Did you love him?
No. He was a good man. He had a big heart, but my heart was entirely with Nadia. Or, to be truthful about it, yes, I did love him as a person, it wasn’t easy not to love him at all, but—as a man? No. From the very first days we had together, she began to get jealous. She would go crazy if he stayed overnight at our house, and she would pelt me with a million phone calls. I was stupid, too, because I enjoyed how things looked on the surface: Nadia loves me and is jealous, how fabulous is this! But her jealousy turned into cords pulling on my wrist, and eyes always searching me out, and fights—she was always convinced that he was sleeping with me and that I was hiding the truth from her. My bad relationship with Nadia affected my relationship with Ali, too. Perhaps I was getting revenge through him. I did really make him suffer. At one moment I would be soft on him and sweet, desiring to make up for my mistakes toward him, but then at many other moments I would slam down the phone in his face for the tiniest slip and refuse his visit. He would be perfectly right not to ever forgive me.
So you separated from him?
Don’t be so delicate about it! Why don’t you say it straight out: we divorced. It was only a few months before Nadia dropped me completely. Everything had appeared to be ideal, had seemed to be going exactly as we had planned. We had been living in the same apartment, in the same room, and on two beds we had shoved together; we only used one coverlet. We were in Riyadh; she was studying sociology and I, art education, and we had just begun level four of our studies. At home, we curled up together day and night, and in the university we were together whenever possible. Everything was as ideal as could be! But after my engagement she changed. If I happened to run into her at the university, she would claim she was just running between lectures and would make a fast exit. If I called her between lectures she ignored the call, and at home she avoided me. One night she complained that I was stealing the coverlet and she used that excuse to bring another one, and thus little by little we were no longer splitting one bed between us. Then she stunned me by deciding to transfer, just like that, to the Women’s College of Nutritional and Agricultural Sciences in al-Milliz! I never could have imagined it. Finally, and in line with her recent sudden decisions, she decided to move to another residence. She complained about our apartment, grumbling that we lived in a prison, a cattle pen, a rabbit hole, a chicken coop—not a human habitation. She could not abide the sealed windows, and if it were not for the thin spaces between the wooden slats that separated us from the world, then we would not even have known that there was a world out there, a sun, streets and people. It was punishment enough to hear the insolent speech of the building supervisor and to put up with the bad behavior of the drivers! These were all she could come up with as excuses. She got what she wanted. My mother was not going to accept my moving to a new residence with an open system, its only rule being a curfew of 11 p.m. or thereabouts. I was not yet beyond my mother’s domain of authority, even if I was formally engaged.
By sometime in the next university term, Nadia had disappeared, and with her Hanan, who also lived in our residence. I did not need to hear very many whispered conversational asides to know where she had moved and who her mate there was. As determined as I had been to disbelieve and deny it, even if only to myself, I had become conscious that Nadia was prepping for something to happen between her and Hanan. Surely, she had not transferred to Hanan’s college or changed residence for any reason but to be closer to her. I wasn’t in denial just because Nadia was in the process of detaching herself from me and living in a state of crazy passion with another woman. No, it was also because she was letting go of her fervor about not wanting to be the first experience for any girl. With one glance, I could tell that Hanan was nothing more than a gullible, raw new recruit, who had not yet lived her life, and yet Nadia was insistent on chasing her and leading her to her bed. I don’t know whether she succeeded or not. After she spent one year at the agricultural college, I heard that she had withdrawn and had applied to the Institute of Administration. She would not have done that if her relationship had remained good with Hanan. Maybe she was infatuated with another girl and was seeking to please her! I felt that she had betrayed me. She abandoned me after bringing me into this world by sheer force of will. All I could feel toward her was heavy resentment and a longing for revenge. Her absence was a real blow, and it was frightening for me, too. I was depressed and I cried all the time, and for the most trivial reasons. Ali supported me without hesitation, without flagging, whenever I needed him. I cried in his arms a lot. He would say, If you don’t love me, if I don’t please you, if someone forced you to marry me, I release you from all responsibility, I can rid you of me if that is what you want. At that, my crying would just get worse and I would cling to him, saying, I love you, I love you, don’t leave me! By then, I had come to terms completely with the idea of marrying him. In fact, I thought it was a tremendous idea. I began to treat him lovingly and truly bring him into my heart, and I was tender and gentle with him. It was during this time that we made our first attempts to touch each other, little kisses … I would close my eyes so he wouldn’t sense my disgust.
What were you disgusted at?
Ali.
Ali!
Yes. Maybe you are thinking that he was bad, or dismal at the physical thing, or for instance, that he was ugly. But he was absolutely the opposite. Any other girl would dream of being loved by this man. Any other girl would vow her body and her life, and she would lay all her days at his feet. Any girl, any, but not me. I was not created for a man. I had a dread of his body. He assumed that when I closed my eyes it was supposed to signal that I enjoyed what he was doing. The more I tried to respond, the harder I tried to feel any pleasure from his body, the more nauseous I felt. Once I pushed him away from me and ran for the bathroom. I almost threw up. I felt so much shame and embarrassment, both with myself and with him, for degrading him so much. He did not deserve all the bad things I deluged him with, and so I asked him for a divorce. I know for certain that I did marry a truly lovely guy who had no anger toward anyone before he became attached to me, and I destroyed the vast hopes that he hung on our marriage. I did apologize to him. If I could have done anything more, I would have. I even considered telling him about my relationship with Nadia, and about the desires of my body, but I was afraid. I did not want to disfigure my image in his eyes any more than I already had.
So the two of you ended things without any problems?
My family objected and so did his. They tried to reconcile us but we were determined to keep absolutely silent. We had agreed to keep everything utterly to ourselves. In the end, everyone gave in, and the divorce happened.
You didn’t try to get Nadia back?
I tried, but with no success. At that point, she wasn’t even coming into town more than once a month. She did not answer my phone calls. I often heard about her; from our mutual friends, I got the details about how she had changed. She was acting completely blind to the world, leaving one relationship and throwing herself into another that was even worse. That was not the Nadia I had known, the one who was maybe kind of dumb and careless and chaotic but who was not deliberately self-destructive. I tried to restore our relationship from the point where she had broken it off. I tried at least to make her aware of what she was doing. I tried to show her how totally pointless this was, and how utterly she was destroying her life, but she kept me at a distance and went on throwing herself into those relationships of hers in a truly repugnant way. Her harshness toward me, the antipathy she showed, froze me in my steps as I tried to approach her in every way I could. For long moments I would feel the utmost hatred toward her. After all, she was the cause of what had happened, so why was she cutting me off, as if I were the criminal here! Finally, I had to tell myself very firmly that there was no use at all, this was what our relationship had come to.
So you weren’t in touch after that?
There were only the family occasions, which didn’t give mor
e than a superficial glimpse of her. I was as far into despair as it is possible to be, and I was also stupid enough that I practiced total self-denial for her sake. At the time, I believed that the mere thought of allowing someone to touch me was a betrayal of Nadia, let alone the act of it. I wanted revenge on her, though! I wanted it so much that I began to conjure up new and false friendships in front of our friends in order that my fabrications would reach her and stir up her jealousy. I often thought, in my times of weakness and fatigue, that I would get my revenge on her through my body, I would respond to her single punch with two, and I would let havoc rage through my body with one relationship after another, just as she was doing. But I sensed that I was simply falling into the depths, that none of this was any use. Things went on this way for a year or more. Then I admitted to myself that I had to get back to living my life. There was no point in waiting for something that would never arrive.
So what did you do?
Nothing important. I had no interests and I didn’t care about anything. I started two relationships—no, three. I got involved with that sort of people … I don’t know how to explain this to you.
You can try me.
People who are pretty much available. They can give; they have some space in their lives and in their hearts. I resolved not to get really involved in any relationship, not to take anything beyond the surface. No consequences, not even temporary possessiveness. I felt so light. I didn’t have to carry anything. I did not owe anything to anyone. But I was afraid. I found it oppressive to even think about going back in to the dead-end maze of love, and I was terror-stricken by the possibility of again facing isolation and abandonment, as I had with Nadia. My first relationship after Nadia ended in a matter of days because I felt so guilty, and the rest weren’t any better, since I always hurried to put out any live coals before a blast of wind from the other direction could blow it out, leaving me all alone.
And I am one of those who are pretty much available?
I don’t know. When I met you, somehow I knew that you and Dai were …
That me and Dai were what?
I saw you looking at her, but you weren’t staring into her eyes. The two of you—well, your eyes didn’t meet, except maybe once or twice. You were avoiding her, very politely, so it was hardly noticeable. But I am very good at noticing these little signs and recognizing what they mean … I knew you would not stay bound to her for very long. There was something inside of you that was free. Liberated.
How would you have known that I was bound to her?
I know Dai. Everyone knows Dai.
So how could you have initiated it, kissing me, that day, if you knew Dai and knew what she was like?
You could call it an underhanded move.
I don’t understand you.
From the way she was acting so pleased and proud, I knew that you were not out of the same mold. I decided that I wanted to help you get free of her, even if it meant pushing you to be unfaithful. She would not accept anyone putting her hand on her possessions, I knew that, and if it happened she would either no longer be interested, and she would drop you, or she would go mad.
And then what?
And then she would force her hell down your throat and you would not stay. Are you finding this painful, what I’m saying? Am I hurting you?
Don’t worry about it.
Reassure me. I am pretty dumb about these things. I should not have made you think about this.
Believe me, it is really nothing to worry about. Do you still love Nadia?
Ohh! To say I love Nadia is a very feeble way to express what Nadia deserves. To be honest, my heart is so full of Nadia that it is incapable of really and truly taking in others.
So, what if she comes back?
Don’t make me even consider the possibility. It’s painful.
Would you take her back?
To the very last prayer I pray in my life, I will pray that she return! And you can still ask if I would accept her or not?
And if she were to return …
But she won’t, you know!
How often I have thought that when someone is gifted, the talent they have is a guaranteed treasure with a lifelong warranty. At the height of my energetic teen years, I saw the world as something that exists forever and never knows old age. And now, when I looked at Dareen, what came to me was that she was just another person who showed all of her confusion as she spoke, as she searched in the depths of memory for some logical procession of thoughts, some way to connect the places of her own little history. She looked for the sentence that she ought to have been able to fling out in silence’s face but was not strong enough to say. An ordinary person stripped of the advantage of her talents, with a story lacking wholeness. I considered this. Just because you are gifted, I thought, does not mean that you are extraordinary, or exempt from life’s usual rules.
Sometimes, we love for the wrong reason. Other times, as in my situation with Dareen, I did not love, also for the wrong reason. In truth, Dareen is the sort of person who makes you feel that she deserves every breath of life, every moment of existence, every divine gift, every love that anyone is capable of giving. But I was not yet capable of loving. I was not capable of setting myself free for that towering height.
I can come up with interpretations for it, sure. Love is a fantasy, love is a state of attrition, love is persistent, incessant. Love is a maze with no exit, love is … so, yes, I have many pathways I can take to avoid really saying anything about love. Speaking truthfully, I’ll say that there is no truth in any of these interpretations, no truth but fear—this ancient and acidic infusion, fear, which etches painful things on my heart. Love is painful, and all of the words paired with it are parallel states that do not intersect with it. Love and loss, love and flight, love and absence, love and sorrow. I surrounded myself with more walls and steel and trenches, and it was hard for love to come creeping in, alone, without an invitation, and to break through all of my barbed wire. I had never filled up on someone before. I had never allowed anyone to be a daily part of my life. I had not loved enough. That is because birds do not visit fields where scarecrows reign.
With Dareen, I felt I had enough reassurance to set my heart down next to us on the table, without having to fear that she would steal it if I stopped paying attention to it, or to her. Not because she could not steal it, not because she did not want to steal it, but because she had understood instinctively from the very beginning how badly I was a losing mare in this race, and so she spared me a lot of hardship by placing no bets on me.
With Dareen, I began to rediscover my body as if it were something new. She would lure me slowly, lighting two candles and whispering scandalous things that made my skin tremble to hear them. She stayed neutral when there were wars between me and my body, even though I sought to embroil her in those conflicts between us. The parts of my body had their names, one by one, even the most secret; our moments had their private and special expressions; and what I would have believed was a cheap expression unbefitting to Dareen and her immense daintiness turned out, I discovered, to provide a kind of grimy tonic. Who said that mire does not touch or arouse you? Our physical relationship was sex, and not what I was used to calling it, allusively and euphemistically: that.
We talked a lot about Allah and our sins and the form our desires took. Often I hurried behind Dareen to shut whatever doors she walked through, which she left uncomfortably wide open for me, beckoning me to venture into regions that left me feeling unsafe and always on the brink of falling. Yet she would reopen those doors soundlessly after me. If God created me like this, she would say, what fault is it of mine? In turn, I would ask her, How did God create me? In what form did God make me? Does God create things that are defective, corrupt, depraved? She would scold me then. There are truths, and there are realities, and there are prejudices, and you absolutely must not mix them up. I did not understand her properly. As time passed, though, I did come to understand; layers of opacity were
peeled from my eyes. Fine, I would say to her then. I’ve had homo sex. But I’m not a homo. The constitution of my desire is not … I would look her way and find her smiling indulgently, but I would go on. I don’t mean that it is wrong, I would say. If I were really like that, then it would be my business and I would be responsible for handling it, period. As I said this, I could see that she was laughing.
Don’t apologize for what you’re about and what you believe in, she would say. And don’t try to justify yourself to anyone! So I would ask her, Is it bad for me to say to you what I am about to say? That what I really yearn for in you is a man—a man who will never show up.
She would respond only by saying, Don’t turn your desires into a criminal offense. Don’t criminalize your needs, either.
In most of Dareen’s conversations, Nadia was the topic of choice. What happened that last time? she would ask. Why did our relationship end? How did it end? I love her, I don’t love her. Dareen’s vast ability to hatch questions like these irritated me, for the questions were inexhaustible, and every question produced a hundred new ones branching from it. From the evocative expressions that lined her face, and from her questions, I believed that Dareen did carry an image of what had happened and what it meant, and she was trying to make it fit some image of mine even as the form that my responses took did not change. I continued to probe with a few words and a lot of obstacles that stopped me, until there came the day when I said to her, Didn’t you tell me before that you are not so concerned about every detail of what happened?
The Others Page 16
