by Maha Gargash
“Soon, you’ll be talking to Sager,” she began, and squeezed Rashid’s hand, hoping he would connect with her thoughts.
“Yes,” he said. His thumb felt rougher than usual as he began to stroke her palm.
“But what is your plan? How are you going to ask him?”
“I know how to talk to Sager. He’s my friend.”
She gripped his hand harder. “And what if he doesn’t agree? Then what?”
“Why wouldn’t he agree?”
“Well, he’s a funny boy, my brother. Sometimes, he lets other people influence his mind.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants me to stay with them.”
“To do what? Grow old and ugly, and die alone?”
“I don’t know.” She sensed he was not comfortable with the subject and decided to change it. Smiling, she looked up at his face and said, “Our first will be a boy. We’ll call him Salem. Salem Bin-Rashid Bin…What?”
“Same as my name, of course.”
“And that is?”
“Rashid Bin-Abdullah, you silly girl.”
“That’s your father’s name. What about your family?”
“Why are you so bothered about my family? I will be your family.” He sounded impatient.
Every time she wanted to talk about their future, he acted defensive. “And where will we live? At Maazoolah?”
“No, we’ll live in the desert.”
She looked at him agape.
“In a tent, and we’ll move from place to place. And we’ll bring up camels, too. And that’s not all…” A snicker crept up his throat before he could continue. The laugh that followed sounded strained.
He was trying to lighten the mood by teasing her. “Don’t joke,” Noora said. “I am serious.”
“Why do you worry so much?”
She wondered whether that was true. “I don’t know why.”
“Well, you can’t help it I suppose.” He sniffed. “You have had a lot to worry about in your life, living all alone, like a savage out there.”
She yanked her hand out of his and slapped him repeatedly on his arm with the back of her palm. “Savage?” she cried.
“No, no,” he said, with obvious glee. “I meant living so far from people. Being isolated all your life in faraway mountains, that’s what makes your ways rough.” He lifted his hands to protect his face. “Don’t injure me, angry woman, strong woman! I can’t defend myself.”
It was an invitation to use both hands, and Noora attacked him with her full heart in loving slaps and punches to his chest and stomach. He curled into a ball and she tried to roll him over to expose his more tender parts, but he was too heavy. Shifting her weight to her thighs, she shoved him using her full body, uprooting him with the first thrust, surprised at her own strength. He tumbled onto his back.
With the speed of a hungry dog, she punched the cavity, feeling her fist rupture the softness of his belly. His gasp reverberated in the hollow of the cavern. She had hit him too hard.
Rashid was quick to react. His arms coiled to his chest and shot out. She felt the thump ram the air out of her chest.
Noora landed at the pool’s edge, half in, half out of the water. Her shayla slipped onto her shoulders and spread around her, sucked in the water and went limp. She sat awkwardly, arms lodged behind her, her bent legs wobbling as she tried to regain some poise. She blinked away the tears that were welling in her eyes and watched him rise, shake the dirt off his dishdasha, and blend with the darkness.
Noora coughed to test her voice before speaking. “There’s no need to be so rough.”
“You started it.”
“But I am only a girl. You’re a man. Much stronger than I am.”
“If you can’t handle the joking, you shouldn’t joke.”
“That push wasn’t a joke,” she mumbled. She pulled the shayla back onto her head and crept toward the middle of the pool. The deepest point reached just below her chest. She closed her eyes and, holding her nose, dipped her head, immersing her hurt into its darkness.
She held her breath for as long as she could. Then, resurfacing, she gulped the air. Her eyes wandered to the hurricane lamp. It remained in the same place, but Rashid was not in its light. She stood very still and waited to hear his footsteps, but only the sound of trickling water, as it slid off her head and into the pond, filled the cave. She remained frozen in place for a long time, till those same trickles weakened and collected to form individual drops. With each plop, she felt her brooding anger dissolve, and just as she was about to move, she spotted him.
Rashid emerged from the shadows like a lost ghost. He waded into the pool, setting off ripples that lapped her chest. Noora felt her heart quicken, and she was suddenly aware of the way her clothes were clinging to her skin. Even though she knew that it was too dark for Rashid to be able to see her properly, she felt exposed. She started tugging at the fabric to create air pockets that could hide her sodden outline. Wet pops echoed in the cave, and that made her more conscious of the strange desire that was seeping out of her.
He stopped in front of her, his face a hand’s distance away, and pulled the shayla onto her shoulders. Even though she felt more exposed with her head uncovered, she did not resist.
“I didn’t mean to be so rough,” he whispered. “It just happened. You hit me so hard, I just pushed without thinking.”
Noora crossed her arms tight over her chest to squash the swell of it, and smiled. “It’s over now.”
“Forgive me?”
“I forgive you.”
She turned to walk back when he clasped her hand and tugged her toward him.
“Don’t go,” he said and pulled her into an embrace, their faces almost touching.
The water they were in suddenly felt thick and her dress heavier. She was aware of the force of his pulse beating against her ribs. She tried to root her feet in one place, but her nervousness kept them sliding and tripping over each other. So she tightened her knees lest she collapse.
He was shivering and yet he felt so strong. He was blowing hot breaths onto her face. She knew she had to pull away, but her halfhearted attempt to ease out of his grip prompted him to hold her closer.
“You are my life,” he whispered. “I want to hold you, hold you so close that we melt into each other.”
His voice sounded as liquid as the water they were in. She tried to see the passion in his eyes, but they remained in the shadows. The air felt thinner, warmer. Her strength was being squeezed out, like water from a sponge. Must stop this, she thought. Her arms fell limp to her side, her knees softened, and she melted into his embrace.
His taut ribs crushed the suppleness of her chest. He nuzzled his head into her neck, took in her scent in long inhales. Must stop this.
He began stroking her back and kissing her eyes—small moist pecks that lingered, sticky as ripe dates. His warmth made her tremble, and she felt a part of him hardening. She did not know what this meant but, right away, sensed the danger in it. It was time to break this deep, deep embrace.
“I have to go,” she squeaked, and heard the shake of panic in her voice.
“Just a little longer and—”
“No,” she said, louder, with authority. “I have to go now!”
She heard him take a massive lungful of air. His grip eased and he dipped his head into the water.
Noora frowned at her stupidity. She was soaking wet. What was she going to tell the villagers? She followed Rashid out of the tunnel, squinting at the sudden light, when the answer came to her in one of God’s acts of mercy.
The sky was still white, but the rain had come and gone. Deep puddles filled the various dips and crevices of the mountains. Noora smiled and said, “You know, it’s the first time I’ve ever missed a downpour. And it was all for you.”
Rashid tried to hug her again, but she squirmed out of his grasp and climbed down the ridge, sure that he was watching her. As usual, he stayed behind to avoid arriving at Maazoolah at the same time.
Noora couldn’t wait to ponder what had just happened. The strength had returned to her limbs and she ran along the plain, carrying the weight of a dress thick with water and a mind brimming with the feel of him. She felt energetic and exhausted, confident yet awkward. So many different things at the same time: happy but guilty.
How bold of him to touch her in that way! And how shameful of her to accept! Instead of punishment, God had rewarded her with the excuse of rain. And how had she repaid God? She let a man who was not her husband touch her, arouse her in a way that was most sinful.
As she reached the village well, she vowed she would not let Rashid touch her like that again until they were married.
14
Early the next morning, news crept into Moza’s home on whispering tongues. Noora was in the bedroom folding the bridal gifts when three older women entered Moza’s hut. She heard them say that Hessa had had a fight with her son when he confessed that he did not want to marry Aisha. Their murmurs grew bolder as they released the details of the confrontation.
“I heard the smacks of the cane clear from inside my home,” said one woman. “And I couldn’t hear him raise a hand back; he just stood there and took it.”
“He’s big and strong, but don’t forget she is his mother after all.”
Moza’s slow voice quickened a pace. “And now what?”
“Nobody knows. He has disappeared. Gone!”
It didn’t take long for Hessa to visit. That same day, just before the afternoon prayer, she flew into Moza’s house, her shayla flapping behind her like the wings of some giant bird. Then the heartache surged out of her.
“He thinks he’s a man,” she said, “all big and powerful, throwing his cruel words at his defenseless mother—a widowed woman—breaking her heart, shaming her in her own home.” Her voice started cracking at the edges and she paused to regain control. “He doesn’t understand that to be a man, he needs to honor his word.”
Moza blew a sigh of compassion, and Noora’s mind drifted to all those beautiful clothes she had made, stacked so neatly in the other room. She had put her heart into that bridal thoub, created in it a red night sky with all those glittering stars. And what about those smiling cashews, identical in size, on the ankle bands? How cheerful they looked: lime green on leaf green. Yes, smiling they were, unless Hessa flipped them upside down. What would become of all those clothes now that the marriage was off? Would Hessa take them anyway, or would she rip them to shreds?
Hessa’s head slumped to her chest. “My poor sister,” she mumbled. “I had to tell her that my son had lost his mind.”
Moza craned her neck toward Hessa. “What was that?”
Hessa’s head snapped back up. “I said, I had to tell my sister that my son had lost his mind. Imagine, he said, ‘I don’t want to get married,’ said, ‘Aisha is like my sister.’ Is that the talk of a man? Giving his word and then taking it away?”
Moza fidgeted before throwing a general message of consolation. “Boys are young in the head. They say things, but they don’t mean any of it.”
But Hessa would not loll in Moza’s puddle of sympathy. “Well, this boy is not young in the head,” she cawed. “He’s stupid in the head.” And then she turned to Noora and took in bits of her face and figure. Suddenly the slits of Hessa’s burka seemed too large, somehow showing too much of those hard eyes.
Hessa’s eyes flitted, hawklike. There was a sizzle of blame dancing on their surface. Did the strong woman think Noora’s stay at Maazoolah had brought bad luck to her family? Noora looked away, only to hear Hessa click her tongue. She wasn’t finished.
“Then, when my sister’s sweet daughter found out,” Hessa said. “Well, what can I say? That young flower just won’t talk to anyone, or leave the house. She won’t eat! That angel—soon the youth of her cheeks will disappear.” She shook her head. “And all because of that selfish son of mine.”
A shadow broke the beam of light falling in from the entrance. Hessa snapped her head toward it and called, “Mohammad! I saw you!”
His head peeked through. “Yes, Mother?”
“Think again. Where could your brother have gone to?”
“I told you I don’t know, Mother,” said Mohammad. His lips spread into a cheeky grin. “Maybe he went to marry someone else.”
Hessa bent over by the door, scooped up her slipper, and threw it at him. But Mohammad was too quick.
“You must calm down,” said Moza, rising. “Let me get you some water.”
Hessa nodded a stern thank-you and leaned back on the wall. Moza hobbled past her and out of the hut. Clamping her mouth shut, Hessa stared ahead, over Noora’s shoulder, at the wall. She seemed to be searching for something—or maybe, for once, she had nothing to say.
Noora felt she had to console her. It was the right thing to do. She opened her mouth but then held back. Let her stay a while in that deep thought, her brows jammed together like that and her eyes, so clouded with concentration, turning blacker than the kohl on them.
Then, like a sleeping snake awakened by the squeak of a mouse, Hessa twisted her neck to the side and shot Noora a venomous stare. “If you ask me, some green-eyed devil must have played with his mind, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, khalti,” said Noora, surprised at her quick answer. “The devil is always around us, and it’s up to us to make sure we don’t follow his path.” A trickle of shame lodged a sour taste in her mouth. Hadn’t she followed the devil’s path to those forbidden meetings? She swallowed hard. She had to retain that guiltless authority that had just filled her voice.
Hessa grunted. “Well, my boy has always been respectful toward his mother. And so, I wonder whether something…” She paused. “Or someone—has made him act this way.”
Her thoughts were finally spilling out, but Noora was determined not to let Hessa play with her doubts. She tightened her lips against Hessa’s hard stare.
“How come you are home at this time of day?” Hessa persisted. “I thought you would be out, on one of your long walks.”
How much did Hessa know? Did she have her followed? A cold sweat leaked along the length of her. “Well, I’m a bit tired today,” she mumbled, wiping her clammy hands on her dress.
“How long do you plan to stay here?” said Hessa. “Doesn’t your family miss you? When will you go back to them?”
“Soon, khalti, very soon,” said Noora.
Hessa’s sooty eyes lightened with the thought. “Well, I’d better go,” she said, rising in one sure move. “Allah will make things right, and we, the Bin-Ghanems, are strong.”
Noora dropped her gaze to the ground.
“And who knows what I’ll find once I get home,” Hessa continued. “Insha’ Allah, God willing, my Rashid will be back, full of regret at how he upset me.”
Noora looked up, but it was too late. Hessa had already stepped out of the hut. She did not look back. And it was just as well. She would have surely picked up the tremors that shook Noora’s breath, the twitch that seized the side of her lips, and the trembling fingers she hurriedly tucked under her thighs.
Was it the same Rashid? Was Hessa’s son her Rashid?
15
Noora clutched the scissors and held the tips at a cashew. Just one snip—that’s all it would take to send the threads twirling loose. When hurt and fury bite at your insides together, you want to do all sorts of destructive things.
Rashid Bin-Ghanem! Of course. His name, his family name—held back from her, concealed in the shadows of the cave. What did it mean? What were his intentions as he embraced the warmth of her chest, wooed her heart, kept her all to himself? Was she to be the second wife?
She felt the handle of the scissors bore into her thumb. There was the gleam sitting on the blades. A heat spread into her fingers and she nicked a cashew. Still, she remained giddy with confusion. She wanted him, but oh, the trust, it was blunted.
The blades were parting once more. There was a creak of rusty metal. Anothe
r cashew destroyed.
He had disappeared without a word. She knew he was not at the cave because she had gone there, walked along its length only to find it empty. Was he on his way to see Sager? Rashid had broken his promise to marry Aisha, but did she want him at the expense of another?
That gentle feminine side of her that had surfaced in the cave seemed far away. Here, she was another creature, bent on destruction. More threads sprung loose and when the cashews resembled a garden of weeds, she reached out for the red bridal thoub. She fluffed it open, letting the front of the gown settle on her crossed knees. Tremors played around her mouth, and she sliced the fragile twirls of silver thread, de-rooting those same stems, leaves, and petals that she had meticulously embroidered.
Hope and deception. It was a dizzying mix, and Noora could not separate the two. The madness that whirled in her head tormented her. With eyes as hard as stones, she stared at the silver stars sprinkled on the full length of the thoub. It was her idea, her design, of a fiery night sky. And now, it had to be thrown into chaos, too. She snipped and scooped out every single one, until she was satisfied that this most special of gowns was transformed into a furious crimson nightmare.
The moon looks the same at the beginning of the month and at its end: a smiling crescent that tilts to one side, keeping you guessing whether it’s finishing the old or beginning the new.
It was such a night when Rashid reappeared.
“Who’s that?” Noora whispered, even though she recognized the familiar breath outside Moza’s hut.
“Me,” said Rashid.
“You’re back.” She crept to the wall, pulled the stone out, and asked, “Where were you this past week? What happened?” Her eyes were open so wide they burned. She wished that crescent could expand, throw some light on his face. But it remained as it was, curved in a warped smile, hiding the struggle on Rashid’s face, the struggle she heard in his breath.
He sighed and whispered, “It’s not possible.”
“What? Why? Did Sager say no?”