by Umm Zakiyyah
But still, she was overcome with compassion for Deanna, and Aliyah. It couldn’t be easy to let go of someone you love and watch them start their life over with someone else. Reem wasn’t sure how much Deanna knew about Aliyah and Jacob, but that Deanna had even known that Jacob wanted to marry Aliyah while still being married to her was enough agony. How could a woman’s heart handle that level of pain? Reem couldn’t imagine facing that level of emotional turmoil with Sayed. She loved him too much to even entertain the thought. She couldn’t even handle him mentioning the name of the woman he was interested in marrying before her. Reem herself tried not to even mention her in her thoughts.
But didn’t everyone have the right to love, no matter who loved the person before them? And given that Allah was in charge of hearts—and had made both divorce and polygyny permissible—how much could you really blame a man and woman for remarrying after divorce, or a man for marrying another woman while he was still married to someone else?
There was a burst of laughter from the food table, and Reem looked in the direction of the sound and saw Jasmine, Deanna, and Juwayriah laughing together about something as they held their half full plates. Immediately, Reem stiffened in apprehensive preparation for a repeat of the scene she had interrupted with her speech only moments before. Yaa salaam, she thought to herself in dread. I hope they’re not going to confront Aliyah again. Do they have any shame?
That was the part of American culture that Reem could never understand. That unabashed cruelty. That complete disregard for the feelings of others. That unapologetic trampling upon social etiquette.
Everybody had things that had hurt them in life, Reem reflected indignantly. Everyone had things that angered them. Everyone had feelings. Why was it that so many Americans felt that the world had to stop to soothe theirs?
O Allah, I’m trying, her heart cried as she reflected on her painful attempts to overcome the disdain she felt toward Americans. But it was a difficult process. After her friendship with Aliyah went downhill and Sayed appealed to her to think of her views on intercultural marriage from Aliyah’s perspective, Reem had engaged in a lot of self-reflection. And she’d come to realize that she definitely harbored more than a harmless dose of pride in her view of Arab culture vis-à-vis American culture. But how was she to overcome it? In her mind, her concerns were valid, and the incident today with Jasmine and Deanna was a prime example.
There seemed to be no line with Americans, no boundaries, nothing they respected as sacred and inviolable. You could mention their own mother or father, and at least one of them would say something dismissive, if not outright disrespectful. You could mention a renowned scholar, and they’d speak of him as if he were a politician who had to win their vote. You could mention something from the Qur’an or Sunnah itself, and they’d dissect it as if were a topic open to debate.
No matter how hard Reem tried, she just couldn’t view that culture as offering more good than harm. Yes, Arabs had their problems, but in her view, Americans were worse. Maybe that was why she could barely stomach the thought of having one in her family.
And you’re surprised you haven’t heard from Mashael? the self-reproaching voice asked in her head. Reem’s heart fell in sadness at the reminder of her sister’s sudden disappearance. “Astaghfirullah,” she muttered, realizing that Sayed was right. She had a lot to work on within herself.
Perhaps to prove to herself that she was at least making an effort, Reem approached the table where Salima and Aliyah were sitting with another sister.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Reem said, offering the women a wide smile as she rounded the table and shook their hands.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam wa-rahmatullaah,” each of them replied as they gripped her hand.
O mankind! We have created you from a male and female, and made you into nations and tribes, that you may know one another… The Qur’anic verses she’d recited during her speech settled over her heart as she sat next to Aliyah.
“How are you?” Aliyah asked, a warm smile on her face.
“Alhamdulillah,” Reem said, nodding her head humbly. “How are you?” She emphasized the last word teasingly to subtly indicate that she was talking about the new marriage.
“I’m good, alhamdulillah,” Aliyah said, an affectionate grin forming on her face. “Allah is Merciful,” she said sincerely. “I’m really glad how everything’s turned out.”
Reem smiled, struck by how Aliyah didn’t seem the least bit shaken by the disrespectful scene that had just occurred. Yet when Reem was upset with Aliyah, she hadn’t even been able to handle the possibility that Aliyah was disrespecting her, and that had been in private. How does Aliyah do it? she wondered. Where does she get her strength from?
Verily, the most honorable of you in the sight of Allah is [the one who is] the most righteous…
No, Reem certainly didn’t know the heart of any believer, but she couldn’t help admiring the forgiving nature that seemed to come naturally to Aliyah.
***
“Jail?” Juwayriah repeated, disbelieving humor in her tone as she stood in front of the line of stainless steel food warmers, holding a half-full plate of food.
Deanna hadn’t intended to mention her brief stint behind bars. But after Juwayriah had asked Deanna how she was doing and mentioned that she hadn’t heard from her in a while, Deanna had mentioned that she was still adjusting to life after being released. It wasn’t until after she had said it and saw Juwayriah’s expression that it occurred to her that Jacob probably hadn’t told anyone what she was going through.
The thought of Jacob being that ashamed of his own wife was unnerving and humiliating. Maybe his crippling shame was what sealed his final decision to send the divorce papers. He didn’t want to have anything to do her, lest she stain his pristine image and reputation. The thought was infuriating. She had half a mind to go upstairs and find him so she could give him a piece of her mind. But she resisted. “Don’t do anything that will make your case more complicated,” Attorney Schmidt had told her. “If you want to talk to him, let’s arrange a meeting with your attorneys present. ” And the last thing Deanna wanted was to give Jacob an excuse to take more from her than he already was trying to do.
“Yeah, girl,” Deanna said, smirking. “My mother fell down the steps in our backyard, and they tried to say I pushed her.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Juwayriah said, shaking her head, a sad expression shadowing her face. “That’s terrible.” She narrowed her eyes curiously. “Your mother told them that?”
“No,” Deanna said. “She couldn’t tell them anything because she was in a coma.”
“A coma?”
Deanna rolled her eyes and flipped her hand at the wrist. “Yeah, but she’s better now. She’s almost fully recovered.”
“Well, I’m glad she’s better,” Juwayriah said sincerely.
She gestured a hand toward Deanna. “That’s what you meant when you said you almost lost your voice due to stress?”
“Yes,” Deanna said. She twisted her lips to the side. “I’ve been going through it.”
“But as soon as she gets out,” Jasmine said, her tone a bitter complaint, apparently in an effort to empathize with Deanna, “Jacob slaps her with divorce papers.”
Deanna clenched her teeth. It was all she could do to resist glaring at Jasmine as if she’d lost her mind. Deanna did not want anyone to know about that. She was planning to give Jacob what he wanted then woo him back after he realized what he was missing. She didn’t mind Jacob’s family knowing, but she didn’t want anyone at the masjid to know. It was humiliating enough that they knew he had been interested in marrying Aliyah as a second wife. The memory of that alone was enough to make her want to strangle him. But like the elder woman had told her in jail, sometimes you just had to let a man have his fantasy. And what man didn’t pine after another woman every now and then, especially the stereotypical “damsel in distress”?
Juwayriah brought her free hand to her mouth a
s she looked at Deanna, her eyes widening in shock and sympathy. “No…”
Deanna grunted laughter, concealing her true feelings. “Girl, I ain’t worried about him. He just didn’t want somebody with a criminal record.”
“But I thought the charges were dropped,” Juwayriah said, placing her hand on her hip in disapproval, her other hand still holding the plate.
“You know men,” Deanna said, rolling her eyes. “They don’t know the difference.”
“But it hasn’t gone through yet?” Juwayriah said, as if that would make everything better.
“No…” Deanna said, slightly annoyed at Juwayriah’s optimism.
“And he hasn’t pronounced divorce?”
Deanna contorted her face in offense. “Pronounced divorce?”
“For the Islamic divorce,” Juwayriah clarified.
“What difference does it make?” Deanna retorted, recalling the morning after she’d locked Jacob out the house and he emerged from the master bathroom, face and arms wet with water of wudhoo’. “Then I divorce you,” he’d said after she refused to agree to marriage counseling.
“It determines whether or not you’re in ‘iddah,” Juwayriah said, her voice soft in an apparent attempt to let Deanna know that she only meant well.
“What’s that?” Jasmine said, her upper lip upturned in disapproval.
“’Iddah is the three-month waiting period after a woman is divorced,” Juwayriah said matter-of-factly, as if it were a simple fact recited from some Islamic text and not an indication of what Deanna had suffered.
“So a man just says the word,” Jasmine said, undisguised contempt in her tone, “and just like that, you’re divorced?”
Juwayriah looked as if she was offended by Jasmine’s question. She blinked repeatedly as she met Jasmine’s disapproving gaze challengingly. “You have a problem with that?”
Jasmine shrugged. “It just sounds stupid that’s all,” she said. “If men can do that, then what rights do women have?”
“Women can get a divorce too,” Juwayriah said defensively. “And all they do is give back their dowry and wait one month.”
Jasmine huffed indignantly, as if unimpressed.
“What difference does it make to you?” Deanna shot back, having had enough of Jasmine for one day. “You’re not even Muslim.”
The look of horror on Juwayriah’s face made Deanna wonder momentarily what catastrophe had just happened. “Don’t say that,” Juwayriah said sharply, scolding Deanna as if she were her mother. “If you call a Muslim a kaafir, it comes back on you.”
Deanna twisted her face in offense. “Call her a kaafir?” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of Jasmine. “She’s the one who said she’s not Muslim.”
“What?” Jasmine spoke with a horror that mirrored Juwayriah’s expression.
“Don’t sit up here and like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Deanna said, glaring at Jasmine. “You told my in-laws you were just pretending to be Muslim to impress Larry.”
Juwayriah’s face contorted in disgust as she looked at Deanna. “Deeja, you shouldn’t—”
“I. Did. Not.” The firmness in Jasmine’s voice was so forceful that Deanna momentarily doubted her memory. “If you had joined the conversation instead of eavesdropping,” Jasmine said, fury lacing her words, “you would’ve heard me say that I am Muslim. What you think you heard was me telling them that Muslims and Christians have a lot in common, so sometimes people consider them the same religion.”
“But you s—”
“Don’t tell me what I said,” Jasmine interjected, her forefinger stabbing at the air in front of Deanna. “I know what I said. Maybe all that stress is messing up your memory, and not just your voice?” she taunted.
“Deeja, seriously,” Juwayriah said, her voice teetering between a plea and a warning, “you shouldn’t say things like that. You must’ve heard her wrong.”
“She definitely heard me wrong,” Jasmine said, her icy glare still on Deanna.
The look in Jasmine’s eyes made Deanna flustered and defensive. She didn’t trust her memory anymore, but she didn’t feel Jasmine had any right to talk to her like that.
“You need to worry about your own life instead of obsessing over mine,” Jasmine said viciously. “Your man is the one dumping you so he can secretly marry his mistress.”
Deanna hadn’t known that she had raised her hand at Jasmine until she felt Juwayriah’s firm grip on her arm. “Let’s just—”
“Allaahu-akbar! Allaahu-akbar!” the adhaan reverberated throughout the building, proclaiming God’s greatness and announcing that it was time for Asr prayer. A second later, the music stopped and the voices quieted. “Allaahu-akbar! Allaahu-akbar!”
A sense of calm settled over Deanna, and embarrassed, she lowered her hand, Juwayriah still gripping her arm cautiously. For some reason, Deanna felt choked up all of a sudden, sadness suffocating her.
“Ash-hadu-an laa ilaahi illaAllaah…” I bear witness that nothing has the right to be worshipped except Allah, the muezzin proclaimed.
I want to be a better person. The feeling was so heartfelt and overwhelming that Deanna had to fight the urge to call Jacob right then and beg him to take her back.
Apologize to Aliyah, another thought urged. Even in her melancholic regretful state, Deanna felt her stomach churn in repulsion as she recalled the scraggly note she’d written to herself.
I don’t care about Aliyah, she mentally retorted. I just want my husband back.
As the muezzin continued the call to prayer, Deanna recalled the dream she had had urging her to pray. Then pray…
But Deanna hadn’t prayed since she’d stood in line next to the Muslim women at the jail. She hated the horrible discomfited state that prayer often left her in. She wanted to become a better person, not worse.
Then pray…
Deanna watched with a detached sense of envy as the women walked in different directions in search of their abayas and hijabs. Some women stood near their seats, buttoning up their over-garments, others arranging the fabric of their khimaar around their heads.
“Can you pray?” Juwayriah asked Deanna and Jasmine after the adhaan was finished.
“Yes,” Jasmine said, a tinge of offense still lingering in her voice.
Deanna merely shrugged in response, refusing to look at Juwayriah. In the world of people like Juwayriah, there was no such thing as a Muslim who didn’t pray, Deanna thought bitterly.
“Then let’s go join the jamaa’ah,” Juwayriah said, referring to the congregational prayer about to be held upstairs in the musallaa.
Jasmine immediately followed Juwayriah toward the door, but Deanna hung back.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” Deanna muttered.
She didn’t think they’d heard, but Juwayriah immediately halted her steps and said, “Hold on,” causing Jasmine to halt her steps too.
Deanna didn’t even bother looking when Juwayriah returned to where many of the women were still sitting. She already knew Juwayriah was asking to borrow the abaya and khimaar of someone who couldn’t pray due to menses, and Deanna didn’t feel like withstanding the women’s judgmental looks when they tried to figure out who’d come to the masjid without hijab.
“Here,” Juwayriah said, pushing a thick bundle of charcoal colored cloth with blue trim into Deanna’s hands.
Deanna stared at it for a moment as if still undecided. She stiffened when Juwayriah reached up and ran her palms over Deanna’s hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. The friendly gesture made Deanna uncomfortable, but she didn’t resist. Instead, she laid the khimaar on a nearby table then slipped her arms into the capacious abaya before buttoning it up in the front. When Juwayriah finished with Deanna’s hair, Deanna reached for the khimaar then walked out the room with Juwayriah and a group of other women heading upstairs for prayer.
Chapter 30
The Badge of Honor
“What’s this we hear about you and Deanna gettin
g a divorce?”
It was his father’s question, but Jacob didn’t respond right away. This was not the way Jacob had planned to spend Monday evening after work. He had wanted to stop by Aliyah’s for a few minutes. But even before he decided to go to his parents’ house (as he told them he might when they’d called the day before, upset), he decided against the impromptu visit to his wife.
Though Jacob was trying hard to be patient for Aliyah’s sake, it was getting increasingly difficult to spend time with Aliyah while respecting the temporary celibacy they had agreed on. He knew that Aliyah was becoming as impatient as he was, but he valued their relationship too much to take advantage of her weakening resolve. And reducing their face-to-face visits would make it easier for them both. He sensed that Aliyah was ready to compromise, but he refused to allow himself the luxury of entertaining any changes to their plan until the legal divorce from Deanna was final. He wished there was some way to expedite the process and free himself from Deanna sooner, but he had no choice but to be patient. He had made the recklessly stupid decision to marry Deanna twelve years ago, and he had to accept the consequences of that decision.
“Is it true?” His father’s voice rose.
There was a time that his father’s demanding tone would have stirred something inside of Jacob. Regret, guilt, obligation, and perhaps even shame. But today it stirred nothing but slight irritation. And it wasn’t because he was upset with his father, but because he wanted to be somewhere else.
Years ago, Jacob would have been tongue-tied at being confronted with the topic of divorce, especially from his parents. But now, in his late thirties, Jacob saw through even his parents’ façade of unity and strength. Marriage was a badge of honor for them, Malcolm and Ruth, as it was for the entire Bivens family; and Malcolm didn’t want his eldest son to tatter that badge.
“Yes.” Jacob replied in a matter-of-fact tone, devoid of any emotion.
“Marriage is not something to be taken lightly, son.”
