Forbidden Love (15 page)

I begged the doctor to let me see her, and he finally agreed. He instructed the nurse to take me to the morgue.

When we got into the elevator to go to the basement of the old hospital, it took all my strength to keep from losing control, but I couldn’t stop the flow of tears down my cheeks. I found a strange comfort in the fact that Dalia had been brought to the hospital where we’d both been born. In some odd way it seemed as if her life had somehow come full circle. In a daze, I followed the nurse down a long, dimly lit hallway into a large back room. She reached for the light switch and I was temporarily blinded by the bright lights overhead. Their eerie, amplified, humming sound filled the surreal silence.

The morgue had four stainless steel tables. On three, bodies were draped with white sheets. The nurse walked to the nearest table and gently pulled the blood-soaked sheet back, revealing only Dalia’s face. I thought I was ready to see her, but nothing could have prepared me for what now lay in front of

me. The nurse reached out and laid her hand on mine. I felt a sharp pain tear through my chest. All the feelings I’d controlled so that I could be strong for us both against an enemy whose allies were every Arab man in Jordan, surfaced. I started sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Dalia lay in front of me and, if not for the splatter of dried blood that stained parts of her beautiful face, she appeared to be in a deep sleep. I bent down, kissed her cheek and then pressed my cheek to hers while my tears spilled onto her cold face. I whispered to her, promising that I would not allow her death to be in vain, and kissed her forehead as I told her that I would always love her. The whole morning had seemed to stretch out into an eternity and even stop several times, but now the few moments I had with Dalia flew by. My time with her was over before it had begun, here in the morgue and in the life we thought we’d share.

When the nurse saw that I had managed to calm down a bit, she asked me to leave. I carried a clear image of Dalia’s face with me, one I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Standing outside the hospital, I cursed the cool winds I had welcomed earlier that morning for bringing this devastation to my life. In just a few hours, my world had fallen apart. I felt as if I’d been thrown into the desert and left alone to die.

As I stood in the centre of Palestine Hospital’s circular drive, I knew that the direction of my life had permanently altered. I’d spent years supporting Dalia’s fantasy of democracy and freedom for women without saying a word, too timid to add my voice to hers. I suddenly saw my whole life as a cowardly lie. I’d conformed to traditions I didn’t believe in, and hidden my hope for freedom behind a wall of silence and a smile. Losing Dalia in this way made vivid to me something I’d always known but had managed to ignore. I could no longer hide my true emotions and beliefs in the hope my silent cries would be heard. In memory of Dalia, I vowed to transform my silence into audible screams for justice and equal rights.

My first barrier was my father and brothers, who were waiting at home. Even if I managed to survive-and I knew that my life was in clear danger from the men in both families I would have to climb a centuries-old mountain before I could hope for any change. Fuelled by a lifetime of suppressed anger, sparked now by the rebellious emotions Dalia’s murder had provoked, I was filled with a quiet, determined fire as I prepared to go home and face whatever came.

My taxi driver appeared from behind a line of oncoming traffic and began honking. I dropped myself into the back seat, mumbling my address, slammed the door, shut my eyes tightly, and began to replay the last few days in my mind. Dalia had known something was wrong and I’d refused to believe her. She’d felt this coming and I’d tried to convince her that she was paranoid. During the last few days of her life, when she’d needed me the most, I hadn’t been there as I should have been. I tried to imagine what she’d felt during those last few days and the pain of her last few hours. I saw her face and uncomprehending eyes as her father raised the knife. I drove myself crazy going over and over what I might have said or done to prevent this. Spontaneously, her face was in front of me again. In a stroke in twelve strokes that knife had taken her life, her laugh. I would never see or hear them again.

The taxi jerked to a stop in front of my home. I opened my eyes and stumbled out, in a trance, telling the driver to come to the house and collect his fare from my father. The driver was apprehensive and began saying, “Khaliha alia Allah ya binty,” the ride is free from God. I insisted that he escort me, not only to get the fare but to confirm where I’d been for the past hour. We marched up to the front door and I rang the bell. My father opened the door. I could tell by the look on his face that he was shocked to see me

standing beside a man. I pushed past him without saying a word, leaving him and the taxi driver to work things out.

Inside, I was disorientated, didn’t recognize my surroundings. My home suddenly felt very alien and I wandered around, desperately searching for comfort and privacy. I finally dragged myself to my room, closed the door, and collapsed

onto my bed. I pulled my knees to my chest and lay in a foetal position. I tried to brace myself for the wave of emotions I knew would take over. Tears flowed down my face, soaking my pillow, as I gave in and descended into ever deeper despair.

Unexpectedly, my bedroom door flew open with startling force, smashing into the dresser and knocking over the knickknacks I’d collected over the years. I opened my eyes to find my father standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, eyes burning with fury. I sat up slowly and waited for his attack to begin.

“I don’t approve of what you did at Mahmood’s house. It was very disrespectful, and I won’t stand for my daughter to be known as disrespectful,” he raged.

I wrapped my arms round my pillow and buried my head in it.

“I’ve talked to Mahmood and we’re both prepared to excuse your earlier actions since you must have been shocked by Dalia’s death. But first, I must know if you had anything to do with this dishonourable and foolish thing Dalia did.”

I remained still for a moment, my mind racing, trying to decide on the path I should take. Regardless of what happened, I had an obligation

to defend Dalia’s actions. \020”Dalia did nothing wrong,” I stated.

That one simple statement enraged him. He stepped toward me, and his tone became vile.

“Dalia did everything wrong! She dishonoured her family by running around with that man. She was a whore! And for that she had fallen to a whore’s fate! Do you think you know better than her own father? Now, I want to know if you had anything at all to do with her betrayal of her family and her home.”

“Any respect I may have had for Arab men or for Arab customs died with Dalia. I refuse to deny my beliefs any longer!” I looked up at him before continuing, then threw submission to the wind.

“I will not be silent. I will not allow my silence to condemn her. Dalia did nothing wrong! I will defend her actions to my dying day. If you’re here in search of an admission of guilt, or to look for incriminating details to substantiate your beliefs and her father’s actions, you’ll be disappointed. Whatever existed between Dalia and me will forever remain between us. She took her secrets to her grave, and I will do the same. I’ll never agree with you about this, nor will I ever accept what her father has done. He’s a murderer and you’re his accomplice by justifying what he’s done!” I was almost screaming at him.

He closed the small distance between us with lightning speed, and slapped my face hard.

“How dare you use that tone with me! How dare you call an honourable and just man like Mahmood a murderer in defence of a whore! I demand that you tell me what I want to know.”

He raised his hand, prepared to strike me again. Then, from nowhere, my mother appeared and grabbed his arm.

“Mishan Allah, for God’s sake stop this. Let her rest. She’s not in her right mind. For God’s sake, leave her now and after she’s rested talk to her. I beg you, come with me, please, and give her time. You know how she loved Dalia. They were like sisters. Ever since they were young, they’ve been inseparable. Let her adjust to this news, I beg you. Pardon her words. It’s anger that speaks now, not our Norma. I beg you, la yumarie, for my life, pardon her and give her time,” she begged.

He snapped his arm round and hurled my mother to the floor, and turned his spite towards her.

“Let go of me, ya mara (woman). I warn you to keep your distance from this matter. Will you have me believe that she’s distraught to the point of disrespect? Doesn’t she realize that I gave her life and I can take it from her for her defiant words alone!” he shouted.

My mother was now fighting for her life as well as mine. She knew that only reasoned, respectful words had any hope of reaching my father and saving me, and she did the best and bravest thing she could do.

\020”Please, at this moment she doesn’t realize the consequences of her words. I beg you, ya habiby, let’s not lose our daughter for some hastily spoken words I’m sure she will regret once she has regained control. She’s never disrespected you before. From that fact alone we should know that her anger is speaking now, not her heart. Please come with me,” she said as she rose to her feet and put out her hand to him.

Angrily he turned on his heel to face the door. “I will allow her a few hours of rest. But I demand an apology, and I demand that she go and apologize to Mahmood as well.” And he strode out.

My mother sat on the bed and pulled me to her, holding my head on her chest and caressing my hair. She kept repeating, “Ya binty, ya binty, hutie himlk ala Allah, Allah hi hitnlik’ (my girl, my girl, put your troubles in God’s hands, he’ll carry you through this). But I found little comfort in either my mother’s arms or her words.

“I don’t want God to carry me through this, I want him to take me away from here,” I said.

“Oh Norma, my baby girl, if you had anything at all to do with this, your father must never know. I know how much you loved Dalia, I loved her too, and I can’t bear to lose you in the same way,” she said.

“I can’t keep quiet, Mum, that would make me as guilty as they are. Don’t you see that Dalia did nothing wrong, and they killed her. They killed her for nothing.”

“Norma, please, you can’t go on defending her like this. Whether what she did was right or wrong doesn’t matter any more. Think of what Dalia would want. She wouldn’t want you to die defending what she did. Please, Norma, you must apologize.”

“I can’t! I won’t! If I do that, I’ll be just as guilty as they are. I won’t condemn her by agreeing with them. I didn’t condemn her in her life, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do it in death!”

“Norma, please think about what you’re saying. If you don’t apologize, it’ll be suicide. What good can you do for Dalia if you’re dead? I’m not saying that your apology must come from your heart, only from your lips. God and Dalia will know what remains in your heart.”

“I’m no longer the same person. I won’t give in to fear. I won’t deny my heart and my beliefs. It’s fear and silence that allows them to do this. How many more Dallas will die before someone stands up to them? Someone’s got to fight for Dalia’s innocence; it doesn’t matter if I’m killed. I refuse to continue living this lie.”

“Norma, sweetheart, you’re not being rational. You can’t do anything dead! I’m not asking you to live a lie; I’m asking you to stay alive. Do you think anything will change if they bury you too?”

“So you would rather have me live a lie?”

“I would rather have you alive under any circumstances!” \020”Alive for what? To live as if I’m dead? What kind of life is that? What kind of life have you had? I refuse to spend the next twenty or thirty years with a forced smile on my face while my soul sheds tears of blood. I don’t want to live longing for the

freedom I will only find in death. That promise has pacified us you! too long. I want to be free to live, really live, and do what I want. I want to believe what I want. If I can’t have that, I have no life.”

“Don’t say that you can’t have a wonderful life, you—’

“A wonderful life, you mean like you? You think I can’t see past your smile to your broken heart? You think you can fool me into believing you’re happy? I’m not Dad, I’m not my brothers; they don’t see it because they don’t want to, but I’m not blind. Didn’t you ever have dreams? Needs? Goals?”

“Of course I did.” She said it with a special tenderness which, for just that moment, was for the girl she had been, just like me, with dreams. “We all go through that confusing period in our lives but we quickly learn our place and our responsibilities. You will too. This will pass, it will all pass, and—’

“It will not! I won’t let it! I have goals and dreams. Dalia and I shared those dreams and now she’s gone. My ties to this country and to these customs die with her! My dreams are of freedom, and my goal is to avenge her death. Nothing you or anyone else says will ever change that!”

“Norma, habibati (my love), I’m not trying to change what you believe, I’m only trying to keep you alive. I’ve said what I can; your life is in your own hands now. Understand that if they think for a moment that you had something to do with this, I can’t save you. You have to calm down. I know it’s not easy, and I pray that God gives you the strength and wisdom to choose your words wisely. I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I’m sure Dalia wouldn’t want you to commit suicide, which is exactly what you’d be doing. Think carefully, my dear child. Apologize from your lips and save what burns in your heart. Don’t waste your beliefs and passionate words on deaf ears. I beg you, say what they want to hear, and save your life. I’ll let you rest now.” Then she kissed me on the forehead and quietly left the room, leaving me to my confusion. My mother would never know the compassion, love and sadness I felt for her.

I lay back down and thought carefully about everything my mother had said. I couldn’t deny that she was right. My death would do no good to Dalia, and it would ensure that Mahmood got away with murder. If anything, my death would only help prove the accusations levelled against Dalia. I realized that I had to play by their rules for now. I tried to clear my head and rest. My body was rigid with tension, my muscles ached.