by Dyanne Davis
He closed his eyes and prayed. He needed all the help he could get not to become involved with Heaven. She had gotten under his skin; even Sassa had taken note of it. If only it had been possible, he would not have allowed his feelings for Heaven to grow.
He thought of her friend Ongela. Now there was a woman who was willing to adapt. She’d questioned him about his faith, something Heaven had yet to do, and he’d questioned her about Heaven, about the things she had yet to tell. And at the end of the date, they’d laughed. They’d both been on fishing expeditions. She wasn’t seriously interested in him. She was aware that his interest was in Heaven.
“You’re going to be fighting a hard battle, Hamid. Heaven will not break easily,” Ongela had offered.
“Why do you think I want to break her?” he’d asked.
“Because if you’re falling in love with her you’ll have to break her before she’ll admit it. She’s been hurt and she’s not ready to trust a man right now.”
After that Ongela had gone into her home and waved at him.
Hamid didn’t like knowing that a man had hurt Heaven. Still, he couldn’t understand how having known hurt, she would constantly inflict pain on him.
His last few days of work and classes had been filled with thoughts of her. While he’d rushed to see her, she had rushed away from him as if she not only hadn’t missed him, but wanted to get the day done and over with. Sassa had said Heaven was only seeing Hamid because of the money he was paying her, that the color green was all that interested her. He had not wanted to believe it, but it appeared he had no choice.
At last, Hamid pulled out into the traffic, glad that he knew how to get to Fifty-sixth and State. To prove a point, he didn’t follow the same direction that Heaven had taken, but instead went a different way.
When he arrived, he parked and went inside, surprised that she was waiting, glad that it was Sunday and admission was free. He didn’t want Heaven to pay for him, not even the usual three dollars.
Heaven barely glanced at him. He could tell she was angry. So was he. She walked ahead of him without speaking, her manner in itself commanding him to follow. For a long moment, Hamid stood where he was until Heaven turned back to him.
“Are you coming or not?” Heaven asked, with irritation tinting her voice.
Hamid refused to answer her rude tone, but moved from where he had been standing to come and stand alongside her in the first hall.
“This is the mask room.” Heaven spread her arms pointing out one mask after the other. “Masks are many faces of Mother Africa. Masks are used to invoke spirits, exorcise evil, commemorate ancestors, promote healing—”
“I can read, Heaven.” He frowned at her, ignoring the same expression on her face. She had no right to frown. “This is the aviation room,” she said, going across the hall. Hamid took over the tour and went from exhibit to exhibit and room to room telling Heaven much more about the featured artifacts than was written on the placards. He’d be damned if he allowed her to assume this was another area in which he was incompetent.
He turned toward her once while he was explaining the origin of an exhibit. “What? Did you think that a Muslim man wouldn’t know these facts?” She ignored him and, for once, he was glad. It wasn’t fun fighting with Heaven today. Today he’d rather be talking with her, finding out if Brandon was the one who’d hurt her and why she was still hurting. He’d like to cook her dinner and rub her feet. He’d like to…
Hamid felt a sudden flush and a thickening in his pants. He was very aware of what he wanted to do with Heaven, and he was aware he wouldn’t. She thought getting involved with him was drama. His getting involved with her would also produce drama. Didn’t she understand he was willing to risk it?
He saw her staring at the exhibit with the weathered shackles of former slaves, safely hidden behind the glass. She glared at him. He couldn’t believe it. She’d glared at him. He tilted his head in question but she walked away. When she stopped at the wall and began reading the notices of slaves being auctioned off, he knew he had not been wrong in thinking she was glaring. When she read the information about the young mulatto woman’s body being given away for five nights to any man willing to pay money to enter into the dollar draw Heaven stormed out of the room, leaving Hamid behind.
Hamid caught up with Heaven, pulled her over to a corner, and spoke quietly but with clarity and sternness. “Don’t look at me, Heaven, as though I committed those crimes. I did not. And don’t assume that slavery was just here in America. Do you know that even today a form of slavery still exists in Pakistan? Bonded labor? What do you think that is? Study your history. Do you know how many nations have practiced this inhumanity? I didn’t start it, Heaven, and I’ve never done it.” He stepped away from her. He would not allow her to back away from him because of this. If she didn’t want to date him it would be for a much better reason than this.
Hamid walked away and didn’t stop until he stood in front of the Amistad exhibit. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and a scrape of paper and begin writing.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing,” he said, not elaborating. Right now he was the one angry with her.
“What do you want to see next, Heaven? The bust of Jean Baptiste Pointe DuSable, born 1745, died 1818, or would you like to see the Harold Washington corner? Chicago’s only black mayor or would you—”
“Okay, Hamid, I get it. You’ve been here before.”
“Yes, but I’ve also studied about cultures other than my own. Can you say the same?” He didn’t wait for her answer; he knew what it would be. No, she hadn’t studied but he was willing to bet she’d made an assumption about him, his people, and his land.
When they walked out of the door, Hamid reached for his wallet, pulled out several bills, and dropped them in the container for donations.
* * *
The seventy-five pound punching bag pulsated and rose in the air several inches as Heaven kicked it repeatedly. She was once again blowing off steam. She glanced over at the sensei who was observing her workout. I’m not hitting students, she thought. He should be happy.
Heaven finished her workout and was reaching for her bag to put her gloves in and leave, when the sensei’s hand stopped her.
“It would appear your chi is unbalanced.”
“I’m not unbalanced.”
“Then what is wrong?”
Heaven thought about it for a moment. Maybe she was unbalanced. She’d begun her ridiculous arrangement with Hamid to teach him a lesson; so far, it appeared to be backfiring. Hamid was not only handling everything she had thrown at him but was throwing it back in her face.
A sound escaped her lips as Heaven took in a deep breath, annoyed that Hamid had wormed his way past her defenses. She’d sworn after Brandon that from that point on she would remain in charge of both her emotions and her relationships.
She knew his date with Ongela was part of the problem. She wasn’t a fool; she recognized the green-eyed monster in herself. Sure, she’d said she didn’t want Hamid, that she wanted only a black man, but Ongela had said the same thing. Hamid had said he had feelings for her, but he was willing to date her friend. She looked longingly at the bag, wanting to give it another punch but held her peace. The sensei’s eyes followed hers and Heaven held her breath.
“Heaven, you have not behaved so irrationally since, well, it’s been almost a year and a half.”
The sensei’s eyebrow quirked upwards and Heaven shook her head viciously. “No, sensei, this has nothing to do with Brandon.” She clenched her jaw, wishing Brandon had not been one of the sensei’s best students, that he was not a second-degree black belt and sometimes taught the class. It was hard enough going through their breakup. Heaven had been determined she wouldn’t be shoved out of the karate school because of him.
Luckily it hadn’t come to that. The sensei had of course known of Brandon and Heaven’s relationship, everyone had. He’d instead asked Brandon to leave. Still
, Heaven knew Brandon was allowed time to practice there when the school was closed. She made sure to go to the dojo only when it was open.
The sensei had approached her several times and asked if she could work with Brandon again. Every time he asked, Heaven had either kicked or punched the bag with such ferocity and glared so at the instructor that he’d shaken his head in disappointment and left.
Heaven knew he was waiting for the day she would heal enough to share a dojo with Brandon. But that would mean eventually they would spar. Heaven didn’t trust herself not to pound him silly, or to have him do it to her. But in the mood she was in, Heaven would pit her brown belt against his black belt any day.
But it wasn’t because of Brandon that she was now hitting the bag with such force. It was Hamid. She hated that he’d dated Ongela and she wanted to let off some steam before she saw him again. All men should be glad that she used the dojo for her release, she thought. It definitely saved them from the things she imagined doing to them.
For two weeks, Hamid had not called for her to show him anything. After their visit to the DuSable Museum, she knew there had really been no need in the first place.
Heaven remembered her words to her friend, that when she finished with him, she was going to have Hamid running back to Pakistan. She thought of Ongela’s warning to be careful that Hamid didn’t teach her a lesson instead. In many ways he had. She was eating things she’d never thought she’d even taste and not eating things she’d sworn she’d never give up.
Heaven had only an instant to blink before the punching bag struck her and she went flying across the mat.
“Why did you do that?” She hopped up angrily, glaring at the student who’d kicked the bag. Her sensei pulled her away.
“I told him to do it. You were not focused on what you were doing, and loss of focus could get you hurt, Heaven. Remember that.”
Heaven rubbed her head angrily, feeling a small raised area above her left brow. Remember it. She wouldn’t have any choice. She snatched her bag from the corner and left the dojo without another word.
* * *
As they sat miles apart in her small living room, Heaven and Hamid were listening to music, everything from country to hip hop, blues, and jazz. Heaven was surprised that Hamid was familiar with most of it, with the exception of country. He liked “Ease the Fever.” Good choice, she thought, me too.
“What happened to you?” Hamid asked out of the blue.
“What?”
“Your head, you look like someone hit you.”
Heaven smiled a little. She’d almost forgotten the fight she’d lost with the punching bag.
“I take karate classes.”
“Someone did this to you?”
“Sort of. This happened with a punching bag.” Her lids lifted as Hamid moved from his chair and came across the divide toward her. Her breath stilled as his hands gently touched the area. She waited. His hands were soft, and he moved efficiently, asking her questions, making her open her eyes so he could see into them with a penlight. She wanted to laugh, but his concern was genuine.
Still, she wanted him to finish his examination. She was feeling flushed, and the same tingle of electricity that she’d experienced in the restaurant was back. Hot and cold, that described the two of them.
“Are you off tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Heaven whispered, finding it hard to talk in a normal voice.
“Good, I think you need to rest and make sure it’s nothing. I don’t think so,” Hamid said looking into her eyes, “but you know the symptoms for a head injury. Watch for them, and call me if you need me.”
“I will,” Heaven whispered. “Thanks.”
All she had to do was reach up, pull him down, and kiss him. And then he would know that his belief that American women were whores was correct. She took a deep breath; steady, she urged her body. She sat back; Hamid was the first to pull away.
“Are you a good nurse, Heaven?”
“Yes,” Heaven answered without hesitation. “Are you a good doctor?”
“I hope so,” Hamid answered.
That surprised her. He was so arrogant she would have thought for sure he would say yes. “Why do you only hope so?”
Hamid looked at her for a moment, and she sensed when he made a decision to share something with her.
“Sometimes I feel too deeply what’s happening with my patients. When they die, I take it hard.”
She thought of their earlier brief conversation about that. “There’s nothing wrong with that. So do I.”
His fingers touched the raised area on her head again and he smiled. “We didn’t talk specifically about our patients that day, did we?”
“No.”
“Was there any particular reason your patient’s death was harder?”
“She was a wonderful woman, more concerned about her family than herself. She told me goodbye.”
Hamid looked at her. “Your patient knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did you acknowledge her dying?”
“I didn’t want to, but what could I do? We talked. I wanted to make her a promise that she would be fine.”
“I did make a promise.” Hamid sighed. “I told both the patient and his family that he had nothing to worry about, but he did.”
He looked at Heaven and attempted to smile at her but couldn’t pull it off. Feeling the lump in his throat, he looked away from her. “I hate breaking that kind of news to family.”
Heaven reached out for his hand and held it. For several minutes, they sat in silence, until Hamid’s hand reached out to touch her hair. “So these are called twists, huh?”
He wanted to pull Heaven close, hold her next to his heart. He wanted to ease her fever and erase her pain, just as the song said. Maybe one day he would be able to tell her that.
“A punching bag?” Hamid squinted at Heaven, remembering how she said she’d gotten hurt. “Why were you hit by a bag?”
“I told you; I take karate.”
“So there is finally something that you’re not good at.” He laughed. “Little one, perhaps you need a smaller bag.” He raised their combined hands, intending to plant a kiss on the back of Heaven’s hand, but she snatched it away and he grinned. He should have known she wouldn’t take his words easily.
“Listen, Hamid, for your information I’m very good. I’ve been studying for three years now, and I have a brown belt.”
“Three years? Why not a black belt?”
“Long story. The point is, I can take care of myself.” She ignored his pointed glance toward the bump on her head. “That was an accident. I was unfocused…the sensei…Never mind, this doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe it means you should stay focused.” Hamid laughed before turning serious. “Where do you take classes? I’ve always wanted to learn.”
A sudden and intense change came over Heaven. The playfulness was gone. Instead, she sprang up from her chair as if she were a wind-up toy. “You can’t take lessons at my school. Go somewhere else.”
For a second Hamid thought Heaven was kidding, that it was just another way for her to blow off steam, a way for her to remove her hand from his. Then he saw she was truly agitated.
“Heaven, what’s the big deal? You don’t own the school.”
“I don’t want you there.”
“Is the school open to the public?
“Not to you, Hamid. It’s not open to you.”
Now he was annoyed. Rising, he tilted his head to the side and looked down at her. “What do you mean, it’s not open to me? I’m not allowed there?”
“Hamid, this has nothing to do with ethnicity. It’s you, I don’t want you there, understand? It’s my school and I don’t want you anywhere near it. Find another place.” She walked to her door and flung it open. “Lesson over, leave.”
For a second he wanted to grab her, shake some sense into her. What was she talking about? Why didn’t she want him to take lessons at her school? He would
never understand her. It made no sense.
Hamid walked the few blocks from Heaven’s apartment to his. If he lived to be a thousand, he would never understand her. Now he was glad that he’d never told Heaven they lived in the same neighborhood. More than likely, she would have thought of ways to try to have him deported. If she reacted that strongly to the idea of him going to her karate classes, he could just imagine what she’d think if she learned he lived so close.
Then a thought hit him. Maybe the man who’d hurt her was in her class. Perhaps Heaven didn’t want him to know of their friendship. That would explain her strange behavior.
Suddenly a possessive urge seized him. He needed to see the man who’d hurt Heaven. The neighborhood wasn’t that large, and knowing Heaven she probably took classes close to home. If that were the case, he would check out all of the schools in the area until he found hers and he would attend. His money would guarantee that.
* * *
Heaven threw a few punches at the air, bringing discomfort to her head. How dare he? There was no way she wanted Hamid in her class. She’d been through that once already. The school was hers. Brandon had not run her away from it and neither would Hamid. She would not tell him.
Pain came swiftly. As her movements increased, a wave of nausea claimed her, and Heaven sat on the couch remembering Hamid’s warning. Her head was much too hard to be hurt by a bump, but she would stop bouncing around.
Thoughts of Hamid in her dojo filled her as she closed her eyes and attempted to relax. The dojo hadn’t been big enough for both her and Brandon, and it definitely wasn’t big enough for her and Hamid.
Chapter Seven
When the phone rang, Heaven glanced at her caller ID. It was Ongela. Heaven had been avoiding her friend’s calls since she’d asked to go out with Hamid. Matter of fact, she’d been avoiding going out with all of her friends. She didn’t want to get into it with them over Hamid and she wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings.
She let the phone ring. After a thousand rings, or so it seemed, Ongela finally gave up. Heaven flicked the television on and began watching a reality show.
