by Cat Shinier
“And since you share his bed you will probably have noticed that he is circumcised?”
Yes, I have noticed, I think to myself. But how does she know? Please, dear God, I hope she hasn’t been to bed with him yet. The thought that Shamar could have been intimate with her is like a dagger that goes right through my heart, and I realize that all of this is becoming more than I can bear. So I have to find out if it is true. I have to ask her.
“So you know that because you have been to bed with him, too?”
She laughs again, quite amused. “Oh Luna, no, of course not. I will enter into marriage with him as a virgin. That is what is expected of me. And quite honestly, I’m really looking forward to the pleasures he will be bestowing upon me after the unpleasant procedure of the first night.”
“You mean your defloration?” I’m beginning to feel like an immature school girl.
“Well, and the fact that the bloody sheet will be presented to everyone as proof of my virginity.” This is the first time that her gaze wavers. Apparently this is a thought that really does bother her.
But God, how could I have been so naïve? I believed in our true love. Inwardly, I’m beginning to fall apart, and I think to myself that I will not be able to bear much of this conversation any longer. I’m having a hard time acting like I’m not flustered by all this. I don’t want to crumble in front of Sabah and show her how I really feel. My voice cracks and I’m afraid that I won’t be able to talk. So I straighten my shoulders and try again. I’m convinced that Matthew and Annie are listening to our conversation, and I’m so ashamed I just want to disappear into thin air.
“Sabah, I would like to thank you for telling me all this. And I’m sure that you will understand that I would like to be alone now.”
She gets up and looks smug and complacent. She is smiling like a victor.
“But of course, Luna. I know this house well. I can find my way out. Please say hello to Shamar when you see him.”
I walk her to the door anyway. Outside I see a really fancy Mercedes sports car, and she gets in. Maybe he gifted it to her. Maybe her family did. At any rate, both families are swimming in money. And why should he be less generous with his future wife than he is with me, his interim lover. Obviously that is all I am to him. I close the door, feeling as if I’m in a trance. As if I was standing next to myself, staring at a girl called Luna. Annie hurries up to me.
“Please don’t make false assumptions. Please wait until Mr. Shalazar has had a chance to explain it all to you.”
I nod, but I’m unable to speak. I walk out to the terrace and pack up my things. Then I walk up to our bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-One
The bed has already been made and the traces of our lovemaking this morning have thus also disappeared. It is like an omen. Everything is gone. I do not belong here. What should I do? Wait for Shamar? Leave? Or what?
No, I don’t want to listen to his cheap excuses. They won’t change any of the facts. I must accept that Shamar will be marrying Sabah. Or should I share him with her?
No. No way.
A marriage with him and three other women? Absolutely out of the question. I would never fall that low. My thoughts are spinning. My cell phone vibrates. I check the display and see Shamar’s name. My throat constricts more and more and I’m beginning to feel like I’m going to choke.
It is no longer possible for me to talk to him. And so I switch the cell phone off and put it on the dresser, next to the little black box with my earrings. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the patterns in the rug. Everything that I have believed in for these past few days is falling apart in front of my very eyes. Nausea rises in me and this time I realize that I really am going to throw up. I run into the bathroom and kneel next to the toilet. I feel as if I’m throwing up all of my insides. My soul. I’m utterly exhausted suddenly. I don’t think I have felt this miserable ever since my parents died. I feel completely alone and abandoned. But I also feel cheated. When my parents died, it was life that was cheating me. Now it is Shamar.
* * *
I cannot stay here even a minute longer. The thought of remaining here for another hour longer than necessary is unbearable. I have to be alone, and I have to get away from here, as far as possible. Far, far away. Immediately.
So I take my laptop, put it on my lap, switch it on and go searching for the next flight home to Germany. There is a Turkish Airlines flight this afternoon with a stopover in Istanbul. It will take me forever, but I don’t care. The main thing right now is to get back home to my own apartment where I can hide and recuperate. So accepting a detour via Istanbul seems like a small thing to get back home. And there are several seats available, so I’m able to book myself a flight and pay with my credit card.
I start packing. I’m beginning to get pretty practiced at packing suitcases. I leave all of the things that Shamar has gifted me. I don’t want to take them because I don’t want to have them and be reminded of him. He can give them all to Sabah. The dresses and the shoes remain in his closet. He can exchange those dresses or give them to charity for all I care, I think angrily. My rage knows no bounds. Before I switch off my laptop send an email to Susan.
* * *
Hi there,
Am on my way home. It’s over. Will get in touch when I’m back in Germany.
Luna
* * *
That is all I can write. What else should I write? Then I place the laptop on the dresser with the rest of the gifts. I take a piece of paper from the small desk and write a short message to Shamar for when he gets home. I cannot bear a reaction from him right now. It can wait until he is in the quiet of his own home.
* * *
Shamar,
Sabah was here. I will not stop you from marrying her. Maybe it will sound old-fashioned to you, but I’m not willing to share you with anyone else. Please do not try to get in touch with me.
I love you as much as I love my own life and I cannot bear seeing you or talking to you, if I cannot be together with you.
Luna
* * *
I start crying while I write, and the tears roll down my cheeks like big pearls. They land on the paper and cause large spots to form between the lines. I fold up the paper and put it on our bed. I try to suppress all the memories which are starting to rise in me.
I make one last phone call to order a taxi to come pick me up to take me to the airport. My flight will be leaving in three hours, so that gives me enough time to check in and get through security in time. Then I’ll be in the security area where no one can follow me. I sit on the bed and listen for sounds in the house. But there is no noise. It is as silent as a grave, as if everyone where holding their breath. At some point, the doorbell rings.
I get up from my bed and carry my suitcase to the hallway and then downstairs.
Matthew comes up the stairs towards me looking anguished.
“Please, don’t. Mr. Shalazar will be so upset.”
I smile at him. I know he is such a loyal soul. Just like Annie, who is approaching Matthew and me from the kitchen.
“Matthew, I don’t care whether Shamar is upset or not. This situation has gone too far. And that is why I’m leaving. I’m grateful for all the help and kindness the two of you provided me with.” I take his hand and squeeze it.
“Kieran would be more than pleased to take you to the airport. You don’t need a taxi. If you wait a moment, I will give him a call.” He turns around and faces the intercom.
“No, Matthew, that is very kind of you to offer it. But I don’t want to use the services of anyone who is paid by Shamar. He has incurred enough expenses with me.”
Annie, who is standing behind Matthew, starts to cry.
“But where are you going?”
My eyes start to burn immediately.
“Annie, I’m going home. I cannot stay here any longer.”
We embrace, and I say goodbye to her, too. Matthew takes my suitcase and carries it to the trunk of the
taxi. I get in, and the driver closes the door. Now that I’m sitting in the taxi I cannot control my tears any longer.
“Please take me to the airport, Turkish Airlines, Departure,” I say. I’m hoarse, and my throat hurts. He nods and drives off. My tears keep me from being able to see anything outside. The driver watches me in his rearview mirror and finally hands me a box with Kleenex, for which I’m quite grateful. He doesn’t ask any questions and does not try to involve me in a conversation, either.
Three quarters of an hour later the taxi stops in front of Turkish Airlines. I pay with my credit card and make sure to give the nice driver a really good tip. I leave, pulling my suitcase behind me.
* * *
Strangely, the ticket counter is so empty it almost looks deserted, and I get my ticket and can hand in my suitcase. Then I follow the signs that lead me to security, which I also pass smoothly before I arrive in the departure area. Everything here is really fast, too, so that I can find myself a place to sit in the waiting area and stare out the window.
The tears have not stopped rolling down my cheeks. I wipe them away furtively, but no one seems to notice anyway. People here just don’t stare at you as much as in Europe, I think to myself although I’m not really aware of what is going on around me. At some point, I register that my name is being announced on the intercom.
“Luna Buchholz, please call Information.”
A few minutes later, “Luna Buchholz, you are requested to go to Information.”
I realize that I have heard this announcement several times already but that I have not really understood it. I do not intend to react and just remain seated where I am.
Twenty minutes and three announcements later boarding starts. I get in line and how my ticket to the stewardess.
“But Ms. Buchholz,” the employee of Turkish Airline says with a surprised voice. “Didn’t you hear that someone is looking for you?”
“Is something wrong with my ticket?” I ask and look at her questioningly.
She shakes her head. “No, your ticket is perfectly fine.”
“Then I would like to go on board right now.”
“But of course, yes.” She tears off the stub of my ticket, and I’m allowed to pass the gangway. There are lots of people on board already, and things are pretty confusing in tourist class, as usual. Lots of coming and going and stowing away of things in the bins, with stewardesses moving back and forth helping people.
They gave me a window seat, and I sit down and fasten my seat belt. It does not take long, and all the passengers have boarded the plane and we are ready to leave. The plane rolls out to the runway, and while the stewardess explains all the safety precautions, I look out the window and ignore her. At some point, the plane starts to pick up speed, and suddenly there is a jolt, and it lifts off. We rise gradually at a steep angle, and I look out to see Houston one last time.
Shamar is out there somewhere, I think to myself and start to cry again. I just can’t stop crying. I don’t make a sound. The stewardess brings us something to drink and hands me a few paper towels and looks at me sympathetically. Drinks are served, and then dinner, and since it has gotten dark outside things calm down in the plane, too. Soon I’m asleep, feeling exhausted. My fellow passengers all seem to be asleep, too because it is quiet throughout the plane.
But my sleep is not restful. It is tormented and full of nightmares about Shamar. Then Sabah appears, and I see Shamar and her looking really happy and walking towards me. Shamar looks at me but does not recognize me. I’m non-existent to him. The pain that goes through me like lightning wakes me up, and my rest is over. I restlessly gaze up at the ceiling and wait for the new day to arrive.
* * *
My flight from Istanbul to Munich lands in Munich at 10 p.m. I had to wait in transit in Istanbul for about six hours before I got my connecting flight. I eat the piece of chocolate I got as desert during the flight, and wait for my suitcase to come off the conveyor belt.
It is one of the last suitcases to appear. I pull it down and roll it outside with me. It is about 3 pm in Houston now with the seven hour time difference. I’m missing a whole night’s sleep. I wonder briefly whether Shamar is back home again, and then I get pissed off at myself that my thoughts keep revolving around him. This must stop. Every thought I have automatically is about him. How am I going to survive this pain? And how am I going to make myself stop thinking of him?
I leave the airport and run over to the taxi stand. It is cool outside, and the wind is actually quite cold. Thank God there is a taxi there waiting. After having spent so much money on the flight, I don’t care that the taxi ride is going to cost me another small fortune. I give the driver my address, and we start out. Forty minutes later I’m standing in front of my door at home. I take out my key and carry the suitcases up four flights of stairs to my apartment.
Everybody seems to have gone to bed already, and the racket I’m making is telling them all that I have arrived home again. I leave my suitcase in the living room, shrug off my clothes and get right into bed without taking a shower. I’m asleep within seconds, I’m so exhausted.
My night is short and restless again. I keep dreaming of Shamar again and wake up and notice that I have been crying in my sleep. My pillow is wet, and my eyes are red and swollen.
It is Tuesday. Three weeks ago my little world was all in order. Now everything has changed. I empty my suitcase and start stuffing the dirty clothes in my washing machine. Since there is nothing edible in the refrigerator, and I’m not hungry anyway I have some black coffee. I still haven’t switched on my cell phone, and it takes me a while to decide to switch it back on again. Shamar has called 26 times, Susan twice and my boss once. I decide to listen to the message.
Shamar has left several messages. Every time I see his number I delete the message without listening to it.
Then the two messages Susan has left. She is worried and wants to know where I am. The last message is from my boss, who tells me that there have been problems in the subsidiary in Cologne. There’s been an influenza epidemic and quite a few employees have called in sick and won’t be back for a week or two. So he has to send some people from the Munich office, and he’d like to know if I could return home to Germany early and whether I’d be willing to work in Cologne for a while. Work is just what I need, I tell myself. It is always good to work when you want to get your mind off things. That and Susan. I decide to call him immediately.
And he picks up after the second ring. I tell him that I have returned home to Germany, and he enquires about my vacation. I talk about the sun and the beach and ocean and tell him I had a great time. Just what he wants to hear. I ask him what’s been going on and he explains the situation in Cologne to me again. There is not a single secretary there. They are all out on sick leave. He tells me he would appreciate it if I could go to Cologne and work there for the month of October.
The money is good and they are going to be paying me double time. Also travel expenses and all the extra fees. There is an apartment where I can stay the whole time. This offer is like a gift from heaven, I realize. Happily I accept immediately. This is exactly what I need. It will take me away from my surroundings and will help stop me thinking about Shamar all the time.
My return flight has cost me quite a bit, and I hadn’t really factored these costs in. So I’d like to bring that money back in as fast as possible. My boss is thrilled that I’ve agreed to go and tells me that he will be sending by a messenger with the travel documents this afternoon.
Then I call Susan. She answers so fast that it appears as if she has her cell phone in her hand already.
“Luna, finally. How are you? Where are you?”
I realize how much I missed her. As soon as I hear her voice, I lose my composure and start to cry again and cannot seem to stop.
“I’m home again, Susan.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be right over.” She hangs up.
In the meantime I go to get my suitcase ag
ain, take out the remaining dirty clothes and start packing again, this time for Cologne. My movements are slow and heavy, and I feel like a really old woman. Then I rifle through my mail. Most of it is advertisements and I toss it in the garbage can immediately.
There’s also a letter from a company in Norway where I applied for a job. I rip open the envelope and read their letter to me. They are interested in me and want me to call to arrange for a job interview, which is to take place in Dusseldorf. Great, another omen in the right direction. Dusseldorf is not far from Cologne at all. Maybe an hour or so by car. It will be much easier for me to drive there from Cologne than from Munich. So I make a mental note to call them tomorrow or the next day to set a date.
I realize that I’m feeling queasy. There is one last yogurt in my refrigerator, which has not gone bad. I take it out and polish it off. I’m not hungry, but it is probably better to have something in my stomach. Otherwise, I could get dizzy.
The doorbell rings and I know it must be Susan. While she runs up the stairs, I toss away the remainder of the yogurt. Good to know she is around. She leaps into the apartment and then into my arms. We embrace and I tell her everything, starting with the first time I met Shamar. I decide I’m going to tell her everything. If he doesn’t like that, fine with me. They can send attorneys over to take me to court or to come and get me. I’m not afraid of them. I don’t have any money anyway.
“What a bastard,” Susan says with a grim look on her face. “He better watch out if I ever run into him.”
The thought that my friend Susan who is about 5 inches smaller than I’m is ready to beat Shamar up makes me laugh, despite my tears.
“Oh Susan, you are my best friend. I would really love to see that.”
