Unspoken Rules

by Lora Inak

  She wanted desperately to say yes. She could tell Chris wanted her to say yes. He was waiting for her to say yes. Staring at her with those sparkling blue eyes.

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  What was she saying? She should have said no. This was madness, but his lop-sided smile was worth it. She had a ridiculous urge to touch his face.

  ‘Great. It’ll be fun.’

  All the way home, she scolded herself for her stupidity. No way would she be allowed to go to the party, and when she didn’t rock up, what would Chris think? Probably what everyone else did—that her super strict terrorist father wouldn’t let her leave the house. Well, she thought, maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t need the complication.

  Her shoulders dropped. Then why did she feel so down?

  Chapter 5

  Natalie left school with knots in her shoulders and back. Katelyn sat beside Chloe in English, then spent the entire lunch break on the netball courts with Brooke and the other girls from the senior netball team. Natalie hid in the library feeling sorry for herself.

  She arrived home cranky.

  The house was empty. Where was Mama?

  She ran upstairs to her room and threw herself onto her bed. There were so many restless thoughts churning in her head. Was Katelyn right? Was she being immature? Unfair? She wanted to take it all back. She wanted things the way they were before. She knew that Katelyn was still the same person deep down … so what was it that upset her so much? Was she jealous? Was it because Katelyn had had an experience she wouldn’t get to have until she’d signed away her freedom to some community guy she didn’t love? Or was it because Katelyn got to make these choices and she never would? The thoughts spun in her head and she found herself gritting her teeth.

  Relax. Relax. Relax. She said the mantra over and over in her head and then, before she was even aware of how tired she was, she’d drifted into sleep. She dreamt that Katelyn was at the party, kissing Chris. She screamed out for Katelyn to stop, but they didn’t hear her. Chris ran his hand down Katelyn’s back; she wrapped her arms around him. Then Katelyn and Chris were lying on a bed, except it wasn’t Katelyn anymore, it was her. Chris’s body heavy on hers, she yearned for his soft lips to kiss hers. He leaned in, their mouths touched. Then her father was suddenly there, staring at them. He was angry. Very angry.

  Somewhere a door slammed. Her eyes snapped open. Her body still tingling, her sister’s voice pulled her from her stupor.

  ‘Then why didn’t you answer your phone?’ Misha screamed. ‘I’m soaked. I’ll end up with a chest infection and all because you were too busy visiting Jacquie to remember to pick me up.’

  ‘Don’t act like a spoilt child, Mishelline,’ her mother’s voice rose. ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Misha’s heavy footsteps trudged upstairs. ‘I can’t wait to marry and leave this house. I CAN’T WAIT.’

  Misha stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Downstairs, Mama was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans.

  Natalie grabbed her mobile phone; it was ten to six. She’d better help with dinner before Baba got home, or everyone would be in a black mood.

  In the kitchen, a glass of whisky in hand, Mama threw chicken pieces into a metal bowl. The bangles around her wrist jangled as she shook jars of allspice, oregano and pimento over the chicken, poured in the olive oil, slammed the oil back onto the granite bench and then viciously squeezed the spices in with her red tipped fingers.

  ‘Do you need me to do something?’ The tension in the room was so thick Natalie could almost touch it.

  ‘What?’ Mama whipped around. ‘No. No. I can do it.’ She took a swig of her drink.

  Natalie grabbed a pile of plates and glasses, aware from past experience that it was best to keep quiet, set the table, and get herself out of there. She could sense danger. Mama’s dark moods were explosive.

  ‘Is this all I’m good for?’ Mama barked, throwing her hands in the air. ‘Making dinner. Cleaning the house. Picking up ungrateful children from the train station?’

  Natalie shuffled uncomfortably. Was she supposed to answer that? It was Mama’s idea that Misha be picked up from the train station in wet weather. She’d said she didn’t want Misha catching her death.

  Mama yanked the fry pan out of the cupboard and whacked it down on the stove. She turned on the gas, stood back to let it heat up and took another long sip of her drink.

  ‘Is this all I am?’ she fired, her eyes blazing. ‘Is it?’

  ‘No,’ Natalie squeaked. Damn! She hadn’t left the kitchen fast enough.

  ‘Then what?’ Mama shot back.

  Natalie shook her head. She was trapped. Nothing she said would make any difference right now. Better to stay quiet until Mama’s tirade was over.

  ‘I used to be a painter. I was good. People told me I had talent. But now I’m just a housewife. Stuck at home all day.’

  Mama emptied her glass, grabbed her Marlboro packet and lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply, her eyes far away. The fry pan spat flecks of hot oil, but Mama ignored it. Without turning the heat down, she emptied the bowl of marinated chicken into the pan. The sizzle of cooking meat made further discussion impossible, so Natalie slipped out, wondering why her mother had never mentioned her love of painting before.

  ‘Marhaban. Marhaban.’ Baba came through the door as she was climbing up the stairs.

  ‘Marhaban, Baba.’ At least someone was happy.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Chicken and rice.’

  ‘Hmmm. Did you know that Napoleon Bonaparte loved chicken more than any other food? He ate it with his bare hands so that he could enjoy the feel of the chicken as well as the flavour. He and I have something in common, except your Mama would never let me dirty my hands.’ Baba laughed, heading to the kitchen.

  Natalie rolled her eyes, but smiled. Baba was totally lame, but also so easy going and uncomplicated. He worked hard, loved food (especially anything home cooked), and was happy simply being a part of the community.

  Upstairs, Natalie gently knocked on Misha’s door and entered. Still in her bathrobe, Misha knelt by the window, gazing up into the sky. Her hands were clasped together in prayer. She turned to Natalie, her eyes swollen.

  ‘Sorry,’ Natalie mouthed. ‘Just wanted to check you were okay.’

  ‘Come in, if you want.’ Misha’s voice was soft.

  Natalie shut the door behind her. ‘Mama is very upset.’

  ‘So am I,’ Misha bit back.

  Natalie sat on her sister’s cushion laden bed. She hated this tension between Misha and her parents. It had been days and days of it. She wished Misha would just move on.

  ‘She forgot to pick me up. I was stuck in the rain. I could have taken the bus, but she’s the one that insisted I be picked up.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I called her. Lots of times. But she didn’t answer.’

  ‘You know Mama, she’s forgetful sometimes.’

  Misha closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. ‘Why are things so crap?’

  ‘Are we still talking about Mama forgetting to pick you up, or is this about Jozef again?’

  ‘I’m ready to marry and start my own life,’ Misha sobbed. ‘I could have had that with Jozef. Half of my girlfriends are already engaged or married. And I’m fat and … Juliette’s right, I’m getting older. Will anyone else even want me?’

  Natalie sensed the opportunity to make peace. She chose her words carefully. ‘You have no reason to worry. You are beautiful, caring, fun and from a good family. More suitors will come for you, Mish, I know they will. So why settle for the first man who asks for you?’

  ‘Why not him?’ Misha snapped.

  Natalie took a deep breath. She could tell Misha that Jozef was a slime ball, but Natalie suspected that it would be a bad move. She had
to try another way. ‘I think that if God meant for you to be with him, it would have happened. When it’s the man God has planned for you, there won’t be any objections from anyone. Nothing and no one will hold you back.’

  Misha sat up straight. She was a big believer in ‘God’s Plan’. Natalie could tell her sister was coming around.

  ‘Don’t you always say that God tests us?’ She pressed on. ‘He tests us to see our resilience and commitment and faith in him, in the path he’s set out for us.’

  The muscles in Misha’s face softened. Still on her knees, she shuffled towards Natalie and laid a hand on her knee. ‘Do you think Allah is testing me?’

  ‘Yes. And you need to step up, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and show God that this is one test you’ll pass with flying colours.’ Natalie knew she had her now.

  Misha nodded. ‘You’re right. I will pass with flying colours. I will.’

  ***

  Later that night, with the call of a full bladder, Natalie woke to the house, dark and still. She loved it like this. Silent. Untroubled. Clean. For her, night cleared the dilemmas of the day.

  On her way back from the bathroom, she heard whispers from her parents’ bedroom. Should she listen in? She was so tempted, but it wasn’t her style. That is, not until she heard Mama say her name. She snuck a little closer to their door. It was slightly ajar.

  ‘Natalie must have talked sense into her,’ Mama whispered. ‘You know Misha. Her tantrums go on for weeks otherwise.’

  ‘I won’t trust what anyone says anymore,’ Baba replied after a lengthy pause. ‘Jozef. A good man. Bah. No way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Natalie heard her mother shuffle in bed.

  ‘Malik’s brother-in-law knows him from the old town. He told Malik that Jozef left Syria in a hurry. Something about him being involved with the wrong kind of people.’

  ‘No!’

  Natalie couldn’t believe it either.

  ‘But it’s true,’ Baba said. ‘And to think he had the face to ask for Mishelline.’

  ‘Good thing you said no.’

  ‘You know what? I had a feeling,’ Baba’s voice dropped. ‘I sensed a deep anger in Jozef, just like my Baba. Immediately I didn’t like him.’

  ‘You never talk about your baba,’ Mama prodded. ‘Maybe if you talk more about it, you can learn to forgive him.’

  Natalie leaned in. Why did Seyidi need Baba’s forgiveness?

  ‘Forgive him? Never. Would you forgive a man who was always drunk? Who beat his wife? His sons? All the time my face and body were covered in bruises. Mama got it worse. Broken bones, cracked ribs, cuts. She protected us from him. She hid our shame. The day he died was the day we were all free.’

  Natalie’s heart pounded. Her father, beaten as a child! The thought made her sick. But why? Why had he never said anything to her before? Why was it a secret? Baba was such a proud man, so determined to be a strong and upstanding member of the community. Perhaps it made sense he didn’t want anyone to know.

  ‘Yes. Your baba was a bad man, Selim. But you are a good man.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk anymore.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, okay.’

  She heard her mother planting kisses on her father.

  ‘Selim, my habibi,’ Mama mumbled. ‘I have a few bills to pay. I need money.’

  ‘You need more? I gave you five-hundred dollars. Where did all that money go?’

  ‘I spent so much on the guests. And Natalie needed a new school jumper and more school books. Things cost so much now. I have nothing left.’

  Natalie was baffled. She hadn’t been given a new jumper. She was still using the one from two years ago. All her school books were bought at the end of last year. Why was Mama lying?

  ‘I will bring you money tomorrow, but be more careful how you spend it. Now, I have to get to sleep. Tomorrow is a busy day at work.’

  Reeling from all she’d overheard, Natalie crept back into bed. It sounded silly and naïve, but until recently, she’d never really thought of her parents as anything other than ‘her parents’. She wished she’d never left bed.

  Chapter 6

  Natalie woke to the cheerful sound of chirping. She pulled aside her curtains and for a moment, the brilliant sunlight blinded her. Two Indian mynas busied themselves building a nest in her pear tree. They twittered from branch to branch, ducking between the glossy red tinged leaves, twigs and bark in their bright yellow bills. So carefree. Completely engrossed in the task. Working as a team. Natalie wondered if this was what Misha yearned for. This solidarity and companionship. Was that what marriage was all about?

  Natalie jumped into the shower, letting the hot water and scented soap soak away the tightness in her muscles. Tonight was the night of the party. She’d strained her brain over the past few weeks trying to figure out a way she could go. If she lied and told her parents she was going to the movies with Katelyn, they might insist on driving her there. She closed her eyes, squirming at the thought of running into Chris on Monday, and having to invent some weak excuse for not being at the party. He’d asked her if she was coming every time they walked home together.

  You sure you’re coming?

  Yes I’ll come, okay, but if you ask again, I won’t, she’d reply, wondering why she didn’t come clean and admit she wouldn’t be able to go. But the next day, when he’d ask again, she’d laugh and slap him or throw her hands up. It was all so easy with him. Conversation flowed, their sense of humour so similar. Even on the rare occasion when they ran out of things to talk about, the silence was never tense or uneasy. They both had dreams of travelling the world and trying exotic foods. She told him of her feelings about women’s issues and the injustices she’d read about, how she wanted to be a foreign correspondent and make a difference. He was really supportive of that, urging her to follow her passion. They liked the same Chinese fight movies, they both hated cheese, and he actually, genuinely thought her lame jokes were funny.

  Natalie jumped out of the shower, dressed and headed down to the kitchen to set the breakfast table. It was her turn this week. Baba insisted they share breakfast together every Saturday. Weekdays were hectic with everyone on a different school or work schedule, and Sundays were for church.

  She laid out cold meats, cheeses, olives, fresh bread, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. She put on a pot of tea and eggs to boil.

  ‘Sabah il heyr. Allah smiles on mornings like these.’ In his striped pyjamas, Baba reminded her of a prison inmate.

  He ruffled her hair, popped a couple of pieces of tomato in his mouth, and turned on the radio. A Middle Eastern presenter introduced a guest speaker and before long, they were discussing the refugee crisis. Natalie watched her father eat breakfast, listening so closely to everything that was being said, shaking his head and cursing. She saw him anew, a victim of abuse. A survivor. She shivered, awed at how he could still be so happy and unblemished by his past.

  ‘Selim, please get dressed.’ Mama bounced into the kitchen and kissed Baba on the cheek. ‘Listening to every piece of news on Syria only serves to upset you. Let’s go buy Selina and Nazir’s wedding gift. I want to go before the shops get busy.’ She sat down and helped herself to bread and olives. ‘Is the chai ready?’

  Natalie checked the teapot, even though she’d only just put it on. ‘Not yet.’

  Baba turned off the radio and trudged upstairs to change just as Misha stumbled in. Wearing her pink robe, her hair still in tangles, she yawned and sat beside Mama. She stacked her plate full. ‘I think I slept in a funny position. I’ve got pins and needles.’

  Mama grabbed her arm and gave it a rub. ‘There. All better.’

  Misha shoved some cheese and salami between two pieces of bread. ‘Mama, can you help me dye my hair today? I wanna put red in for the wedding.’

  Mama shook her head. ‘Your Baba and I are going shopping to b
uy the wedding gift. Oh, that reminds me.’ She grabbed her purse and pulled out four one hundred dollar notes. She handed Misha two bills, and Natalie the other two. ‘Go buy yourselves some nice dresses for the wedding.’ She eyed the kitchen door conspiratorially. ‘And don’t tell your baba about this. It’s just between us girls. Okay?’

  Misha’s eyes lit up. She threw her arms around Mama and gave her a kiss. ‘Shukran, Mama. All the girls at church are getting new dresses.’

  Natalie leaned in and gave her mother a kiss too. ‘Thanks, Mama.’ She stuffed her two bills into her pocket, wondering if this was why Mama had asked Baba for the extra money? But why lie about it? Or be so secretive. It just didn’t make sense.

  ‘Can you help me dye my hair tonight then, after you get home?’ Misha bit into her sandwich.

  ‘Nope. We are going out.’ Mama shimmied her shoulders. ‘Your baba is taking me to the casino on a date. If I win on the Roulette table, I’ll give you girls fifty dollars more apiece. That way, you can buy some new shoes as well. Wish me luck.’

  Misha pouted.

  Natalie put the teapot on the table. On the outside, she was calm, but inside her heart leapt for joy. Tonight was the night of the party. With her parents out at the casino, maybe she could go. Her hands shook, but she managed to keep her voice light.

  ‘I can help you tonight.’

  ‘Really?’

  Misha had asked her a number of times to help with dying her hair, but Natalie always refused. She’d helped once, a couple of years ago, and almost had her head bitten off for getting dye on Misha’s ears. They’d stopped speaking for three days over that incident. She wasn’t overly keen to repeat that experience, but she needed all the leverage she could get.