CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Within four days Emily was installed back in her apartment and Ghulam had moved in temporarily with Mustafa in his tiny attic apartment on Heidelberg’s Dante Strasse. The top floor of the building had three rooms, all occupied by Afghani nationals. They shared one bathroom and a small community kitchen consisting of several hot-plates between six people. After the luxury of his home with Emily, Ghulam became angrier, more so at the inconvenience than at the loss of prestige. He had expected that she would contact him and apologize. She was, after all the daughter of a Muslim, even if he was Berber. Surely she understood the very essence of their society was obedience. He had attempted to contact her several times through Mustafa and she had never replied. Ghulam had not telephoned, nor had he used any portion of the large check he had received on their wedding day from her father. Theoretically, in the event of their divorce the check was his, a sort of pay off for any inconvenience. However, if the child she carried was male, he would be welcomed into the Ansari family and financially supported.
In the absence of an apology, Emily smoldered in anger. She was unable to face anyone who witnessed the incident. She understood that it was a hot topic of discussion throughout their social circle. Her parents remained in Heidelberg, and she spent much of her time traveling back and forth to their hotel by taxi. Each day before lunch, a Mercedes sedan would pick her up and return her in the early evening. At her request, the landlord changed the locks and she noticed no signs of forced entry. Clearly her husband of twenty four hours had not wished to communicate directly with her.
At the end of six weeks, under the instruction of her father who had returned to England, she wrote to Ghulam at the new address that had been given to her father. She had requested the return of her father’s check and suggested he apologize to her family and meet with her to discuss their marital arrangements. Ghulam instead sent word with Mustafa that he was leaving for Herat to stay with his family until after Spring break. Any arrangements could wait, he advised, until he returned.
Emily spent a great deal of time in the company of Rose and Mike Otu, and their friend Osita Udakamma. She was beginning to rely on Osita’s presence as a comfort in her loneliness during her pregnancy. Now into her third month, she had gained weight; she looked pregnant and had gotten over the initial waves of nausea and intense morning sickness. She was beginning to enjoy her condition. Her appetite had increased considerably and for the first time in her life she was not anemic. Her hair was thickly curled and worn in a blonde shoulder length ‘natural’ style. Her skin was lightly tanned and she looked the picture of health and femininity, despite having no partner with whom to share the joy of impending motherhood.
One of Osita’s friends, Dr. Gerhart Ripke became Emily’s obstetrician. He arranged for her to give birth in a private Catholic maternity hospital and enlisted a midwife and also an Afghan medical student who would help Emily after the baby was born in return for free room and board and a small stipend. Emily continued to work for Heinrich Scholl, who asked no questions. Herr Scholl had been a wedding guest along with his wife and had been horrified at what they had seen. His company provided her with health insurance and a good salary. She had no financial problems. Her life was in perfect order and she looked forward to the birth of her baby.
Each evening she would return to Ziegelhausen by street car. Occasionally Osita would pick her up from work on the way home from day shift at the hospital and they would have dinner together. On one such night, the subject of her marriage resulted in a discussion on Islamic interpretation of the role of women. As Emily understood it, after lengthy discussions with her father who had himself consulted many learned scholars, the role of women in Islamic history was in a continual state of turmoil. There were few chronicles to refer to and the most reliable source was Umar, who was the second successor after Muhammad’s death in 632 C.E. He found that new converts to Islam needed a more structured way of life and in order for them not to be tempted back into their former lifestyle, he preached Islam as the mainstay of Arabic existence. He had stressed the concept of family law and levied severe punishment for infractions of morality such as adultery or temporary marriage. It was the issue of temporary marriage that was of concern. Umar had forbidden any union by a man and a woman for any set period of time and had used one hour to ninety-nine years as an example. Also forbidden were payments of money to women for any purpose. He claimed this was similar to prostitution. Conversely, Mohammed had inferred that temporary marriage could be interpreted as highly beneficial to women, providing them with money and protection. Islamic law or Shari’ah as defined by Mohammed stressed independence as a civil status for every individual. Unfortunately the interpretations of Shari’ah had evolved into a very different legal structure in almost fourteen hundred years. Divorcing one’s husband was still a rarely accepted concept. Women were a commodity and such a financial loss could completely unsettle a man’s family. A woman would have to return to a state of dependency on her family and in many cases this was not practical. While not a real issue for Emily, it was still a great social stigma. For many women, divorcing their husbands was simply not an option, and while there was nothing forbidding such an action, one had to have a good reason. A random act of violence did not constitute a divorce.
Islamic law discouraged independence in women. The option of a woman supporting herself in Ghulam’s culture did not exist. While women had progressed in Islamic culture, respectability was a highly desirable trait. Women must adhere to a strict code of purity and moral righteousness. Islamic men were conscious of their honor and their womenfolk were seen as treasured possessions. An honorable woman must be secluded from all other men. Any other man could be viewed as a potential sexual partner. No infractions were tolerated. From a sexual standpoint, Emily had discovered that Shari’ah acknowledged a woman’s right to receive pleasure but it was her duty to please her husband in all things. Men dominated, and the burden of shame was on the head of the woman at all times.
Both her father and Mustafa had advised her that as Ghulam and his family perceived the issue, she had behaved inappropriately and her husband had taken the correct measure. It was a question of personal honor. As Osita tried to take this all in, he could not help but question the application of Islamic rights to a relationship that had been common-law to begin with.
”You married him here in Heidelberg, not in Afghanistan, Emily. Get a legal divorce and start your life again. There are other men. Maybe find one that isn’t so harsh, who will love you for yourself,” he said, somewhat hopefully, “The man is a brute and may be seriously emotionally impaired. Even worse,” he added, in an accent which, while very much Nigerian was tinged with English nuances, “He’s such a wanker.”
“Wanker or not, Osita,” she laughed, surprised at his choice of terminology, “He is my husband, in the eyes of the law as well as under the religious standards that I grew up under. I cannot just give up on the situation. I really believe that this was a one time thing that will not happen again.”
“For heavens sake Emily, he almost broke your jaw in public on your wedding day, and you would even think of returning to him? Are you completely mad? What happens,” Osita continued raising his voice slightly, “if he pulls one of these numbers and you’re in Afghanistan where you have no protection whatsoever? Do you know that there are people in these countries acting as a morality police force? Learned men who go around like some sort of taste police, beating up people publicly in the street if they so much as marginally stray from Islamic code. You cannot go there, Emily. It is not like Europe. There is no freedom for women, whatsoever.”
She couldn’t help but to laugh incredulously at her situation. She had lived with Ghulam for a few months, been married to him for twenty-four hours and was pregnant, now considering a divorce which, although legal could mean the kiss of death both from her family, who simply didn’t recognize divorce as an option, and Ghulam’s family, who would be dishonored
if not socially censured. It was completely absurd. In line with her family’s religious and personal belief structure she should, in fact she must reconcile with her husband. If he could just face her directly instead of through a mediator she would be able to determine the best course of action. She turned to Osita and began to cry.
“Come on, Em. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I really do care for you, you know that. I had hoped that we could be more than friends. Just hear me out. I am not poor. I’m planning on opening a general practice in the north of England, somewhere like Liverpool or Manchester. You’ll be near your family and you can continue your education. I’ll bring up your child with you. I cannot return to Nigeria because of the political situation there and my relatives are probably all gone anyway. There is no one there left. It has been hard for the Ibo people. We are as displaced as the Palestinians. At least think about it. I am in no rush.”
“Osita, I am flattered, but I cannot think of another man at this point. I’m not really too good at relationships. I never have been. I’m just too independent. I want something like my parents have. They still look like they’re in love. They never argue. I mean, they disagree, but never anything violent. My father adores my mother. Do you know they still hold hands in public? And they’re so upset by all this. They just want me to be happy.”
“Emily, don’t you see that their social status and financial situation have a lot to do with the success of their marriage. They’ve never had any money problems and ultimately no real stress so it has been comparatively easy for them to get along. They had an Imah to take care of you. Lovely people though they are, they don’t live in a real world with real responsibility. Believe me, money helps. I can give you friendship, financial security, and love. We could have a very good life. Yes, there’s the racial issue, but England is not South Africa. As I said, think about it. We can get your marriage annulled or you can divorce him on the grounds of desertion. Talk to Rose and Mike, they can help.”
“Thank you, but I’ll solve my own problems. I appreciate your friendship and support, but all I need right now is someone to talk to. No entanglements. I am spoken for, remember.”
“Ok, ok. But anyway, I have something for you. A little gift. I thought you might like this because you’re getting bigger and you need something comfortable.” He handed her a beautifully wrapped box. Smiling as she opened it, she found a black and gold Nigerian robe.
“We call this a kaba, please enjoy it. You’ll find that it grows with your pregnancy,” he said laughing.
“Osita, how about we go out to dinner at ‘Shepheards’ on the Hauptstrasse, and then we can go to ‘The Cave’ afterwards and meet Rose and Mike? It’s my treat.”
They returned to her apartment where Emily changed from her work clothes as Osita waited in the spacious living room. He gazed out of the window on to the winding mountain road below and then, as if guided by some unseen force, focused on his car which was parked next to Emily’s Benz in the lot outside of the apartment building. Directly in his line of vision was an old blue VW Beetle. He’d seen the car before but couldn’t place it. But he was fairly certain that it been right behind him when he picked up Emily.
Emily stopped at her mail box on the way in to the building and once she had finished dressing she went through the letters from England and bills to be paid, finally reaching a flimsy red and blue air mail envelope with an Afghani stamp. It was from Ghulam. In his disappointment that Emily’s husband had finally contacted her, Osita forgot the strange car in the parking lot.
Ghulam’s letter contained neither an apology nor an explanation of his outburst. He stated simply that he had explained the situation to his family and they had voiced the displeasure at his choice of wife. They were very supportive of Ghulam’s response to the situation that had occurred at the wedding party. In his village, they said, in no uncertain terms, she would have been stoned for considerably less. And they, he pointed out, were wealthy citizens not peasants! Emily wondered if her mother had experienced such ludicrous rules during her stay in Morocco and Egypt with her father’s family.
He told her he was planning to go to Lebanon to study and that she was expected to join him in Beirut before the birth of their child. He suggested she should prepare herself in the meantime to make herself a good wife in the truest sense of the word. He gave her the address and phone number of a friend whose wife, a righteous woman, was a teacher of Islamic tradition. She would attend to Emily’s needs in his absence. He went on to say he would have preferred her to live with his parents in Herat during her confinement and added that he had deposited the check her father had given him. If she had any financial needs she should contact his father, who would make any and all financial arrangements for her. There was no mention of love, affection or the incident that had forced him away.
She read the letter aloud to Osita who expressed his concern at the mention of leaving for Beirut. “Emily, you simply cannot go there. It is a completely insane idea. He should not expect this of you. You cannot travel there with an infant. It’s unacceptable for women to travel alone anyway. You must tell him no.”
They continued their discussion down the steps of the apartment house, greeting the landlord and his wife whom they met on the stairs.
“Frau Ansari, there has been a gentlemen here today. He was looking for you. He was asking too many questions, I felt uncomfortable,” said Frau Meyerhofer, a large kindly woman from East Berlin, who had an inbuilt fear of authority. “He wanted to know when you left, came home, who you entertained and even if anyone spent the night. I told him to leave,” she said awkwardly, “but I think he has been driving around as I saw his car going up and down the mountain road a little earlier. He went away again but a few minutes later pulled in about five minutes after you got home. I took down his number and I think you should call the Polizei and report him.” She handed Emily a piece of paper with HD DTP 7 written on it.
“Thank you, Frau Meyerhofer, but that car belongs to a friend of my husband. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Emily said, reaching the front door to leave the building.
When Emily and Osita got outside the VW was not there. “It’s Mustafa’s car,” she told Osita. “But why wouldn’t he just ring the bell and come in?”
“Because he’s probably on a recon mission for Ghulam,” Osita replied. “I don’t like this. These guys are all crazy. Let’s use my car; it’s not as recognizable as yours.”
The drive to downtown Heidelberg took about fifteen minutes. Osita kept checking his rearview mirror under the pretense of changing the channels on his car’s eight track stereo system. “God, don’t you just hate the way it changes in the middle of a song you like?” They were both singing along to War and Eric Burdon’s, ‘They Can’t Take Away Our Music’.
“I just love ‘War’. You know, considering they’re American, they’re pretty good.”
“God, what a prejudiced statement, Osita. I’m shocked,” she laughed.
“They are different. Not like the usual American R and B bands. They’re raw. That one ’Spill the Wine’, it’s almost Nigerian in rhythm. This is my favorite tape,” he said, pulling one out from the glove compartment. “Eric Burdon Declares War. That Burdon just cannot be a white Englishman. Man it’s really fine. The other one, ‘Tobacco Road’, man it’s so good, that and Rufus Thomas. Truly great, you know?”
They parked on a side street off the Hauptstrasse and walked to Shepheard’s Lounge. Neither Emily nor Osita noticed Mustafa stalking them. Entering the restaurant bar the couple seated themselves at one of the window tables looking out onto the street. Emily ordered her favorite Jaeger Schnitzel and salad, while Osita chose a large Wurst Salad. They decided to share a large serving of crispy French fried potatoes and settled in comfortably; sipping a fashionable fruit juice mix of peach and cherry juice over crushed ice.
‘He’s here. Mustafa! He’s crossing the street to get to Café Straub,” Osita tapped Emily’s arm.
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�Wave to him, Osita. Make sure he knows we’ve seen him.”
“He’s turning away. There are other people outside. It looks like they’re waiting for him. He’s seen me, but he doesn’t want to let on.” The figures went inside the Café.
They finished their drinks, and as their food arrived Emily looked directly at Osita and asked, “Do you think I’m in any danger? He’s watching my home. He’s following us when we are together. What do you think he’s trying to do?”
“Obviously he’s reporting back to your husband. Emily, it doesn’t worry me, I’m single, but you could certainly be at risk even if we are friends. I’ve told you so many times. His society does not offer any form of social freedom for women. This way of life is not for you, Em.”
They decided against lingering over coffee and instead paid the bill and checked the window toward the Café across the street for signs of Mustafa. Seeing none, they left through the alternate exit near the kitchen door, walking somewhat hurriedly until they reached the door of Cave 54, Osita holding Emily’s arm as the stairway leading to the cellar was steep. He immediately noticed Rose and Mike and wasted no time explaining what had gone on so far.
Rose hugged Emily, telling her, “You should just let this fellow go, Em. There’s something very wrong here. I mean, why the hell isn’t he here with you instead of buggering off to Lebanon? What are you parents saying about all this? Or haven’t you told them the latest?”
“Look Rose, I am married to the man. Ok I get the point, he does react differently to situations concerning the role of women, but outside of that he is truly a good person,” Emily responded defiantly.
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