2008 - The Consequences of Love. (31 page)

He looked me straight in the eye, whispering, “Come on, my dear. I have been waiting for that kiss for years. Just once.”

I dragged him inside the small room and shut the door behind us.

“I will miss you,
habibi
,” he mumbled.

“Is everything ready?” I asked.

He stepped aside and coughed. We looked at each other. I bit the inside of my cheek. He stroked his chin, looking at me with his lips pressed together.

“Jasim, is everything ready?” I asked again.

“Yes.” It was the only thing he said. Nothing else. I hated it when he fixed his eyes on me like that, wanting to melt me with his stares. I was so tired of it. His continuous attentions made me tired. His cheesy words about love made me tired. He had turned me from a boy into a toy for his customers. That infamous day, minutes before he allowed Rashid into the room with the mirror ceiling, he was sitting next to me on my bed. He stroked my thighs, saying that he wanted to help me get used to a man’s hands. At the same time, he told me how sorry he was about Rashid but that the imam was to blame because if women were allowed to be around us, boys like me would not have had to endure these hungry men of Al-Nuzla. “If these men really love women, why don’t they turn their keys in their own doors and set the women free?” I asked him. “Why don’t they tell the imam to stop telling them what to do?”

“You don’t understand,” he replied, trying to unzip my trousers. “The imam is very powerful. His influence is immense. He has
Allah’s
ears as well as the government’s.”

I stopped him from pulling down my trousers. I pushed him away. “Don’t worry,” I said, “my body is already used to a man’s hands. Just leave me alone.”

Now, four years later, I was in his room again. This time, I hoped it would be my last. The mirror was still cracked, and nothing else had changed. Jasim was still telling the same things to the new waiter: “You are the perfect substitute for a woman…”

I looked at Jasim. “Where is the money?” I asked once again. He turned away and gazed off into the distance. After a few long minutes, he finally pointed with his index finger to his bed. There was a white envelope on top of the sheets. A flicker of a smile overpowered my anxiety. I sighed with relief.

He went to sit on the bed and crossed his legs. “The cheque is in here,” he said. He waved the envelope in my direction. “I hope this will make you love me, even if only from a distance.”

I remained quiet.

He asked me to sit next to him but I stayed where I was, motionless, looking at my watch, my feet tapping on the carpeted floor.

“You have to go,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Can you at least give me a hug?”

I didn’t move.

“Please, Naser. A friendly embrace, that’s all I am asking.”

I could see him coming towards me. He leapt at me and quickly caught me in his arms. He sighed and whispered, “Oh, Naser, I am sorry.”

“What for?”

He didn’t say anything. I felt his tears on my cheek. His hand moved quickly from my back to my waist, and he held me tight.

I tried to release myself, but he strengthened his grip. After a while I stopped resisting. He pushed me away. I stumbled backwards but I steadied myself. He sat on the bed and picked up the envelope.

“Are you really in love with this girl, Naser?”

“Yes,” I replied, firmly.

“Can you give me my lighter, please? It is on top of the TV.”

I looked at him, then at the top of the TV. I saw his black lighter next to a pile of porn videos. I wanted to bring it to his bed, but he told me to stop. “Stay there and throw the lighter,” he demanded.

I did as he asked.

Without moving his head, he caught it with his left hand.

“Why didn’t you try to love me?” he asked, his voice breaking.

I didn’t respond.

“Were you really planning to go to the religious police and tell them about this place?”

I gritted my teeth. I stared at him, then at the envelope in his hand.

“This is not the first time you betrayed me,” he said.

“What are you talking about? Jasim, please give me the envelope. I need to go.”

“You should have realised by now that I know about everything that happens in my café,” he said. He spat on the floor. “How could he do that to me? How could he betray me? He knew I loved you. I thought he was my friend.”

“What are you talking about? Which friend?”

“I am talking about Abu Irnad, the man you used to call Mr Quiet. I helped that illegal man and he went behind my back to come to your room after early morning prayer to have sex.”

“Jasim, you are being ridiculous. He was only a friend.”

“Wasn’t it me who gave him money when he first came to this country and he had no one to help him. Ungrateful piece of dog.”

“
Ya Allah
, so you are angry because you think I slept with Mr Quiet, but you…
ya Allah
, you don’t feel any remorse for selling me to Rashid?”

He jumped out of his bed and screamed, “Shush. I don’t want to hear it. You are cutting me to pieces. Why are you cruel to me?”

“Cruel? Me? Because I mentioned that you sold a young boy for sex? How do you think that makes me feel?”

He sat back on his bed and grabbed the envelope. “It’s strange that you would be prepared to sell me out for a girl,” he said.

“You sold me to Rashid. Please, Jasim. I found someone who is giving me the love I want. Now let’s move on. I don’t want to look back. I have a future to live with her. Give me the envelope, please.”

“Oh, Naser, my sweetheart. Why did you decide to threaten me? You are naive. You have been in this country for ten years and you still don’t know how things work?” He slit the envelope open, took out the cheque and started fanning himself with it.

I approached him, almost creeping. “This country, my dear, is all about who you know. Have you ever heard of a prince being beheaded or flogged, even though we all know they are just as capable as the rest of us of committing crimes?”

“Jasim, I need the money. Just give me the cheque please.”

“I am well connected to my
kafeel
, the police chief of Jeddah, the Blessed Bader Ibn Abd-Allah,” he said, pulling the ashtray towards him.

Jasim’s
kafeel
was mine too. What? Did Jasim know what he had done to me?

“I am sure you know him, ah?” he asked.

I had had a suspicion that it was Jasim’s
kafeel
who had helped him smuggle in illegal books, pornography and everything else that was forbidden in Saudi Arabia. I knew he must have been particularly powerful, because customs officers never searched their luggage, so Jasim could get anything past the gates at the airport.

But now I could see why the religious police stayed blind to what happened in his café.

“I am a well-connected man,”Jasim shouted his importance once again. “That’s how I got rid of Mr Quiet.”

“You deported your own friend?” I stuttered, holding back my tears.

He placed the cheque in the ashtray and set fire to it. I lunged at him to try to save the burning cheque, but he punched me and pushed me away with his foot. I landed with the side of my head on the TV. Immediately a stream of blood dripped from my nose and forehead. I turned to look at him. The flames of the burning envelope swelled behind him. I begged him, “Jasim, don’t do that. I can’t love you but if you want anything else, then tell me. I just need the money. Please.” He calmly picked up a perfume bottle from the box underneath his bed. The cheque turned into grey ashes. He broke the tall glass bottle in half. Some of the perfume splashed on the carpet. “Come closer and you know what I will do,” he threatened me.

He lifted his arm, holding the broken bottle to his face. He let the red perfume drip into his open mouth. “You shouldn’t have tried to mess with me. You know I have a lot of contacts. So I asked the religious police to go after you, my dear. And you know what, my dear, I have told them you have committed adultery. Whether they find evidence or not, you will be stoned in Punishment Square and I will be there to throw one at your filthy body with your black heart.”

Jasim laughed a loud, sneering laugh: “Well, what are you waiting for? They’ll be here any minute.”

I ran out of the room. By the time I got out of the café, the familiar Jeep with shaded windows was already approaching. I dashed to the left and heard the sound of tyres screeching behind me. Without looking back, I sprinted down Al-Nuzla Street towards Kharentina and away from Fiore’s house. But the Jeep was faster than me. At the big supermarket in Al-Nuzla, they caught up with me. I stopped. It was over.

I stood there panting and defeated. Three men jumped out of the Jeep and grabbed me by the arms. I recognised Hamid and the short man with the white beard who had taken over from Basil.

Hamid cuffed my hands behind my back and bundled me into the Jeep. The other two walked to the front seats. The seats at the back were like those in an ambulance, two long benches facing each other. Hamid was sitting in front of me. The Jeep drove off. “Why am I calm?” I thought. “Why am I not screaming? Why am I not kneeling to beg them to have mercy?”

But all I did was whisper: “Why
ya Allah
?”

“Don’t pronounce
Allah’s
revered name,” Hamid shouted.

“Fiore,” I screamed, beating my head against the window.

He punched me under my ribs. “Take this,
ya
apostate,
ya
cursed. Don’t you dare mention a woman’s name,” he yelled. “And now you will suffer for making a mockery out of the imam.”

I looked up at Hamid. “Forgive me,” I mumbled.

“It is too late to ask
Allah
forgiveness, you will be lodged in hell,
insha Allah
.”

“Please forgive me,
ya habibat
.”

“
Ya Allah
, and now you are asking forgiveness from a woman instead of
Allah
,” he wailed. “
Ya
Sheikh Abdul-Aziz, in the name of
Allah
pass me the stick.”

I screamed at him, “Go on, hit me,
ya
future sheikh. But I tell you this, I did not commit a crime, and
Allah
is my witness. All I did was love, and love is heaven sent.”

“Don’t you ever say that,
ya
dog. Tell us who this woman is.” He cursed me again.

“Never. I will never let your hands touch her.”

“Don’t be a hero,” he said. “Tell us who this evil woman is, for the sake
of Allah
, or I will break this stick on your head.”

“Never. She is more blessed than you.”

The man with the white beard, turned around and slapped me from the front bench, shouting, “Shut up
ya
cursed,
ya
heartless.”

“Oh Fiore, I will miss you.”

Hamid swung his stick in the air. He lashed at me, creating lines of fire with every swipe on my shoulders. In all his agitation, his
gutra
fell off, but he continued hitting me.

He finally sat down, breathless. I lowered my head and felt tears rolling down my face. Hamid smacked me on the head, saying, “We don’t have a lot of time. Where does this apostate live?”

“You call her an apostate because she loved me? What is the use of a heart?”

He threw his stick away and started punching me with his bare fist. I begged him to stop. “I’ll tell you who she is.”

He looked at me with his dark eyes. He bent down to pick up his
gutm
and adjusted it on his head. “
Ya
Sheikh Abdul-Aziz, stop the car. He is going to tell us. We know she is from Al-Nuzla. So we might as well pick her up while we are here.”

Through the shaded window, I could see the nine-storey building. This was the first time I hoped she wasn’t at home.

I bowed my head. With tears rolling down my face, I started talking: “I will tell you who she is, for I am proud of how she looks, talks and thinks. I will describe her for you from head to toe and then it is up to you to find her. You will need to knock on every door in Al-Nuzla and break down the men’s sections to reach her. You will need to stop every woman in the street and unveil her face. You might want to cram yourself into the women’s section of the bus, the amusement parks and the shops. And you will have to break the walls in the mosques that divide the women from the men. I promise you that if you do that, you will find her, for she is special. Her intelligence shines like the marble of palaces, and her eyes are different to the rest because in hers you will find it is the determination and strength that make them beautiful and glowing. For this woman is a true lover.”

I watched as Hamid rolled up his sleeves and put his
gutm
and his white knitted skull-cap on the seat next to him. I knew what was coming. Still, I looked him straight in the eyes, mumbling her name. “Fiore.” He picked up his stick. “Fiore.” And when he pushed me on to my knees, I repeated her name to drown out his yelling and suppress my own pain. “Fiore. Fiore. Fiore.”

The Jeep drove all the way down Al-Nuzla Street and through Mecca Street then turned left towards the centre of Jeddah. From there it took a few more turns before we arrived at the central prison of Jeddah, where my friend Mr Quiet had once been imprisoned.

Inside the prison, I was shadowed by the three policemen. I looked around. We were passing many closed doors and some open ones. I could see men looking through the bars of their cells, staring at the empty space before them. I bowed my head, and saw that many of the floor tiles were broken like everything else in that place.

When we reached the end of the corridor, I glanced back. It was a long corridor and it felt like an endless black hole, with no light and little air.

Hamid un-cuffed my hands and threw me inside a small cell saying, before closing the iron door, “I hope you will be stoned soon,
insha Allah
”.

An African-looking man sat at the back of the cell. When he saw the state I was in, he stood up and with his handkerchief wiped the blood off my face. “Be patient, son,” he said, “here, drink some water. You look like a man who has a story to tell. And I have all the time in the world to listen to you. But first you must take a rest.”