by Umm Zakiyyah
“Go ‘head, girl!” someone shouted. “We’re listening!”
“Okay…” The woman smiled awkwardly as she fumbled with her papers. “This is um… I just wrote something, um…” She forced laughter, as if in apology for her nervousness. “I’m sorry... I’m not used to speaking in front of people…”
“We’re right here with you, ukhti! No judgment. Just share your truth.”
“…so…um…okay…” She drew in a deep breath then exhaled, her breathing jagged from nervousness. “This doesn’t really have a title, but it’s about how I lost my best friend because of polygyny.”
Aliyah was immediately reminded of her broken friendship with Deanna.
The woman shut her eyes as if to mentally coax herself into gathering her composure. “I lost my best friend because of polygyny,” the woman said, her eyes opening as she looked at the paper in her hands. “But not for the reasons you might think. She didn’t try to marry my husband, and I didn’t try to marry hers.” The woman smiled and shook her head, as if lost in a memory momentarily. “Allow me to explain,” she said.
“My best friend and I met in high school,” she said. “And I was always the strong one.” She laughed nervously and glanced at the crowd. “If that’s not too hard to believe,” she added jokingly. “Lori had it rough growing up and was a bit quiet and withdrawn. So I was always fending off bullies and telling people to leave her alone. I guess I saw myself as her protector. But even back then, she’d tell me to let it go. She said everything doesn’t require a fight. She said some things can just be ignored.”
Aliyah averted her gaze, recalling having similar thoughts whenever her mother or siblings would say she should speak up more.
“But I knew better,” the woman said sarcastically, “like I did for everything. So when she started hanging out with Arabs and Pakistanis, I told her she should be careful because they were probably terrorists or part of some sleeper cell.”
There was a ripple of awkward laughter in the crowd.
“And when she decided to become Muslim and talked about wearing hijab, I rushed to call her parents and tell them their daughter was hanging out with a dangerous crowd.” The woman smiled sadly. “Needless to say, Lori never wanted to speak to me again. ‘You never see me,’ she kept saying. ‘You never listen.’ And of course, I was offended that she couldn’t see how I was just trying to help.”
The woman drew in a jagged breath and exhaled nervously. “So anyway, after high school, we lost touch and went our separate ways. But a few years later, I met this wonderful guy and fell in love. But there was only one problem. He was Muslim.” She smiled hesitantly. “Yes, I became that girl. I fell in love with religion because I fell in love with a man. But that’s not the point.”
Her hands trembled slightly as she looked at the paper. “I became Muslim and married him, and we ended up living in the same community as my friend Lori, who I found out was married now and had a child. She was ecstatic when she found out I was Muslim, and we reconnected just like old times. But this time, she was the strong one. I was really proud of the changes I saw in her. She was active and well-known in the community, and she and her husband were doing all these amazing programs at the masjid.”
Where do sisters find good men like that? Aliyah wondered. If she were to ever get remarried, that’s how she imagined her relationship would be. She and her husband working together doing community work.
“About a year after I joined Lori’s community, I started hearing rumors about a brother trying to marry women in secret behind his wife’s back. I dismissed it as gossip until a sister I knew came to me for advice about her friend accepting the brother’s proposal. I was shocked and horrified, and of course I told her to tell her friend not to do it. But what was most troublesome to me was that it was Lori’s husband who was trying to get married.”
There were a few huffs and grunts from the crowd.
“I didn’t know what to do, and, well—” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay, I admit, I was pissed. I immediately went into protective friend mode, and it was just like old times, except the bully I needed to ward off was Lori’s husband.”
“These men,” someone muttered in frustration.
“So I talked to whoever I could to help figure out a way to tell Lori and have someone confront her husband. I even talked to the imam because I felt it was his responsibility to keep sisters from being manipulated like this.”
Okay, I can see where this is going, Aliyah thought in annoyance, reminded of Deanna just then. Where do people like this come from? she couldn’t help thinking. Who raises them? Who teaches them Islam? Were they really that self-absorbed as to think they had the answer to everyone’s problems? Or were they just some sort of reverse misogynists who hated men instead of women? Aliyah could think of a million different non-incriminating explanations for what Lori’s husband might be doing, and this woman couldn’t think of one? No wonder Lori had said, “You never see me. You never listen.”
A sad smile formed on the woman’s lips. “Long story short, Lori’s husband’s reputation was ruined, and the imam asked him not to come back to the masjid except to pray. Lori and her husband eventually moved away, but before that, I found out that before they got married, Lori had told her husband that she didn’t have any problem with polygyny so long as he didn’t tell her until after it happened. Turns out, for her, the hardest part of polygyny was the suspense of not knowing what would happen. She felt like being taken through the rollercoaster of maybes and what ifs was too much for her, so she preferred to deal with only what is.” The woman forced laughter, but it was apparent that she was not happy. “So of course, I lost my friend. And to add insult to injury, last thing I knew, Lori’s husband married the sister my other friend talked to me about, and she and Lori are apparently not only co-wives but good friends.”
The crowd clapped, and some women stepped forward to give the woman a hug, and Aliyah sighed, turning and walking toward the stairs to check on Ibrahim. It was hard for Aliyah to sympathize because all she could think about was how the woman ruined Lori’s life. And based on what? Suspicion? An assumption? The belief that all men are evil?
As she ascended the steps, Aliyah wondered how the crowd would have reacted if the roles were reversed. What if a friend of Lori’s husband had heard that Lori was secretly talking to a man whom they assumed she wanted to divorce her husband for? And what if that friend spread rumors about Lori until her reputation was ruined and she wasn’t allowed to come back to the masjid? But to hear the woman tell it, it was as if her savoir complex were the most natural thing in the world. Of course the man was doing evil, and of course she had to save her friend. No need to verify the rumors. No need to mind your own business. Just go into immediate “save the woman from her evil husband” mode.
SubhaanAllah, Aliyah thought. Even if the rumors were true, was the community’s reaction worth all that? Stopping Lori’s husband from coming to the masjid except to pray? Apparently, the anti-polygamy police had given themselves promotions and were regulating who could serve Allah now.
At the top of the stairs, Aliyah heard the noise of children playing and saw that it was coming from a door that was slightly ajar. She walked toward it and carefully pushed it open wider and peered through the opening. After a few seconds of surveying the young faces, she saw Ibrahim and Haroon crashing action figures into each other and making pelting noises. She smiled and watched them for a moment longer before going back downstairs.
Salima was eating from a plate of vegetables and standing in the hallway when Aliyah reached the main floor. “You didn’t like that one very much, huh?” Salima said, leaning into Aliyah with her voice lowered.
Aliyah forced a smile. “I really liked your poem, mashaAllah.”
“But not Tina’s?” A knowing smile was on Salima’s on her face as she lifted a celery stick to her mouth and bit into it.
“Tina’s the one who did the polygyny story?” Aliyah asked.
>
“Yes,” Salima said.
Aliyah’s gaze was drawn to the crowd of sisters now milling around in the room and getting plates of food. She saw Tina chatting amongst them, her face veil still under her chin. She seems like a nice sister, Aliyah found herself thinking as she studied the woman from afar. And so did Deanna, a voice retorted in her head.
“The story was interesting…” Aliyah said tentatively. “It’s just hard to stomach, that’s all.”
“Because of what happened to you?”
Aliyah shook her head. “Not only that. It was just hard to follow.”
“Really?” Salima sounded genuinely surprised. “I thought she did a good job connecting her thoughts.”
“I don’t mean in the storytelling,” Aliyah said. “I mean in the logic behind her actions. I just don’t get the ‘save the woman from her husband’ thinking. If I’d heard something like that about my friend, I think I would’ve just left it alone.”
“You wouldn’t feel obligated to tell her?” Salima asked between bites of celery.
Aliyah creased her forehead in confusion. “What is there to tell? It’s a rumor.”
“But it wasn’t a rumor,” Salima said. “Tina’s friend was friends with the sister Lori’s husband wanted to marry.”
Aliyah chuckled. “That sounds like a game of telephone to me. Too many people in the chain of transmission, and too many possible misinterpretations between each link.”
Salima nodded thoughtfully as she ate another celery stick in silence for some time. “But you don’t think you owe it to your friend to let her know what people are saying about her husband?” she said. “I think I’d feel obligated to tell her something.”
Aliyah shrugged. “I can see feeling inclined to let her know,” she said honestly. “But there are other ways to go about it than creating an uproar in the community when you don’t even know what’s going on.”
“Like telling her directly without talking to anyone else?”
“I don’t think I’d feel comfortable,” Aliyah said thoughtfully. “I’d feel tempted to,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’d go through with it unless I had a really compelling reason to. I’m just not a fan of participating in the rumor mill. Part of the reason backbiting and gossip are so rampant is that each person feels justified to share what they think they know. It has to stop somewhere. And in Tina’s situation, even if the worst was true, it’s not a sin for the brother to ask about another sister without telling his wife. It’s not like he got married in secret or anything. He was just asking about someone. And anyway, why did Tina assume Lori didn’t know?” Aliyah contorted her face in distaste. “Like I said, there are just too many links in this telephone game, and I don’t want any part of it.”
“But what if you found out your friend’s husband did get married in secret?” Salima said. “Would you still feel comfortable leaving it alone?”
Aliyah smiled in discomfort and shook her head. “I don’t know about that one,” she said honestly. “Because marriage should be announced. So there’s a moral dilemma involved if it’s done secretly.”
“But with Tina’s friend, she preferred not to know until after the fact,” Salima said. “So wouldn’t it ultimately be her husband’s decision when to tell her?”
Aliyah nodded thoughtfully. “I would assume so…” she said, her voice trailing for a moment. “So I guess it’s better left alone. Allah doesn’t ask us to reveal people’s private choices to other people. Marriage should be announced publicly,” she said tentatively, “but it’s not invalid if it’s not. So I think staying out of it is safest for my soul.”
Salima narrowed her eyes in deep thought. “I think you’re right,” she said. “Sticking to what you know Allah asks of you is always the safest route.” She smirked. “But it’s not easy when it’s your friend on the other side.”
Aliyah laughed in agreement. “That’s true. So I guess I don’t know what I’d do unless I’m in the situation.”
Salima nodded emphatically. “That’s true for most things in life. What if’s are so different from what is.”
***
Friday evening, Jacob sat next to Attorney Bryan Schmidt who sat across from Deanna at the dingy foldout table in a cramped, musty meeting room at the county jail. Deanna’s bail had been denied earlier that day, and because the attorney had been unsuccessful in communicating with Deanna himself, he’d asked Jacob to accompany him to the meeting.
“She’s not speaking much,” Bryan had told Jacob on the phone. “But she signed over power of attorney to you. So she’s apparently thinking things through and wants you to decide how to move forward.”
“Whose idea was it to give me power of attorney?” Jacob had asked. When he’d contacted Bryan to represent Deanna, Jacob had specifically asked Bryan not to tell Deanna that it was he and not her father paying the legal fees. It probably wasn’t the most foolproof plan in protecting Deanna from learning that her father was eagerly working with the prosecution in the case against her. But Jacob had hoped that Bryan would give Deanna the impression that her father was paying for her lawyer and that he was only cooperating with the prosecution because he had been subpoenaed as a witness.
“It was your wife’s idea,” Bryan said, apology in his tone. “She told me last time we met.”
“I thought she wasn’t talking,” Jacob said, a bit uncomfortable with the term wife being used in reference to Deanna. Her ‘iddah period was scheduled to end this week though he probably would never know the exact date. Deanna had more pressing issues to worry about than keeping track of her menstrual cycle. Besides, up until the accident with her mother, Deanna had refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Islamic divorce sans a legal divorce.
“If we follow the laws of the land for marriage,” she’d kept saying, “then we have to follow the laws of the land for divorce, too.” It had been frustrating trying to convince her that even in the case of marriage, a legal marriage was only valid if it met the conditions of an Islamic marriage; thus, the Islamic definition always took precedence. Jacob eventually left the issue alone and focused on taking the steps necessary to file for a legal divorce. But his efforts had been disrupted by the accident.
“She wrote it down,” the attorney clarified. “But she occasionally answers yes or no questions, so I’m not sure we can consider her a selective mute at this stage.”
Then what should we consider her? Jacob thought as he sat at the folding table studying Deanna’s set jaw and her refusal to look in Jacob’s direction. She seemed to be focusing her attention on the wall behind Bryan’s head.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Jacob said, trying to keep his voice as cordial as possible. It disturbed him to see his wife dressed in a pale blue uniform and no hijab. But he tried to shift his thoughts to the more pressing issue.
Deanna turned her head slightly, her eyes still not looking in Jacob’s direction. But Jacob thought he detected the tiniest hint of calm on her face at the sound of his greeting. He wanted to ask how she was doing, but he decided against it. She wasn’t talking much, and in any case, what he really wanted to know, she wouldn’t tell him, at least not in the presence of a stranger.
“Dr. Bivens,” the attorney said, prompting both Jacob and Deanna to look toward him. “I’m sorry. I mean Mrs. Bivens,” Bryan said. “I’ve spoken to the prosecution attorney, and they’re willing to negotiate a plea deal that would reduce your time served to five years.”
“If she pleads guilty,” Jacob said in disappointment.
“Yes,” Bryan said apologetically, “if she pleads guilty. But it’s our best option right now. If Mrs. Michaels’s condition takes a turn for the worst, they may change the charge from aggravated assault to second-degree murder, and that could mean a life sentence.”
Jacob shook his head in disbelief. “And if she’s innocent?”
“Mr. Bivens,” the attorney said in as diplomatic a tone as he could manage, “without Mrs. Bivens’s testimony or
at least some documented non-incriminating account of the events on that day, the possibility of her innocence is an existential philosophy question. Right now, the prosecution has at least five witnesses, three of them neighbors who overheard the altercation between Mrs. Bivens and Mrs. Michaels, so without a strong defense, pleading innocent to aggravated assault is worse than pleading guilty to second-degree murder.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Jacob said for Deanna’s benefit.
“I agree. It is difficult to believe,” Bryan said. “But unfortunately, this is how the criminal justice system works. Even if Mrs. Bivens were able and willing to testify in her own defense, I wouldn’t advise it. The nine-one-one call itself is enough evidence to put her away for at least twenty years. We could find some character witnesses, but they are most helpful in cases that weigh heavily on premeditation as opposed to a crime of passion or emotion.”
“What about the insanity plea?” Jacob had planned to posit the question later on the phone because he didn’t want to offend Deanna. But after he learned that she appointed him power of attorney, Jacob felt obligated to discuss his thoughts while she was present. Deanna turned her head away from him until Jacob could see the unkempt ponytail at the back of her head and a profile of her face. He took her reaction to mean that she didn’t like the proposition. “Strategically speaking, I mean,” he added.
The attorney was silent momentarily as he considered what Jacob had said. “It’s possible…” he said doubtfully. “But the plea deal is Mrs. Bivens’s best chance at having a normal life again. With the insanity plea, best-case scenario, she’ll be locked away in a psychiatric facility instead of a prison. And I don’t recommend that.”
