by Tom Corbett
“Lecture over?” Karen offered hopefully.
“Yeah, sorry. But I am thinking. Maybe Kay has been right all these years.” He looked directly at his sister who said nothing.
After a pause, Karen had to ask: “About what?”
“Perhaps I have been a coward, running away to England. Perhaps you are right, perhaps Kat is right. Maybe it is time for me to fight back.” Everyone looked at him, but nothing was said.
CHAPTER 4
CHRIST CHURCH MEADOW
Amar and Azita walked along Christ Church Meadow walkway that meandered adjacent to the river that flowed through the ancient university town to London and the sea beyond. Azita broke their silent meditation. “Spring is so beautiful here. Look at this green space. Sometimes, during this month, the color is so vivid it hurts my eyes, or so it seems. My country is so brown except for the white of the winter snows and the brief existence of some brightly colored flowers after the snow melts and before the heat arrives. I should be so happy amid such beauty.”
“That is why I am here,” Amar said with a hint of concern. “You should be happy, but you are not. That is for all to see.”
“I’m fine, really. You should not have torn yourself away from the hospital just for a pouting daughter. How did you get away?” It was as if Azita had just realized what time it was. Suddenly, she was embarrassed by her own self-absorption.
“It wasn’t hard. I merely said that my eldest daughter needed me. Everyone knows about you, your promise. You are my biggest priority.”
“I am fine, it should be your husband. You should focus on him, he needs help.”
Amar smiled. “That clown can take care of himself.”
“Are you sure?” Azita emitted a sound that was almost a laugh. “Sometimes he looks a bit hopeless to me.”
“Good point, he is, as you say, hopeless.” Amar agreed as she slipped her arm through Azita’s. After a small expression of mirth at Chris’s expense, they ambled in silence for a while.
Azita once again broke their quiet contemplation. “Look at the river. It is lovely, gentle at this point. But you cannot know where it is going, what it will become. Might it turn into raging rapids, or a broad lake of water, or perhaps a waterfall that cascades into a churning froth? Of course, we know the truth, it widens and meanders through London and southeast England to the sea. Once there, the end of the journey, it loses its identity. It is no more. With your own life, all you can see is the patch of water before you.” Azita paused. She said no more.
“When did you become such a poet?”
Azita thought about Amar’s question. “I suspect when my Papa introduced me to Shakespeare.”
“Pamir was a saint. But what are you trying to tell me, sweetheart?” Amar asked.
“I sometimes feel that our lives are like this patch of river. We know what we can see, and we know the end game because that is universal. We all die. But what happens around the next bend and all the way to where it is swallowed up into a seemingly infinite ocean? That is unknowable from where we are now. I am not even sure what I would want the river to become. Should it continue to wind a gentle path, or maybe it should create angry currents or sometimes crash over its banks to waken the surrounding areas? As I look at what I can see, the rest is unknowable. And I cannot even decide what I would want even if it were in my control.”
‘I take it you feel you are drifting.” Amar’s words were gentle. She thought back to those moments when she sat with this barely twelve-year-old girl as they were trying to bluff their way past British immigration without the proper paperwork. At that moment Azita was so close to her goal but frozen in fear that it now would be denied. Amar had both distracted and supported the hopeful, yet frightened young girl at that point as they all awaited the decision. Now the task was infinitely more difficult. Azita no longer depended on her to make things right. All she now could do was ask the right questions and help this young woman understand herself and her world.
“Yes, drifting…” Even Azita’s words seemed to flow away with the gentle river.
“Okay, let’s start with the obvious. Something is very wrong with you and Ben, right?”
Azita stopped and turned toward her companion. “Tell me, have you ever doubted Chris’s love for you?”
“Are you asking if he has ever cheated on me?”
“Oh my God, I never thought of that. He wouldn’t, would he?” Azita seemed flummoxed at the thought.
“Well, I must admit, I had grave doubts about the man as husband material. When everyone said that he would, as the phrase went, ‘mount a coat rack’ if he could, I wondered what I was getting into.” Amar considered what she had just said. “Hmm, just how did that disgusting phrase become so universal? He probably started it, thinking it a compliment.”
Azita looked at her puzzled, and then surprised Amar by breaking into a laugh. “Mount a coat rack? Oh, I get it, just like all men. All they think about is sex. I had heard that one before, but never quite understood it until now even as I repeated it. How innocent I was. Yes, I have heard the stories of his younger days. How did you get past all that? Haven’t you worried about him, with his traveling and women clearly finding him attractive?”
“More than attractive, you can just tell women find him sexy. My sisters do have such poor taste.” Amar grinned at her own witticism.
“Why did you marry him then?” Azita looked at her quizzically. “You could have any man? Why choose one with so many…difficulties?”
Amar paused to consider her response. “I think, like the river, I had no choice. The river cannot stop, change direction, can it?” She noticed Azita’s confused expression, so she rushed on. “Listen, Kay had warned me about him when we thought he might be coming to drag her away from the Panjshir Valley site. She warned me that he was what women called a ‘player’. Do you know what that means?”
“I can guess. I have grown up a lot in the past few years.” She wondered internally why she pretended ignorance. She knew what a player was. Still, she didn’t want her mother to realize how sophisticated she had become. How silly, she thought.
“Wow, we should have talked about men more,” Amar mused aloud. “No matter, she also told me her inner thoughts about him, his passions and commitment, his intelligence and kindness. I had primed myself to ignore all that good stuff. I convinced myself that I would dislike him. He had come to take Kay away from us and I was going to fight him tooth and nail.”
“Guess you failed. I mean, he caved on taking Kay away immediately, but you failed on disliking him.”
“Miserably. I remember that moment. I was comforting a baby we could not save, just holding it and singing a sweet song until the end, a Hindu lullaby from my childhood. The child passed. I turned. He was standing there, watching me. I was startled. There was such a look on his face. I had expected a tyrant and this man before me looked so open, vulnerable. I felt this tremor course through my body, something rather new to me. To tell you the truth, my knees weakened. I almost buckled.”
Azita squeezed her arm. “That is so…”
“Pathetic? I never thought of myself as some love-sick teenager. I have a confession to make. You don’t know this, you were still rather young at the time, unless someone blabbed which I hope no one did. In any case, I seduced him that very night. At first, he said no. For a moment, I thought I must be so ugly, the man who would mount a coat rack turned me down.”
“Wow. I remember those early days. I thought you hated him. I never would have believed…” Azita did not know how to conclude her thought. “Still, you seemed like a perfect couple in my innocent head, after a while at least.”
“Well, my dear, when you realize you love someone, that is terribly scary, a bit like a painful affliction.” Amar looked deeply into Azita’s eyes. Silence hung in the moment. “I have to ask. Do you love Ben?”
“Before I answer, tell me one thing: when did you first know you loved Chris? Wait, that is not my question. How d
id you know?”
Amar’s response came without consideration. “The moment I touched him, when he shook my hand. It was just a touch, but it was everything.”
Azita gasped. “I…I have something to confess.” Then nothing.
“Sweet Azita. I know very little about men. Like you, I was raised in a protective household, shielded from the manipulations of the evil sex. But life has provided me with one lesson, maybe two. I think we are meant to do something in life. We can wander across various paths but once we realize what we are meant to be, that is what we must do.”
“And the second lesson?”
“When we stumble across our soulmate, we must grab onto them, no matter the risks or the doubts. Azita, what do you have to tell me?”
Azita looked at her new mother for a few moments, absorbing the lessons. Then she shook her head ever so slightly, signifying that she was about to reveal a secret. “Ben cannot face up to his parents. They like me but never have gotten past the Jewish-Muslim thing. He can’t quite accept this reality. He keeps stalling, hoping that something will change.”
“And you, what do you feel?”
“That is the problem, I am not sure. I was, am, very comfortable with him. As I told dad, Ben is a scientist and I am on track for a medical research career, if I want it. We would be a perfect team, so compatible. It could be a good arrangement.”
“Azita, dear, do you hear yourself? You sound like you are hiring a personal assistant.”
The young girl looked stricken but said nothing. Finally, she spoke: “I have a small confession as well. I met a boy, well a young man. I guess that is not such a sin.”
“When? Chris didn’t mention this.”
“It was right after he left me.”
“You mean today?” Amar was flummoxed.
“This young man, he approached me. It turns out he had been following me for several weeks, he heard me say I was hoping to join the trip home. So, he made his move.”
Amar stopped walking abruptly. “Wait, you talked to this stranger, a stalker? Azita, what in heaven’s name were you thinking? I am kicking myself for not warning you about men.”
“No, not really a stranger. I knew him from Kabul. Not well, mind you, but he is the son of Papa’s best friend, from the old days, the man who helped us escape to the north. He…I guess…has liked me all these years.”
Amar said nothing for a few moments as they restarted their aimless rambling. Then her expression softened in understanding. “Let me ask. Did you touch him, like shake hands?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Amar pushed her.
“I am not sure how to explain it. There was a, what shall I say, a shock.”
Amar laughed gently and hugged her adoptive daughter. “I am so sorry and, I suppose, so excited for you. I am sure you are totally confused but God never promised us an easy path.”
“No shit.” Azita seemed stricken at her uncensored words while Amar chuckled. “Don’t be disappointed in me. I will wash my own mouth out with soap. I have been around Chris for too long.”
“No shit,” Amar repeated, and both women laughed out loud. The tension eased. “Okay, tell me what is in your heart.”
Azita looked at her new mother. For a moment, in her head and heart, she saw Madeena. There was the same love and concern and wisdom. “I will try. In truth, I cannot say many sensible things about Ben. I have given my all to him, as you know. That was not easily done. Worse, it cannot be retrieved. I feel affection for him, respect, and trust. Those are important things, are they not?”
“They are important indeed. But let me ask you this; when you look at him, do you feel excitement? When you are not with him, are those moments heavy with regret? When you brush against one another, even by accident, do you ever tremor with expectation?” Azita looked at Amar rather blankly. “One more question. When you are intimate with Ben, what do you experience? Do you…I mean, have you…what am I trying to say?”
“Have an orgasm?”
“Wow,” Amar said and smiled. “I must still be a good Indian girl, having trouble with the concept of my girl having an orgasm.”
Azita laughed again. It was becoming easier. “I seriously doubt you were ever that good of an Indian daughter, seducing a man on first meeting him. Not much a role model for me, I must say.”
“Young lady, I can still put you over my knee. Oh, I now see that I never should have told you about that first night.”
Azita’s smile dissolved slowly as she thought on the question presented to her. “When I am with Ben, physically, I feel good things, usually. Most times, it is pleasant. All right, on occasion, maybe I am merely being nice to him. But he is nice to me. Damn it, I am not sure what the rules are or what to expect. Madeena and I never talked and…”
“Neither have we. My bad. You know, no one had the talk with me. I thought I knew love with a young man who ran away when I was with child by him. I had thought…oh never mind about that. The important part of the story is that, much to my regret, I aborted the fetus to please my parents. They wanted me home. I resisted, and they forced me into a marriage as a condition of continuing my medical studies in Canada. I felt nothing for this man to whom I was joined in an arranged marriage, he virtually raped me every night. Talk about hell. There were a couple of other men after that, but it was not until Chris that I realized what lovemaking was all about. It was not about serving a man, doing your duty, making a sacrifice for a relationship. It was about completion, realizing what it is to be a female, a sexual being. It happened that first night with him. You want to know how I reacted?”
“Yes,” Azita said quickly, afraid Amar was going to stop.
“I panicked. I tried to push the poor man away, confusing him no end. It was all too frightening. Besides, he was the guy who Kay and Karen said would mount a coat rack.”
“Did you ever answer my question, whether you worry that he will cheat?”
“He is a man. Of course, that is a concern. But I am comforted by the fact that Kay would break his kneecaps, among other things.”
“So, would I.” They both laughed again. “Seriously, mother, I know what you are saying. Love is more than like, much more. But there is a problem.”
“You don’t know what love is.”
“I know what some love is. I loved Papa and Mama. I love Deena and you and that man who would mount a coat rack. But a boy, a young man, that remains a mystery.”
“Azita, just don’t rush things. Be sure, okay, be sure.”
“Mother, here is the thing.”
“Ah,” Amar said with gravity, “the thing.”
“When I talked with this boy from my past, I saw something very clearly, something that has been bothering me more and more of late. I do feel like this river. When I came here, to England and then Oxford, I knew what I wanted. All was clear, totally. I would study hard, like my father did at this same place. Then I would return home as he did. I would work with the people who so needed help, especially women and children. Most have so little. I can still recall Chris saying that it was not until he saw us working with the girls at the new school, most who were refugees from the Taliban, that he knew what it meant to offer someone everything. You give someone who has enough a little more and they are appreciative and that is nice. You give someone who has nothing hope and it is everything. I can remember working beside my father with villagers suffering from so much. Too often we could do little. But there were those moments when death became life, despair hope. You know the feeling, few do. You can get it here as well, but the moments are never as dramatic.”
“Yes,” Amar affirmed softly, “I know.”
“The thing is, those memories are getting vague, lost in the rush of events and my studies and my confusion about Ben. I have mentioned my original aspirations - maybe I should call them obsessions? - to my professors. They look at me as if I have lost my mind. They say things like I am so gifted, too gifted to be a mere practitioner, as if that were
being a failure. They keep telling me that I can be a great teacher, a remarkable researcher. Madeena and Pamir both talked about the glory of teaching and discovery. I just don’t know. I simply cannot decide what to do.”
“Azita, dear, you don’t have to make up your mind today. You probably have heard this in medical school, I did. We were told there were three groups of students. The top students became researchers and teachers. The middle group became the best clinicians. The bottom group made the most money. I never cared about money, but I did wonder where I fit between the top two groups. My decision was easier, I think. I was a very good student but not at the very, very top. At some point, I knew my comparative advantage would lie in being a good clinician, a practitioner. You, my dear, are cursed with being too talented. But, before seeking a shrink to deal with your depression, remember this: many others have no choices at all.”
Azita looked directly at Amar. “I’m being a selfish shit, am I not?”
“No, sweetheart, you are the most amazing girl I know.”
“I am not so sure about that,” Azita protested quietly before turning in another direction. “The thing is, time is running out. I must decide on an internship, residency, a future. I cannot meander forever. I am not like this lazy river. No, I must go back this summer. Deena has been back from time to time, but my summers have been so busy. Even this year, I was supposed to help with some research. No, I need to feel my country again, smell and taste my culture, look my people in their eyes. I cannot make such decisions in the abstract. Do you understand?”
“More than you know.”
“Who knows. Maybe then I can make sense of Ben and Ahmad.”
“Who?” Amar asked but knew.
“The boy I met today, his name is Ahmad Zubair.” The girl was not aware of this, but her face lit up as she uttered his name. It was an autonomic response that Amar noticed. “He used to be an obnoxious fat boy when I knew him in Kabul.”
