The Lost Pearl (2012) (14 page)

The attacks shook us up and made us realize how precious and fragile a human life really is. Among the remains, victims’ lipsticks had been found; lipsticks that had outlived their wearers, as had the paper and plastic of passports that helped confirm the identities of the deceased. It was an overwhelmingly sad day, and my heart bled for all of those who had died and their families. I was angered by this radical distortion of my religion by the terrorists. Over the next week, it was said that 2,970 people had died, including hundreds of firefighters. I cried for days after seeing pictures of the deceased and hearing their stories. Ahmer was shocked to learn that many people he had worked with in the Twin Towers were among the dead. I was deeply saddened because not only was it a tragedy for America, it was a tragedy for the world.

A week later, Ahmer and I were walking our usual path and discussing all that had come to light about the 9/11 catastrophe. Nearly three thousand had perished, and the victims had been from all over the world—ninety countries to be exact. The nineteen hijackers had been identified, and Osama bin Laden had become the most wanted individual on FBI’s list. My thoughts suddenly went to that day and I looked at Ahmer and thought: It was probably for thirty minutes, Ahmer, that I thought I had lost you for good, but it seemed like days. I had not felt this kind of anguish in a long, long time. It made me realize how precious your existence is to me. I really could not have lived my life without you.

“What were you thinking?” he asked

“Just how lucky I am, how truly blessed, and how fragile and precious life is.”

We talked in depth for a while about all the events. On September 20, President George W. Bush declared a “war on terror” and announced a plan to invade Afghanistan. He said, “Our response involves far more than instant retaliation and isolated strikes. Americans should not expect one battle but a lengthy campaign unlike any other we have ever seen.”

By mid-October I had decided what my thesis was going to be about. The 9/11 tragedy had changed the world around us, and I wanted to find clarity for myself in these confusing times. In a meeting with President Bush, Pervaiz Musharraf, who had been leading Pakistan for the last two years after overthrowing the Nawaz Shareef regime in yet another bloodless coup, alleged his unflinching support to counter terrorism, thus forming a unique political alliance between the United States and Pakistan.

The barely visible colors of Palo Alto’s hesitant fall had arrived, and our conversations were intermingled with the crunching of the perished leaves beneath our feet as we walked toward my home.

“I need your input for my thesis article,” I said to Ahmer. I had already told him about the title, which was, “How 9/11 Changed America and How it Changed Me: A Muslim’s Perspective.” I felt that the moderate Muslims were losing their voice in all the noise, and it needed to be heard. I certainly did not agree with the terrorists or understand their motivation, but I did not agree with unchecked military aggression either. I did not believe that violence was justified in any form, by anyone. I was on humanity’s side—a side that unfortunately almost always lost.

“Sure, I’ll give you my input. You’re the writer, though.”

“I try to be the writer, but you are the thinker. The problem with being a writer is that one tends to be more imaginative than objective, and this is about emotion for me, especially because my emotions were directly involved on 9/11, but it needs to be factual.”

A voice inside me reminded me of my father. I had never told Ahmer that he had been killed or that I had witnessed his murder. I told him he had died in a car accident. I had forced myself not to think about it but had not been entirely successful. I thought that discussing it with Ahmer might make my wounds bleed again. And since I had only recently been able to laugh again, I was not eager to unearth my buried memories just yet.

However, I was planning to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful person, and I knew that if I did not share this last detail, it would be like hiding a whole part of who I was. It was the last tear that Ahmer had insightfully recognized in my eye. It had taken a lot of work on his end to crack the shell of my hard exterior and scrape away the bitterness from within me. He had managed to take away a good amount of it, but if I failed to share with him the whole truth, he would not be able to get any further.

Ahmer and I finally went for our ice cream outing on New Year’s Eve. I had only a scoop of blueberry on a cone, having joined the club of the weight conscious over the last few years.
I would jog on the treadmill in the college gym a few times a week, although I found it to be painfully boring unless Jennifer accompanied me. Part of the cone fell, creating an unsightly stain on my sleeve. In the past, dropping ice cream on my new sweater would have caused me to mourn the lost ice cream more than the stained sweater. However, now that my appearance had started to matter to me, I did not regret the calories that had been deducted from my dessert. The ice cream tasted sweet despite the fact that it froze my jaw with the cold wind hitting my face, and despite the memories it unleashed of the worst day of my life.

Ahmer walked me home, and as I turned around to leave, he handed me a small box in striped silver wrapping paper tied with a curly silver ribbon. By the unevenness of it, I knew he had wrapped it himself, and I was touched by his effort.

“Open it when you get home,” he said.

This had been the tradition we had followed with gifts, although we had only exchanged a few. I was in a hurry to unwrap the present but did not fail to notice that the sky had filled up with the twinkle of countless stars. The box was small enough that it could hold a ring, but it was not square. I reminded myself not to harbor any unrealistic expectations. We were friends—exceptionally good friends. I rushed inside and opened the box. It was an iPod. A small card attached to it read, “So that every song is at your fingertips, so that there is more melody in your life.”

I called Ahmer and told him that it was the best present I had ever received. After washing the ice cream stain from my sweater, I began organizing all my songs and basking in the glory of my new music addiction. I started going gladly to the gym, even on days that Jennifer was not available, because I could listen to all the songs I wanted and run to their beat. Apple and Steve Jobs were in the heart of Silicon Valley, creating history right next door.

I often looked at the card Ahmer had given me and thought to myself,
there is more melody in my life, but it’s not because of the iPod
.

Over the next several months, Ahmer bought me other presents, each one thoughtfully wrapped in the same striped silver wrapping paper, successively acquiring the touch of a practiced hand. One of his small cards attached to the present said, “Life is a truth waiting to be unfolded, a gift waiting to be unwrapped.”

One weekend afternoon in the winter of 2002, on our way back from having watched and enjoyed the first showing of
A Beautiful Mind
, our conversation turned to my family.

“Sana, you should make peace with your mother. I know you have gone through a lot, and losing your father at such a young age is a tragedy no one should have to face. But I am telling you as your friend and as a person who has lost both parents, don’t be angry with your mother. You are so lucky she is alive and healthy. Mama suffered a lot. I tried to do everything for her, and she was a fighter, but at the end, there was nothing anyone could do. Her disease was stable on different kinds of treatments for three years, but then it spread everywhere, including her brain. In the last week of her life, she didn’t even recognize me. She was on a morphine drip at home through a pump to control the pain in her bones. I prayed for her suffering to end.”

He knew about the resentment I felt toward my mother for remarrying and my sadness over my lost closeness with my brother. He continued to give me a new perspective and made me realize how different things appeared from every angle. He said, “If there are two people looking out the window of a car, they will always see things differently, especially if one is a child and the other is an adult. The child may see the flying birds and the setting sun, but the adult will see the car that is too close. Children think in a much more simplistic fashion and cannot always comprehend adult emotions.”

“But sometimes adults need to think like a child to understand what trauma a child is going through, because his or her feelings need validation, Ahmer.”

“You are right, Sana. Maybe your mother should have asked you before remarrying or given you enough time to accept everything.”

That was something I admired about him so much; even when he did not agree with me, he always gave credence to my feelings.

“But I don’t think it’s fair to put all the blame on her. She was almost as young as you are now. Can you imagine what it was like for her to have lost a husband, a provider, the father of her children at that age? She did not have a college degree, had never worked, had never signed a check, and had not known life without a man’s protection.”

“But she didn’t even ask for me to return. When she had Sara, she didn’t need me anymore because she had found a prettier, more loyal replacement of me,” I said. Ahmer looked at me and smiled. “Come on, Sana, I can’t believe the thoughts that you let thrive in your otherwise mature mind. Mothers love all their children just the same; you know that. Every child has a special place in their mother’s heart.”

“It’s easy for you to say that; you are an only child.” I realized I was being argumentative and unreasonable, but he knew that his words were slowly repairing the damage inside me.

“OK, I have something a little harsh to say. I will only say it if you want to hear it. Otherwise we can talk about something else, like what was on yesterday’s Oprah, or which movies deserve the Oscar this year, or whether the political situation in Pakistan is ever going to get better, or this news about war on Iraq.”

“I do have to give my Oscar opinion now that you brought it up. I think Russell Crowe was outstanding today; he could win
an Oscar for that role, but then so could Sean Penn for
I Am Sam
. OK, go on.”

“I liked both movies tremendously, but I liked
Beautiful Mind
better because I watched it with you,” he said.

“As for the war on Iraq, the president states that his intelligence has notified him about weapons of mass destruction. But any war to me is sad. It seldom solves any problems and simply serves to create more poverty, famine, loss of innocent life, and resentment at multiple levels.”

“So you are putting off the discussion about your family?” Ahmer persisted.

“No, I’m sorry. I know whatever you say will make sense to me—not necessarily at that moment, but sometimes days or months later. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“You know what I think? I think your anger is a little bit mixed in with some remorse that you bear for leaving your mother and brother behind. Don’t you think it was hard for your mother to have her daughter oceans away and have to worry constantly about her well-being? Don’t you think your brother missed you or failed to understand why you just left without explaining anything to him?”

Who was he to judge me, I thought; he did not know my circumstances or my family. But then his words struck a chord. As usual, his analysis had been accurate. I wondered why he was a lawyer and not a psychologist.

“I feel that my mother is alive within me and I talk to her, tell her about my day. It helps me lead a more fulfilling life. The heartache is always there but it becomes so much easier to bear, Sana. I always try to live my life without regrets. I do have one regret though.”

“What?” I said, wondering how such a content person could have any regrets.

“That I didn’t meet you sooner.” He looked at me with fondness in his eyes.

I felt too shy to say anything aloud but I knew that Ahmer still heard me. I went home and treated myself to a microwavable Lean Cuisine dinner. I sat on the couch, flipping through television channels, unable to find anything that deserved my undivided attention. With Ahmer’s words echoing in my mind, I decided to call my mother that night.

When we spoke, she told me that Zareen was pregnant with her second child and that Sahir had given up a chance to play a regional cricket match because it would compromise his studies. Sara was giving her a hard time as a stubborn teenager. Well, at least she had waited until her teenage years before causing trouble, I thought to myself. Suddenly she remarked that someone had expressed an interest in sending me a marriage proposal.

“His name is Zain,” she said. He had completed his MBA and was currently employed by a prestigious bank in Karachi. He wished to get settled, and the family was helping him search for a suitable bride. Not only was there an endless thread of concerned relatives serving as co-conspirators, but Zain’s mother had turned out to be Ammi’s old classmate as well. He was ambitious and enterprising and wished to further his education in America and fine-tune his career to meet the challenges of the new world. He was looking for someone who could understand and support his aspirations.

“It is a perfect match,” our families had unilaterally decided. I was upset and did not say much to my mother over the phone, but I mentioned it to Ahmer the following morning, and he told me not to worry. That was all he said, but in his eyes that day, I saw an unspoken promise.