Sirens of Memory

by Puja Guha

  “She went to the UK, she and John are married now.”

  “What about you and Raj?”

  “We left for India together, and our relationship moved forward.” Mariam shrugged, and her eyes brightened, “He’s always been wonderful. We had this connection from the days at the camp, but we finally let ourselves be together in India. We spent two weeks in Mumbai, staying with one of his distant cousins before we got our own place. At first, he slept on the floor, he didn’t want to put pressure on me, but I didn’t have enough money to get my own place. Then after a while, he didn’t anymore. Aliya was born there a few months later, and we applied for immigration to the U.S.—an old friend of Raj’s from university sponsored us. When the paperwork came through, we looked at a few different American cities. We were in Colorado for a while—Raj’s childhood friend was already there, but then we fell in love with Austin, so we moved here. With all of the construction, there’s been plenty of work for him here.”

  “What about Raj’s family? Do you ever see them?”

  “I’ve only met them a couple of times. He told them about what he did to help me get out of Kuwait after Aliya was born. They didn’t really understand, but I guess they accepted it.”

  “Did you ever tell Raj about your husband in Kuwait?” the therapist asked.

  “He knows I was married before and that my husband died during the invasion, but he doesn’t know that Tareq was…” Mariam hesitated before she could make out the words. “That he was abusive.”

  “Why do you think you never told him?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want him to see me as the victim, maybe I didn’t want to be the victim again.” Mariam’s voice caught in her throat, “I don’t want to go back there. I was so powerless, I let Tareq do whatever he wanted to me, over and over. I never fought back—and I never want to be that person again.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, “When I think of the life that Aliya might have been born into, how I would never be free of him if we hadn’t gotten away when we did—”

  The memories were in front of her in full force now, they had control as they ran her over like a bulldozer. She raised her hand to her mouth, “The woman that I was, I never want Raj to see me like that. I was weak and small, and I didn’t stand up for myself, everyone walked all over me except for Dinah—first my father and then Tareq.”

  “But you left him—isn’t that standing up for yourself?”

  “I was going to go back to him,” Mariam whispered. “I was going to go back to him until I found out I was pregnant.”

  “That’s when you found out that you were pregnant?” Teresa frowned. “You didn’t tell me that before. So that means that Tareq is Aliya’s biological father.”

  “Yes.” Mariam shut her eyes, the memories swarming her, “When I came to at the hospital, I only knew about the concussion. Dinah was there, and she tried to convince me to leave him, just like she had before, but I was so sure that I had to go back to him.” She ran her fingers through her hair and let it fall forward, partially concealing her face as she looked at the ground. “I tried to talk to my sister about it once, after the first time that Tareq hit me—I told her, and I thought she would help me, I thought she would stand with me, but she said she was sure that it wouldn’t happen again. She said that the family would never accept me if I left him, that I had to find a way not to provoke him.” Mariam placed her hand over her mouth.

  How can the memory carry as much pain as it did twenty-five years ago?

  “Even though you didn’t get help there, you found a way out later. You have to give yourself credit—try to remember that, to affirm yourself. You may have let that situation happen at first, but eventually, you got out of that situation, you found a way to take care of your daughter. You should be proud of yourself, not beating yourself up for what you already overcame.”

  “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the Iraqis hadn’t invaded, if I’d never met Raj. Would I still be that meek submissive girl who could never stand up for herself? Would I have raised my daughter to be like that?”

  “Ritika, er—Mariam, I think the fact that you’re asking that question gives me the answer. You’re so aware of how far you’ve come, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t have been able to get here. Circumstances might have made that happen faster—you most definitely had to act because of the invasion, because you had to find a better situation for Aliya, but as I said before, you did all of those things. You could have chosen to be with a man who didn’t treat you right, who didn’t support you and your daughter, but you didn’t do that. I want you to think about that, to affirm that part of yourself.”

  Mariam let out a long sigh, “I’ll try.”

  The session wrapped up quickly after that, Mariam having spent so much time over their last three appointments going over the history that had led her to this point. The rehashing was taking a toll, burying her memories of Tareq and how difficult that time was seemed far easier than recounting it and reliving the trauma. Discussing the refugee camp was difficult in its own right, the mix of perpetual uncertainty and fear that they had all dealt with on a daily basis, along with the inability to connect with any of the others at the camp for fear of revealing their true identities.

  Immediately after the session, Mariam went home and sat down on her porch, facing the old oak tree. Raj was still at work so she was alone as she slowly sipped on a cup of masala tea, one of the more pleasant things that had come from her time at the camp.

  She stared out into the distance and tried to push past her memories of Tareq—he was dead after all, why shouldn’t she relish that? Her home was a symbol of a new life, one that she and Raj had built together, a life that had raised Aliya to be a strong independent woman with a good head on her shoulders.

  Mariam smiled and reached for her phone to dial her daughter’s number. After a few rings, she picked up.

  “Hi, Mom, how are you? Dad told me you were going to therapy today.”

  “You and your father aren’t allowed to talk without me like that,” Mariam exclaimed in a huff. “You spend all this time bonding, and I’m totally out of the loop.”

  “Come on, Mom, you know you love it.”

  Mariam chuckled, she did indeed love how close Raj and Aliya were, such a contrast to the relationship that she’d had with her own father. “You know me so well,” she said, shaking her head.

  Aliya chuckled as well, then her voice turned serious, “How was it?”

  “I don’t know, it was hard.”

  “I talked to Dinah Auntie yesterday.”

  Mariam sighed, and her shoulders sank. Here it comes. “What did she say?” she asked, knowing full well what they must have talked about.

  “She told me about the event at the embassy in D.C., that you said you didn’t want to go.”

  “That’s true,” Mariam could feel herself retreating into her shell, she had no intention of going to an event to celebrate the anniversary of Kuwait’s liberation after the Gulf War.

  “You should go, Mom. It would be such a good way to confront your past. Besides, isn’t it worth celebrating? If the invasion had never happened, you and dad would never have met.”

  It’s not the Gulf War that I don’t want to confront. It had been so much easier to pretend that her identity as a Kuwaiti didn’t exist. Being Raj’s wife Ritika had always felt simpler: no abusive ex-husband, no guilt to bear as a result of his death. She exhaled slowly, communicating her real identity to Aliya had been difficult enough a few years earlier, especially since that had to be kept a secret, and there was no way she would dare put that at risk by going to an event at the Kuwaiti embassy. Mariam held her tongue though, neither Aliya nor Raj knew about Tareq’s abuse or the details of his death, and she wanted to keep it that way. “I don’t want to go, Sona,” she said, using a Bengali nickname for her daughter that meant “my golden one” in the hope that it would get Aliya to back off.

  “Will you promise to think about it?
”

  After another sigh, Mariam found herself giving in. What could it hurt? Besides, it might get Aliya off of her back, and that had to be worth something. “All right, you win. I’ll think about it.”

  A few minutes later Mariam hung up after redirecting the conversation toward her daughter, probing to find out more details on the master’s program that she was about to start at UT in Austin. Mariam pitched Aliya on the benefits of living at home, how she could save money and spend more time with them, but after getting the runaround for the third time that month, she conceded and let her daughter get off the phone. It’s good for her to have her independence, anyway. Mariam looked out at the garden with a wistful expression. Something I never got to have. She finished her tea, glad to have spoken to Aliya. Even though they hadn’t agreed on the event at the embassy, the conversation made her feel lighter, as if all the heaviness of therapy was far behind her. Stretching her arms and legs out, she took a deep breath, her past was exactly that, just a faded memory.

  Mariam dozed on the lawn chair for a few minutes, listening to the birds chirping and hum of the wind passing through the trees. The warmth of the early evening sun was on her face and her body drank it in, the darkness of her past long gone.

  A siren went by and she woke with a start, gripping the armrests as if her life depended on it. It’s nothing, she told herself, probably just an ambulance going by on South Congress Ave a couple of blocks away. She stared straight ahead and fought for control of her breathing. Maybe Raj is right, she thought, I can’t pretend that part of my life doesn’t exist. Pushing it down it just lets it come back stronger.

  Farwaniya Hospital, Kuwait – July, 1990

  Mariam groaned as she opened her eyes. Her vision was hazy, all she could see was white.

  “Mariam?” a familiar voice made the blood drain from her face. “It’s Tareq.”

  She let her eyes shut, she didn’t want to wake up—not when he would be there to greet her. Perhaps if she pretended to be unconscious for long enough, he would disappear?

  Another voice startled her into opening her eyes, “Mariam? It’s Dinah. I’m here too. You’re at the hospital.”

  “Dinah? Where am I?”

  “You’re at the hospital,” Dinah repeated.

  Mariam felt someone squeeze her hand before her vision became clear. The stark white of the hospital furniture still glared back at her, but now she could see Dinah in a pale blue hijab that matched her full sleeve shirt. She was holding her hand tight and looking warily across the bed. Mariam followed her gaze and suppressed the compulsion to flee—Tareq was sitting in a chair on the other side of her bed. His expression was hard to decipher, some part of it feigned concern. He stood and grabbed her other hand and Mariam fought the urge to wrest it free. What’s the point, she reminded herself, it’ll only make things worse later.

  Her eyes moved between the two of them as she tried to recall how she had gotten there.

  She remembered the party, and the fuchsia dress.

  Walking to the bathroom with Dinah, where she’d explained that the bruise on her wrist was from a household accident.

  Going home… Mariam shuddered, and her eyes closed as the sirens reverberated through her brain and it all came rushing back.

  The Godfather and trying to explain to Tareq that they could just get rid of the book.

  Her cheek as he smacked her across the head, then the glass splintering as her body rammed into the coffee table.

  Her head hitting their ceramic floor once, then again, but after that—only sirens.

  “What happened?” she asked, looking down at her arms. Her left forearm was a dark shade of purple, with a long white bandage that stretched upward from her elbow. Her other arm had two more bandages, but the exposed skin was a pale shade of red. Mariam drew in a long breath and her gaze fixed on Tareq, “What happened?” He must have told Dinah something. Whatever lie he had told Dinah, she would have to accommodate him—the beatings would only get worse if she didn’t.

  “You tripped, do you remember? You fell through the coffee table—that’s how you got so cut up,” Tareq answered. “I’m glad you’re okay. You’ve been in and out of consciousness all night.”

  Mariam nodded slowly, “The last thing I remember is coming home from the party.” His expression warmed, and he returned her nod, she felt so relieved she almost started to believe the lie.

  He looked down at his watch, “It’s getting quite late. I have to get to the office. Dinah, will you be staying with her?”

  “Of course. Will you be back this afternoon?” Mariam caught the edge in Dinah’s tone and wanted to beg her to keep control of herself. You’re only going to make it worse for me later.

  “I don’t think so.” He answered her, then turned. “The doctors are keeping you overnight for observation, but it’s just a concussion and some stitches. You’re going to be just fine,” Tareq said as he touched her right hand.

  Mariam cringed and her eyes widened, she had to cover up how scared she was of his touch. “I’m sorry,” she said with a long exhale, “the cuts on my arm—they’re still pretty sore.”

  “Of course.” Tareq stepped back, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He turned around, and she watched him disappear into the hallway.

  As soon as he was safely out of earshot, Dinah leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “My god, I’m so glad you’re okay. What did he do to you? He’s a monster. Mariam, I’m not letting you go home with him, not ever. You’re lucky to still be alive.”

  Mariam’s eyes narrowed, “I’m fine, Dinah. It’s like he said, I tripped and I’m okay.”

  “Are you insane? You hit the ground so hard that you could have cracked your skull open. Do you even understand that? You might have needed brain surgery.” Dinah dropped her head in her hands. “Mariam, you could have died, or you could have been paralyzed if any of that glass had gone into your spine. I can’t say it enough, you’re lucky to be alive. Please, don’t go back to him. I can help you, if you let me. Please.”

  And then what? How would I get away? Mariam stopped herself from asking those questions, and instead repeated, “I’m really fine.” There was nothing Dinah could say, she wasn’t willing to leave her whole life behind. What kind of life could she even have if she left Tareq? She hardly had any money without him, and her sister had already made it clear that she wouldn’t help. You married him, you can’t just walk away from that. Her sister had said those words, and she knew how true they were. What kind of life could you expect to have without him?

  Before Dinah could say anything else, a doctor and a nurse walked into the room. They greeted them both, and the doctor went through her injuries and how she would need to care for them. “Three stitches in your left arm, eight in the right arm…some serious bruising on your rib cage, but no broken ribs…the concussion isn’t severe, but you’ll need to avoid excess physical activity…” His voice droned on, and Mariam nodded several times, although she didn’t really register what he was saying. Dinah asked a few questions, but Mariam was unable to process most of it.

  “Most importantly, we wanted to congratulate you. You’re pregnant.”

  Those words forced Mariam out of her daze. Pregnant? What? She gawked at the doctor, “Did you just say—?”

  “Yes, and before you get worried, the baby is just fine. I’ll have one of our gynecologists come in and speak to you, but it looks like the baby is about six weeks.”

  The muscles in her torso relaxed, and she began to sob. Mariam let her head fall back onto the pillow and tried to catch her breath as the tears poured down her cheeks.

  THE NEXT FEW hours went by in a blur, Mariam couldn’t keep track of any of it. The only thing that she could focus on, the only thing she could think of, were the words: Congratulations, you’re pregnant. The thought seemed unfathomable—how could that be? She’d been on birth control, having a baby at nineteen certainly wasn’t something she had hoped for, but now that she knew, everything
was different. A gynecologist came in and spoke to her briefly, the baby was fine and growing. After giving Mariam a prescription for some prenatal vitamins and indicating that she should come in for another checkup in about six weeks, she, too, disappeared out of the room.

  Dinah kept looking at her, but she no longer wanted to talk. Mariam wasn’t sure what to say. She had made up her mind to go home to Tareq, to do her duty as her father would have wanted, but now everything had changed. Could she go home to him? Could she bring a baby into that house? Mariam shut her eyes and tried to imagine what Tareq would be like with a child, perhaps he would love it the way he was supposed to? He couldn’t be entirely darkness and insecurities after all. In a way, she was more worried about how he would treat her during the pregnancy—if he had another one of his angry fits, the baby might be in danger.

  Mariam dozed for the rest of the day, but each time she woke up she was relieved to see Dinah still at her side. She shivered at the thought of waking only to the sight of Tareq’s face. It’s going to be okay, she told herself but was unsuccessful in placating her fears.

  By the third time she awoke, she stared at Dinah for a few minutes, the silence finally grating at her. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Mariam looked at her indignantly.

  Dinah raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, “What can I say? You were pretty clear that you’re going back to him, even with all of this.” She gestured toward Mariam’s injuries with her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky, “Why would you do that? Why would you go back to him? Look at what he did to you, and now you’re going to have a child. In that house? What if he hurts you again? You’re lucky the baby’s fine…and after? What if he hurts the baby?” Dinah squeezed her hand but refused to make eye contact with her.

  Now you’re going to have a child… Mariam felt tears well up in her eyes again and spill down her cheeks, she felt like a spectator, as if she was watching someone else’s life. This can’t be me. She wasn’t sure how long she cried, Dinah holding her hand as if she couldn’t possibly let go.