by Umm Zakiyyah
The tears slipped down Aliyah’s cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook. SubhaanAllah, she thought, overcome with emotion. You really never knew where the blessings of Allah would come from.
Chapter 12
It’s All Under Control
Deanna lay on her back staring at the ceiling in the guest bedroom of her parents’ home on a Thursday evening, two weeks after the assault incident. The down comforter was gathered at the lower half of her body, and her fists were tucked under her arms, her jaw set in annoyance. A tray of food sat on the mahogany wood chest next to the king-size bed. She had managed to eat only a few bites before feeling nauseated. It was difficult to maintain an appetite amidst all the commotion in her head. She had thought she could pass time by watching television, but when she saw a photo of Aliyah, laughing and carefree, dressed in a revealing dress, natural hair cut and styled attractively, Deanna promptly powered off the television.
Aliyah has some nerve, Deanna thought indignantly, shamelessly displaying herself like that in front of thousands of people—and in front of my husband. It was clever though, Deanna admitted bitterly, giving the media alluring pictures like that. After that ruse, it was only natural that Aliyah would be labeled the “hot” mistress while Deanna was viewed as some nutcase.
At the thought of Jacob seeing those photos, Deanna’s body was aflame in fury. Frustrated, Deanna kicked the covers from her legs. “Is this stupid A.C. even on?” she muttered aloud, glancing around the room.
“You should apologize to her,” suggested Deanna’s aunt, of all people.
“For what?” Deanna had recoiled. “She had that coming. She’s lucky the security guard pulled me off of her.”
“She was at work, baby. That was wrong.”
“Well, she was at work flirting with my husband.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And neither do you.”
“I just remember when my husband used to accuse me of—”
“Do not compare me to that sorry excuse of a man.”
Deanna recalled her aunt’s look of hurt and disappointment after she’d said that. I should apologize to Aunt Stacy, Deanna thought, her chest constricting in regret. She groaned in self-rebuke, annoyed that she had allowed Aliyah’s antics to make her step out of character and disrespect her aunt. How long was she going to allow Aliyah to ruin her life? Deanna should have listened to Juwayriah and befriended only secure, married women who had their lives together.
“I didn’t know until later that Jacob called your uncle about marrying me! I didn’t know, Deeja!”
Deanna gritted her teeth. Yeah right. Then where did he get the idea to call your uncle in the first place? Men didn’t just call a woman’s marriage guardian unless the woman had already given him the go-ahead—and unless the man and woman had already spoken to each other about marriage.
But it was good that Aliyah had let that slip. If she hadn’t, Deanna would never have known the extent of Aliyah’s backstabbing. How dare Aliyah encourage Jacob to take her as a second wife behind Deanna’s back. That was low.
“It’s nothing personal, Deeja,” Aliyah had said when she cut off their friendship. “I just have a lot going on right now, and I can’t handle anything else.”
Deanna snorted. I bet you do, trying to steal husbands and such. How could you handle anything else?
Deanna should have known right then that something wasn’t right. Now it made sense why Aliyah had kept avoiding her and refusing her calls. She could barely look Deanna in the face when she cut off their friendship. No, it wasn’t personal, Deanna agreed. Because Aliyah ending the friendship had nothing to do with Deanna, and everything to do with Aliyah’s guilty conscience.
But I’m going to be the bigger person, Deanna told herself.
Forgive, forgive, forgive. That’s what Deanna’s mother always advised, and maybe that’s what Deanna needed to do to let go of the resentment that was eating at her.
“By any means necessary, girl,” Deanna would often say. “That’s my motto when you see a man you want.”
Trepidation gripped Deanna. What if her current predicament was a karma of sorts, coming back to haunt her for how she had convinced Jacob to marry her? Allah created the world round, Deanna had heard an imam say. So whatever you throw out will come back to you.
Deanna’s stomach convulsed. What if Aliyah was now adopting that motto for herself?
“Just pray on it, baby,” her mother had said earlier as she sat on the edge of the bed, petting Deanna’s hair affectionately.
But Deanna had not prayed on it. In fact, she had not prayed at all since the ordeal. Because she was afraid that she didn’t deserve any blessings from her Lord.
***
Stress debilitates, Jacob thought to himself as he sat on the soft prayer mat in his home office after performing Istikhaarah Thursday evening. He could hear the shouts, grunts, and stomps of excitement and frustration as Younus and Thawab played the Wii together. He had helped them with their homework earlier and allowed them a few games after dinner, but soon Jacob would have to tell them to go to bed because they had school in the morning. But right then, he needed to sit still and clear his head.
For the past week, he had spent extended time in self-reflection and sought advice from people he trusted regarding whether or not to divorce Deanna. It had been difficult to put aside his apprehension about others knowing what he was going through, but he was at a breaking point and could no longer suppress the pain and confusion he’d battled for so long. He’d reached out to Benjamin, the local imam, Dr. Melanie Goldstein, and even his own father; and everyone advised him similarly. Seek reconciliation and do marriage counseling.
But Jacob didn’t want marriage counseling. And what was there to reconcile? Jacob wanted psychological and emotional freedom from the shackles of a suffocating, unhealthy relationship. Could arbitration or marriage counseling guarantee him that? This isn’t love, he’d told himself. This is laborious obligation.
After learning of his wife’s painful past, Jacob had felt obliged to be a source of protection and comfort for Deanna. From the moment she’d divulged what happened to her when she was eight years old, Jacob could see right through Deanna’s bright smiles and claims of “I forgive him” and “I am walking with the Lord.” Deanna hadn’t forgiven Bailey (or her father) for what happened in the church basement so many years ago. And how could she? She had never allowed herself an honest assessment of what had happened in the first place.
Part of Jacob’s determination to remain by Deanna’s side was the desire to be a positive counter balance to how her parents, especially her father, had handled the trauma. Her father’s dismissiveness and his ultimate blaming of Deanna herself was likely more traumatic than the rape itself. Though well-intentioned, her mother merely exacerbated Deanna’s troubles through inciting guilt. “Good Christians love their enemies,” she’d told Deanna. “So if you are showing any anger, then God is not happy with you.”
What does that even mean? Jacob had thought angrily. Love is not word or a claim. It is an action-based reality that stems from a definite feeling in the heart, even if the word “love” is never used to describe it. Even when he was a Christian himself, Jacob was often perplexed by the “love your enemies” message being used as a religious measuring stick for the goodness of a person. Why would God ask us to love our enemies? he wondered. Jacob imagined that to even attempt such a feat would result in some form of self-aggrandizing dishonesty within oneself or self-righteous contempt for the object of that “love.”
When as an adult Jacob read in the Qur’an God’s instructions to consistently strive for peace, justice, and mercy when interacting with one’s enemies, what Jacob had learned as a Christian began to make sense. Perhaps the meaning of the original biblical concept had gotten lost in translations and rewrites over time, but the difference between the Christian concept of “love your enemies” and the Islamic concept of se
eking peace, justice, and mercy was not insignificant. The former was rooted in a state of the heart while the latter was rooted in a person’s behavior.
But only behavior was in one’s control.
In Deanna seeking to do the impossible—force her heart to love what she (justifiably) loathed—she had incited a cycle of personal deception. Through believing that she was obligated to love her rapist, she had developed an inability to distinguish between love and contempt (because religious doctrine had effectively made them synonymous). Through following her mother’s advice to “put a smile on your face, and walk with your head high” before ever giving herself permission to grieve and feel disgusted, Deanna had learned that external facades dictate internal realities.
But, in Jacob’s view, the most destructive message Deanna had been given was, You are better than this. You are better than the wicked and sinful. You are walking with the Lord. As far as Jacob could surmise, Deanna’s wholehearted belief in this mantra was the single most significant factor in destroying their marriage. It had incited such pathological arrogance that it permeated their every conversation and interaction. By her wide smile alone, Deanna reeked of incorrigible narcissism.
How then could any meaningful, lasting reconciliation take place?
Perhaps the “you are better” mantra had held considerable value at the time of the rape, but it was a harmful ideology to carry into other contexts. Without viewing this belief system as conditional upon her own adherence to non-wicked, non-sinful behavior, Deanna destructively believed that the wicked and sinful were always “the other”—and that in every context, it was she who was “walking with the Lord.” This self-glorification led her to hold in contempt the very people she claimed to help: broken and abused women.
If a woman didn’t stand up for herself like Deanna felt she should, if a woman didn’t appear strong or courageous enough to leave a bad situation, if a woman appeared generally unhappy, broken, or troubled by her struggles in life; Deanna viewed her with condescending, unmerciful scorn, even as Deanna claimed to be full of love and concern…
Because, from eight years old, that was how Deanna had learned to treat herself.
Jacob sighed as he stood and walked over to his desk. He hesitated only briefly before picking up his phone and dialing his wife.
***
At the sound of the familiar ringtone, Deanna scrambled out of bed and rushed to the dresser to retrieve her phone. Even as her heart raced for fear of missing the call, Deanna smiled inwardly. She had known it would be only a matter of time before Jacob caved into loneliness and begged Deanna to come home. There had been moments that she was tempted to call him or drop by the house to check on him and the boys, but she’d resisted. She didn’t want to give Jacob any reason to think she believed anything was her fault. By now he should be racked with guilt for sending her over the edge like that, and for allowing the college (and Aliyah) to secure a restraining order against her.
But she would forgive Jacob, Deanna decided as she put her ear to the phone and answered the call. That was the right thing to do. Be the bigger person, she told herself. A smirk crawled on her face as she softly said, “Hello?” She wanted him to hear the sensuality in her voice. She wanted him to hear an independent, confident woman who didn’t need him, not a broken, helpless woman pining over him.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Jacob said.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam wa-rahmatullaah,” Deanna sang, as if pleasantly surprised to hear from him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said hesitantly. “Is now a good time?”
Deanna’s lips twitched as she suppressed a smile, unable to contain her sense of triumph. I’ll give him a hard time, she decided mischievously. Then I’ll put on something nice, drive back home, and slip into bed next to him. “Um…” she said, feigning doubt. “…I’m in the middle of something, but—”
“Then I’ll just call back la—”
“No, no,” she said, perhaps too quickly. “It’s okay. I can step away for a moment and talk to you, no problem.” She sat on the bed and toyed with her hair as she held the phone to her ear. “What’s on your mind, baby?”
“I want a divorce.”
For a fleeting moment, Deanna felt faint. It was as if she were in the church basement and Jacob glared condescendingly at her while his words conveyed comfort and affection. In her mind’s eye, Jacob smirked as he approached sneakily, giving her a once-over before holding her in a suffocating embrace.
“Baby,” she said, laughing throatily, nervousness and panic pricking her all over. “You don’t want a divorce. You just want to talk.” She spoke as if convincing a young child. “You’re upset, and you’re not thinking straight.” She laughed again and tugged at a lock of hair. “Forget Aliyah. Don’t listen to her silly suggestions. She’s not right for you. I am.”
“This isn’t about Aliyah. This is about us. I want a divorce,” he said again, more resolute this time. “But Allah says reconciliation is best, so I’m calling to ask what is most comfortable for you. Marriage counseling or—”
Deanna laughed out loud, hoping in that sound that Jacob would see the ridiculousness of his words. “No, no, baby. We don’t need marriage counseling. We work things out on our own.”
She smirked as an idea came to her suddenly. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll come over now, then we can—”
“No,” Jacob said so sternly that Deanna flinched. “I’m not interested in sexual manipulation. We need arbitration from our families, or we need a good marriage counselor. Which is it?”
The question hung in the air like a hard slap.
Deanna’s chin trembled in fury and she lifted a side of her upper lip in a sneer, the passing silence a stubborn impasse.
“I’ll take that as you trust my judgment,” Jacob said after more than a minute passed. “Insha’Allah, I’ll let you know what I decide. As-salaamu’alaikum wa-rahmatullah.”
The silence was more definite this time, and Deanna could barely breathe for the shock she felt right then.
“I don’t let that man worry me,” her mother had said years ago when Deanna complained about how stubborn her father was. “He can huff and puff and act like a slighted king if he wants. But I hold the keys to that kingdom. Yeah, I’ll smile and play the good wife so he feels like a man. But when that door closes,” she said, gesturing toward the bedroom, “I’m the master.” Her mother laughed. “And I’ll tell you what. Once I’m done with him, he can’t even remember what he was upset about.”
Deanna glanced at the clock on the wall then quickly opened the walk-in closet and wheeled out her luggage. She kneeled and unzipped the bag and yanked out several pieces of lingerie that she had stashed there.
***
Jacob’s thoughts were distracted as he walked to Younus and Thawab’s room. Even as Jacob opened the room door and told his sons to shut down the game, he sensed an urgency greater than school that made him insist that they go to bed right away. But it wasn’t until he had prayed, taken a shower, and rubbed cologne on his chest that he was able to fully admit he was hoping Deanna would come home tonight.
His rational mind told him that now wasn’t the time to give into carnal weakness, but physically, he yearned for his wife’s body next to his. The chemistry between them was so compelling that at times he imagined that, based on intimacy alone, he could remain with Deanna forever. But Jacob hated the man he had become with her. Perpetual stress numbed him into inactivity, and he was morphing into only a shell of the man he used to be. He was beginning to feel as if he was trapped inside his own body.
Jacob climbed into bed and pulled the heavy covers over him, his thoughts muddled as he imagined the pleasurable release Deanna’s arrival would bring.
You know you love me. In the space between sleep and wakefulness, Jacob heard Deanna’s coquettish teasing. So shut up about all that silly divorce talk. You know you can never live without me. Who would want you anyway? A t
hroaty laugh and playful wink. I’ll see to that. So don’t mess with me, boy. I’ll make your life hell. I’ll take your sons from you, and you’ll never see them again…
At the sound of a door closing, Jacob jolted awake, sitting up in bed. Heart racing, his thoughts instinctively went to Younus and Thawab. Would Deanna stoop that low? The trepidation gripped him until his breath caught. Panicked, he threw the comforter from his body. Wearing only boxer shorts, he pulled the bedroom door open, the brass door handle banging against the wall as he rushed out. He was panting when he opened the door to his sons’ room and found them sleeping peacefully, the covers pulled up to their shoulders. Jacob exhaled in a single breath, throwing his back against the doorway and rolling his eyes to the ceiling in exhausted gratefulness.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, baby.”
The scent of Deanna’s perfume tickled Jacob’s nostrils, and the sound of her voice prickled his skin. Yet the lull of her presence alone sent his heart racing in desire before he even turned his head.
“Is everything okay?” Deanna said flirtatiously.
Jacob met her gaze just as her soft, long fingers cradled the closely cropped beard of his face. Before he could speak, she drew him into a passionate kiss. His shoulders fell, the tense agitation leaving as Deanna dropped her arms and massaged his lower back.
