by Umm Zakiyyah
“Aminah!”
At the sound of her father’s voice, Aminah shut her journal and put it in a dresser drawer under some clothes, pausing only momentarily as she searched with her eyes for the diary she had dreamt about yet again. This time it was in her hands and upon hearing her brother coming near, she hurried, accidentally packing it inside Tamika’s suitcase as Sulayman moved the boxes from the apartment living room.
“Aminah!”
She met her father at the top of the stairs. “I’m here.”
Her father’s expression softened at the sight of her. “As-salaamu’alaikum.”
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” she said, furrowing her brows as she sensed her father was saying something with his hesitant grin.
“Come downstairs. I want to talk to you.”
Aminah gathered her brows as she descended the steps, accepting her father’s outstretched hand mid-way. She followed him into the kitchen, and she noticed he was still wearing his shoes. He sat with his back to the closed curtains of the patio, and she with hers to the foyer.
At first Aminah was listening only to be respectful, but as his long prelude lead to his point, her forehead was creased so definitely that it grew uncomfortable. Was she hearing what she thought she was hearing? He couldn’t be serious. Yet when Aminah lifted her gaze, she saw that he was. And he was actually smiling, apparently pleased with himself. Or was it nervous shame he was masking in his expression? It was…weird. Her father getting married. To a second wife. Alika. She couldn’t look at him. She felt sorry for her father right then. She didn’t like the feeling she had in her stomach, as if a man, her own father, could be human like a normal man. And wrong too.
What would her mother say?
“Does, uh, Ummi know?”
“Yes, she does,” he said, and Aminah could read the footnotes beneath those words. Her mother knew. And didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Aminah pursed her lips and folded her arms, glancing downstairs, everything coming together, making sense right then. Except she preferred puzzlement to this. She remembered how her mother stayed in bed until Thuhr and took two more naps, one after Asr and the other after Maghrib, looking more exhausted when she finally got up than when she went to sleep. Aminah sometimes heard her mother shuffling through the house at night, as if she had become nocturnal somehow, her day beginning when everyone else’s retreated for rest. She recalled waking to her mother’s soft recitation coming from the living room, as Aminah thought she heard something—and did. Going to the bathroom, the recitation was clearer, and she would recognize the soorah and sometimes stand still in the hall and listen, her eyes filling when she heard her mother’s voice crack and her sniffles between verses that talked of Allah’s mercy and bounties He bestowed on mankind. Or on verses that told stories of people and prophets before them, each holding a lesson for people today. Once Aminah had stood listening to her mother’s qunoot as she prayed the last unit of Witr, and Aminah had huddled at the end of the dark hall, hugging her legs, crying silently as her mother repeated a line over and over again, sobbing and whimpering each time.
O Allah, guide me along with those whom You have guided.
Pardon me along with those whom You have pardoned.
Be an ally to me along with those whom You are an ally to,
And bless for me that which You have bestowed.
Protect me from the evil You have decreed.
For verily You decree, and none can decree over You,
For verily You decree, and none can decree over You,
For verily, You decree and none can decree over You…
For surety, he whom You show allegiance to is never abased,
And he whom You take as an enemy is never honored and mighty.
O our Lord, Blessed and Exalted are You.
The Arabic supplication was an entrancing begging, a melodious plea, and confirmation of her mother’s weakness on this earth, her inability to change anything that happened to her or anyone she loved. Aminah had cried with her mother, feeling her mother’s pain and helplessness as her own, wondering what it was that was troubling her mother, and wishing that she could somehow take it away. But like her mother, Aminah was powerless before the decree of Al-Qaadir. And like her mother, Aminah could do nothing but ask for guidance, pardon, and protection. And hope for Allah’s alliance and blessing whenever He decreed what He did.
No, she couldn’t look at her father. Wouldn’t look at her father. She wanted her mother right then. She wanted her mother to know that she loved her, that she cared. And that, with the help of Allah, would never change.
When her father apologized, for what she didn’t know, Aminah was relieved to hear his retreat, the front door open, and the finality of its shutting. It felt more just to be alone. More fair.
Aminah in her youthful ignorance and selfishness had grown impatient with her mother’s despondence, irritability, and bouts of silence when Aminah wanted to talk. Aminah, in her frustration, had gone to her father instead.
Now, in the cold loneliness of the house, she regretted her insensitivity, her naïveté. She wanted her mother, needed her mother. Aminah wanted another chance.
Aminah would talk to her mother, even if Sarah couldn’t listen or hear her daughter through the pain. Aminah would hold her mother, even if she couldn’t hold her back. And Aminah would share with her mother the happiness she felt about Abdur-Rahman. Even if her mother couldn’t share in it herself. Because hers had been taken away.
Chapter Eighteen
“And among His signs is that
He created for you mates from among yourselves
That you may dwell in tranquility with them
And He placed between you affection and mercy.
Indeed, in that are signs for people who reflect.”
—Qur’an (Ar-Room, 30:21)
On the afternoon of the third of October, Sarah sat opposite Kate on the swing on the back porch, Kate rocking it back and forth with one foot, the other folded next to her as she faced her older sister. Sarah sat with her arms folded across her chest, and her feet crossed at the ankle, facing the yard, trying to find comfort in the trees and grass, the untended garden, the coloring leaves. Anything but the world beyond the horizon. Anything other than what she refused to think about—the only thing her mind couldn’t forget. It was Kate’s idea of quality time. No wristwatches. No clocks. So that Sarah had no excuse to check the time, she had prayed Asr and Thuhr before coming outside.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Kate said with a sigh.
“No it isn’t,” Sarah said with a frown, glancing at the clustering of thick clouds in the sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
“But it’s still beautiful.” Kate raised her face to the sky. “They look like bunches of cotton.”
Sarah shrugged. “Clouds always look like cotton.”
“Remember when we used to pull the cotton from our pillows to make dolls?”
She didn’t speak, her eyes narrowing as her mind grew distant.
“Mom used to get so upset with us.” Kate laughed. “Especially since we already had dolls. She said only poor girls make dolls.”
Kate turned to Sarah. “You remember that?”
“Barely.”
She sighed, shaking her head, a reflective grin on her face. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”
There was a long silence.
“Isn’t it strange?”
When Kate didn’t continue, Sarah drew in a deep breath and exhaled impatiently. “Isn’t what strange?”
“How we’re so grown up now?”
Sarah lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Not really. You can’t stay young forever.”
“I know. But I think it’s strange. I don’t feel like I’m forty-eight.” Kate paused. “Do you feel like you’re fifty?”
Sarah turned to Kate, trying to keep herself from glaring. Her age was the last thing she wanted to think about right then. “Yes.”
Kate
laughed. “You do not.”
“Why is that so funny?”
“Because you’re acting like you’re two.”
Sarah turned from her sister and rolled her eyes.
“C’mon, Sarah. You know it’s true.”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“No, you know it is true. After all, it’s why I’m here. Isn’t it?” Sarah met Kate’s eyes, accusing.
Kate smiled, shaking her head as she looked at her sister. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
Sarah narrowed her eyes and returned her gaze to the backyard. “I don’t have anything to let go of.”
“You can start with your pride.”
This time Sarah glared at Kate for a long time. Kate laughed and threw up her hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I’ve had enough of your help. Thank you very much.” Sarah’s nose flared as she turned away from her sister.
“The women’s shelter was necessary,” Kate said defensively.
“Like spreading my personal business?”
“I didn’t spread your business, Sarah. I shared it.”
“Same difference.”
Kate laughed. “Do you really think Nattie, Lorrie, and Toni give a care about your husband taking another wife?”
“Don’t trivialize this, Kate. You don’t have that right.”
“Well, somebody has to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sarah said, staring at her sister with a look of disgust.
“It means it’s time you took a different perspective.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?”
“Having a tantrum.”
Sarah shook her head, turning away from Kate.
“Admit it, Sarah. That’s all you’re doing. You haven’t even had one good laugh while you were here.”
“Tell me something funny, and I’ll laugh.”
“You.”
“What?” She looked at Kate with narrowed eyes.
“You.”
“Kate, just shut up. Okay?”
“I’m serious. You are funny.”
Fuming, Sarah said nothing, returning her narrowed eyes to the landscape in front of her.
“Look at me, I’m laughing.”
“Yes, I saw that.”
“But you’re not.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“That that’s funny.”
Sarah lifted her eyebrows and shook her head impatiently. “What?”
“I’m laughing and you’re not.” Kate laughed.
“I don’t get the joke.”
“Don’t you think it should be the other way around?”
“Not really,” Sarah said sarcastically. “You’re not the one whose husband is off throwing away over twenty-six years to marry someone else—as we speak.”
Kate chuckled as she rocked the bench. “Now, that is funny.”
“Why’s that funny?” Sarah said, her voice void of energy or patience.
Kate was silent momentarily before she met her sister’s gaze. “Because I’m not the one who’s had a husband at all.”
Sarah felt bad suddenly, realizing her mistake. But she couldn’t dwell on it. After all, she had reason to be upset. Kate should understand that.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I’m just distracted right now.”
“I know. I know.” Kate nodded, pursing her lips. “And I am too.”
“Why?” Sarah said sincerely.
“Because I really do find it funny how everything happened.”
“How what’s happened?”
“Everything.”
“Like what?”
“Me. You. Everybody.”
Sarah was silent, listening.
“You know,” Kate said squinting her eyes in deep thought, “at first I was really upset how everything turned out. With the Syrian I was telling you about. But now I’m beginning to understand that prayer you told me to say.”
“Istikhaarah?”
“Is that what it’s called? The one in the little book I borrowed last year?”
“Yes.”
“Well, yeah. That’s it.”
Sarah studied her sister’s face intently, noticing for the first time the sorrow and pain in her eyes. Kate was battling a lot herself, and Sarah had been too absorbed in self-pity to notice.
“The part where you ask God to remove it from you if it’s bad for you and then you say, ‘And make me satisfied with that.’”
Sarah nodded.
“I kept thinking about that part for a long time. I could see how God could take it away from me if it’s bad.” Kate laughed. “That’s what I was afraid of. But,” she said with a shake of the head, “I didn’t get how I could be satisfied with that, you know, with how much I wanted it.”
Kate chuckled. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“That’s the sign you were telling me about.”
“What sign?”
“That God would give to show me what to do.”
Sarah furrowed her brows, confused.
“Being satisfied with it,” Kate said with a smile. “And I am.” She shrugged. “I’m not happy about it. But I’m content that we weren’t meant for each other.”
Sarah’s eyebrows rose and she smiled weakly, remembering how Kate was willing to do anything to make the marriage happen. “Now, that is a sign.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They were silent.
“And you, too,” Kate said.
“Me?”
“Yes. How it was a sign for me with you.”
Sarah shook her head. “With me?”
“I never said it,” Kate said, “but I asked God to forgive me for, you know, everything our family did after you became Muslim. And I asked Him to bring us together and make us sisters and friends again.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yes.” Kate laughed. “And He did it all at once.”
“Did what all at once?”
“Gave me the sign and brought us together.”
Sarah nodded, reflecting on what her sister had said.
“You know, if I didn’t go through that, I couldn’t help you right now. You realize that?”
She looked at Kate, a smile tugging at her mouth. “No, I didn’t realize that.”
“If I didn’t meet him, I’d never have understood that kind of marriage, you know?”
Sarah nodded.
“Seeing you go through all this, I’m like, thank God it didn’t work. I can’t imagine a woman hurting like you are right now, especially me being the cause of it.”
Sarah smiled and looked distantly at the yard, appreciating her sister more than she ever had.
“But I have to admit,” Kate said, “I don’t feel too bad.”
Sarah grinned. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Kate shrugged. “Because I know I was doing the right thing.” She laughed then added, “For once.”
Sarah couldn’t argue with that.
“But you know what?”
She smiled unexpectedly. “What?”
“And I understand the most important reason God gave me the sign He did.”
“You mean being satisfied with how it turned out?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“If I didn’t see my sign, I wouldn’t recognize yours.”
Sarah’s brows furrowed. “Mine?”
“Your sign.”
“What sign?”
“You prayed that same prayer, right, before deciding on divorce?”
Sarah laughed. “A zillion times.”
“Then you have your sign.”
A grin trailed on Sarah’s face as she looked at her sister with eyes squinted in puzzlement. “What sign?”
“You’re not satisfied. So you need to go back.”
That night, Sarah couldn’t sleep
. The king-size bed on which she slept felt too big, too suffocating tonight. She had taken some of Kate’s sleep aid, prescription sleep aid, and still, her eyes wouldn’t remain shut. Her eyes burned with the desire, the need, to rest. But she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her.
Or perhaps it was her mind.
She thought of Ismael being officially married to Alika, and she found herself engulfed in despair. And panic. She pulled the covers over her head, cursing herself for even caring. Why should she? She was finished with him. Two more months, and that was it.
An image of Kate smiling at her on the swing flashed in her mind as she told Sarah of her so-called “sign.”
“You’re not satisfied. So you need to go back.”
Sarah turned on her other side, forcing her eyes shut until they hurt. And still, the whisper of Kate’s words were in her mind. And the realization settled in her heart.
Kate was right.
Sarah thought of Alika again, and she threw the blanket from herself and sat up, her energy leaving her in that motion. And humility and helplessness taking its place. Her shoulders slouched, and she hung her head.
Defeated.
Beaten by her own guilt. And faith.
Slowly, she turned her body until her feet felt the soft of the carpet. A second later, she sighed and stood, dragging herself to the bathroom, knowing what she had to do. Needed to do. If she were to survive this night. If she were to survive the rest of her life.
In the bathroom, the cool water of wudhoo’ calmed her anger. Though she knew little could be done about the deadweight of sadness in her chest. It would be a fact of life from then on. A silent truth, an undercurrent in her new life.