by Monia Mazigh
A surge of warmth spread throughout Emma’s body. Was it from the overheated room or from embarrassment? She couldn’t tell. She thanked Mrs. Bibi and turned towards the entry hall, Sara following silently along behind her. Mrs. Bibi handed her a cookie. Sara smiled and put it in her pocket.
Outside, a fine coating of snow covered the walk. From the first-floor window Mrs. Bibi watched the two silhouettes as they moved away, side by side. Rapidly their footsteps in the newly fallen snow vanished in the gathering darkness.
19
Sally believed she’d solved the puzzle of the anonymous virtual love letters. At least she thought she had. Who else could it be but that skinny, solitary boy who sat in the last row of her computer science course, the one who was always gazing off into space? It had to be him. Sally couldn’t prove it; it was just a hunch, of course. But she couldn’t rid herself of the thought, and with every passing day it became more and more of a reality. Whenever she received an anonymous message, it was as though she could hear him reading it. She would imagine his shy mouth, his pallid face, and the long, fine hair that almost hid his eyes.
There were moments when she had her doubts. Why should she have such vain thoughts? Why would a non-
Muslim boy be interested in her, a Muslim wearing a niqab? She knew the boy’s name; it was Sam. She remembered the day when she’d stayed on after the lecture to copy down some notes from the blackboard. Sam had walked by in front of her and she’d had a feeling he wanted to talk to her. But she kept her head lowered and he continued on his way towards the exit.
But how did he get her email address? Why wasn’t he interested in a normal girl — a white girl who didn’t hide her entire body, who didn’t have a mother who wore traditional Pakistani dress and a father who drove a taxi? Sally had no answer. She was deeply troubled. How could she be certain that those messages were coming from Sam?
Ever since the messages had broken through into her universe, Sally had felt as though she was becoming less strict in the practice of her religion. She did her prayers on time, read the Qur’an, listened to the sermons of her favourite sheikh, and proudly wore her niqab to university and didn’t let a single hair show, as was her custom. She participated in her forums on the Web and condemned the laxity of so many Muslims, the way they rejected the fundamental values of Islam. As recently as yesterday she had written, as Technogirl, Only a return to the fundamental values of Islam, to the traditions of our Prophet, peace be upon him, and of his first companions and the Holy Book can guide us in this world of perversity…
But deep inside, Sally knew that she had strayed from her path. Her heart was not as pure as it had been before those messages of love. Their lovely words had touched her deeply, as though she had let fine and gentle strange hands caress her body. She was flirting with the forbidden while not straying too far. Time and again she had sworn not to read the messages, but it was no use. The anonymous words drew her to them. She could no longer get them out of her mind. Her fervent promises of the night would evaporate the next morning when the first lines of verse appeared on the screen of her BlackBerry.
Fawzia Hussein was aware of her daughter’s transformation. Sally had become more amenable, less severe towards her and her husband. She no longer seized every opportunity to sermonize. She even ceased reminding her parents that the mortgage they’d signed years ago to purchase their house was haram. She stopped talking about Heaven and Hell. She stopped pointing out to her mother that her headscarf had slipped down and was showing her henna-tinted grey hair. Other things were clearly on Sally’s mind. She smiled more often, became angry less often. Almost like the daughter she had once been — except, of course, for the long black robe she wore, and the headscarf that covered her entire face except for the eyes.
Fawzia could not have known what lay behind Sally’s transformation. For her there could be only one reason: God had answered her prayers. Gradually she rediscovered the little pleasures that had deserted her when Sally took the niqab. Once again she resumed her little routines as she prepared Sally’s favourite dishes. From the kitchen came the sound of Pakistani music, the old songs she loved, and the pungent odour of spices pervaded the house. She hustled back and forth between the oven, the fridge, and the pantry. Once more she was the queen of her realm. The unhappiness of the past was all but forgotten.
20
Alice Gendron’s mind was made up: she was determined to lance the boil, to drain the pus, and find relief. It was high time she stopped denying how serious things had gotten. She had to talk to Louise the way she used to, before Louise met that guy Ameur and, along with him, that new religion of hers.
Alice was itching for a faceoff with her daughter, and what happened afterwards didn’t matter. “Haven’t I lost her anyway?” she asked. “She loves that boy, she calls herself a Muslim, she won’t look at me, she cooks her own meals so she doesn’t have to eat pork, she prays, she avoids talking to me . . . Doesn’t that mean it’s all over?” Alice continued to talk to herself, getting everything out of her system, gearing up to face her daughter as the world she’d so painstakingly constructed over the past twenty years collapsed in front of her eyes.
She was a determined woman, a fighter, and life’s problems didn’t intimidate her. She’d managed just fine when Pierre left her; she’d brought up Louise without help from anybody. But the way her relationship with Louise was heading disturbed her deeply, which made her hesitate before taking a final decision. It was a battle between heart and mind. On the one hand, she wanted to keep Louise close, to look the other way and keep on going, whatever the cost. On the other hand, she wanted to kick Louise out and get on with life without her, just as she’d done with religion, and with Pierre.
Did a mother’s love have to put up with bloody-
mindedness, with arrogance? But isn’t this what I deserve for being so open-minded? Alice wondered. Was she responsible or was she the victim? Where did the truth lie? She was no longer sure. How could she possibly be responsible for her daughter’s decisions? Her conviction was growing: it was time to have it out with her daughter. She would demolish her arguments; she would prove that her behaviour was the result of bad judgement, of misdirected curiosity, of simple childishness.
Now that her mind was made up, Alice felt relieved, less confused. She could concentrate on her work. As she strode down the hospital corridor she felt a surge of the old energy she had feared she’d lost forever. She completed her morning rounds, took her patients’ pulses, jotted down their blood pressure and temperature. Her movements were calm, precise. She always had a smile to spare, a word of encouragement for the sick. The day flashed by.
Alice got ready to go home. She took the bus but got off two stops before hers: she felt like walking. Winter had arrived but the temperature was still relatively mild. She felt upbeat, she felt like gulping in big breaths of fresh air. Snow covered the sides of the road; in some places it had turned black with pollution from the passing cars. She walked ahead with purpose, thinking about the best way to broach the subject with her daughter. She would be straightforward, ask her exactly why she had chosen to become a Muslim. She wouldn’t touch on the matter of Ameur. She would not judge her daughter, only listen to her.
Despite the relatively mild temperature, Alice began to shiver. She sped up, and surprised herself by climbing the stairs more quickly than usual. Louise hadn’t arrived yet, so she decided to prepare dinner. Ever since Louise had become a Muslim she’d almost turned vegetarian, but occasionally she bought a small quantity of chicken or meat at the Arab market not far from their building.
Alice usually never touched the little packages — it was up to Louise to use them as she wished — but tonight she wanted to demonstrate her goodwill. She removed two pieces of meat from the fridge, washed them, and put them in a saucepan with some spices and a few drops of oil. Then she prepared mashed potatoes with butter, milk, and grated cheese, the way Loui
se loved them. She had just finished preparing the meal when she heard Louise come in the front door.
Louise greeted her mother and headed for her room. It was time for her to pray. The smell of the meal filled the apartment.
As soon as she had finished praying, Louise went to the kitchen. Alice was seated, awaiting her daughter. Her face showed no emotion.
Louise put on her best, most neutral face. “Thanks for the dinner, Mum,” she said in a low voice.
“I used some of the meat you bought,” Alice replied.
Louise did not react, but she understood that her mother was trying to tell her something. Seated facing one another, the two began to eat.
“So, you really want to stay a Muslim?” asked Alice, the expression of disappointment on her face masking the beating of her heart.
“Mum, I’ve found happiness, a reason for living, and now you want me to turn my back on it all?” she replied.
“Are you turning your back on me, on the freedom I brought you up in? Is that it?”
Louise felt sick at the sound of her mother’s words. “No, I’ll never turn my back on you, Mum. But I’ve made another choice in life. Please, try to understand me. All I’m turning my back on is my old life . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. She was doing everything she could to control her emotions.
But Alice, cool and contained, went on. “Don’t you think you’re under the influence of your friend Ameur, that you’ve lost your ability to judge?”
That was the argument that terrified Louise. She piped up, “Mum, it’s true I love Ameur. But I’ve really chosen to become a Muslim. It’s my own choice, not his, believe me.”
Alice fell silent and stared straight ahead. She didn’t want to look at Louise’s emotion-wracked face. She had to leave the table. The two slices of halal meat lay untouched on her plate.
Louise stood up, eyes still moist with tears, and put her arms around her mother, then hugged her. How long has it been since the last time? she wondered.
Alice pretended to be unmoved. Was it the feeling of defeat after having tried everything? A few seconds went by.
Louise didn’t want to break away. She could smell her mother’s floral perfume. It reminded her of the warmth and peace of her childhood. Everything was always right, everything predictable. Why the conflict, why the constant quarrelling now? If we could only not talk about religion, she thought.
Alice let her daughter hug her, and felt once more the warmth of her arms. If only she would give up Ameur and those wild ideas of his… she thought.
Both women were holding fast to their positions; neither would give an inch. Only love still held them together. But it was a fragile and delicate link. How much longer could it hold?
Louise kissed her mother’s shoulder and then ran off to her room. She had a lump in her throat. Hugging her mother had lifted her spirits, brought her closer to the woman she feared had become her enemy. What must she do now to win back her confidence? She had no idea.
Alice remained seated in the kitchen, lost in thought. The morning’s enthusiasm had given way to sleepiness, to a powerful urge to forget, to escape. She looked at the meat that remained on her daughter’s plate, picked it up and deposited it on hers, sliced it into smaller pieces and put it in her mouth. It had gone cold. Even with the spices it had no taste; everything about it was insipid.
21
Daddy dearest,
Well, it’s New Year’s, with all the usual happiness, sadness, and surprises. There’s something new at home, though. You must have heard that Mommy hired a lady to give Lynne and Mona private lessons. I think it’s a great idea. They were having a lot of trouble in math. They really don’t have a choice in the matter — they’ve got to pass their courses in order to finish high school and get into university. She seems nice enough, but a little sad. But Lynne and Mona say she really knows her stuff. You know how unusual it is for them to like their teachers, so now I’m hoping they can improve their marks and pass their courses.
Nothing new on my side; I’m hoping this semester will be as good, if not better, than the last. For a couple of weeks now it’s been snowing steadily, and the whole town is covered with a blanket of white. In fact, the snow hasn’t stopped falling. And it hasn’t gotten any warmer either!
And how are you doing? I know how busy you are, and that you can’t afford to pay us a visit, but why don’t you call me more often? Give it a try! Here I’m beginning to make friends at university. Know what? I joined the Muslim Students Association! And it’s not bad at all. There are students from just about everywhere — Pakistanis, Arabs, and even some Canadians who converted to Islam. It’s a cool place. And nothing like the closed-minded people you find over there.
I met a Canadian girl who became a Muslim — Louise is her name. She’s really nice, and we get along very well. We organize lectures on various topics. That way I feel I’m doing something positive and also I can learn about a different world. I’m anxious to hear your voice. Take care —
Your daughter,
Lama
Lama stifled a yawn; it was time to turn in. She laid the letter down on her night table. Tomorrow she would post it. This session was shaping up to be much harder than the last. She’d signed up for a course in accounting that demanded a lot of effort. But challenges didn’t frighten Lama; she’d done well so far and had every intention of keeping up her good work.
Once she began to make friends at university she had felt less pressure to return to Dubai to live. Of course she missed her father — she could barely wait until summer, when he would visit them — but university was a new world for her. It had nothing to do with high school and all the adolescent foolishness that went on there. Was she growing up or was it simply that Lama was ready to break out of the family cocoon and build a different world for herself? Probably both. Lama was no rebel determined at all costs not to identify with her mother. But thanks to her friends, she was learning to recognize another face of Canada.
Lama’s efforts to find a foothold, to put down roots, were beginning to pay off. She divided her time between her courses and socializing with her new friends at the Muslim Students Association. Never once did she regret her decision to join, and she attended meetings regularly. She became involved in charitable work and chatted with other members about the stress of exams and the burden of classwork. No longer was she alone, but was surrounded by people just like her. Each one had his or her story to tell; each one was motivated to learn from life.
She thought about Louise, how kind she was, how open-minded. Lama was sure the two of them would become good friends. Nor had it taken her long to figure out that Louise and Ameur were in love. He was always looking in Louise’s direction, as if he was afraid of losing her. But Lama had noticed something strange in that young man’s eyes. She kept her distance; there was something about him she didn’t trust.
22
Over many long nights, Sally thought it through carefully. She visited all the websites she liked and respected. Nothing prohibited her from communicating with a boy by email. She could not see the boy, could not meet him, and therefore could not be attracted to him. She was sure the whole thing was one hundred percent halal.
But Sally hadn’t factored in one thing: she was caught in the clutches of a faceless virtual love. She had fallen for the tender words, for verses whispered by fingertips. Most of all, the sense of mystery had bewitched her, tempered her religious zeal and softened her intransigence. She was under the spell of the messages, which kept coming, and was seeking one thousand and one reasons to contact the unknown boy.
Besides, he wasn’t entirely unknown to her. For some time he had been signing his messages with an S. She suspected even more that it was Sam. Now she was preparing to answer him for the first time.
Hair falling free over her shoulders, she was seated on the edge of her bed. She wore one of the skir
ts her mother had bought her, the kind she had refused to wear until now. Her fingers were trembling. Again and again she prayed, “O Allah, protect me from danger!” Then, all at once, as if driven by a strange power, her fingers began to type on the tiny keyboard of her BlackBerry.
In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Dear S, I would like to thank you for all the messages you’ve sent me over the last few weeks. Your words are kind, and I’m really touched. I am ready to make your acquaintance, but on condition that you reveal your full name, and that you are Muslim. If you are ready to reveal your identity, I will continue to communicate with you; if not, this will be the last time I write. Sally.
Her fingers started to tremble again. Before pressing the Send button, she hesitated and reread her short message. The tone and the words she’d chosen seemed right. The message was firm and gentle at the same time. Firm enough to keep bad intentions at arm’s length, gentle enough to leave the door ajar.
Sally was proud of herself. By acting this way she had clearly displayed her religious convictions. She was convinced she was behaving correctly and that the sheikhs whom she followed so assiduously would be in complete agreement. She pressed the button. The message was sent.
From far away she heard her mother’s voice calling. She stepped out of her room, went down the stairs, and turned towards the kitchen. Fawzia was frying samosas. She had just stuffed them and was now dropping them one after another into a deep pot of hot oil, leaving them to fry long enough to turn a golden brown before removing them.
“Mommy, do you need anything?” Sally asked her mother solicitously.
Fawzia could hardly believe her ears. It had been a long time since her daughter had spoken to her like that. She smiled and looked her in the eyes. She could sense a change in her daughter’s attitude. Sally blushed and looked away.
