Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Yes, she should have called him. That much she could give him. But it hadn’t crossed her mind. Besides, she would never have imagined he would mind. After all, the visit was for him, for them.

  She was suddenly reminded of the reason she had gone to Nusaybah’s. Sarah thought she could get some advice, had hoped and prayed Nusaybah would say something, anything, that could help her hold on to her crumbling marriage. At the thought of her earlier desperation, which no doubt made her forget to inform Ismael of where she’d gone, her shoulders fell, and no matter how much she tried to stop them, the tears, the infamous tears, burst from her eyes, leaving her in a pathetic state as she fell to a huddle on the bottom steps, unable to control the pain, the hurt. Unable to control her life.

  In the car as he drove, Ismael exhaled in relief. The house had been too suffocating for him. He couldn’t take it anymore. For three weeks, Sarah had done nothing other than fluctuate between being understanding and impossible. He had actually made himself believe her advice to do what was best and to pray to Allah was sincere. And that her impossible moments were just her emotions getting the better of her. But now he wondered if he was wrong. Was this what it was like to have two families? If so, he doubted he wanted even one. If he could fast forward to Paradise, if Allah had written it as his home, he would. He was tired of all the pressure, all the confusion, all the emotions of this world.

  He loved Sarah more than anything. What did he have to do to make her understand? Spray paint it across the cement on an interstate overpass?

  For five months all he had been doing was trying to do what was right. His biggest fear through it all was that he would lose Sarah in the process of figuring it out. He had prayed so many supplications, so much Istikhaarah, and sought so much advice, even from Sarah herself, that he really didn’t know what else to do. The signs were that he should go ahead and marry Alika, even as he knew that, naturally, Sarah was going to have a hard time. He had even told Sarah five days before that he and Alika had pretty much decided they would get married. It was just a matter of paperwork and a date. That was his way of saying that they would do a written contract before the actual marriage ceremony. Sarah had merely nodded, that distant look in her eyes and said nothing except, “Pray on it. Do what’s best.”

  In retrospect, Ismael imagined she was like a robot these past three weeks. It was as if there were an assortment of small buttons all over her that resulted in only one of two commands. Problem was, he didn’t know which button set off which, and sometimes pressing the same button triggered the opposite command it had last time. “Pray on it. Do what’s best,” was the recording of one button, and the other was sounds of hollering, crying and the accusation, “How could you do this to me?”

  Tonight his calm had scared him, and to think he had taken off early from work to spend time with her. It was on his drive home that he realized he might need to repeat the conversation he had had with her five days ago, sensing that what he had told her had not quite registered. After her “talk” with him a few minutes before, he knew that “had not registered” was an understatement.

  What was he supposed to do now? He and Alika had already done the written contract on Sunday, and although they planned to have a large ceremony in October so her parents could come, it would make no difference to Sarah. She would accuse of him lying again when in fact he had sat in the same room they had today and explained what he and Alika planned to do—before they actually did. He had even mentioned that they would take care of the paperwork first and work out a date for the ceremony later. Had she even heard him? Or was she really losing her mind, as she appeared to be?

  Alika had written in the contract that they would have no marital rights until the ceremony, and Ismael agreed. It gave Sarah time to grow accustomed to the reality of polygamy without actually experiencing the emotional turmoil it would bring.

  But tonight, as he drove to Alika’s condo, which he only knew because he recognized the address as being in the same community as a co-worker of his, it scared him that he didn’t even care anymore. Ismael watched Sarah spew her sarcasm after she had casually walked into the house. He had been worried sick for over an hour, having been looking forward to spending the afternoon with her. Not even Aminah knew that her mother had gone, let alone where.

  After the argument, Ismael’s heart felt numb, and he thought, Let her go. After all, he had no control over anything. If there was anything he learned through this, it was that Allah was in charge, and humans were powerless without Him.

  Yes, he loved his wife, but in the last three weeks, it was growing harder, beneath all the mood swings, to recognize the woman he had married. He understood that this would be hard for her, but wasn’t she going overboard?

  Or was he just being irrational?

  No, he wasn’t being irrational. If nothing else, they were Muslim, and sarcasm was never okay. Ismael felt as if Sarah had been lying in wait to pounce on him in her fury. And, frankly, he didn’t have the energy, or the time. People went through worse in life. He could handle it if Sarah left. Besides, even if he came home and announced that Alika had fallen off the face of the earth, he knew Sarah, still, would never let him live down the fact that he ever wanted to marry Alika in the first place. Sarah felt as if he owed her every bit of his time, every detail of his thoughts and movements of the day. And she had even had the audacity to demand he tell her where he was going tonight. Did she see herself, hear herself? Did she ever take a moment to think about what she was doing from one minute to the next?

  No, he was not going to apologize for fearing Allah. He was not going to apologize for wanting something Allah allowed, and doing it right at that. He didn’t want a future without Sarah. But at this point he was beginning to accept that it wasn’t his decision. The decision was hers. He didn’t have to choose.

  Finally, he really didn’t have to choose.

  As a man, Ismael couldn’t begin to put into words how relieved that made him feel.

  Alika seemed disoriented when he said his name through the door and she opened it, a pleasant look of surprise on her face.

  After stepping inside, she closed the door behind him, and he couldn’t keep from staring at Alika. She was so beautiful in her African wrap-around skirt, held closed with a knot tied at one side, and a short-sleeved fitting pale yellow T-shirt that matched the yellow strokes of the skirt. He pushed his hands into his pockets.

  “Mind if I come inside?” he asked from where he stood in the small foyer.

  She laughed, and he noted how beautiful her smile was. He noticed then that she held a soda can in one hand. “You’re already inside.”

  He forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Although he knew he was doing nothing wrong, that Alika was technically his wife, he couldn’t shake the feeling of awkwardness at being in the condo with her. They had never talked alone before, and it felt weird.

  But he couldn’t deny it felt good too, and relaxing. He could get used to this. He studied the way Alika’s hair was pulled away from her face with a pale yellow headband, making her antique bronze skin glow, and the baby hair at her hairline accented her striking, youthful face.

  “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he said.

  She laughed. “You can come inside, Ismael. It’s okay. I don’t bite.”

  He laughed again, realizing he hadn’t even taken off his shoes or left the foyer yet. He slid off his shoes and found a space on the couch before she disappeared into the kitchen. He found himself relaxing as he looked around Alika’s home, his wife’s home. The mere thought of the word wife made him nervous as he remembered feeling on first dates. But this was not a date. There was no need for pretension. He could relax and be himself. This was his wife Alika he was visiting, not a woman who was looking for flaws he would inadvertently reveal.

  As she carried a tray of food from the kitchen and knelt to set it before him, he found himself wishing it were October already.

&nbs
p; “What’s the occasion?” Alika asked, a smile on her face from where she sat a comfortable distance from him, an arm relaxed and outstretched, a hand resting on the back of the couch just inches from his shoulder, the other having picked up the soda can she left on the table in front of the couch.

  He linked his hands in his lap and tried to keep from looking at her too much. It was as if she were the painting of a beautiful woman in a multicultural museum. Except she was real.

  “Just wanted to see where you lived,” he said. “And if you’d let me in.”

  She grinned and shook her head, taking a sip from the can before waiting for him to meet her gaze. “Now why wouldn’t I let you in? You’re my husband, remember?”

  At that, he smiled. “Can you believe it though?”

  She shook her head, still grinning. “No, I can’t.”

  “I feel honored.”

  Her ebony eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Honored? Why?”

  “To have you.”

  “I never thought I’d make anyone feel honored.”

  “Well, I feel honored,” he said, feeling himself relax at the honesty of his words. “I hope you don’t mind if this becomes my oasis of sorts.”

  “You’re welcome here anytime.” A moment later, she stood, as if remembering something.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said before disappearing into the back and returning a minute later. His heart raced as she approached him, and he wondered if it would be too much to give her a hug. She stood before him with a lone key dangling from a key ring she held in her hand.

  “What’s this?” He accepted it and stared at the key in his palm.

  “I’ll give you one guess.” He felt the sofa cushions move slightly as she sat back down.

  At that, Ismael smiled.

  “Welcome home.”

  He laughed uncomfortably. “After reading your conditions, I was afraid you’d include a restraining order to see them through.”

  She burst out laughing. “I hope it didn’t sound that bad.”

  He shook his head. “No, but October just seems so far away.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, and a smile remained as her tone grew serious. “But it’s best, you know, given everything.”

  “I know.” He gazed at her for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just letting you know how hard this will be for me.”

  “Honestly, I don’t mind.”

  He gathered his eyebrows as he continued to hold her gaze. “You’re not suffering?” he joked.

  She shook her head, a pleasant expression still on her face. “I’ve learned patience pays off in the end.”

  He nodded. “That’s true.”

  They were silent momentarily, and Ismael reached for what looked like a spring roll and brought it to his mouth.

  “I don’t want to be who you run to when things go sour with Sarah,” Alika said so bluntly that Ismael thought he imagined it at first. But a look to his right told him, despite her relaxed appearance and slight smile, Alika was not joking. Her wit embarrassed him, and he couldn’t hold her gaze. For a minute, he ate in silence, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’ll wait till next October if that’s when you’ll be ready for us.”

  “I’m ready for us now,” he said, discreetly wiping imagined crumbs from his mouth.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re still scared that she’ll leave you.”

  He didn’t know what to say. But he couldn’t help realizing in that moment, he had made the right choice in a wife.

  “You’ve nothing to lose if October comes tomorrow,” she said. “But I lose everything.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’ve nothing to lose.” He was offended, but he tried not to show it.

  “Even if you never met me, Ismael, you’re still a man, a Muslim man.”

  “Before I met you, I never wanted to marry anyone else.” His words were coming from his heart, and he felt the fear he had when he was in the imam’s office and realized he might lose Sarah.

  At that, Alika smiled, but it was a hesitant smile, and her gaze grew distant as she looked toward the hall. “And before I met you, I never wanted to marry a married man.” She shook her head in reflection. “You know, I never wanted to live my mother’s life.” She started to laugh but couldn’t. “And in a way, I guess I got my wish.”

  He was silent as he listened.

  “I get my stepmother’s instead.” This time she laughed, but it was at the irony rather than humor of it. “And, honestly, I don’t know what’s worse.”

  Ismael picked up the glass of water in front of him and took a sip, unsure what to say.

  “I used to think my stepmother had it the easiest.” She sighed, reaching forward to put her can on the table then placing her hands in her lap. “Now I don’t know.”

  He considered it before saying, “I just hope I can make it worth it. I want you to be happy.”

  She nodded. “I know. But you’re still not ready to take on two families. I knew that on Sunday.”

  He gathered his eyebrows and looked at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze.

  “My father never brought my stepmother into our home, and he never brought my mother into his home in Nigeria. And I don’t mean physically. I mean the relationship.” She smiled hesitantly as she remembered something.

  “My mother told me once that she didn’t visit Nigeria after the marriage because my father made her feel so much like his only wife that she didn’t want to remind herself that she wasn’t.”

  Ismael was quiet as he listened, studying his wife’s distant expression before she finally met his gaze.

  “I want to know what she meant.” She paused. “I hope you can understand that.”

  He nodded as he looked away from her in deep thought. “I think I can.”

  “If Allah wills,” she added.

  “Yes, inshaAllaah.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” Alika said, and Ismael knew at that moment she was asking him to go. She stood, and he didn’t know what else to do but stand too. “I appreciate it.”

  “Then why do I have to go?” he joked.

  “We both know why.” She folded her hands across her chest, a clear indication he would not get even a handshake today. But she smiled, and he saw in her eyes the kindness there.

  “If you can’t be there for Sarah right now, when she needs you most,” she said as he slipped on his shoes, “I’m afraid of what that means for me when I need you too.”

  Despite how much her words hurt, Ismael was certain at that moment Allah had guided him correctly by allowing him to marry Alika,.

  “Right now, I’m your oasis because I’m new.” Her arms were still folded from where she stood near the couch. “But the only reason I married you, Ismael, is because I knew that one day, I won’t be new. I’ll be a little like Sarah is now.” She smiled. “Someone you can sit down with and talk to. We can kick back and remember the first day we met so many years ago, and know that whatever happens, whatever we go through, you’ll be here for me, and I for you. And with Allah’s help, nothing, and no one will be able to take that from us.” She paused then added with a smile, “Except us.” She met his gaze. “And I have faith you would never do that.”

  Part III

  “A woman is not going to be loved permanently just for her appearance, which is transitory, or for her accomplishments.

  Love is not like that.

  We love people who sacrifice themselves for us.

  That proves they love us.”

  —Henry Makow, “In Praise of Traditional Women”

  “Purity is half of faith. ‘Alhamdulillaah’ fills the scales.

  ‘SubhaanAllaah’ and ‘Alhamdulillaah’ fill that which is between

  heaven and earth. Prayer is light. Charity is proof. Patience is illumination. And the Qur’an is an argument for you or against you.

  Everyone starts his day and is a vendor of his soul—

  either freeing
it or bringing about its ruin.”

  —Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him (Muslim)

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abdur-Rahman locked his pet store on a late Thursday afternoon in mid-August, noting how warm it was outside. This was his third attempt at fasting in the past two weeks, and compared to his first two, this one was going well. Ramadan would be in December, and although he had four months to prepare, he didn’t want a repeat of his first month of fasting as a Muslim.

  His family had never been religious enough to take holidays like Lent seriously, so he had never fasted before he became Muslim three years ago. His family had believed in God and Jesus as their Lord and Savior, but their commitment to the church was more social than religious. Their duty was pretty much fulfilled by showing up to their quiet, suburban church every Sunday.

  The closest Theodore had come to fasting was the four years he spent as a vegetarian. That was one thing he and Sam had in common, distaste for eating animal flesh. It just seemed unethical to take someone’s soul, even if it was an animal’s, and serve the cooked corpse on a dinner platter complete with salt, pepper, and thyme. It had made his stomach churn at the thought. But one day he woke up in the condo and had a strong craving for meat. He didn’t understand it and was ashamed to tell Sam, but it was as if his body was shutting down from deprivation of essential proteins that tofu apparently wasn’t providing. Eventually, he ate meat, but not until he came to peace with the whole food chain logic. Tonight, he planned to have lamb, having already told Theresa to have it ready by sunset.

  Sunset. He smiled as he walked to his car. One hour after that he had a meeting with Aminah at her house. Ismael had said he didn’t tell his daughter who he was, only that there was a good brother who had proposed marriage whom they wanted her to meet. That worked for him.