You Can't Tell by Looking

by Russell J. Sanders

  “Thank you, Joseph. Thank you, Bennie. Thank you, God. Thank you, Allah.

  “And Danny,” I say, looking heavenward, “thank you for paving the way for Kerem and me, just a bit, in your own way. If you did take your own life, I hope you’ve found peace.”

  With that, I head downstairs.

  There, in our living room, I find Mom, Dad, and Kerem’s mama and baba. Mom asked them to dinner so they all four could give us a big send-off. Dad and Aram both have high-end cameras near them. No cell phone photos for their sons. Uh-uh. Dad even bought a new camera to capture the moment.

  “Where’s Kerem?” I ask. “Surely he’s dressed.”

  “My son worked all day, once again at the Abbasis’. He was in the shower when we left,” Maria says. “I’m sure he’ll get here soon.”

  “I’ll go give him a nudge,” I say. “He told me he didn’t want me to see him until he was fully decked out, but he didn’t say I couldn’t skype.”

  I run back upstairs and go to the computer.

  Kerem’s head fills the screen.

  “Where you at?” I ask.

  “Getting ready. I’ll be over soon. Give me five more minutes.”

  I hear a knock on his door.

  “Someone’s at the door. Must be Tim. He’s the only one in the house, as far as I know.”

  Chapter 23

  Kerem

  “JUST A sec. I’ll get the door. It’s gotta be Tim because Mama and Baba are at your house, right?”

  “Waiting for you. My dad even bought a brand-new camera to capture your mug in style. When are you getting over here?”

  There’s another knock. Louder.

  “I’ve got to get the door. I’ll be there as soon as I can get my tie tied and my shoes on. Bye.”

  “Halt.” Gabe stops me from signing off. “I’ll wait. You get rid of Tim or the rapist who has broken into your house, and you can finish in front of the computer. The tie is tricky. You may need my expert advice.”

  “Okay—hang on.”

  I go to the door and open it.

  “Hey, Tim. Where you been?” I say.

  He doesn’t come into the room. Just stands there.

  “Praying. At the mosque. The good one.” His voice is monotone, but that’s the Timur voice I’ve come to expect these days.

  “The good one? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Hasan’s. Where the people know how to pray.”

  Strange bird, my cousin. I don’t know if he’s trying to provoke me, or if he’s just speaking his mind. He certainly has gotten totally bound up in the old ways of Hasan’s mosque, so knowing Timur, he probably does think we don’t know how to pray at our mosque. At any rate, I want him to leave so I can finish getting ready, but he just stands there. I guess I’m doomed to yet a little more small talk before I have to be blunt and tell him to leave.

  “It’s pretty late for sunset prayers. Those were over at least an hour and a half ago.”

  “I took extra time. On the private part. I had a lot to talk to Allah about. A problem I needed solved. A question I wanted an answer to.”

  “And did you get what you wanted?” I ask.

  “I did.” Nothing more. I still can’t fathom why he came to my door. And he’s not sharing. But then again, what he prayed is between him and Allah.

  “Well,” I say, “I’m late as it is.” I’m hoping he’ll take the hint. I glance at the computer screen, wondering if Gabe is still there. I see his face, and I get all warm inside. This is going to be one magical night.

  “You’re still doing this?”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Timur is all riddles tonight.

  “Doing what?”

  “Going to the prom with him.” There is extra emphasis on the him, like it’s a curse word or something.

  “Yes, Gabe and I are going to the prom. And I’m late. I need to finish getting ready.” I turn to go back to the closet. I figure if he won’t leave of his own accord, I’ll just finish what I have to do. Surely he’ll leave when I leave.

  “I’m surprised.” His voice doesn’t come from across the room. It’s right behind me. He’s followed me. I turn to face him.

  “Surprised at what?” And then I turn back to get the tie that is clipped to the hanger the suit came on.

  “Doing this to the family.”

  That sounds weird. I turn around, and he’s right in my face. “Doing what to the family? Going to prom has nothing to do with them.”

  “It does if you are going with him.” Again the emphasis. Why doesn’t he just say Gabe’s name?

  “Look, Timur, I love the family and would never do anything to hurt them. But my going to the prom with Gabe is okay with Mama and Baba. So if it’s not okay with you, so what?”

  I can’t believe what I’ve just said—that last part. I love my cousin. I think. But he can be a royal pain, and right now, I don’t want to deal with him. He’s got me wound up as it is.

  I lash out. “Timur, if you can’t accept that I’m gay, that I’m in love with Gabriel, that Mama and Baba, and Aysel too, are all supporting me and accepting me, then I can’t make you see otherwise. That’s your problem, not mine.”

  I see it. Something growing in his eyes, something that looks like an ember flaring up.

  “It’s wrong, Kerem. And you know it.”

  “Timur, I know in my heart that there is nothing more right than the love I feel for Gabe. And I’m not going to stand here and argue the point with you when I’ve got to finish getting ready. So leave, would you?” I point to the door. “You can continue your rant tomorrow, okay?”

  Dismissing him, I turn away to get the shoes, hanging in a Bennie’s bag on the hanger. That’s when I feel it. A cold metal across my throat.

  “Come on, Tim. Cut it out. I don’t have time for this.” I try to remain calm. My mind flashes to what Tim’s father did. That long-ago night when my cousin Delal was killed. But Tim, as crazy as he can be, is not murderous. He may want to scare me, but he wouldn’t hurt me. “Tim, I’ve got to finish getting ready.” The assurance in my voice will surely make him leave. “Funny joke. I’m laughing.” I force a laugh, hoping to defuse the situation if it indeed needs defusing.

  His arm forces me around. Still behind me. The blade still at my throat. He pushes me toward the mirror above my computer. “Does this look like a joke to you?” His voice is harder, colder, more menacing.

  “Timur, please,” I say as calmly as I can muster. “Why would you want to do this? I’ve done nothing to you.” Skype’s still connected. Gabe’s listening. He’ll do something.

  I feel sweat trickle down my forehead. I try to reason with myself. Tim’s not a crazed killer. He grew up right beside me. In the same loving household—same adoring parents.

  “You’ve brought dishonor.” That statement is so quiet that it sends chills up my spine.

  My mind is thrust back.

  Is this what it’s all come to? Is he repeating that ritual he witnessed so long ago?

  “Timur, listen to me. Your father was executed for what he did to your sister. What did he gain from doing what he did? What did you gain? Did it really save your family?” I know I can get through to him. We’re almost brothers, for Allah’s sake.

  He doesn’t answer, but I feel the blade dig into my skin.

  Is this the payment I deserve for forgetting, all too often, he was raised as my brother?

  I’ve got to keep talking to him. To get through to him. “Timur, your family and its honor are gone. I know hearing that hurts. But you have a new family now. Mama and Baba love you. Aysel loves you. What would they think if you did this? Please, Timur, you’re my brother. Don’t do this.”

  “Your brother? That’s the first time those words have ever left your lips.”

  I put every bit of conviction I have in my voice. “It’s true. You’re one of us. Our family’s your family.” I have to stay calm, gain his trust, reason with him.

  “But don’t you s
ee? That’s exactly why I have to do this. Our family is disintegrating. Aysel took the right step by marrying Hasan, but she is still not the obedient wife he deserves. Aunt and Uncle are far too liberal. I tried to steer them to the righteous path, to make them see they must attend Hasan’s mosque to save themselves. Aysel. Aunt. Uncle. Those are transgressions that can be forgiven. They can still choose to walk the path.

  “But you. Kerem. The golden child. You have chosen to stray so far that Allah will not forgive. What you have chosen to be—it’s an abomination, a sin so terrible that you are destroying our family. And you can’t even do it quietly. No, you must tell the world. The newspaper. The television. You will burn in hell, and you will take the family with you. But I—I can save Aysel, save Mama, save Baba.”

  I’m surprised that he has switched from calling Mama and Baba aunt and uncle to calling them what Aysel and I call them. He truly does feel a part of our family, and my heart hurts for him, because if he does this, it is not I who will burn in hell, but he.

  “Mama and Baba love you, Timur. And they love me. Don’t take me from them. You will be taken away, and they will lose both their sons if you do this.”

  “Don’t you see? I’m saving them. It matters not what happens to me. I am insuring their place in the Garden of Paradise by ridding our family of this sin that is destroying its honor.”

  I hear a noise outside in the hall. It is faint, like whoever is out there is trying to be as silent as possible.

  A millisecond. Baba appears in the doorway. He looks calm. I know it’s an act.

  “Timur, son, what are you doing?” he asks, his tone measured. “Put the knife down, love.”

  At the sound of Baba’s voice, Timur’s body jerks, almost imperceptibly. Still pressed up against me, I feel the quiver run through him. Baba will reach him. But will he drop the knife?

  The blade cuts deeper. I feel no blood, so he hasn’t broken the skin yet. But it’s only a matter of time. And one quick slice is all it will take to sever my carotid. Please, Baba, speak reason. Stop this.

  Baba steps into the room. He’s followed by Mama, Mary, and Gabe’s dad. They are like a human shield, advancing toward the enemy. But their steps are tiny. Nothing that will upset Timur. I hope.

  “Timur, love.” That’s Mama speaking. There’s anguish in her face, but there’s love in her voice. “Can I come to you? Will you give the knife to me?” She makes a slight move, a ministep.

  “Don’t come near us! He deserves this. He has dishonored us all.”

  Baba pulls Mama back. “Timur,” he says, “there is no dishonor here. You have to understand that what Kerem does is between him and Allah. Who he is, the choices he makes, are not yours to dictate. Only Allah can accept or forgive him. You can’t make that decision. It is for Allah. Only Allah.”

  “Listen to Baba, Timur,” Mama says. “He speaks truth. If you take Kerem from us, you will not be honoring the family. You’ll be destroying the family.”

  Suddenly I feel a tug. Timur’s hand, the one holding the dagger, is pushed away from my throat. The force is such that I stumble and fall. From the floor I look up. Gabriel has his arms locked around Timur, and they are struggling. He has one hand on Timur’s wrist, trying to wrest the dagger from his grip.

  Timur is strong. But Gabriel’s stronger. It’s happening so fast I cannot think of where my savior came from. But I do know Allah sent this angel to rescue me.

  Gabe has Timur on the bed now. They are so tightly wound together that if Gabe weren’t wearing the tuxedo, it would be difficult to sort out whose arms and legs belong to whom. At last, Gabriel is on top of Timur, and he manages to get him to release the knife. It goes flying across the room.

  At that, Baba and Ken Dillon rush the bed. Ken pulls his son off Timur, and Baba tugs at Timur. On his feet now, Baba holds Timur in a tight armlock.

  But the fight has gone from Timur. He’s lifeless. Drained.

  As soon as his father lets go of him, Gabe pulls me off the floor and smothers me in a hug that feels like safety. He kisses me, over and over, my eyes, my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. His kisses are frantic, but they speak love.

  I look over his shoulder, and his mother stands there, longing to grab him away from me, no doubt, because she needs to feel her son’s warmth. Know he is okay. I don’t want to let go of him, but his mother needs him right now. So I push him into her arms.

  At that moment, the tears start flowing. She floods him with tears of joy and relief.

  By now, Mama is cradling Timur, trying to comfort him. I can almost see her message, though she speaks no words. She’s trying desperately to tell him that it’ll all be okay.

  But it won’t. My cousin may very well spend the rest of his life locked away. In prison. In a hospital. I will pray to Allah fervently that Timur is healed, that he comes to understand. But I fear his life is over.

  I walk to him, put my hand on his chin, lift his head so I can look him in the eyes. “I forgive you, brother.”

  Forgiveness. Allah commands it. And I obey. It will be quite some time, I think, before I truly understand, feel the depths of Timur’s anguish. After all, I didn’t see my father kill my sister when I was ten years old.

  But I can forgive my cousin. The rest is up to Allah.

  With everyone at some semblance of normality—well, at least the immediate crisis is over—my brain works well enough to remember I do have french doors that lead from my room onto a balcony. In a Joseph Abboud silver heather slim fit, my lover climbed the tree outside my room to save me. I’m truly in love with a knight in shining armor.

  “Thank you,” I say to him.

  “Thank you? Is that all you can say? I almost ripped a thousand-dollar pair of pants climbing up that tree.” Leave it to Gabe to bring us all back to normalcy with one sentence.

  I smile at him. No one laughs at his joke, but I know they’re all grateful that he’s made it. The tension’s broken somewhat.

  I top him. “The pants are only five hundred. The coat is the other part of that thousand.” I can’t believe I’m joking after all that’s just taken place.

  Mama takes Timur from my room, to where, I don’t know. He goes with her willingly. Or, at least, he doesn’t put up a fight. He’s a broken robot now.

  “What’s going to happen to him, Baba?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, I must take him to the police. What happens after that is up to them. And the court system. If I have my way, he will be committed. Your cousin is a good boy. He just went astray. I blame that on me. I should have seen the signs.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Baba,” I say, hoping to comfort him.

  “He was following in my brother’s footsteps. Surely I could have taken measures to see that would never happen. We brought him, your mama and I, into our family, a broken little boy who’d lost his entire family, his mother taken from him, his older brother too, his sister murdered right in front of him by his own father, and we simply acted like nothing had happened. Some doctors we are.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Aram,” Gabe’s dad says. “Those were unusual circumstances. No one could have dreamed all that would happen in such a short time, and you and Maria are only human. You thought love would take care of it all. You made him your son and hoped for the best.”

  “And now I must turn him in to the police.” Baba sighs. “It will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than going with my brother that night.”

  Ken puts his hand on Baba’s arm. “I’ll go with you.” His words are few and simple. But Baba’s body changes. He becomes taller, filled, it seems, with resolve. Allah has sent him his angel to guide him through this horrible task. And I love Gabe’s dad for that.

  Still with his hand on Baba’s arm, Ken leads him out of the room.

  So here we stand, I half-dressed for a prom that is never to be—at least not for us. Gabe, remarkably put together, for a man who has just climbed a tree, sneaked into a room, caught a
potential killer off guard, and saved his lover. And Mary, beautiful Saint Mary, standing quietly, her gaze showering love on us both.

  “Well, this has been quite the ordeal,” Mary says. “So what now, boys?”

  “I suppose we get changed out of these monkey suits and get on with our lives. It’s not every night you face death and live to tell it,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Gabe agrees, and then he grabs me and kisses me. After all I’ve been through tonight, Gabe’s kiss instantly makes me feel safe.

  “You have no idea what was running through my mind as I shinnied up that tree.” He gazes into my eyes, filling me. “I’m fast, but it put the fear of God in me. In those thirty seconds, I kept praying over and over, ‘Please, God, please Allah, please God, please Allah.’”

  “They’re the same, you know.” He’s made me feel so secure that I can joke again. I laugh at him.

  “Allahu Akbar, huh? God is great?”

  “Yes, he is,” I affirm and hug him like I’ll never let him go.

  “Uh, guys,” his mom says hesitantly, sounding embarrassed for intruding into our moment, “it’s only nine.”

  Why do we care about the time? Then I get Mary’s drift. We could still make it to the prom. And I want some distraction. It’s not every night you almost get your head cut off and live to tell it. No. That’s a fleeting thought. Forgive me, Allah. I could never have fun after what’s taken place, knowing Timur’s in hell right now.

  “So—it’s only nine,” Gabe says, wonder in his voice.

  “I think your mom’s suggesting we could still get to the prom before the last dance.” My words are quiet and even. I don’t want to betray myself. I can’t have anyone thinking I could even consider going to the prom now. Am I considering it? After I just dismissed the idea?

  “Mom, I think going to a prom’s a bit trivial compared to all of tonight’s events,” Gabe says. And I love him for that.

  “And why?” It’s my mama’s voice. She has come into the room. “You boys have been looking forward to this for weeks. My Kerem’s almost dressed, and Mary here can work her magic and get you put back together.” Her eyes lock on to Gabe’s. “Why shouldn’t you go?”