers. “Maybe you didn’t notice the decorations in your living room?”
I’d walked right past the living room when I came in the house. I called for Mom, but she wasn’t home, so I went straight to my computer.
“Decorations?”
“Aysel’s wedding shower’s tonight. Your Mom’s hosting. As soon as I got home from school and afternoon prayers, Mama had me carting all the good silver and china over to your house.”
“Why didn’t they just have the thing at your house? And why haven’t I heard about this?”
“First of all, it seems the bride’s mother can’t give a shower for her own daughter. It’s usually a friend of the bride who gives the shower, but Aysel, Allah love her, has few friends her age, and none who would go to the trouble of a shower. So that left your mom to volunteer. And even if it had been at our house, I’d probably have
had to tote all your mom’s good silver and china over here, because this is a big shindig. Every woman my mama has ever met’s invited, plus all the women at our mosque, and Hasan’s mother, grandmother, the grandmother from Lebanon who finally arrived in the States, plus Hasan’s sisters, cousins, and whoever else on the street that Aysel invited. It’s going to be one hell of a party. Hasan and Aysel will have to rent a U-Haul to return all the toasters to Target.”
“I’m astounded. But again, I ask, why haven’t I heard about this?” I’m thinking Mom would have said something this morning. But then I remember we got caught up in Timur and his problems.
“Apparently Aysel just mentioned she wanted a shower. Mama figured with Aysel’s lack of friends and Hasan’s ultraorthodoxy, there wouldn’t be a shower.”
“Uh-oh. Bad move on Maria’s part.”
“But super mother Mary—I’m surprised Aysel hasn’t started calling your mother ‘Mom’—put on her superhero cape and saved the day.”
“That’s my mom for you.”
“So what ya doin’?” he asks.
“Nothin’.”
“Wanna visit the MF’s?”
I laugh. “I know for a fact that you don’t have a whole lot of affection for those two. So I’m hoping what you want is to show a little affection for….” I let my voice trail off.
“Outside. Now.” His face vanishes from the screen.
He’s waiting when I open the door to my house. I join him as we walk.
“So what’re Tim’s and your baba’s plans for this evening? Looks like my house will be full of hens.”
“Tim and Baba are having dinner out—I was invited—and then they’re going to Hasan’s mosque to pray. I declined their invitation because I went to that mosque with them once last week, and it was kinda creepy.”
“Creepy? How?”
“Well, not in a ‘terrorist around every corner’ creepy. That’s a rare thing in our neck of the woods. No, I just found being surrounded by so many Muslims that dedicated was not my thing. The men seemed to pray more fervently than at our mosque, if that’s possible. The women were in another room entirely, and when I saw them, I was astounded at so many burqas. This is one old-world brand of mosque. So very unlike the one we go to.”
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