by Rusk, Day
“I wouldn’t understand?” I asked.
Safia looked at me, concerned. She obviously had evaluated Qadi’s character as well and knew he wouldn’t like being challenged. The last thing she wanted was for me and Kareena’s boyfriend to get into it and ruin the day.
“You’re from the West,” he said. “It’s a cultural, a religious thing, regarding a woman’s modesty or need to embrace modesty.”
“What’s so important about modesty?” I asked.
“Again, you’re from the West. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
“In certain cultures we strive not to objectify our women; and the women are not so crass as to blatantly parade around half naked. Some might even say shamelessly,” Qadi offered.
I couldn’t help looking at Kareena, who on this particularly hot day, it could be argued, was dressed somewhat provocatively. I’d yet to hear Qadi complain about her dress or lack of it. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he quite enjoyed the visual treat.
As this was my first meeting with Kareena, I really didn’t want to get into a heated debate or argument with Qadi; I just didn’t want to embarrass her or make her feel uncomfortable.
“Actually, in many ways, dressing in a burqa is more liberating for a woman,” he continued. He obviously wanted to drive his point home. “In dressing that way, a woman also gets to choose how she wishes to reveal herself to a man. It gives her the control.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle; I knew that response wouldn’t amuse him, and I was right. A look of annoyance quickly crossed his face.
“You disagree?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Guys...,” Safia started to say, but was interrupted by Qadi.
“No, let him speak. I’m curious,” said Qadi.
“I would argue,” I said, “that the very act of wearing a burqa objectifies women.”
I could see he wanted to say something, but remained silent.
“By covering women up, you’re saying their appearance, how they look, is a truly significant factor. What are you protecting them from? The lust of men?”
“The beauty of a woman can be distracting,” said Qadi.
“I’ve heard that theory,” I said. “That is why in a Mosque, women must pray at the back of the room. A man there to pray can’t focus on worship if a woman is bending over in front of him. Is that not so?”
“What’s your point?” asked Qadi.
“All of these attitudes reduce women to nothing but objects; distracting objects, illustrating man’s weakness. I’d argue that men in those cultures that require a burqa to be worn aren’t mature enough to deal with women on an equal level. The women are paying for the men’s shortcomings.”
“So, they should let women run around like sluts?” he asked.
Again, I couldn’t help stealing a look at Kareena; she seemed indifferent to our discussion. I’d realized soon after we’d sat down that in Qadi and Kareena’s brief relationship, he was definitely the Alpha Dog.
“Women should be free to dress as they please. To express their personal style, whatever that may be,” I said.
“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Western society.”
“Or its true beauty,” I countered.
“Maybe we should discuss something else,” suggested Safia. The concern and worry had not left her face.
“No, no,” said Qadi quickly. “Its beauty?” he asked, turning his attention back to me.
“Yes, its beauty,” I said. “Sexual attraction is a biological fact of life. In Western society, women also choose how they want to reveal themselves to a potential lover. You guys have it all wrong. Revealing how one looks, the shape of their body, isn’t really revealing anything. How a woman truly reveals herself to a man is when she chooses to reveal her thoughts to him, her hopes, her desires, and her fears. By revealing her true self, which is buried deep within her, and cannot be deciphered based on how she looks or dresses or undresses, is how a woman really lets you know you’re special to her. Everything else is just physical.”
I could see, based on the look on his face that my argument was lost on him.
“The burqa is simply a woman’s choice,” he finally stated.
I wasn’t ready to give up, despite the pleading look on Safia’s face. “You can hire a prostitute,” I continued. “You can have sex with a prostitute. You’ve seen her at her most vulnerable, naked. You’ve engaged in an intimate act with her, but when all is said and done, do you really know anything of value about her? You’ve seen everything, yet nothing’s been revealed.”
“Nonetheless,” he countered, “women of certain cultures are expected to demonstrate some decorum.”
“Is it not true that in many of these cultures where burqas are expected to be worn, women are still subjected to arranged marriages?”
Qadi just looked at me.
“So your romanticized notion of the burqa and the ability of a woman to choose how she reveals herself to a man flies right out the door,” I said. “When you’re told who you’re going to marry, who you’re going to have sex with and start a family, there is no choice in the revealing.”
“You really don’t know what you’re talking about,” stated Qadi. “Those of you in the West will never understand it.”
“And, from what I can tell, those of you not from the West will never understand the beauty of a truly equal relationship with an independent and spirited woman. Other cultures think we’re weak because we don’t attempt to control our women, or subjugate them, but I say it takes a stronger man to build a relationship and life with someone who is truly his equal.”
“You know what,” said Safia, “not to sound like a terrible cliché, but let’s agree to disagree.”
“What do you think of this, Safia?” asked Qadi.
Safia took a second to look at me, then back at Qadi. “I think this is a wonderful day, and not a day for cultural clashes.”
“Safia’s right,” added Kareena. “Why is it every time two guys get together for the first time, they have to try and prove whose is bigger?”
I couldn’t help laughing. Kareena had a point. Nonetheless, although he was trying his best to conceal it, I could tell Qadi was seething. I also couldn’t help wondering what the hell Kareena saw in him.
“So, I guess I made quite an impression,” I said as Safia and I walked along.
Safia laughed.
“When we live in a world of beauty and the beasts, it seems a shame that we’re covering up the beauties and letting the beasts roam free,” I said.
“I guess Qadi has very strong opinions,” she said.
“Yet he’s hooked up with Kareena, who isn’t exactly dressed all that modestly. Sowing his wild oats, is he?”
“Your life must be so simple and uncomplicated,” she said.
“No, not really. I’m as fucked up as the next guy, in my own way.”
We walked along in silence for a couple of seconds.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I finally said, “personally, I don’t care. A woman can choose to do or wear whatever she wants. Who am I to dictate anything to anyone? I am allowed, however, to have an opinion.”
“And I love you for your opinion,” said Safia, moving closer to me, wrapping her arm around me and taking my hand in hers.
“I was raised in a home with very strong-willed, independent women. If my father had ever tried to tell my mother what she could or couldn’t wear, he wouldn’t have been able to walk straight for a week, and would have had to sleep with one eye open,” I offered.
Safia snuggled in closer, resting her head against my shoulder.
“Actually, thankfully, my mother had no problem telling my father what to wear and what not to wear. He had the fashion sense of a clown; many times he’d come down in the morning and look like an uncoordinated, colorful nightmare.”
We continued along, just enjoying the day and being together. The feeling of her head on my shoul
der, her arm intertwined with mine and our hands embraced, brought me both a level of excitement and contentment I hadn’t experienced in a long time – if ever.
“Did you mean what you said about a woman revealing herself?” she finally asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
“I thought the only thing men were after was sex?” she said.
“Some. I wasn’t raised that way. I have a few friends who were hounds. You know, do or say anything to get laid. That just wasn’t me. I don’t know, maybe that makes me a freak or defective.”
We continued walking.
“You haven’t really tried to get me in bed yet,” she said.
“I just...I don’t know...,” I stammered.
“I don’t excite you?” she asked.
She was playing with me. I could see by the look on her face she was enjoying putting me on the spot, playfully tormenting me.
“Of course, you...”
“I guess we can wait, some more,” she said, interrupting me. “You know, until you decide whether or not you’d like to see me naked. No hurry.”
“This is cruel, woman.”
She pulled away from me, laughing. It was a beautiful sight; the pure look of joy and happiness on her face was possibly the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. As Safia walked playfully backward in front of me, I knew I wanted her – more than anything in the world. I was a lucky bastard and I knew it. This beautiful woman had dared to go out with me, was interested in me – ME. I knew somehow that her very existence, who she was, was going to have a profound impact on me and shape me into the man I needed to be – a man who until now had no way of realizing his full potential, but now saw it for the first time ever in the beauty of her smile.
“You know,” she said playfully, “It’s important to know when the time’s right.”
She stopped in her tracks, allowing me to walk into her open arms. We kissed.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
“You’re sure? I don’t want to rush...”
She kissed me again. This time longer and with more passion. If my senses weren’t entirely caught up in the feel of her lips and her body against mine, I might have heard someone say, “Get a room,” but it was as if nothing else in the world really mattered at that moment.
“I suggest we hurry,” she said as she pulled away from me, grabbed my arm and pulled me at a half run down the street.
Safia and I made love. It was as simple and as wonderful as that.
It wasn’t magical, sensual movie sex, nor was it raw; it fell somewhere in between; and it held meaning because it wasn’t about the act we were performing, it was two people, in love with one another, sharing an intimacy with one another; we’d shared our minds and now it was time for our bodies to catch up.
Being a gentlemen, and referring back to my previous revelation that I didn’t want my friends to share the details of their sex lives with me, and as such wouldn’t do the same with them, I really can’t say any more. It wouldn’t be fair to Safia.
I will say this however, with Safia it was different. There was more meaning in every movement and action; it was different and that was a good thing.
It was that night that Safia officially moved into the master bedroom and we became a complete couple, fully committed to one another. In the morning everything seemed different and better – probably because my attitude towards life was different and better. I always knew there was a future, barring some freak accident like getting hit by a space toilet and dying like that girl in the TV show Dead Like Me, but didn’t really look forward to the future with the same promise I did now. Being with someone you love just seems to change everything, and deep down, I knew, would also complicate everything; but in the long run the good would outweigh the bad.
It was during coffee the next morning that, I guess, the inevitable happened – the next step in our journey of discovery; I knew it was going to come up eventually, just not when and in what context. I guess I can thank Qadi for becoming that context; Safia and I talked religion.
Mornings for me are quiet time; I like to get up and ease into my day; I’m not the type who will have a lot to say or engage you in conversation in the mornings. I like to get my coffee, maybe a bagel or some yogurt, and sit and surf the news on my laptop. I know I started out as a newspaperman, so what am I doing going digital? It’s just that much easier, there’s no recycling and black ink staining your fingers.
Loving quiet in the morning is great when you’re alone and single, but that wasn’t the case anymore. As I was scanning the news online, Safia must have been thinking back to our get together with Kareena and Qadi. I guess the fact the two of us got into it bothered her a bit; or maybe it didn’t so much as bother her, but she was trying to figure something out about my character in the context of that meeting and confrontation with him. Either way, her thoughts on the matter shattered the quiet of the morning.
“You really didn’t have to get into it with Qadi yesterday, did you?”
I looked up from the laptop to her.
“I mean, it was easy to tell he was a jerk. Why waste time arguing with a jerk?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “It just kind of happened.”
“I could tell early on you didn’t really like him,” she said.
“I’m sure the feeling was mutual.”
I tried to go back to reading the news on my laptop, but I could feel her stare bearing down on me. I looked up, directly into that stare. This wasn’t going away.
“You remember when we first sat down, you and Kareena went to the Ladies’ Room?” I said.
She nodded her head.
“I’d say within a minute of sitting down, he asked me what my religion was. Was I Christian, Catholic, what?”
“So?” she asked.
“You don’t find that presumptuous?”
“That really bothered you?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just say that where I was raised, in polite society, you just don’t ask that. Especially of someone you’ve just met. Their faith is a personal thing.”
Safia just looked at me for a second. I could see the wheels turning.
“What did you tell him?” she asked.
“I told him it was none of his fucking business.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. I’d just met him. I don’t know him from Adam. I don’t even know if we’re going to like each other. I mean, Jesus, who asks someone they don’t know about their religion right off the bat?”
“You just took the Lord’s name in vain,” she said.
“He’ll survive it. My God isn’t that serious, or a stickler for protocol,” I offered.
There was definitely a mild tension in the room; religion is always a touchy subject, and in our case, it was playing a role early on in our relationship. Religion or culture, it really didn’t matter, we weren’t supposed to be together; everything she had been brought up to believe, technically told her that, especially if she chose to embrace those beliefs. I never went out in life thinking to myself, “You know what, I’ve got to find me a good Muslim girl to love.” Hell, I wasn’t even looking for love, but I found it, and discovered religion was going to play a role in that relationship, and not necessarily a positive role.
Qadi had been asking me about my religion as a way of judging me. I’m sure through Kareena he knew Safia came from a Muslim family, and seeing me, a white boy with her, he could safely assume I wasn’t Muslim. He was judging our relationship, and as far as I was concerned he had no right to do so – him or anyone else.
I’m Christian and she’s Muslim. Who cares? What? I’m not allowed to fall in love with a Muslim girl? Even if, God forbid, I truly loved her? As far as I was concerned, they were all crazy – there were no rules in love, only those we tried to artificially impose; rules that often failed because in the long run they were manmade and ridiculous.
“I think he just wanted to know more about you,” she said.
> “It didn’t come off that way. There was a judgmental aspect to his question. My religious beliefs don’t define who I am. If he really wanted to get to know me he could do it in the normal way, engaging me in proper conversation, not getting too personal too soon.”
“Do you believe in God?” she asked.
I have to admit, I was waiting to engage in some more discourse on Qadi and what an asshole he was. This question, seemingly out of the blue, definitely took me by surprise.
“Of course,” I replied.
“Are you religious?” she asked.
“In my own way.”
She just looked at me.
“My family? Anglican, I guess. We really weren’t much into going to Church, except for weddings and funerals,” I said. “When I was very young, I remember my Mother taking us to Church a little more, but Dad always stayed at home, and eventually, it just seemed we didn’t go anymore.”
“So, it wasn’t important to you?” she asked.
“I can’t speak for my parents or siblings, but initially, I guess, I was just a stupid kid who didn’t really understand why one had to go to Church. Like everyone else I had other things to do. I still don’t understand why we have to go to Church.”
I looked at her; she just looked back, waiting.
“I’m not a fan of organized religion,” I continued. “Organized religion is manmade. And, throughout the centuries men and women have used it to try and control others. They’ve used religion and God as an excuse to wage wars and justifiably kill one another. I don’t believe there is any man or woman on this planet, who is closer to God than anyone else; who understands any more than the rest of us what lies beyond life? Organized religion is manmade, and as such fallible. It’s not pure, the way religion should be, because underlying it all, there is always an agenda. Sometimes that agenda is good, sometimes it’s bad. As much as organized religion, and I’m saying any one of them, has helped and done good throughout the decades and centuries, it has also done bad, and brought about great suffering. Why? Because organized religion is the product and creation of humans.”
