The Jewish Neighbor (3 page)

“Hey!”

Was
it a third accomplice coming late to claim his share of the kill? If there was
any justice left in the universe, her heart would stop right now to end her
miserable life.

“Mind
your own fucking business!” the man mounting her shouted back. He pulled out
his knife again and raised it in the air to declare his intentions.

“Let
her go now and walk away—I am dialing 999!” The voice was coming closer and it
was fortified with intractable resolve and authority.

Umayma’s
would-be rapist jumped swiftly to his feet and
pulled up his pants, releasing tremendous pressure off her. She took a breath
and saw flashes of light at the corner of her eyes. With her head on the
ground, she looked back and saw the world upside down. A man was approaching
them at an impressive pace.

“It’s
that fucking Kike from the morning show on
telly
. I
recognize him! What’s it to him anyway?” Gavin puffed with the exasperation of
a child being dragged out of
Hamleys
. He too put his
pants up and buttoned them.

“Let’s
get the hell out of here,” his partner said.

“You
mean chicken out? We can take this half-dick out.”

“Don’t
be a bloody
muppet
. We need to scram.
Now!"

Just
before running away, Gavin kneeled down and whispered in
Umayma’s
ears.

“You’re
never going to be safe in this country.”

Then
with the might of a vengeful battalion, he kicked her in the ribs.
As if the force of the strike carried with it the wrath of not just
the man kicking her, but his entire people.
Before long the paralyzing
pain swimming through
Umayma’s
body took over and
shut it down.

§

When Umayma came
round, a black cat with striking green eyes was lying at her feet, staring at
her.
Like it had been assigned to protect her.
The
excruciating pain in her ribs before the lights went out was greatly
diminished. She noticed some ice packs attached to her body. 

Where
am I?

The
stream of events that transpired before she had fainted starting looping in her
mind until she remembered Layal and her heart rate spiked. If she was late to
pick her up, they would call
Kamal
. And if he wasn’t
able to get there in time, child services would be notified. No excuse would be
good enough. It would be the end of her.

“Hello?”
she called out, her voice still weak. Soft, classical music was playing and the
smell of something good cooking floated in the air. Chicken soup, she thought.
Her body was covered in a soft lime-colored sheet, and her scarf had been put
back on her head. Her coat had been neatly folded near her feet. She was lying
on a couch in a living room of a house she did not recognize. Whoever had rescued
her must have taken her back to his home.

She
got up and removed the bed sheet and the ice packs and sat down on the couch.
The pain in her ribs stung more now but was still bearable. She scanned the
room. This was an especially elegant and spacious house. Charcoal-grey wooden
floors were lined from wall to wall and whatever furniture was there seemed
expensive and made a statement. Whoever lived here didn't believe in clutter. A
white grand piano stood in front of expansive French windows that opened up to
a garden. On one wall, a fire place with a deep russet marble mantelpiece was
lit,
and broadcasting ample warmth.

Bookshelves
were lined in perfect symmetry along the two longest and opposing walls, as if
the owner of this house had inherited a public library. And the books were the
expensive type, thick and hard-covered.

On
top of the mantelpiece, a sublime oil painting caught
Umayma’s
attention.
A tropical scene with a coconut tree.
It
seemed oddly familiar.

“How
are you feeling, Ms.
Yasin
?”

The
baritone voice came from a man in his mid forties who appeared out of nowhere
at the entrance of the living room. The same voice that had thwarted her
attackers, she suspected. He was wearing an apron and cozy home slippers. A
silicon spatula was in his hand, which he waved around when he spoke like a
musical conductor.
 

Yasin
is
Kamal’s
family name. How did he know I am his wife?

There
was something unusual about this man.
Like he was smiling
from inside, even though his lips weren’t.
His soft curls were brown for
the most part but with hints of grey. Near invisible glasses on his face didn’t
obstruct his olive eyes fixed on her. He reminded Umayma of a supporting
character in a Turkish soap opera she used to watch in Damascus. An actor she
found intensely attractive and who she sometimes fantasized about. Not because
he was nauseatingly handsome like the leading man, but because of a masculine,
protective aura emanating from his core.
A smiling, knowing
spirit.
And a low, confident voice that never shrieked or went out of
its natural pitch.
A real man.

“Who
are you?”

“My
name is Felix
Susmann
. I am your neighbor. I live two
houses down from you, on the same street.” Felix tiptoed into the living room,
but stayed a few feet away from her, his weapon of choice, the silicon spatula,
now tucked in the apron pocket.

“What
happened to me?”

“You
were attacked by two men.
Skinheads.”

“Skinheads?”

Felix
had spoken the word as if the mere sound it made was enough to convey something
widely accepted as terrible. To her, it was merely a reference to their most
striking feature, their bald heads.

“Nothing
serious,” he continued, possibly trying to veer the discussion away from the
subject of sinister men with bald-shaved heads. “Fortunately, I got to you in
time.”

Umayma
felt a sudden stabbing pain in her right shoulder blade and her face squirmed.

“One
of your ribs may be cracked or broken. He kicked you very hard. I’ve given you
strong painkiller shots, but you should get it checked out rather soon.”

“Are
you a doctor?”

Felix
shook his head and a smile finally spread at the corner of his lips. “Not
quite. But I look after my aging father who is rather unwell.”

“What
time is it?”

He
glanced instinctively at his wrist but there was no watch. His hand fished out
a mobile phone from his side pocket. “It’s almost three p.m. You have at least
one hour to pick your daughter up. You’re usually back every day by four,
right?” he said,
then
added, “I often see you from the
window,” as if to reassure Umayma his knowledge of her routine was strictly
innocent.

Umayma’s
muscles relaxed and a sigh of relief exited her
lips. Felix was right about
Layal’s
schedule. And
Kamal
and his parents weren’t expected back home until
later in the evening. She had enough time to rein in the situation and pretend
nothing had happened.

“Thank
you. Thank you very much. I must go now.”

“May
I offer you something to eat or some hot herbal tea before you leave?”

Umayma
shook her head and pursed her lips.

 “By
the way, I have not reported the matter to the police out of respect for your
husband. I know he likes his privacy. If and when you do, should you require me
as a witness, I would be more than happy to testify. Their faces are forever
etched in mind.”

Felix
pulled out the silicon spatula by force of habit than tucked it back in before
approaching closer. He squatted on his knees and picked up her cheap sneakers
from under the couch and placed them under her feet.

“May
I?”

She
nodded. Umayma tried hard to ignore the man who wasn’t her husband touching the
skin of her sole. Or that his hands against her flesh felt inappropriately
giddying. Her head was light and her stomach fluttering. She looked away and
Felix caught her staring at the oil painting.

“Do
you recognize it?” His warm, firm hand rested on her foot briefly as he spoke,
in a slow, intoxicating voice. As he was about to remove it, Umayma did
something crazy. She used her other foot to gently press on his hand and keep
it in place.

“Yes, I think I know it.” Her
heart was sprinting for the second time since she woke up, but at a much more
carnal tempo. Whatever she just did with her foot was entirely out of
character. Umayma had never once in her life been sexually forward with a man.
Why start now?
Where is this appetite for intimacy coming from, Umayma?
Perhaps the kindness flowing unconditionally from this man had temporarily
short-circuited the part of her brain that had been trained to equate sex with
violent rape. To rinse out however
Kamal
had
conditioned her to respond to the presence of another man. To nullify the harrowing
possibilities of what these two beasts were about to do to her, even as the
pain of one of them kicking her vindictively in the ribs was still burning in
her body. As damaged as she knew she was, Umayma couldn’t ignore the fact she
was highly aroused.

“What
is it?” she whispered. When it was clear Felix had understood she wanted his
hand exactly where it was, she removed her other foot and placed it on Felix’s
other hand.

“It’s
what you think it is.”

Umayma
closed her eyes briefly and focused on what was happening. Her ears felt hot
and her body soft and moist. Whatever electric current the feel of his skin was
transmitting through her body wasn’t just wreaking havoc on her heart and
gizzards, but had numbed the pain radiating from her ribs. An involuntarily
moan escaped her lips, which she instantly prayed Felix would mistake for pain
rather than what it really was.

“It’s
the logo of a famous coconut-flavored chocolate,” Umayma said as she opened her
eyes.

Felix
smiled again. “My grandfather designed it for the confectionary company that
makes it. He used to work for an advertising agency in Germany. During the war,
he and my grandmother managed to escape to England. This was one of his first
jobs here. They liked it from the first mock-up he made. He painted this many
years later for his own pleasure.”

“What
were your grandparents escaping from?”

Felix
bit his lips and looked the other way. For a short while there was a lump of
silence in the air.

“Hitler’s
gas chambers,” he finally said.

It
took Umayma a few seconds to realize what this meant.
And
when it sunk in, many primal instincts exploded through her insides.
Fear.
Suspicion.
Contempt.
And pre-molded hatred.
Hard-coded reactions she could
neither control nor suppress. She shifted her feet away from Felix’s hands.

Umayma’s
formative school years were under the rule of
Hafez al-Assad. A massive state propaganda machine controlled and manufactured
what people were allowed to think, feel and say. In her mind, Jews and Israelis
were one and the same. They were both the enemy. There were no shades of tolerable
grey when it came to the enemy. No space to accommodate exceptions to the rule.
Jews were Israelis, and Israelis were the source of all evil. The entire
narrative upon which the modern nation of Syria defined itself was based on an
unshakable belief that Jews had no other purpose but to undermine and destroy
Syria and the greater Arab nation.

That
this man had saved her life, maybe even risked his own, carried her on his back
to safety, tended to her bruises, even given her pain killer shots, had no bearing
whatsoever on her complete distrust of him simply because he had revealed
himself to be a 
yahoodi
. A wall of raw
suspicion had sprung between them the moment his lips had uttered those words
about his grandparents. And the fleeting kissing of the flesh that had turned
her insides into mush felt even more shameful now.

A
horrific scenario broke loose in her mind as her hands clammed up and her
vision blurred. What if Felix was a Mossad agent trying to recruit her? What if
this whole rape episode was orchestrated for a chance encounter with this Jew
so he could manipulate her into becoming a spy for the Zionists? She had seen
countless Egyptian soap operas and films where Mossad snakes ensnared innocent
and unsuspecting Arabs.
I have to get out of this house quick.

She
put her shoes on, sprung to her feet, grabbed her coat, and without looking
Felix in the eye or thanking him, she figured out where the door was and left.
Not looking behind once.

§

Umayma
couldn’t sleep that night. She had rummaged in the medicine cabinet for the
most powerful pain killers and took the maximum dosage. In bed, she covered
herself from head to toe with a light sheet and prayed to God it wouldn’t be
one of those nights
Kamal
was in the mood for her.