by Tom Corbett
She had saved the notes from Ben and Ahmad for last. Which to read first? She chose Ben’s. It proved newsy but not terribly personal. He went on about his work and what was keeping him busy but did end with how much he missed her. Then she turned to Ahmad’s email:
Hi,
I hope your trip is going well. Wow, that is a dull beginning. Perhaps I should just end with ‘I wish I were there’.
So, let me start again. The truth is that I think of you every day, every hour, every moment. The fact is, I am obsessed with you. I have wanted to admit that ever since that day back in Radcliffe Square. I was just too scared to expose my feelings, afraid to scare you off. There, I said it and don’t take it back.
Funny, you should be in Kabul now. Perhaps that is what brings back so many memories. When I would tease you when we were hardly more than children, I can well imagine I did nothing more than affirm your opinion of boys as smelly, obnoxious creatures not worth the time of day. But how is a young man experiencing his first full-blown infatuation to act? I merely wanted you to notice me. Silly, I suppose, but I was just a kid feeling his raging hormones for the first time.
When we were ripped apart to different parts of the world, you to the north and me to Qatar, your presence to me was never extinguished. I was nothing to you, this fat kid who could think of no better approach than to act like an obnoxious fool. But you remained this ideal to me. Now, I try to recall what the attraction was, how it could be so complete. It was not a physical attraction. You were sort of cute but that was not it. Even then, absent any conversation longer than a few sentences, I knew in my heart you were special. No, not special, you were unique. How does a child know such things? I do not know other than the heart wants what the heart wants. OMG…sorry for such a cliché.
I never stopped thinking about you. When circumstances suggested that our paths might never cross, my feelings never diminished. Other girls were distractions, but none could replace you in my heart. At some point, I recognized that such a release from my torment would never happen. By the time I made it to England and finding you was a possibility, I embraced a new hope out of desperation - that you would be disgusting and ugly and that all my memories had been the creation of an overactive boy’s mind. However, my worst fears were realized. You turned out to be more beautiful than I recalled, more special than I had imagined. Now, it is a clear that you will remain foremost in my heart. That is a certainty.
By the way, I have not had any alcohol before writing this. I will admit that some courage emanates from typing these words into a keyboard and not expressing them while looking into your eyes. And if my words force you to flee from me, so be it. I cannot refuse what is in my heart. Okay, I am going to hit send before I chicken out…
Damn it, I love you Azita.
She stared at the screen for a long time as she reread his message several times. She was not sure if, upon rereading, she wished the words and sentiments were different or that they remained the same. Eventually, she realized that her cheeks were wet. As she was about to brush the salty moisture aside, she recognized the voice of her sister.
“Tears? What is wrong? Did the medical school realize that you are really an idiot and kick you out?”
Azita quickly brushed the tears away while struggling for a good comeback. Her wit failed her on this occasion. Rather, she came back with a question. “How did you decide what you wanted in a relationship?”
This was not what Deena was expecting and looked uncertain for a moment. “Are you talking about me deciding I preferred women or choosing Karen as a partner?”
“Both? No wait, Karen. Hold on, how did you fool everyone so completely when we were young girls?”
Deena laughed and held up her hand. “Hold on. First, we are still young women. Second, tell me what is going on, what was on that screen? It really has been a long day and I am too tired for riddles.”
“Nothing of importance,” Azita responded without conviction.
“Listen, I just popped in to mention that we are free in the morning and to suggest we visit our old home and neighborhood near the hospital. But come on, open up. I can spare some time to indulge my favorite sister’s neuroses.”
“The visit, yes, we must do that. It would be brilliant.” Azita’s eyes did brighten a bit.
“And the tears?”
“Foolish girl stuff…just boys.”
“Brilliant! I knew it. This really is delicious. Everyone thought I would be the hopeless romantic. Fess up. You have been somewhat distracted, that I can see, but Amar won’t spill on what’s bothering you. Yes, my theory was that it was a boy.”
Azita was happy for her sibling’s interest and, for the first time, laid out what was going on with Ben and her reconnecting with Ahmad just before the trip materialized. “But I want you to realize that my so-called distraction goes beyond mere boys, there are bigger issues as well. But you might as well read this message from Ahmad.”
“Sure,” Deena said with a skeptical voice as she bent over the screen. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed as she read. “This poor fool is besotted. Is he having trouble with his eyesight?” Then she plopped back on the side of the bed opposite Azita. “He needs to be put out of his misery.” But Deena saw the expression in her sister’s face and changed her tone. “Sorry, so this is more than some crank admirer in your head? You like this boy.”
Azita looked at her sister. “I am so confused I don’t even know the right question to ask. I understand chemistry, but this hormonal affliction is beyond my understanding. What…how did you sort out your feelings about Karen? I can see Amar and Chris but the two of you…”
“I am guessing that you are talking about how different we are…not my love for another woman?” Deena waited as Azita nodded affirmatively, then continued. “I wish I had the magic words, but my feelings are a bit of a mystery even to me. You know what I went through as a lesbian in this country, my faking an interest in boys to keep a secret even from those I loved the most. I so feared you would reject me. Believe me, your disapproval would have killed me.”
“I would never…”
“Oh Azita, I know that now but not then. Everything was so raw when I met Karen. I was getting to the point where I could admit my needs were not some disease when I looked closely at this woman. At first, you know, there was not much attraction. I was rather put off by her fling with Kay. But slowly, slowly, I saw how comfortable she was with herself. And she was funny and smart, not like Chris smart or you smart but very smart indeed, more like quick witted. She made me laugh.” Deena seemed to concentrate hard on her thoughts. “Beneath that tough exterior of hers, I found a person who does care, rather deeply. She knew people, how limited they were, yet still had this deep pool of compassion for all around her. I was initially appalled at the way she treated this man who was supposed to be her boss, our poor Chris, until I realized how much she loved him as a brother, that she would die for him in an instant, which she almost did in fact. Yes, Karen made me laugh, helped me understand who I was and accepted me as is.”
“That is lovely.”
“One more thing, and I will say this only once since I don’t know what to do with it. I…I don’t feel much passion with Karen. Funny, those romance novels I devoured as a teen seem ridiculous to me now. Those romance novels are fiction, right? No one experiences those things I suspect. In any case, I’ve got something deeper than that.” Then Amar paused with a quizzical look. “Still, there are times…so many times when I wonder…”
Azita waited for the rest but then knew nothing more would come. “Thank you, sister. This has helped, and yes, I am much looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Good.” Deena quickly arose, came over to kiss her sister on the cheek and headed toward the door. “One thing,” she said as she paused at the exit, ‘listen to your heart.”
Everyone says that but what does it mean? she said inside her head. Then she looked at her computer. Slowly she brought up Ahmad’s message and h
it the reply key. She typed in the letters to three words, pausing between each: I love you.
She then examined the screen forever as if she did not understand the words she had just typed before hitting the send key.
“Come, my love-struck sister, before the sun gets too high in the sky.” Deena prodded Azita out of the door.
“You are right, we have become too much like those mad dogs and Englishmen that Kipling wrote about or was it those Gilbert and Sullivan fellows?”
“Both, I think,” Deena laughed, “you really are like Papa, such an anglophile.”
It was not long before they stood outside their old childhood home. It was different and the same. It had been larger, more ornate than most homes and now served as a medical facility that dealt with a host of health and physical issues for residents in the area. The two young women entered cautiously, and several patients were awaiting help and there was a general bustle of activity about them. Each girl scoured the walls and walked around peering into the rooms that were open to them, assuming the closed doors were treatment and examination rooms. They said not a word to one another. It was as if their minds were a private palimpsest on which faint, older memories were being redone with the aid of the scene before them. They were still lost in their reveries when someone approached and said in the dialect often used among the non-elite of the city.
“Excuse me, if you are in need of medical help, you must register over here.” An attractive woman pointed toward a desk in the corner.
“Oh no, I am so sorry,” Deena said quickly in English before catching herself and switching to the local language, “we just wanted to see what was here.”
“Ah,” the woman responded cautiously, herself switching to English. “We don’t get many tourists, and everyone is yet cautious of people they do not recognize, those who seem out of place.”
Azita scowled slightly. “There is still danger about, then.”
The woman remained cautious. “The government does its best, but we treat women and children here, including counseling those who wish to limit their family size. There are those…” Then she stopped. “I am sorry, what is your interest here?”
Azita now smiled. “My sister and I apologize. Allah will not be pleased with our impoliteness. We used to live here, a number of years ago.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed for an instant before opening wide. “Allah be praised, you are Deena and Azita?” Before the girls could respond, she called out: “Bahiri, come here quick, quickly.”
A tallish man, probably in his 30s with a brown complexion indicating a Mideast origin, emerged from one of the rooms. He wore the white coat of a physician and sported a stethoscope around his neck. “What is wrong, Ferhana?”
“These are the Masoud girls, Pamir’s children. They simply walked in.”
“This is true?” When the girls nodded, he went on with excitement. “There are small miracles every day. My wife and I, we manage this facility. I am Doctor Bahiri Gupta and this is Doctor Ferhana Gupta, my wife, but then you have already met. We must have tea. There is nothing pressing, and one of the nurses can handle the patients for a half hour or so.”
Once the tea arrived and the formal introductions were completed, Bahiri explained how the Masoud home remained a medical clinic while his wife went off to check on a patient. “You see, Ferhana grew up in this neighborhood. She knew your parents very well, your father inspired her to become a physician. She talked about you girls, though you were probably too young to recall her. She had come of age before the wicked Taliban crushed the hopes of young girls and managed to be sent to India for her studies, that is where we met. You were still children then, most likely.”
“Wait,” Deena said, looking at Ferhana as she returned. “I think I do remember you. You were the kind neighborhood young woman who would give Azita and me sweets.”
“Aha, yes, that would be my wife, though I think her generosity was intended to impress your father, whom she rather worshipped. I met my wife, Ferhana, in medical school. She was fortunate, her family escaped to Pakistan before it was too late and are quite wealthy. She could have had one of many suitors but chose a relatively poor boy like me.” Bahiri smiled broadly.
“Ferhana? A lovely name. Does it not mean one born to a comfortable life?” Deena asked.
“Yes, indeed. My parents thought I would lead a life of ease and luxury, they had worked hard to build a fortune. But I chose love instead and a devotion to good works.” She looked at her husband with obvious affection.
Azita and her sister glanced at each other but Bahiri broke the brief silence. “After the Taliban was driven out and we finished our studies, she convinced me to come here to start a practice. This is where her heart remained. Her parents were not happy with that, and neither were mine. Fortunately, for me, love really is blind.” He patted his wife’s hand.
Ferhana spoke softly. “I personally was crushed to hear about Pamir and Madeena, I am sure they both are with Allah now. On the spot, that very moment, I turned to Bahiri and said that we are building this clinic back up. We shall not let Pamir’s dream die. Partly, all this was in honor of your father, and your mother who treated me as their own daughter. I knew this is what I must do, and Bahiri was good enough to agree.”
“I thought her crazy, but what was I to do? I loved this woman. As I am sure you girls know, this love thing is the death of many a man’s dream of happiness. It almost makes me favor arranged marriages.” He laughed as he expressed this opinion. “But now, I see she was right. We do so much good here.”
Azita spoke up. “I think…I think that I speak for my sister as well when I say that you have done much honor to our parents and to us. We wish to thank you so much. I myself am studying medicine…at Oxford University.” She could see that both were impressed. “My sister now has a degree and has devoted herself to the education of Afghan girls, both in England and here. Even without the Taliban, so much must be done to bring women from this country forward.”
Bahiri and Ferhana glanced at each other. “We will talk more, but I will ask one thing of you. So many leave this tortured land never to return. The seductions of other, less troubled, lands are many, especially in the West. What I want to ask of you is that you should never forget your home, your culture. In the end, it is who we are, what we are. Someday, I fervently hope Allah guides you back here. We…we need you.”
Bahiri went back to the patients but Ferhana showed them around the clinic and then the three women went out into the neighborhood. Azita struggled in her head about what Bahiri meant by ‘here’ - was it Afghanistan or his clinic? And by ‘we’, did he mean the country as an abstraction or merely he and his spouse? For the moment, she decided not to ask.
“Does the market look familiar?” Ferhana asked.
“Yes and no,” Deena replied. “Of course, Azita would not know. She never had to go to the market since she was permitted to study all day, being Papa’s favorite.”
“You shush, Deena, I…”
Ferhana cut them off with a hearty laugh. “Ah yes, I so remember that you girls squabbled all the time, even at such a young age. You two were such a distraction to your dear mother. She would tell me that it would have been better to have all boys, much less trouble. I guess some things never change. But look, you can see many of the stores are the same, but they offer more items and, most of all, people smile more. Fear remains but things are better. Bahiri is right. We can yet save this country. It is possible.”
They reached a kiosk where Azita stopped suddenly. “This is the place where...”
“What?” her two companions said almost simultaneously. “I did go to the market one day to do the shopping, I felt so guilty. But Deena and Majeeb, my brother, were right. I was clueless and stopped to read the posters here. I just did it, never thinking. But that small act enraged the morality police and they beat me mercilessly. They might have killed me, but my brother intervened.” Then she drifted off into her own memories.
Deena spoke as her sister remained lost in memory. “Yes, Ferhana, he was very brave and very foolish. He was killed fighting against the Taliban.”
“So sorry, I think I knew that now that it is mentioned. Would you like to see more?”
Deena looked at her watch “Oh, look at the time. We must join the others. Come Azita. And Ferhana, thank your husband. We will visit again, and we surely will stay in touch.”
Suddenly, Azita seemed to have returned to the present. “Yes, tell Bahiri that we definitely will be in touch and I will think on what he said very, very seriously.”
The two sisters walked in silence for some time. Then Deena spoke softly: “You know, after all these years, I am still guilty about that day you went to the market instead of me. For certain, I goaded you into going, knowing full well how foolish you were.”
“Good that you feel guilty for your terrible sin,” Azita responded before laughing gently and taking her sister’s hand. “But it is all balanced out now.”
“I am not sure I follow…”
“You almost got me killed that day, that is true. Then, that terrible morning in our family village, I joined you to select the eggs also because I once again felt guilty that you did all the chores. Had I not, I would have been killed like our sweet parents.”
Deena only squeezed her sister’s hand more firmly. “I will admit to one thing. I did not like you very much when we were young. There were moments when I despised you. Oh, it was jealousy, you know that, we have talked before. But let me now admit to one thing: I could never…never quite imagine that we would be friends as adults. We seemed so different, like not from the same family. I saw us going our different ways as adults, me with a husband and family and you with fame and a career. Now, I cannot imagine my life without you.”
