Ordinary Obsessions

by Tom Corbett

  “Oh, I wish I had convinced her to come with us. But she argued that would really raise Father’s suspicions. Look after her the best you can, and yourself.” He could not quite figure out where to go next. “Do you carry a gun?”

  “Yes. I can’t stand the things, but I broke down and got one. Even without all this political espionage crap, this is Chicago. As you always say, more dangerous than Kabul. Well, gotta go.”

  “Wait…” Then he stopped, unsure of what to say. “Love you, kiddo.”

  “Love you more.” She laughed as the connection was lost.

  Chris stood there for several minutes, lost in thought,

  “Where are we going?” Deena complained to her sister. “It is cold, and I don’t even recognize these streets.”

  “It is Christmas, look at the shop windows and the lights and the happy faces.”

  Deena looked about as they shuffled along the slippery sidewalk. Snowflakes fluttered through the brisk air, beginning to accumulate at long last. “What I see are a bunch of frantic people rushing about because they have too much to do and not enough time in which to do it. I think these Western holidays are designed to inflict the maximum unhappiness on the celebrants.”

  “Ah, the problem with you, my sister, is that you have no romance in your soul.”

  “I have romance,” she uttered too harshly. “It is the others in my life who don’t.”

  Azita stopped and Deena followed her lead after a couple more steps. “All this is more than usual grumpiness, isn’t it?”

  “Not now. You have this surprise for me. Later, perhaps.”

  Azita stared at her. “I am not moving until you tell me.” Neither moved. “We will freeze to death here, together. People will think it very romantic. Two sisters, like a suicide pact.”

  Deena shifted her feet for a few moments until she realized that her sister would not be moved. Her face quivered a bit as she spoke. “Oh, dear sister, I think Karen does not care for me anymore. We don’t connect like we did. It is different.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, of course I am not sure. I know as much about love and life as your average twelve-year-old Brit girl…maybe no more than an eight-year-old.”

  Azita held her sister. The rushing crowd made a path around them, their pain remained private amidst the chaos about them. “Maybe I can cancel this, we can find a place to talk.”

  “Tell me this surprise first.” The tears still flowed down her cheeks. “Please tell me.”

  “We are on the way to meet Ahmad, and his father, Abdul. Remember Abdul, from my father’s clinic in Kabul?”

  “Yes,” Deena brightened. “No, we must go and meet them. That is exactly what I need. I must connect to…something familiar. Yes, let us go.”

  Azita was about to ask if her sister was sure that was what she wanted but Deena quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction they had been heading. They crossed the street and moved another block before stopping at a small Afghan restaurant. The two girls peered inside.

  “There is Ahmad, in that booth back there. That must be Abdul with him, it has been so many years.”

  “It is, I am sure of it. I was older when we last saw him, just before heading north out of Kabul.”

  Moments later, Ahmad jumped up to greet them as they approached the table. His body hung in indecision before he held out his hand in a formal way. “So good to see you, after so long.” He glanced at Deena but kept his eyes on Azita. When Abdul rose from his eat, Azita hesitated a moment but then hugged the father and then his son.

  After the reintroductions and some small talk, Abdul took the initiative. “You girls are now such women. I remember you both so well. Deena was the quiet one, always by the side of your lovely mother. And you, Azita, were always following along after your dear father. Oh, how much I miss him. I recall the day we sat with the Taliban official to secure the documents that enabled you to escape Kabul. I was ecstatic to learn you successfully made it to what I thought was safety and then…so tragic.” He did not need to finish. “Well, perhaps Allah will join all of us together again in paradise someday. And now, my Ahmad tells me, that you are both such successes.”

  “Allah has been kind to us. But we want to express our condolences for the loss of your wife and to thank you for all you did to help us escape the Taliban. I only wish our parents were here to thank you themselves. They loved you so.”

  “Ach, those wicked people, the Taliban. They pervert the wisdom of the Prophet so. I am too old, but you, your generation, must go back and save our people. They do not deserve all the pain and suffering they have endured. The killing, it goes on and on. Someone must put a stop to it. The Americans I fear are abandoning us. They had 100,000 troops at one point and now it is like 10,000. The old fanatics now grow stronger.”

  Ahmad looked at his father fondly. “Oh, Papa, I think that if we are to survive, we must do it ourselves and not rely upon the Americans.”

  “Such a wise boy, is he not girls?” The question was rhetorical. Abdul beamed at his son.

  Ahmad chuckled. “You see all those grey hairs on my poor father’s head? I am sure I put many of them there myself. He worried so much that he had raised such a useless son, a boy who liked to party and hang around with Western girls.”

  Abdul smiled. “I have thought on occasion that children are God’s way of punishing us for our sins. But I never stopped loving you and look at you know. I am so proud. He is a such a good-looking young man, is he not girls?”

  “Without question,” Deena said quickly.

  “Oh, he has possibilities,” Azita said with a wry smile.

  Abdul laughed. “Yes, my son, you have told me she has a wicked wit. You will have to be careful of this one. That I can see.”

  Azita continued to smile. “Sir, I still recall you and my father talking at the end of the day in his clinic. I did not always understand what was being said but I knew that my father appreciated your experience and wisdom. He looked up to you, admired you very much. I know we will remain close to you, that you will always feel a part of our family.” Abdul started to speak but Azita continued. “I…I usually am a cautious scientist, letting the evidence lead me to any conclusion. But sometimes, just sometimes, something is simply self-evident. Sir, you have raised a wonderful son and should be very proud of him.”

  “Oh, I am, young lady, I am.”

  “Yes, he must be extremely good since I…I intend to marry him and the two of us shall return to our country. You are right sir, someone must save our homeland.”

  Abdul gulped. Deena’s jaw dropped open. Abdul simply smiled.

  Kay found Chris still standing with his phone in his hand. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing him by the arm.

  “What, where?”

  “Pick up our sister. She is arriving in her corporate jet. She tried to talk me out of coming to get her, but I insisted.”

  “Why?” Chris was puzzled. “This seems like a bother.”

  “Shush, I want to get you alone in any case.” Kay took a deep breath.

  They said nothing to each other as they made their way to her car. Chris had a pretty good idea what was on his sibling’s mind, but he decided to let her take the lead. They were well on their way before his curiosity betrayed him. “Okay, you have me alone.”

  “Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. The thing is, I have been thinking about stuff…where I am, the future, that kind of stuff.” She stopped.

  “Go ahead Kay, just spit it out.”

  “I think you probably have guessed. I am not happy with…things.” She hesitated again. Chris was about to push her along when it flew out of her. “Oh shit, I have taken up with Karen again.” The pace of her words now picked up speed. “The thing is that Jamie is wonderful, sweet and smart and a great father. I like him desperately, and the girls, but that is not me. I was not meant to be a wife and mother. I thought, maybe, but…” She hit her horn and sped around the car in front as Chris looke
d intently at her. “Isn’t that the biggest thing in life, to figure out what you are supposed to be in life? Doesn’t everyone figure that out by college? I am middle aged and still struggling. What is wrong with me?”

  Chris looked at the road ahead. He wanted to quip that they did not have time to review all her shortcomings but knew this was not the time. In fact, no response came easily to him. His strong points were humor and policy, after that he felt helpless. He was afraid to look at his sister in case she was crying. She would not want that, for him to see her weak. It was Sunday. The traffic was light, but it was never totally absent on London streets and dusk was rapidly approaching. He was tempted to ask Kay if he should drive but held back. Instead, he searched for words that would not sound utterly moronic. “That is what we are all doing…Azita, Deena, Karen, Jules, even Amar and I.”

  “You and Amar are not in trouble, I can’t believe that.”

  “No, she is the best thing that has happened to me. But we are struggling to find a place in life that works for us as a couple. That is our curse, not just for Amar and me, but all of us. Only Kat and Ricky seem solid, know what they are doing, and Ricky tried several things before getting it right. Here is the thing, I think. We are too talented. We have choices. To make matters worse, we all partnered with people who also are smart, independent, and have choices. That really complicates things. I should have married one of the bimbos.”

  “No shit,” Kay uttered with some bite, “not the bimbo part but the smart partner stuff. And stop calling them bimbos, you sexist. I can call them bimbos, but you can’t.”

  “Right,” Chris said apologetically. “Listen, I am saying things that we all know, have all covered a million times in our own minds, you know those internal dialogues we have late at night. Still, let me have my say.”

  “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  “Remember the old aphorism of most people living lives of quiet desperation, or some such nonsense? We are meant to feel sorry for them, but they are not the people suffering. Sure, they may struggle to pay bills and yearn for the greener pastures just beyond their reach, but I sense they are not totally unhappy. Oops, sorry about the double negative. They probably cannot envision anything much beyond their own experience. I am arrogant enough to look down upon them on occasion. What an idiot. I cannot imagine many of them caught up on great existential questions about meaning and purpose and destiny. People like us are given great gifts and, with that, awesome responsibilities.” Now, his words spilled a bit quicker as he realized what he wanted to say. “Don’t you think I would not like to slink back to Oxford, bury myself in academia with a few books to be written and some occasional do-good philanthropic work? What a life, with the biggest impediments to happiness being terrifically inane faculty meetings. I have what most would give their right arm for, an unbelievable spouse and children, wonderful career, money, and a great circle of friends. And yet…yet…”

  “You are being asked to do more and your own conscience will not permit you to walk away.” Kay finished his thoughts as he struggled.

  “Yeah, something like that. But this conversation is not about me. Kay, you are not being kind to Jamie. Staying with him out of guilt or a sense of responsibility or sheer stubbornness will not work in the long run. The one thing that catches me up is the girls. They will grow up and realize that something is wrong if you stay together for them. I now know just how insightful kids can be, they are like sponges, seeing everything even when you are not looking. They will figure stuff out and internalize all the disappointments and sadness and basic things that are missing. Just be honest with him, as Karen must be with Deena. I like the guy. I didn’t really understand it when you suddenly married him, but I did like him. He is a great catch and deserves someone who can give him her all.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice caught. “That helps. You know, I look back and wonder what I was thinking at that time as well. Was I denying my feelings toward women, was I jealous that you found a perfect partner, was I looking for a way, more like an excuse, to return to civilization? I had spent so many years in the ER, at the edges of the civilized world, surrounded by blood and carnage. I was not sure I wanted to spend the remainder of my life doing that except…”

  “You would be wracked with guilt if you walked away, and maybe a bit empty.”

  Kay glanced quickly at him. “Damn, you are not as dumb as you look.” For the first time that day, she permitted a slim smile to escape. “I am getting it now, finally. Going into trauma surgery, first in a public hospital and then in the Third World. I knew that would piss off father. He first tried to push me toward business. When that failed, he wanted me to use my medical training to make money, push expensive pharmaceuticals on to sick people who were desperately searching for the holy grail to save their lives. He was willing to provide that hope but only for some unconscionable price, knowing that many would die because they did not have enough money. For the life of him, he could not comprehend that some people went into medicine to help others. That was beyond his world. I so wanted to stuff that very thought down his throat. So much of it was about pissing him off, what a way to make a career choice.”

  “But you were so good at it. You did a lot of good,” Chris argued.

  “You’re right, and I get that,” she quickly said. “I was good…am good, damn good. And I have no real regrets for how I used my gifts. It is just time to figure out where I want to be, where I want to go.” Again, she paused, and Chris wondered if she was waiting for him to comment. But he glanced at her and decided not. She confirmed his conclusion by continuing. “Want to hear something funny? Know why I married Jamie, the real reason, I think? Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical. He reminded me of you.”

  “What?” Chris uttered incredulously.

  “Oh, I know, you two are night and day in many ways. But I saw some similarities. He had a dry sense of humor, was kind, and wanted to do good. Of course, unlike you he had standards. No way he would mount a coat rack. But he was close enough in some ways. Without realizing it, I wanted someone who was like you. And no, I never, ever had an incestuous thought.”

  Chris went to his default position - humor. “Makes sense, I am every woman’s dream.”

  She laughed out loud, and he felt better.

  It was quite a walk back to the house where everyone was putting the finishing touches on the tree but Azita and Deena decided to walk. The temperature kept dropping and a light snow, which had stopped for a while, once again was falling. Daylight had faded into the gray of another brief mid-winter’s day about to expire. The girls had never quite accustomed themselves to the short tenure of daylight this far north. It was like being cheated. Still, they buttoned their coats up and quickly moved along the streets, rather enjoying the frantic movements of holiday celebrants about them and the lights emanating from stores and restaurants. Each waited for the other to begin.

  “I think you have lost your mind,” Deena finally blurted out.

  “You are just changing the topic. You tell me your relationship may be over and nothing more. I am not the crazy one here.”

  “No, no…don’t deflect from the issue at hand. What kind of Muslim girl are you, proposing to a boy you hardly know, and in front of his father? I have no words.”

  “Abdul was pleased, so there,” Azita responded. “And you always have words, too many in fact.”

  “That does not excuse your behavior. I was mortified.”

  “You are lecturing me? You are mortified?” Azita sounded wounded. “You sleep with women, women! That is not exactly good behavior for a proper Muslim girl.” Deena stopped walking. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…” Azita did not know what to say next.

  Deena’s face turned cold. “Really? Perhaps this is what you have felt all this time, that your sister is a pervert, an affront to Allah to be kept secret from polite company? I notice you didn’t mention my preferences to Abdul. Have you ever bothered to tell Ahmad?”

&
nbsp; “What? No,” Azita sputtered. “But neither did you. It is not my place.”

  “That is just your convenient excuse. Finally, I know what you really think of me.” With that, Deena whirled and started down the street at a fast pace. Where she should have turned at the corner, she kept on straight.

  Azita looked after her, paralyzed by surprise. Eventually, the reality of the situation caught up to her and she started running after her sister, not stopping or looking about when she reached the corner. As she crossed the street, a taxi, traveling too fast in hope of making an impending stop light swerved to avoid striking her. The car almost missed her but not quite. The girl felt a hard blow to her rear and sprawled forward onto the pavement, rising quickly to stumble forward before collapsing to the ground a second time. A woman screamed, and the taxi screeched to a halt. The stricken girl struggled to her feet again and tried moving toward her sister. The driver called after her but Azita kept stumbling toward Deena who now stood looking back to her with an expression that hung somewhere between anger and anguish. A man approached Azita to offer his help, reaching to take her arm. She pulled away, shouting: “I am fine. I am fine.” Clearly, that was not the case as she continued to stumble forward.

  “What are you doing?” That was all Deena could think to say.

  “You…you are going the wrong way. I…I thought you might like to know.” Azita wavered as the pain in her backside came into full focus as she sank back to the sidewalk.

  Deena wiped the tears from her eyes and seemed on the verge of words when the cabbie pulled up. The driver, a man wearing a turban, jumped out. “Miss, are you alright? Can I take you to the hospital?”

  It was Deena who finally responded. “I think just take us home if you will, there are several doctors there.” She looked hard at Azita who merely nodded.

  “Oh Pagwan! Yes, please enter my taxi. It is getting dark and you came out of nowhere.”

  “My fault, sir. Please do not blame yourself,” Azita said through some pain. “But a ride would be appreciated.