Brad shook his head and swallowed more than he wanted, causing a minor choking fit. Shirley dropped her fork and pounded his back. Brad recovered.
“It’s weird. Suddenly I’m meeting Christians everywhere. Jordan and I are having all these religious discussions.” Brad stopped short, realising he’d mentioned Jordan in the present tense. Gran’s blue eyes reached out warmly to him.
“That’s the Lord calling you to him, Bradley!” Shirley stated matterof-factly. “You just keep your heart and mind open, you hear? In fact, why don’t you just invite him in? Have you heard that expression before ‘God is a gentleman’? He won’t force anyone to believe in him. He invites, passionately and consistently, and we humans have the power to reject him. It’s scary but true.”
A long pause followed. The realisation dawned upon Brad that according to his aunt, Jose and the evangelical pastor, he, sixteen year old Brad from Australia, could actually invite Almighty God into his personal life. “But how do you know all this stuff? Isn’t it all in your mind?”
“No, darling.” Gran’s eyes twinkled. “This is why it’s called faith. At some point, you need to take a step in faith. God won’t appear to you in person. You won’t hear his voice with your ears. But the power of your encounter with him will be unmistakable. Faith is a gift from God. You ask for this gift. That’s the same as inviting God into your heart. Jesus promised that if you ask for this gift, you will get it.”
The similarities between the words of his grandmother and aunt and the words of the pastors and priests in Burwood and New York were uncanny. It was almost as though they’d all studied from the same textbook and conspired to hit Brad with the same message all at the same time. But that was impossible. They didn’t know each other and had no way of knowing they were meeting him. In each case he and Jordan met them by chance, except Jordan wasn’t here at his grandmother’s, only his aunt’s. Jordan was gone. Brad pushed the thought from his mind. Curiously, since he arrived at his grandmother’s, an oasis of peace shielded him from the unbearable mental anguish engulfing him since Jordan’s death. The balm needed to continue.
“Darling,” his grandmother confided, “girls surround you everywhere. When you go to New York, you’ll be subjected to all sorts of temptations hazardous to your spiritual health.”
“Mum, he just needs to hold fast to Rod’s rules: no drugs, no booze, no girls.” Shirley winked at him.
“Jose’s rules, actually,” Brad corrected her. “Rod got those from Jose. His pastor friends will be the ones settling me into New York. Rod’s already set it up.”
“Well, that’s an answer to prayer,” Shirley said, her voice shrill with excitement. “How about that, mum?”
“That’s wonderful news, Bradley,” the grandmother said, a huge relief lighting up her blue eyes.
Out of the blue, Brad squeezed out a question that had always confused him. “How come Mormons can have more than one wife?”
Shirley’s eyes opened like a bursting balloon. “Where did that come from?”
“There was a baseball player in Salt Lake City. A while ago the press made a big deal about the fact he was Mormon and believes in polygamy.”
Aunt Shirley stood up. She was partially successful in waiting till she finished her mouthful before embarking on a passionate explanation. “Some do but most don’t. Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism, taught it. But isn’t God’s revelation clear that a man marries one woman in an indissoluble bond of love? It makes so much sense – physically, psychologically and socially.” Aunt Shirley got on her tiptoes, her voice an octave lower and her eyes fiery and blazing. She was on a roll.
“In the first century Jesus revealed a vision of marriage that elevated it to the sacred, that men and women were equal in value and dignity, based on his Jewish heritage. Without doubt it’s the backbone and guarantee of a healthy society.” Aunt Shirley shook her head. “Polygamy, by its nature, rejects this.”
Gran looked at Shirley and smiled. “But Mormons have strong family values. They’re wonderful people.”
Shirley nodded. “Of course they are. But whatever reasons are put forward to justify polygamy, it betrays a lack of understanding of the beauty of the covenant relationship between a man and woman. How could Joseph Smith claim polygamy was a divine revelation? Mainstream Mormonism today rejects it, but that’s because Congress outlawed it in 1862 with Morrill’s Anti-Bigamy Act.”
The one advantage for Brad having his aunt and grandmother discuss such issues, apart from being fascinating, was that it took his mind off Jordan. But when ten o’clock came around, Shirley excused herself, kissed Brad on the forehead, and left.
“Shirley loves her ice cream,” Brad couldn’t help but say, sizing up the empty two litre bucket.
“She certainly does, Bradley, and I’m glad you polished off those five sausages and mound of mash. Are you going to school tomorrow? Should you go to bed?” The prospect of being by himself scared him. Brad shook his head. She responded by smiling gently. “I’ll put the kettle on. Come, let’s go into the lounge. I only met him a couple of times. Tell me about Jordan.”
Chapter Eight
Brad woke when the sun shone through the double window in the lounge. A spillage of pillows underneath and the thick blanket covering him reminded him of his grandmother placing them there as he crashed where he sat at three o’clock in the morning. He still wore his clothes, although his shoes had been removed. Gran was cooking a breakfast of eggs and toast, courtesy of Shirley’s shopping. The ornate cuckoo clock dominating the wall above the mantelpiece indicated eleven. Memories upon memories of his dearest friend were relived for his grandmother all night till his eyes gave way. That morning her advice to keep himself gainfully occupied resonated with him. That cathartic evening had partially lightened his dread. He must distract himself, yet school was not an option – too many memories of Jordan, too many people wanting to discuss his death, the bomb, the murder, the terrorists, the cowards, Jordan’s good qualities. They’d want to know all the gory details. There’d be no sensitivity.
No chance! He wouldn’t go back to that school, maybe ever. Maybe he wouldn’t need to. He could go to the States now, forget about everything and concentrate on baseball. But the emptiness hurt his chest. Otto was all for going immediately. Sylvia preferred to wait. The start date still gave them some time. Strangely, the absurdly lucrative contract, by far the biggest offered to any Australian youngster, elicited no significant excitement. It did to his parents, in a nauseating way. The money would be in trust till he came of age. Rod had assured Brad’s parents the proper financial advice would be given to their son. Brad had always managed his money wisely, so Otto and Sylvia weren’t too worried about him blowing it, as some had done in the past.
The sun shone weakly through the clouds by the time Brad left the house. He was careful to leave no trace of his presence. He shoved everything under the bed. If his parents showed up unannounced, Brad wondered what his grandmother would do. Would she rat him out? Would she pretend he wasn’t there? Would she somehow find a way of keeping his hideaway secret yet not compromise her truthfulness? He walked along the nature strip, listening to the birds and watching the cars as they drove by. His present state was unusual – he had never found himself walking in unfamiliar territory on a school day. His gran gave him $30, and with $25 already in his pocket that made $55, enough to do stuff with. He jumped on a bus heading south. Everything going that direction would eventually lead to familiar territory. He would then head for the upmarket private school attended by Azra.
Brad turned on his mobile phone. It occurred to him that since Jordan died, he never had any desire to check his messages. He was even tempted to ditch it down the nearest drain. Ten missed calls from his parents. Fifteen voice messages. Sitting in the train on the way to Aza’s school, Brad deleted them all, even Rod’s. What was he doing, he asked himself with horror? He’d never done anything like this before. He didn’t plan to ask Azra out, did he? Surely not? In the fi
rst instance, her parents would sooner kill her than to see her date a non-Muslim. In the second instance, neither of them had the time to see each other. In the third instance, he was leaving for the United States of America, possibly never to return. In the fourth instance, he lived by a policy that excluded girls, at least until he was eighteen: no drugs, no booze, no girls. In the fifth instance, he didn’t even really want to go out with her; just to see her again, and talk to her. She was exciting, Brad had to admit. In fact, she was the most exciting girl he’d ever met. In the final instance, if there was any such thing, Azra may not even wish to see him.
He didn’t care. The buzz of doing something outrageous stirred him. His heart pounded. Would he get ordered off the school premises before he reached the office? His clothes weren’t exactly private school material. Hang on, he thought, I earn more than every person in this school, even the highly paid principal, at only sixteen. Brad marched through the front gates and followed the signs to the office. As predicted he attracted stares from neatly dressed school girls with braces and impeccable dresses. All these girls, Brad thought, coming to a private school for a superior education, in order to get ahead in life, earn lots of money and ... and what, he asked himself? Have a happy life? What if their best friend died? So what if they found a good job earning lots of money, got married...and then divorced, or even worse, lived like Jordan’s parents?
Suddenly the thought of Jordan stabbed him like a fast ball hitting his ribs. Jordan, you could be here, buddy. You could be with me now. But I wouldn’t be here if you were here. We’d be at our crummy school. I got drafted, but it was thanks to you. We were each other’s best coaches and motivators. You would have made it to the majors if you were alive. If would have just taken you a bit longer, maybe another year. So what if you didn’t make the Yankees. You’d play for another team. We’d play against each other. Teary eyed, Brad suddenly turned when the neat-looking woman behind the counter asked if she could help him. Without the slightest idea of what he was going to say, Brad blurted out: “Azra Iqbal. I need to see her urgently.” The sight of a large, well-muscled young man, (the secretary couldn’t tell whether he was still at school or in his early twenties), teary eyed and tense, sounded warning bells in her mind. She looked Brad up and down and asked, not politely, who he was and what he wanted with Azra Iqbal. Brad scoured his mind to imagine what Jordan would come up with. Jordan excelled in these circumstances. How stupid not to be prepared? He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.
“Mr Iqbal is furious. Azra has forgotten her medication. I’m under strict instructions to deliver it to her personally.” The secretary balked. “She must be called out of class immediately.” The secretary protested at the highly irregular nature of his request, drawing attention from the other office ladies. Brad decided to blast his way in. “The school will be held responsible unless you allow me to give this to Azra. Mr Iqbal is an important man. I need to return as soon as I’ve given Azra her medication. Please, then I’ll be off.”
Brad stood erect, presenting an image of confidence. His unkempt clothes and hair and his teary eyes did not easily parallel with his story. Yet his urgency and nervousness, not to mention his highly attractive features, persuaded the secretary. As long as he gave her the parcel and left the school immediately, she would page Azra. Brad assured her he would. The whole episode was getting more exciting by the minute. If only Jordan could see him now. Again, the thought of Jordan dulled his positive emotions. He was looking for distraction and would settle for anything. Jordan, I miss you more than I can say. Life is not the same; everything has lost its shine.
Azra bounded through the corridor and stopped dead. “What are you doing here?” she demanded loudly in front of the office ladies and two curious grade seven girls.
“Calm down, Azra! I’ve got your medicine in my pocket.” His eyes met hers and communicated a look. He lead her away from the corridor out of earshot. Yet all those office ladies’ eyes and the four eyes of the two grade seven girls (six eyes if you included the girl with glasses) fixed on them. Brad explained that he had to see her and he was sorry he got her out of class. Azra expressed her sorrow at Jordan’s death and her shock at seeing him. Was he wrong to come, he asked? She smiled, secretly overjoyed at this unexpected yet exciting event. Brad picked up on it and said he wanted to see her after school. She had music practice and was scheduled to be picked up by her dad at 5.30pm. If Brad waited for her to the right of the front gates after the bell she’d meet him and they could organise a rendezvous. She’d have to return to the school by 5.30 so that her father wouldn’t suspect anything.
Packet of mints neatly hidden in her clenched fist, Azra expressed her thanks loudly. She walked back down the corridor to the relief of all the office staff and the piqued curiosity of the two year seven girls. Brad nodded to the secretary and walked briskly outside and into the school grounds, giddy with the success of the craziest thing he’d ever done in his life. He had an hour to kill before meeting this incredibly exotic and alluring eighteen year old girl, or was she a woman at that age?
He’d secured a meeting, now what? He decided to play the ball on its merits. He was not closer to a plan when bell rang. Soon afterwards the gates spilled out their smartly dressed schoolgirls, lining up for the buses and waiting for their parents, who arrived in fleets of BMWs, Mercedes, Audis and Volvo 4WDs.
An unidentified number rang. It was Javed. “You saw my sister today at school. I’m warning you, and this is from my father and myself, you are never to do that again. You are forbidden to see her. Is that clear?” Brad was too confused to speak. His mind raced. How could Javed know? Did she tell him? Surely not. “Just because we play baseball for Australia doesn’t mean you can take liberties with my sister, understand?” His tone was so militant as to be unrecognisable. “My father is not mucking around. He will take it further unless you give your word you will not do anything like that again.” To Jordan, this would have been like waving a red rag to an injured bull. Brad calmly tempered the rising anger, piecing his thoughts together. “How did you know I saw Azra today?”
“My father got a call from the school. They described you to him. He called me and I knew immediately it was you.”
So, Brad deduced, Javed would not know of their secret meeting. Azra was smart. Meeting him instead of going to music practice was a stroke of genius. He would have to put Javed off the scent, but he also didn’t want to lie. He had too much self-respect for that, inherited from his father. Otto detested liars. “Why are you so cut up, Javed? What have I done to you?”
“You think you can do anything you like, just because you’re a baseballer. You think every girl wants to be with you. Back off. We’re much better than you. I won’t say it again; don’t even think about seeing Azra.” Javed hung up.
Moments later Azra appeared among a group of girls making their way in his direction. The pair instinctively understood a clandestine operation was necessary to organise another rendezvous. Being seen together was asking for it. Brad was attracting a lot of attention from the girls, so things could get complicated. Azra stopped, wrote something on a piece of paper and dropped it at Brad’s feet as she walked past, ignoring him. Brad picked it up. It simply read: “Vittorio’s 10mins”. Brad punched it into his phone; a restaurant further up the main street.
Ten minutes later Brad walked into Vittoria’s, surprising the bored waiter cleaning an already spotless wine glass. Brad spotted a figure in one of the booths at the far end, partially hidden by a large pot plant. Brad sat down opposite her, electricity coursing between them.
“You’re not wearing your headscarf.”
“Why should I?”
Brad described the phone call with Javed. Her dark eyes flashed with anger. She looked more attractive than ever. “This is why I have to get out. His tentacles are everywhere. I have no freedom. I’m not even allowed to go out with my friends without Javed. My father even checks my phone calls. I can’t stand i
t. We have one hour.”
“It’s brave, what you’re doing,” Brad said, not knowing what else to say.
“He sending me to Pakistan next year to start my medical degree.”
“What does your mum think?”
“She has no say. That’s why I’m going there, to learn to be utterly submissive to the husband my father chooses.”
“An arranged marriage?”
She nodded. “In Pakistan, of all places. The country is dominated by fundamentalist violence and political unrest. Their blasphemy law means anyone simply accused of insulting Islam can be imprisoned or killed. Can you believe that? This is the twenty first century. Raped women are condemned because they can’t prove their innocence. Instead of educating students, thousands of madrassas across the country are indoctrinating kids with narrow-minded sectarian bigotry, while oppression reigns and the basic human rights of women and minorities are non-existent. This is where my father wants me to live.” Azra’s eyes blazed again. Brad gazed into her face. “That’s what he thinks,” whispered Azra.
“What are you going to do?”
Azra studied him. Her eyes sparkled. “As if I’d tell you. For all I know you’re a spy.”
“Then why are you sitting here with me?”
She smiled. “Because you’re sixteen, you’re white, you’re non-Muslim, you play an American sport – you represent everything my father hates.”
“That’s not true and you know it. Australia is full of guys like me. Yet in one chance meeting we both felt something amazing. I know you did, otherwise there’s no way you’d have agreed to see me.”
Azra untied her hair, shaking her head so the long black tresses flowed free and wild. “Are you saying you want to go out with me?”
Brad smiled. “You pretend to be the big flirt, but you’ve never even had a boyfriend. You’re no different to me.” Brad shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not saying I want to be your boyfriend.”
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