Zuha stared at something far away, not a place but a time. “It has been fine for years now.”
“No. It hasn’t.”
She bit her lower lip and looked away. “I don’t know how this ends.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “But we’re going to have to find out.”
* * *
—
I watched Zuha’s dress tumble wildly around the dryer, as green digits on its timer inexorably ticked down. Once time ran out, Zuha would leave. I might never get another chance to speak with her alone like this again. When her engagement with Aamir fell through, which seemed inevitable, someone else would appear to replace him.
It had to be someone else. Didn’t it? It could never be me. It wouldn’t be acceptable to our families. It would be impossible to explain to their friends, their society, the people they cared about.
Perhaps this was always how she and I were meant to end. Perhaps the fairy-tale narrative of love’s strength, of love’s endurance, of love’s ability to overcome evil and cruelty and neglect truly is just a fairy tale. Maybe love is just a fragile and breakable thing, which shatters under the weight of misunderstandings, miscommunications and the simple passage of time.
The pleasant, artificial smell of detergents and softeners, combined with the damp air, was making the laundry room oppressive. Despite the rain and the cold, I stepped outside. For the first time in forever, my breath became visible, forming little clouds that disappeared swiftly into the wind.
I’d meant what I said. What was happening with Azza and Qais wasn’t more important than what was happening between Zuha and myself. It was more urgent and more dangerous, true, but it was also out of my hands. There was nothing I could do for either of them, and I’d have to see how things went before speaking to Homeland Security again.
All that would be easier with Zuha beside me. The world was prettier, kinder, more comprehensible when she was with me. For years, I had tried to forget this.
I’d willed myself to forget everything—her effortless grace, her good-natured wit, the quick empathy of her soulful eyes, and the tantalizing promise that shone through the light of her personality—a promise that if you were with her, then this year flowers would not die in autumn. It was unbearable that I would have to let her go again.
My clothes were heavy, drunk on too much storm.
I remembered the first time I had danced with her. The first time I felt intoxicated.
The buzzer on the dryer sounded.
I was out of time and I didn’t know what to do.
I had tried to face the world alone, and I hadn’t been enough. As I went back in to retrieve her dress, I realized I should have called someone for advice about Zuha, just as she’d said I should’ve called someone for advice about Azza.
I could’ve called my father. He would have liked that. He probably would’ve played me a song. Maybe that old melody he had played when, all those years ago, I got home after escorting Zuha home from prom. That night when he had grounded me, there was the memory of a song lingering in the air. I had heard it with him again recently.
Waqt ki qaid main zindagi hai magar…
Was that the song he would choose? What would he say after the music died and the singer was silent? Maybe he would say what he had already said.
Don’t give this one away. I love this one. This one belongs to me.
I might have asked Hafeez Bhai for some of his street vendor wisdom. Maybe he too would say something that he had already said.
Even if you lose a hundred battles, perhaps Allah helps you and you win the war.
Or perhaps I should have spoken to Abu Fahd.
Everyone upon the earth will perish….Tonight, however, we are here….
And Azza.
You have all the freedom I have ever wanted….I stole what happiness I could in the time I had.
My breath was shaking as it burst out of me.
And my mother? What would she say about it all?
You will roast in hell for what you dare.
Maybe. If so, I would make sure it was worth it.
Be brave.
I began to run, Zuha’s dress in my hand, getting wet all over again. I reached the apartment and threw open the door. Zuha was sitting before the checkers board, trying to spin a piece on its edge like a coin. She rose at the sight of me.
“What happened?”
“I realized that I lied to you.”
“What?”
“When I said I loved you once.” I let go of her dress and it fell to the ground. I walked up to Zuha, winded, and took her warm hands in mine. “I lied to you. I got the tense wrong. But there’s still time. You’re still here. I can still tell you. There’s not a single moment of my life that has not been better because you were with me. And that is all we are. Moments. You and I and everyone. That’s what life is. It’s just time, and it’s ending, Zuha. Everyone is ending. Who really cares what anyone else thinks? We have to steal our happiness in the time we’ve been given. And you’re right. The past is messed up. It’s broken. So what? Time doesn’t care about that. Time keeps happening and we can do it right moving forward because time’s like water, like a river, like the monsoon. It’s like the rain. You can’t break the rain.”
She touched the side of my face. “Calm down. I understand you.”
“You do?”
“You’re forgetting something though.”
“What?”
Zuha pointed up at the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“Mistletoe,” she said.
Then she kissed me and kissed me and kissed me again.
* * *
—
The world was new again.
For a divine instant, it was once more the world that God had looked upon after He first created it.
The world He knew was good.
The world before the Fall and before Babel.
The world as it had been before the golden calf was worshipped. Before the Red Sea parted. Before Joseph was thrown into a well. Before the suffering of Job. Before anyone ever claimed that Khidr was dead. Before al-Hajar al-Aswad was forever stained by the sins of men. Before the blood of innocents sanctified the sands of Karbala.
It was a world of light and music and warmth.
I was there. Zuha was there.
And God was there.
It is true that I could not see Him, just as you cannot see Him.
If you listen closely, though, then in the sprouting of new redwoods, in the hoofbeats of wild horses, in the sound of snow falling on distant mountains, in the fingers of lovers interlacing, in the memory of children not yet born, you can hear Him smile.
* * *
—
Then the moment was gone, and I was mortal again.
Zuha stiffened in my arms and pulled away, her eyes fixed at the door I’d left open. She made a sound, something between a gasp and a scream. When I turned around, I saw Azza. She was barely recognizable. Without her usual niqab, her injuries were clear and grotesque. One of her eyes was swollen shut, her nose bent, lip cut and bleeding. There were bruises on her face and arms. She was clutching at her side. Zuha ran over to her and was guiding her to a seat before I could even react.
“What happened?” Zuha asked.
“I was running away,” Azza said. “He came home early because Qais told him we had to run.”
Qais must have called Abu Fahd.
Because I had called Qais.
“Oh God,” I said.
This was my fault.
Zuha said something that I didn’t catch. I gave her a blank look and she repeated herself. She was right. Azza needed medical attention and we had to call the police.
“No hospital,” Azza insisted. “No cops.” Zuha protested, but Azza’s eyes wer
e on me. “Please,” she begged in a loud whisper. “Please don’t.”
It was the exact same tone she’d used to ask me not to call Qais. I hadn’t listened to her then. There was no way I wasn’t going to listen to her now.
“No cops,” I agreed. “No hospital. Whatever you need.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Zuha snapped. “Both of you. Look at what’s happened.”
“I’ve got to do what she wants.”
Zuha saw it then, the guilt that must have been written on my face, because it felt that it was carved on my soul. She knew everything, so she knew I was responsible for what had happened to Azza. Her expression softened a little, but she didn’t back down.
“She needs a doctor, Anvar. If she won’t go to one, you need to get Aamir here. He won’t talk to me.”
I made the call. It was short and terse.
Zuha had fetched some ice and was using it to keep Azza’s lower lip from bleeding further. She paused her efforts to comfort Azza long enough to ask, “Is he coming?”
I nodded.
“He agreed?” Azza demanded. “No police?”
“I’ll convince him,” I assured her.
It was easier said than done.
* * *
—
When Aamir arrived, his eyes first found his fiancée, and then her soaked dress on the ground. He managed, however, to give his full attention to Azza. I admired the focus and efficiency with which he worked. It was prettier to watch him practice than to think about how I’d contributed to Azza’s injuries.
Aamir was well trained and careful. His largest obstacle was the patient herself, who refused to answer any of his questions.
Eventually, once he was done ministering to Azza, he asked to speak to me in private. We stepped into the corridor and into roaring thunder.
“What the hell happened to her?”
I glanced back at the closed apartment door, then at Aamir.
“You can ask her.”
“I need information to do my job. Why did she come to you? She’s part of your jihad on virtue, I suppose. You slept with her too?”
“How is that relevant to her current medical condition?”
He shoved out a heavy breath. “Fine. What’s her name?”
“You can ask her that too.”
Aamir threw his hands up in the air. “What is wrong with you?” He was shouting, which was rare for him, but the weather was loud, and he had to be heard above the crackling sky. At least, that is what I think he would’ve said, if I’d asked him why his voice was raised. Aamir Faris could lie when he had to, though he’d never admit it. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I know.” I tried to make my tone conciliatory, tried to convey that I didn’t wish to be difficult or unkind. I don’t think he noticed.
“And?”
“And you agree that we won’t report this to the police?”
“Anvar, she’s obviously the victim of a crime.”
“She doesn’t want to pursue it. Just do what she wants.”
“No. The right thing…”
I sighed and looked behind him at the furious lightning ripping through the gray noon. The right thing. Always, with Aamir, the world was black and white. I’d wandered into that world myself when I decided to tell Qais that Homeland Security was after him. It was a dangerous place.
If he went to the cops, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Abu Fahd would probably get arrested. I already knew that wasn’t what Azza wanted. At least, it hadn’t been what she wanted before we’d called Homeland Security.
They were another problem. I hadn’t heard anything from Agent Hale or Moray since Azza’s interview. How much time did we have before they saw through her shallow ruse? Probably very little, which meant that I couldn’t keep Azza here, not for long, and police involvement would complicate moving her.
The real question was simple. Was calling the police the best thing for Azza? It might be, but I didn’t think so. Either way, that choice belonged to her. I was determined to honor her wishes, which meant that I had to stop my brother. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a nice way to do it.
“Fine,” I told Aamir, still looking not at him but past him, at the wild sky. “Do what you want. You should be aware, however, that when they ask her to identify her assailant, she will say it was you.”
Aamir stared at me. In his eyes, there was little of familiarity and a great deal of contempt. “You’re…I don’t know what you are. ‘Asshole’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“Do we understand each other?”
His glare was furious and he said nothing. After a few moments, he shouldered past me, back into the apartment.
I remained outside.
He spoke to Zuha loudly enough that I could hear, though I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t try. It wasn’t a long conversation.
As he walked out the door, he stared me down. “There is a price to pay, for living the way you do. It will come due one day and, on that day, trust me, I will be laughing.”
* * *
—
The sun was going down when I woke. Zuha had convinced me to lie down and close my eyes for a few minutes. I was, she argued, too tired to be of assistance to anyone. I’d protested that it was useless, that I was going to be unable to rest. My heart and my mind were still struggling with helplessness and horror. Sleep seemed impossible.
In Pakistan, however, they say that sleep is never impossible. If you’re tired enough, it will find you even if you are a prisoner about to be executed, even if there is a noose around your neck. There is some hyperbole there, I’m sure, but the reality that I’d crashed on my couch despite the current circumstances was undeniable.
Zuha came to sit next to me. “I don’t think Azza will wake up till morning. Aamir gave her some pretty strong stuff.”
I hoped that was true. So far Azza hadn’t mentioned my decision to warn Qais, which had resulted in her getting hurt. It was a conversation I’d have to have with her eventually, and in the face of her bruises, I already knew all my high-minded rhetoric about due process and the nature of justice would taste like ash and shame.
“How’re you feeling?” Zuha asked.
“Wretched.”
“You’re not responsible for what happened to her, Anvar. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
It was a kind thing to say. However, I wasn’t sure if it was true.
Obviously, I hadn’t known how events were going to unfold. However, the fact that I’d failed to foresee this possibility was not evidence that I couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have foreseen it.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, changing the topic.
Zuha gave me a tired smile and she ran a hand through her hair. I noticed then, for the first time, that she wasn’t wearing Aamir’s ring anymore.
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a day. Tomorrow will be better though.”
“When did you become an optimist?”
“Prom, I think,” she said.
“I’d feel a lot better about tomorrow if we had a plan.”
“I still think we need to report this to the police and tell Homeland Security the truth.”
“If they capture Qais, they may find out that I warned him,” I reminded her.
“Will they keep looking for him once they know everything? He’s not a terrorist, so what do they care?”
“And what happens to Abu Fahd?” I asked. “Azza doesn’t want—”
“I’m not sure,” Zuha said gently, “that she’s in the best position to decide what should and should not be done with him.”
“She is entitled to agency in her own life. I took it away once and look what happened.”
Zuha shook her head.
/> “You don’t think she gets to make decisions about her own life?”
“I think she’s putting herself in harm’s way because of what happened with her brother. She blames herself for her father going over the edge. But that man is still responsible for his own actions. The pain he is carrying in his heart doesn’t excuse the pain he’s inflicting on Azza.”
When I didn’t say anything, Zuha added, “That is how monsters multiply, Anvar, spreading their hurt into the world in a cycle of misery that doesn’t have an end. Sometimes victims act in a way that deserves censure. The fact that they’re victims doesn’t exempt them from moral consequences. You don’t get to hurt other people just because someone hurt you. That can’t be how the world works.”
“That’s exactly the way the world works. It isn’t always an angry man hitting a helpless girl with a belt. Sometimes it happens in the open, like a drone in the sky, raining hellfire on villages.”
“Like what I did to Aamir?” Zuha asked. “I made him collateral damage.”
I grimaced. That wasn’t a pretty thought. “Let’s worry about all of that later. Right now, you should get some rest. I’ll keep an ear out in case Azza needs anything.”
Zuha didn’t put up a fight.
“Thank you for…” I waved my arms around, gesturing to everything. “For staying and helping.”
“I’d say you were welcome, Anvar, but honestly, I didn’t do it for you.”
* * *
—
Azza woke at around ten in the morning. I couldn’t help but flinch when I saw her. She looked worse than she had before. Her bruises were continuing to mature, turning deep red, purple and blue as they started to heal.
“Not a pretty sight?”
“Actually”—I sat down on the bed next to her—“I was just thinking that you look very colorful.”
“You’re horrible.”
I wished that I was carrying something, or holding something, so I’d have something to do with my hands. They just dangled at my sides, awkward and useless.
The Bad Muslim Discount Page 33
