by Holly Rayner
“Let’s talk,” he repeated.
“We’re in the Middle East now,” she said factually. “So, aside from pretending to be affianced, I should probably also know, you know, how not to offend people… with my American-ness.”
“You’re trusting stereotypes and American propaganda?” he asked, only partially joking. “You’re not seriously concerned are you?”
“No,” she shrugged, dancing around the pool. “In fact, I’ve always wanted to come; I just want to make sure I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. He made his way to the poolside and held onto the edge as the floor dropped to a deeper area. “Ask away.”
“Tell me more about the culture here,” she said simply. “Is it… strict? Do people hate Americans?”
“Oh, come on!” he laughed. “No, not at all. My father has been the ruling monarch for as long as I can remember, and he’s always been fairly progressive.” He paused, as if wondering what else there was to tell. “Rabayat isn’t so strict about tradition; you’ll find things are a little more relaxed here than in some other areas in the region.”
“So… do I have to cover my face?”
He thought for a moment. “Not if you don’t want to; especially not here, or out in the markets. If we approach any spiritual grounds or temples, you might want to cover yourself—just out of respect.”
She nodded at this, taking a mental note as he continued.
“Saying that, you may want to cover yourself, anyway—if only to avoid the sun. Temperatures are usually in the mid-to-high 90s here.”
“Yeah,” Amie said, splashing some water on herself. “I’ve noticed. And what about my clothes; can I show my ankles?”
“Ha-ha,” he mocked. “People here tend to dress modestly, but ankles are definitely in the clear.”
“Okay, and what about being touchy-feely in public?”
“Well,” he mused, “Obviously people should know we’re a couple, just follow your common sense, and be polite. Easy, right?”
She smiled. “Okay, and what if someone flirts with me?”
“If anyone is flirting with you, don’t worry about kicking up a fuss,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “He’ll leave you alone. However, you’ll be with me…” he laughed, “Pretty much all the time, so I doubt anyone would hit on you with me standing right there. Our culture generally isn’t like that.”
“So, wait…” She paused. “All the time?”
He laughed. “Mostly. So you’d better start liking me soon!”
When it came to cultural differences, there were so many stereotypes Amie had never given a second thought to; what one person thought of as oppressive, others found respectful. When speaking of his mother and the experience of Rabayat women, Malik explained that a husband is to protect his wife as he would protect himself, because she is the guardian of his honor. When asked if women were oppressed in Rabayat, he scoffed playfully and told her that the women here were strong, proud, educated professionals. He spoke of his mother and sister with the utmost respect, telling Amie how these strong figures were the main influences in his early life.
However, he said, when he arrived in America, the notion of female friends seemed preposterous when a woman could be a lover. The respect he spoke of his mother with, and the blithe attitude he held regarding his playboy ways back in Chicago made Amie wonder how these two opinions could be held by the same person.
Re-focusing on the conversation at hand, Amie began, “I read that in the Middle East the husband gets the final say, and if he puts his foot down on an issue,” she paused for dramatic effect, “well, the wife had better listen!”
Malik frowned; his lips then softening to a gentle grin. “Sure… in theory, that’s true. But to be honest, Middle-Eastern men like peace in the home as much as Western ones do. Happy wife, happy life.”
She laughed. “Okay, what about sex? You’ve said you’re not supposed to be affectionate in public, so how does anyone have sex, you know, outside of marriage?”
He shrugged. “We sneak around as much as Americans—we just don’t get caught.” He laughed. “Though when a man is ready to marry, he usually sends his mother out to find him a suitable wife.”
“Yikes,” Amie said, her eyes widening. “Isn’t your mother going to be mad that you brought me here, then? Will she be mad because I’m not from here?”
“Given the circumstances?” He splashed about in the water. “She’s thrilled, trust me. She’ll show you a thing or two about women from Rabayat. They are certainly not passive, secondary citizens.” He laughed. “Trust me, when you meet my mother, you’ll know.”
“When will that be?”
He laughed once more. “This weekend, actually. It is the festival of the Nine Nights. It commemorates the liberation of slaves in Rabayat. The Great Liberation took place centuries ago, but it is still enthusiastically celebrated today—my people love a party.”
Amie’s eyes nearly lit up with sparkles. Sure, she’d met Malik’s father and sister already, but his mother was the person she’d really need to prove herself to. It was going to be the performance of a lifetime, and there was an awful lot hanging in the balance.
EIGHT
Later that week, after a few days of exploring the local markets, and evenings spent playing chess and watching old movies, the time finally came to attend the festival. Amie wore a long dress and a stylish hijab to be polite.
She wasn’t sure why, but she was genuinely excited about meeting Malik’s mother. She felt tingles in her stomach and desperately wanted to come across as likable; to have this woman think she was good enough for her charming son. It was all ridiculous, she knew, considering their entire arrangement was a farce, but some part of her ego desperately wanted his mother to find her charming; to believe in her performance.
On the way to Rabayat City, Malik told an enraptured Amie about the customs that accompanied the festival: there would be dances, local music, camel races, and a huge parade. As they stepped out of the limo, they were hit by a wall of heat, but there was no shortage of locals selling water and refreshments.
The festival was a bustle of colors, tourists, bustling market stalls, and an amazing array of foods. Amie and Malik passed the time watching the festival goers, laughing as people took colored powder and threw it into the air. The powder would catch on to sweat and moisture, caking participants in a rainbow of colors.
A few hours later, Amie, too, was baked in a rainbow of colors; her brown hair now a mess of purple, yellow, and red, and her carefully painted on makeup all done for nothing. The air smelled like heat, sand and smoke and just when she was ready to sit down and rest, Malik told her the time had come to introduce her to his mother.
The woman walked up with her husband, somehow incredibly clean from the festivities, and looked her son over with no small level of suspicion. Zafina was there, as well, and whispered something to her mother as the three of them approached.
“This is her, then?” his mother asked Malik, giving him a pointed look. So much for her not being judgmental!
Amie looked the woman over. She had a round face and high cheekbones that gave her an air of grace. She had beautiful skin, though not without its fair share of wrinkles. She looked tired and wore no makeup, but revealed a beautiful smile that reminded Amie of Malik’s. She wore a cream-colored hijab and a yellow dress with arabesque patterns of foliage and tendrils. It was a beautiful piece that Amie could only imagine had cost an arm and a leg.
“Mother,” Malik said with a smile, kissing her on both cheeks before gesturing towards Amie. “This is my fiancée, Amie Shaw. Amie, this is my mother, Sadira.”
“Such a beautiful name,” Amie said, taking on her professional woman tone and smiling warmly at Sadira. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
They walked for a few blocks before anyone properly spoke to Amie; the family too busy catching up on Malik’s life in America to begin asking her questions about herself. Every so oft
en, his mother would look Amie up and down and nod slowly.
During their walk together, Amie was surprised at how many locals came up and asked Malik if she was his new American bride-to-be. Clearly the royal family were well-liked and respected, as all of the passers-by would give over-enthusiastic congratulations to the couple and fire all manner of questions at them: when was the wedding date, would they be getting married in Rabayat?
In truth, Amie hadn’t thought about any of those details. She was great on her feet, though, and managed to give answers that only seemed to further excite those asking. While not everyone who approached Malik spoke English, they were all kind and congratulatory and made her feel truly welcome in their country.
They spent the afternoon with Malik’s family, enjoying the festivities, before Sadira finally asked Amie if she would go for a walk with her. Amie looked to Malik with wide eyes, seeking help, but he merely laughed and waved an over-exaggerated goodbye with his hand.
They wandered between stalls selling spices and pastries, taking in the sights and sounds of the festival around them, until Sadira stopped in front of a jewelry vendor and turned to face her, addressing her solemnly. “You love my son?”
“Very much, yes,” Amie said with a polite nod.
“What do you love about him?” Sadira asked briskly.
Amie took a breath and pretended to look over the handmade jewelry laid out before them. “He has a good heart,” she said. “I know he’s very proud of his business, and he should be; he’s smart, he’s kind, and he makes me laugh.”
“A happy marriage is important. You can’t be happy if you can’t laugh. Laugh at your faults, your mistakes, whenever you can,” she said slowly, finally relenting to a small smile. “You know he has a reputation in the United States?”
Amie nodded slowly. “Yes, I know.”
“Sometimes, men…” Sadira slowed her sentence; choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes they don’t possess the same virtues that we do, but when they repent it is our duty to forgive them. Do you believe in God?”
Again, Amie nodded; Malik had told her how important faith was in his culture and suggested that even if it wasn’t true, it would probably be safer to call herself a believer.
Sadira seemed satisfied with this, until her face twisted to a new thought. “You know my Malik is a wealthy man?”
“I do,” Amie said, giving a small, polite laugh. She looked into Sadira’s eyes but the woman would not return the gaze. “His home here is truly lovely.”
“You like the Middle East?”
Sadira’s words were harsh; pointed. She was clearly looking for something to pick fault with. Suddenly Amie realized she must be experiencing the kind of interrogation her father put her high school boyfriends through.
“I haven’t been here long,” Amie said coolly, “but already it feels like home.”
Sadira seemed to consider this and adjusted her hijab before fingering through the jewelry in front of her. “Your engagement ring is beautiful,” she said finally, her accent bearing over her words. “American in style, but no less beautiful for it.”
“Shukran,” Amie spoke her thanks in Arabic, hoping Sadira might appreciate her attempt—she’d asked Malik to teach her several words so she could wow the locals with her efforts.
Her attempt seemed to work, and suddenly Sadira gave an ear-to-ear smile and put her hand gently on Amie’s back. “Do you work?” she asked simply.
“Yes. I run a large theater; very successful.”
“Malik says you’re a woman who knows the value of hard work,” Sadira said slowly. “Do you make a lot of money?” She laughed. “I know I shouldn’t ask these things, but I want to know everything about you.”
“I make enough, yes,” Amie grinned. It felt nice to be able to brag, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. “It’s nice knowing that I’m financially secure.”
“Oh, but Malik!” Sadira protested, “Malik will take care of you. Tell me, will you keep working if you have children? You do want children?” She beamed and her face flushed red. “To be a grandmother, I would be honored.” She began to giggle and make tickling gestures with her hands, gushing, “Those little feet!”
Amie grinned. “Of course. We want a big family!” she exclaimed, and suddenly all of Sadira’s walls seemed to crumble down.
“You will be a beautiful mother,” Sadira said happily, running her hands through Amie’s mess of thick, chocolate-colored hair. “Look at this hair! When Malik came out, I thought he was a camel!”
“He was that hairy?” Amie giggled, making eye-contact with her faux mother-in-law.
“Oh!” Sadira joked, gesturing with her hand, as though she couldn’t describe it even if she tried. “I’ll show you pictures, you’ll be terrified! But such a handsome man he turned into.”
Amie grinned. “That he did.”
The two continued talking as they strolled around the market; Sadira talking about growing up in the Middle East, meeting her husband, who she only later found out was to become the ruling monarch. She explained to Amie how she used to work at children’s hospitals, and how she was determined to use her position to further the progressive and economic agenda. She told Amie she worked obsessively until childbearing stole her heart away. Her children were everything, and from the sounds of it, she was a fantastic mother.
To Amie’s surprise, Sadira also spoke of the rumors of Malik’s bachelor lifestyle in the USA and her disappointment in him, considering how she raised him to respect women.
By the time they’d been round all of the stalls, eventually ending up at the same jewelry vendor where they’d really started talking, there was no question as to whether Sadira enjoyed Amie’s company. The woman did nothing but laugh and share—overshare, actually—all the details of her life. She continually told Amie how beautiful she was and how she couldn’t wait to help plan their wedding. This sentiment made Amie feel a tinge of guilt, especially when Sadira insisted that since Amie’s mother wasn’t in the Middle East with her, she would take on the role as best she could.
Ouch.
Finally, with a signal to the vendor, who was eyeing them with interest, Sadira grabbed an oval-shaped, green stone ring from the stall and placed it in Amie’s hand. “Here,” she said, “I want you to have this.”
Amie nearly glowed as she stared down at the ring. It was a deep green stone with unique flecks and different shades of green and blue throughout. It was set in a silver casing with a band that looked like a twisted silver rope. It was a stunning.
“It’s gorgeous!” Amie exclaimed, as Sadira handed over several colorful bills as payment. “It’s so beautiful, Sadira. Shukran!”
Sadira laughed. “Well, now you have both American and Rabayati rings to remember your culture by. You’re one of us now, after all.”
NINE
More than three weeks had passed since the festival of the Nine Nights. Amie had since had several more outings alone with Malik’s mother and sister and was feeling absolutely secure in the success of her and Malik’s ruse. They’d spent the last few weeks attending functions, hospital benefits, and family dinners, all the while keeping up appearances as a happy engaged couple.
The only problem? The more time they spent together, the more Amie struggled to draw the line between fantasy and reality. This was especially true today, as Malik informed her that he had a surprise for her: they would be spending the weekend somewhere outside of the city.
Malik made use of his jet once more and flew the two of them from Rabayat to Egypt in just a few hours. By lunchtime, they had arrived in beautiful Cairo.
As their taxi pulled into the city, Amie exclaimed that it was everything she had pictured it to be; a sprawling metropolis, deeply rooted in its ancient past. There were urban shopping areas and large malls, as well as palm trees and familiar highway traffic. The beautiful architecture of the buildings made her swoon, and the bustling downtown left nothing to be desired. The heat beat
down on them relentlessly, but Amie wouldn’t have it ruin her day trip.
Amie couldn’t help jumping for joy with every famous attraction or historic site they passed. Malik mocked her as an over-enthusiastic tourist, which was when she informed him that she’d never been outside of the United States before—even back home, she’d only visited a few places: Indiana, Chicago, New York and Colorado. She was seeing things she’d only ever seen on documentaries or travel programs.
Malik took her to the bazaar district and told her in Egypt haggling was the norm. He tried his best to help her find the best deals. There were endless souvenirs of famous pharaohs and Ancient-Egyptian-inspired jewelry; so many, in fact, that by the end of it Amie couldn’t choose any one thing to take home with her.
