Black Keys

by Rose B Mashal

  It was like I had forgotten everything the two of us were going through at the mention of this subject matter. It was such a terrible thing to do, and I couldn’t believe that some people still practiced it.

  “If it has nothing to do with the religion, how did it start, then?”

  “I don’t know. Some people say that in the very old days, the enemies used to deflower young girls and teenagers in front of their fathers and brothers to humiliate them, to let them see how their enemy could do whatever they wanted to their girls right before their eyes without them being able to do anything about it.” she explained. “They say that they even used to do it using a sword or a knife.”

  “Oh, my God!” I gushed.

  “Yeah. So, the families after that used to deflower their girls themselves to prevent them from facing that fate or to make them less appealing to the soldiers, you know? It’s like that saying, I’m not sure what exactly it was but it’s something along the lines of ‘I’ll kill my children myself instead of handing them over to evil hands’–or something like that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “So basically after that people kept doing the same thing, thinking it was a sign of honor or whatever.”

  “That’s really, really nauseating,” I told her, still not able to process everything she was saying.

  “Some people say that ancient civilizations used to do it to satisfy the Gods of Evil, giving them something of the bride, and what is more precious for a girl than her virginity, right?” A wave of sadness washed over her pitiful-ever-after face as she said that.

  “Yeah.”

  “Some others say that the ancients did it to control the girl’s lust, by circumcising her once she was barely aware of things around her, then once again on her first night of her adult life, because they believed that the soul’s discipline comes only from pain and humiliation.”

  “Okay, seriously, we need to stop talking about that because I’m really going to throw up.” I wasn’t lying.

  Those people were nutcases!

  “I told you so.”

  “Remind me not to doubt you again.”

  Janna offered me a small smile–of course it didn’t reach her eyes, but it was there anyway.

  Such a young, beautiful girl with a heavy heart and troubled features.

  May God forgive you, Joseph. I never would.

  “There is something I don’t understand, Janna,” I said after yet another minute of silence, and she waited for me to continue. “Was it convincing to you and the family that I would just give up everything, including my parents’ company, and come live here just like that? Wasn’t it a bit strange to any of you that I would easily do something like that?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. Like I told you, I had some doubts, but Yoseph never said you’d give up your share of the company or anything like that. He told us that you would take care of the company’s branch here until it was finished, then you’ll be the manager of it from then on, while he takes over the management of the company’s headquarters in New York, which made sense and made it even more believable.”

  I nodded. At least he wasn’t going to try and take the company away from me. Because when it came to that, he could only try. It was my parents’ company. I would’ve killed for it.

  “I can’t stay here, Janna,” I told her honestly, finding her to be the only person I could tell this to because no one else would understand, just like I knew she found me to be the only one she could open her heart to because no one else would listen. “This is not my home. You have no idea how it’s hurting me that I’m away from my country and my people.”

  Janna’s troubled features turned into wretched ones. She looked like someone who was in great pain, like someone was pulling her heart out. Slowly. And I was really upset that I had once again reminded her of what her actions did to me. The prince’s words found their way into my head yet again: ‘It’s killing her’.

  But before I could apologize once again or remind her that I’d forgiven her, she asked, “Do you want to get a divorce?”

  “Obviously,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

  “What did Mazen say? Or haven’t you spoken to him about it yet?”

  “I did. He said we had to wait for six months. But, Janna,” I looked her in the eyes. “I can’t stay here for six months. I’ll die.”

  Our eyes stayed locked together in a strong stare, only to be broken by another tear falling from her eyes onto her cheek, matching the same motions that my own tears made.

  “I’ll fix my mistake, Marie,” Janna whispered.

  I looked at her with questioning eyes, frowning.

  “I’ll get you out of here.”

  “I’ll get you out of here.”

  Out of here. The only thing I longed to do since I’d stepped foot in this very room, two days ago.

  Out of here. The only thing I’d never wanted more in my whole life than I wanted it.

  Out of here. The only thing I never thought I’d want so much, and yet, when I saw a hope of it coming true, I’d feel so much worry and…fear.

  It was really confusing. I knew with every cell in my body that I wanted to leave the kingdom, that I wanted that ‘Out of here.’ That I needed to go back home. I knew it in my heart. I knew it in my mind, in my soul. But when Janna spoke the words, fear crept into my heart, and for a split second, I thought that it wasn’t actually something I wanted to do.

  “Uh-…what?”

  “I’ll get you out of here, Marie,” Janna whispered again.

  “What do you mean ‘get me out of here’? You mean I can leave? To my country?” My eyes were wide open and my throat was tightly closed.

  “Yes. That’s what you want, right?”

  “Uh…” What’s wrong with you, Marie Grace? You should be screaming in joy! “I mean…uh, yes, of course. But your broth-”

  “I know what he must’ve said, but just forget it, okay? I can’t stand the fact that you’re staying here against your will, on top of everything else that has happened to you. Because of me, that is. I’ll get you out of here and you’ll forget all of this in no time, like a bad dream, I promise,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

  “But-”

  “There is no but, Marie, let me help. Please, let me fix my mistake, please. I want to fix this.”

  What. Is. Wrong with you? A voice in my head screamed at me. I really didn’t know what was wrong with me. The way I was acting, all hesitant and scared, it wasn’t me. I knew I should be jumping up and down in delight. I was finally getting my wish. I was going to get out of this hellhole, with the help of someone who knew the place very well. I wouldn’t need to search for anything or run without any clue as to where I was going like I had planned to do. I should be grateful. I should pray and thank God for answering my prayers. Why the hesitation? Why?

  Suddenly, doubt filled my heart. What if this was all a game? What if Janna was testing me, just to learn my intentions and then go tell her brother? What if this was her way of getting back at me for causing all of this trouble between her and her husband?

  But, no. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t do that. She didn’t look like the kind of person who would do that. Just look at her: she was broken and hurt. She was begging me to let her help. She was regretful and only wanted to ‘fix her mistake’ as she put it. She couldn’t be that mean. Or, at all.

  I shrugged the thought away from my mind. It was crazy. I was being really paranoid. I should be thankful. Thankful, not doubtful and suspicious.

  “Uh...how?”

  Janna was just opening her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, we heard a knock on the door.

  I just stared at the door then looked at Janna when she didn’t say anything. She pointed with a side nod of her head towards the door, motioning for me to say something to let the person–whom I assumed to be Mona–in, reminding me that it was my place.

  My place?

  Where the heck
did that come from?

  “Come in,” I called.

  Like I’d assumed, Mona came in, her face now no longer covered. In her hand was something golden that looked like the World Cup, only without the ball, and there was smoke coming out of it.

  She looked surprised when she saw Janna but she didn’t say anything, only nodded her head once in greeting or acknowledgment which Janna returned with nod of her own.

  Mona then came toward me with the World Cup thing and held it near my face. My eyes widened in fright and I jerked myself back and away from it, shielding my face with my arm–which earned me confused looks from both Mona and Janna.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in terror. I couldn’t believe that Mona wanted to burn me with that thing.

  “Uh, what do you think, Princess?” Mona asked.

  “Think of what?”

  “The incense?”

  I moved my head a little from behind my arm and peeked at the World Cup, the strong, warm scent hitting me immediately.

  “Oh!” was all I replied with.

  “Do you approve, Princess?”

  “Approve of what?”

  “Uh, is the scent okay to you for me to spread it all over the wing? It’s a tradition, but you have to approve of the smell of it,” Mona explained.

  “Uh, yeah, okay.”

  Whatever!

  Mona moved around us, filling every corner with the sweet, exotic perfume. It smelled like a very strong kind of musk but with a hint of ambergris mixed to it. The mix smelled amazing, like nothing I’ve ever smelled before, and it kind of relaxed my anxiety a bit.

  There were no more words spoken between Janna and me; she seemed to be drowning in her thoughts while I watched what Mona was doing in amazement. It was an amusing sight.

  Mona then opened the sliding wall that separated us from the other side of the room and started doing the same thing with the incense as she had on this side. My eyes roamed all over the place searching for the prince, wanting desperately to know what he was doing for some reason unknown to me. I couldn’t find him.

  Finally, Mona knocked on the mirror-door that led to the sunroom, and the prince came out once she stepped inside, but only after waving the smoke in his direction, obviously enjoying the scent.

  The deep inhale of breath I watched him take in, and the way he closed his eyes in enjoyment, then the look of peaceful bliss that was painted on his beautiful face and the sweet, soft smile with his eyes still closed: it all did something to my stomach. It fluttered.

  I found myself watching him really closely and staring, enjoying and admiring, wishing really hard that he was closer so I could ogle better and see him even more clearly.

  I exhaled when he did, my expiration of breath coming out in a soft sigh that left my mouth parted and my eyes focused on the face of the most attractive man I’d ever known.

  The prince opened his eyes and as they found mine, the feeling of being in his arms came rushing back to me, consuming me with warmth and safety and making me blush under his heated gaze.

  The small smile that was on his lips grew into a one-sided, crooked one that I was very sure had broken so many hearts before. Said smile was infectious and it infected me, because the next thing I did was mimic it, giving it back to him, biting my bottom lip eventually and looking away when my blush deepened and my stomach flipped again.

  I heard him approaching and looked up. He stood behind where Janna was sitting and then said, “I apologize if I’m interrupting, but Janna should offer her prayer before the time is up.”

  Huh?

  “Oh, yes, I should,” Janna told me as she got up, straightening her clothes. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  Janna smiled slightly and walked to the same door she’d come from that led to the living room, then closed it behind her.

  I frowned. “That bathroom has another door?” I pointed behind me.

  “Every room has another door or...three, Princess,” he said. “This room has eight.”

  My eyes widened.

  “She’s not going to use this one, though. It’s only ours. There are four others she could use; she knows the place well.” He smiled softly.

  I really didn’t know anything in here at all. I had missed that tour yesterday when I passed out.

  I nodded.

  Ours. The word rang in my ears again. Why did I like the sound of it so much?

  “Excuse me,” the prince excused himself and went to our bathroom.

  Ours.

  Janna came back after a few minutes and asked about the prince. I pointed to the closet and she came and whispered, “Soon,” into my ear, then sent me a look of reassurance that held the unspoken promise of freedom.

  I nodded my head and begged my heart to settle down, for fear had found its way into it again. Fear of the unknown and fear of what I already knew. I was going to escape. It was big. Huge. But I was going to go home. It was all I wanted. So I calmed myself down, shrugged my fear away again. It should be fine. God would help me. He would.

  But I was going to be leaving him as well.

  What is wrong with you?

  What is wrong with you, Marie?

  Stop it. Stop it, now!

  By the time I woke up from my dazed and troubled thoughts, Janna had already followed the prince to the closet and hadn’t come out. My legs took me there.

  The closet was almost as big as the living room, which meant very, very big. Tons of shelves, hundreds of hangers, two dressers, a big wooden chest of drawers in the middle of the room and a large, magical chandelier above it.

  And I’d thought my closet was huge.

  The prince stood near the chest of drawers, and to his right–but a step behind–stood Janna, her hair covered and her hands folded above her stomach, the same position the prince was taking. I watched with amusement and a frown as they bent, kneeled and touched their heads to the floor–that had two small mats lying on the carpet–then got up and did it all over again. It seemed to me that the prince was taking the lead and Janna was following.

  The way they were standing, the humbleness in their poses, the quietness of their voices, and the peaceful hollow that surrounded them, made it easy to understand that they were praying.

  I’d never seen how Muslims prayed before–never really thought about it, but to be truthful–it was such a beautiful sight. Organized and neat.

  The fact that the two of them threw their problems away and stood together to pray before God was heartwarming. Because this was what religion should be about. Only this. Worshiping. Standing in front of God to pray, to thank, to ask. Religion is a feeling. Faith. Only God should be in your heart, to love him and be loved back by him. There should never be anything other than that. No killing in the name of God, or fighting over who was right and who was wrong, because, after all, religion is peace, love and...worshiping.

  We believe that we all worship the same God. Janna’s words found their way to my head, and my fingers found their way to my cross. I held it in my hand and hugged it to my chest, closed my eyes and prayed…just prayed. For God to be with me. And I knew my prayer would be answered just like every other prayer I’d ever prayed.

  “We only speak in English in the princess’s presence, Janna. I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to that,” the prince told Janna when she said something to him in Arabic after they finished their prayer, causing me to smile softly.

  “Oh, of course,” Janna said. “I’m sorry, Marie.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I was just asking, why are we praying in the closet?” she asked the prince.

  “She’s yet to see any of the other rooms; you know the tradition,” the prince answered with a sigh.

  “Oh!” Janna’s eyes were shocked, then they were sad, then ended up with being regretful.

  “Uh, what tradition?” I asked.

  “The husband is not allowed into any room before his wife,” Janna answered. “It’s
a sign of respect.”

  Oh!

  That’s…nice.

  I nodded with another soft smile. I didn’t tell them that it was my first time to see this closet and he has already been in it more than a few times. I didn’t want to upset him…for some reason. But it was really nice of him to respect this little detail of their traditions, even with him knowing that our marriage wasn’t like any other marriage and he didn’t really have to stick to the rules that much with me, or at all. I wasn’t going to judge. Heck, I didn’t know any of it in the first place.

  I wasn’t going to judge because I didn’t know…

  Was that what the prince had been telling me? ‘Don’t judge without knowledge,’ he had said earlier. Was it true that I didn’t really know anything about Arabs or Muslims and I shouldn’t be judging them to be killers and peace-haters? But…I did know that. I knew enough.

  Traps.

  Lies.

  Games.

  Maybe I was learning that a few of them were nice, but I still couldn’t trust them. And all of those thoughts–the stupid thoughts–I’d had about the prince should be forgotten. I wasn’t that dumb. I refused to be.

  The prince got up from his praying place and offered Janna his hand; she took it and stood up. “Woah!” she said.

  “Are you okay?” the prince asked his sister, tightening his grip on her hand.

  “Um…I’m not-” Janna sounded out of breath as if she’d just run a mile. “I–uh, I don’t feel–” She wasn’t able to finish her words before suddenly throwing up all over the floor, her dress, and…the prince.

  “Janna!” It wasn’t a complaint; it was a concerned call.

  I took a step back and looked away, listening to Janna as she gagged and apologized with a faint ‘Sorry.’ The prince hushed her with soothing promises of how ‘Everything will be okay,’ and ‘You’ll feel better now.’

  “Mona!”

  I thought she would come out of the sunroom since I hadn’t seen her leave it, but she came in through the main bedroom door, informing me silently and without me asking that the sunroom had another door.

  Too. Many. Doors. I groaned internally.