Forbidden Love (17 page)

“I don’t think I can live without her, I don’t want to live without her. My Dalia, oh my God, why?”

“Michael, please, we’ll make it through this together. I promise you.” Amjed began honking and I knew my time was running out. Soon he’d come to the door. I had to hang up.

“Michael, Amjed’s honking outside, I have to go, I have to hang up. Promise me, swear to me on Dalia, that you’ll stay at the base for at least three days, please.”

“Where did you say they’d taken her?” he asked.

“No, Michael, please, you can’t go there, promise me.” Before I could finish Amjed was banging on the door.

“Promise me, Michael, please. I’ll keep in touch with you through Jehan. I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

“I promise I’ll stay at the base.”

I hung up and ran to unlock the door.

“What’s taking so long? Who were you talking to on the phone?” Amjed asked as he entered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … I was just calling tomorrow’s appointments to cancel,” I said, wiping tears with the back of my hands.

“Look, Norma, I realize that being in the salon is hard for you right now, but you’ll get through this, and you’ll soon realize that she brought it on herself

I wanted to scream, but I knew I must keep quiet for now. I nodded,

afraid to open my mouth. \020”Well then, is there anything else you need to do before we leave?”

“Actually, if you could just write out a sign that says the salon will be closed until further notice and hang it on the door, I would appreciate it. In the meantime, I’ll just grab the few things I need and then we can go.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

I walked back behind the counter, closed the appointment book and handed him a blank piece of paper and a marker pen. Searching through the piles of notebooks and magazines on the desk, I set aside the appointment book, our score book and unlocked the bottom drawer to take out our daily journal. This was the only thing that could prove Dalia even knew of Michael’s existence. We’d spent years writing down our dreams, hopes, and fears, and through the diary Dalia would speak to me forever. I glanced in the direction of her workstation and remembered the day before our grand opening six years ago. She’d sat on the chair and I’d stood behind her, resting my head on top of hers, and we looked at each other in the mirror.

“Coffee?” I’d said.

“Cigarette,” she shot back with a sly and brilliant smile.

The memory was so real, so alive, that I found myself smiling. I knew that ND’s would be closing permanently This place had been our first timid step towards freedom, though it had felt bold at the time. What turn would my life take now?

I grabbed my small pile of books and walked towards Amjed, who was taping the sign on the front door. I handed him the keys and walked outside, took a deep breath as the cool wind slapped my face, then went to wait in the car as he turned off the lights and locked up.

From the passenger seat I watched as night began to descend on the city, blanketing the buildings, swallowing the streets,

the darkness only broken by the occasional streetlight. It would be a long and sleepless night. Tomorrow, I must restrain myself at least long enough to apologize to the one person I wanted to rip apart with my bare hands, Mahmood. That morning he had become my mortal enemy. Although I’d never felt the power of love that Dalia had felt, I had believed that it was the strongest of all emotions. Now I was convinced that there existed another emotion that, once roused, surpassed the power of love, and could be, if not channelled properly, a totally destructive force: hate. I only hoped that I would have the wisdom to turn my hatred for Mahmood into something useful and not allow it to consume and destroy me. But I needed this surge of hate to somehow give me the strength to get through the next few weeks. Then I could begin looking for a way to avenge Dalia’s death, and give her the peace she deserved.

As Amjed drove us home, I hugged the books to my chest, relieved that I’d been able to warn Michael. But my relief was a drop of water in an ocean of grief. I prayed that God would give me the strength, wisdom, and patience to get through this day, this tragedy. But not even God could ever make me believe her loss was justified. My mind began to waver between the reality of her death and the fantasy of her return. Although I knew that I’d never see Dalia again, I also knew that I would never be able to let her go. Suddenly, my mind began to entertain a thought that somehow, for no particular reason, offered me a tiny bit of comfort and made me feel less alone. Dalia would continue to live. While physically the finality of death is unquestionable, I believe I understood at that moment that death itself need not be final. After twenty-two years of friendship, I was left with a few photographs (taken secretly since Islam does not allow women to have their pictures taken), and an endless film of memories. They would let me continue to touch and feel her vitality. Like millions before her, she would continue to live in the hearts and minds of all who loved her. I was strangely comforted knowing that, years from now, when I drank my morning coffee, she would come to me in my memories. She would bring me a smile, a tear, a moment, and continue to confirm her existence.

As the blackness of night fell, at last, over the day of Dalia’s murder the longest day, I know, of my entire life I curled up on my bed as I had that morning, knees pulled tight to my chest, while memories and images washed over me. I was trapped in the past, frozen on my bed, compelled by some mysterious energy to relive events as they replayed through my mind like a movie. Each memory ended with an image of Dalia deposited on that stainless steel table, sheathed by the blood-spattered sheet. She was so tranquil and striking, like a resting seraph. Perfectly still. I slowly began to accept that she would never wake up.

When my sorrow became too great to handle without some kind of physical release, I forced myself to get up and walk round my room. I tried to clear my thoughts, but got tired looking for answers that didn’t exist to questions that shouldn’t have to be asked. I lay back down and the cycle began again. By daybreak, I was psychologically, spiritually and physically drained. I forced myself to get out of bed, threw on some clothes, and went to the kitchen, hoping that caffeine would give me the energy I needed to get through the day. As I slumped over the kitchen counter sucking down my fifth cup of coffee, my father came in.

“Sabah Al Khair Yaba’ I mumbled.

“Sabah Al Noor,” he replied.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

“Of course. Be ready around three thirty this afternoon. I’ll take you to Mahmood’s then and you can apologize to him and his family.”

“Yes, Father, as you wish,” I managed to reply.

“I’ll have my coffee on the veranda,” he said and turned and left the kitchen.

I put my head down on the counter, hoping that the caffeine would kick in. Then I hauled myself to the stove and began making my father’s coffee.

I waited on him silently and swiftly and went back into the kitchen, eager for him to leave. When all the men had gone to work, I moped around the house, lost in my thoughts and careful to avoid my mother. By ten, it became impossible to dodge her any longer. She followed me from room to room, finally managing to trap me in the kitchen as I was brewing yet another pot of coffee.

“How do you feel today, habibatiT she asked, using the term of

affectionate word that means ‘my love’. \020”Like the living dead.”

“You look as if you haven’t slept at all.”

“I didn’t. I think sleep is a thing of the past.”

“It’ll get better. You’ll see, time heals all wounds.”

“This isn’t a wound, it’s a provocation. My life here died with Dalia. I’m going to find a way out of this hell.”

“Norma, my love, you’re upset. I’m not saying that the pain

you feel now will disappear, but day by day it’ll become easier to live with. I’m very proud of you for apologizing to your father.”

“I said I was sorry because I knew I had no choice, but I have to tell you something, something I’m sure you already suspect. I was involved. I knew about it from the start and I helped her. That’s why I’m so sure she did nothing wrong. I mean, according to all of you what she did was wrong, but all she did was follow her heart. She loved him, and loving him made her happier than I’d ever seen her. How can that be so wrong? She didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But she did. She hurt her family’s reputation by being out with him, by even talking to him.”

“That’s ridiculous! I was there; I saw what happened. They were pulled to each other. I don’t think either one of them could have escaped whatever force it was that brought them together. I saw it in their eyes. If their relationship was so wrong, then why did God allow them to meet in the first place? Do you know that she actually told me that she believed Michael was her destiny and that she couldn’t live without talking to him? And she paid for loving him with her life.”

“Norma, she was a big girl and she knew the risk she was taking. You should never have got involved. Anyway, we can’t change anything now. The only thing we can do is make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to you, and you’ve taken the first step by apologizing to your father and denying any involvement in this affair, and for that I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of me for what? I’m not proud of myself, I feel as if I’ve betrayed Dalia. I feel like a coward. And today, I have to do it again by apologizing to the beast that murdered her. God, how I wish I could tell him what I really think of him, but I Won’t. I’ve realized that you were right about one thing: I can’t do anything for Dalia if I’m dead. I don’t know exactly when or how I’m going to avenge her death, but I now that no matter how long it takes or how hard it may be, I’ll find a way even if I die doing it. I owe her that much, and I know that she’d have done the same for me.”

“Sweetheart, you need to watch what you’re saying. Your anger is speaking now. Dalia is only one of thousands of women this happens to every year. I’m sure the others had mothers, sisters, and friends who were just as upset as you are now, but they realized, as you will in time, that nothing can be done about it. They suffer the loss in silence and then find a way to move on, as you will.”

“No, I won’t. I’m not like the rest, and neither was Dalia. But you don’t have to convince me to suffer silently; I know it has to be that way for now. Look, Mum, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude or disrespectful, and I certainly don’t want to take my anger out on you. I’m just an emotional wreck, I’m sorry. I love you and I understand that you’re trying to help me, believe me I do. But this is something you can’t help me with.”

“Just be careful. Whatever you decide to do, do it carefully. Promise me that much.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Now, can I ask a favour?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Can you call Dalia’s mother and find out what they are planning to do next? Please, Mum, it’s important to me. I have to know.”

“OK, I’ll call her.”

“Thank you so much. By the way, I need to confess one more thing. I smoke and I really need a cigarette. I have some hidden in my room. I’ll just go and grab one and be right back.”

“You what?” she yelled.

Before she could continue, I bolted out of the kitchen and into my room. When I returned with the cigarettes, she stared at me and then at the pack of cigarettes before attempting to

speak.

“I can’t believe you smoke! How long have you been smoking? What else am I going to find out? You’d better not let your father find out, he’ll kill us both.”

“Oh, Mum, come on, it’s no big deal. I’ve been doing it for years now. It’s not that important. Just please make the call.”

“For years! How could I have not known? Oh my God, why? How did you start?”

“Mum, please forget it now. Please make the call,” I begged as I lit a cigarette and refilled my cup of coffee.

“All right, all right, but first lock the door and put the chain on in case your father or one of your brothers comes home early. I don’t want one of them to catch you with that filthy thing sticking out of your mouth.”

Thanks, Mum,” I said and kissed her cheek before running off to lock the doors. She followed me into the living room, carrying the coffee and an ashtray. We sat on the love seat next to the phone. She dialled the number and I sat and listed to every word she said, my mind imagining what Dalia’s mother was saying on the other end.

After my mother said goodbye and before she could put the receiver down, I was already asking questions.

“What’s happening? What are they doing?”

“She said they’re waiting for the report from the hospital.”

“And then? What are they going to do then?”

“Well, if Dalia is not intact, they’ll go after the young Catholic

man.” \020”Do they know him? Do they know who he is? Are they going to try anything before the report is ready?”

“Apparently Mohammed followed him home the day he saw the two of them together, and he knows where he lives. It doesn’t sound like they know him personally.”

“Where’s her father? Are you sure they’re waiting for the autopsy?”

“She said they were and will only do something if the results are negative.”

“But are you sure? Where’s Mahmood today? Is he home?” I asked, my fear mounting.

“No, habibati, he wasn’t home. You know I can’t ask her where her husband is.”

“I know. What about the funeral? Are they going to have one? Can I go?”

“No, they’re going to bury her in an unmarked grave. Her mother’s very upset about that. They won’t have any kind of service, so no one will be going.”

“Oh my God! How could they? Oh Dalia. How could they?” I began sobbing. The thought of Dalia being buried all alone with no one to say goodbye appalled me. “Where? Where will they be burying her? I have to go. They can’t just bury her like that. No service, no people… Oh my God, I can’t believe they’re going to do this.”

“Calm down, my love. There’s nothing we can do. That’s what Mahmood wants, there’s nothing anyone can do. I’m sure it’ll be in the big cemetery just outside the city.”