by Sarah Monzon
Approving murmurs swept through the tent, and I let those affirmations reinforce my resolve as Mahabat continued to read the next section—the lifetime deferment.
“Karim Al-Amir, upon his marriage to Hannah Pratt, does offer her—” He looked up at me, eyes wide. He licked his lips.
I nodded for him to continue.
“Half of all his worldly possessions.”
Tongues that had whispered approval now unfurled without restraint. A small sum, a token, was all I was supposed to give. All that was expected. In essence, in the eyes of my people, I had given my wife freedom. Which was exactly what she deserved.
If my marriage to Hannah hadn’t spoken a message to my people, the gift of the meher did. Though by the fire sparking from some of the eyes glaring at me, that message may not have been received quite like I’d hoped.
Chapter 12
Hannah
“It is time.”
I knew it was. The growing knot in the pit of my stomach as I’d watched the moon travel the dome of the sky had wound itself tighter and tighter with each passing hour.
I nodded up at my mother, surprised she’d been the one to bring me the news.
She reached for my hand, and we walked back to our tent. My family’s tent. The one that had sheltered me for years. The one that had memories and laughter woven into every fiber of goat hair. The one that would no longer be mine to call home.
I shivered, though the night air wasn’t the cause. Mom squeezed my hand and opened the flap to the tent. I stepped inside, gaze darting around to all that was familiar. In the middle of the room, like a throne, lay plush pillows. The place I was to wait before being collected and escorted to another tent. To Karim.
My palms grew sweaty, and I pushed them along the rough surface of the stuffed cushions as I sat.
Karim had been married before. He had certain expectations. What if I didn’t meet those? What if I was horrible at being a wife and I disappointed him?
My hands trembled, and I gripped the tassels that ran along the seam of the pillow. My parents had been open enough for me to know the coming together of two bodies wasn’t something to fear. For that I was thankful. It hadn’t been until I’d befriended other American Christians that I’d learned the underlying culture that produced hurdles, especially in the minds of young women, when it came to purity. The shame of feeling pleasure at a new husband’s touch because of the years being told that those feelings were dirty and sinful.
It wasn’t shame that washed through my core. Not even at the memory of the stirring of desire when Karim had kissed me. If anything, that lesson had taught me more than any sterile physiology class could have. That God created mankind for more than functionality, but to enjoy the life He bestows on his children. And the fact that Karim and I could possibly enjoy one another in a way that was meant for marriage was a comfort. Despite that, my body quaked. The trepidation coming from…oh dear, could I even say it?
What if I was bad at it? What if Karim’s late wife had been exceptionally good and I ended up exceptionally…not?
Heat flushed my cheeks at my thoughts. Not so much that a good Christian girl was having them—I mean, anyone who’d read Song of Solomon would be familiar with the more amorous side of the Bible.
I’d tried to put the thoughts out of my mind all day and had mostly succeeded. Whenever they’d creep in, I could shut them out again by a distraction. I swallowed hard as I stared at the dark leather flap. The one that any minute now would be raised. I couldn’t ignore the inevitable that lay before me, and my thoughts battled against each other like a civil war.
Sex is a gift from God, meant to be enjoyed in the holy confines of marriage.
But it is supposed to be an outward expression, a natural culmination of love between a man and a woman. Karim has never professed to love me. Not in that way.
When you agreed to marry him, you agreed to share all of your life together. You knew what you were getting into.
But that knowledge isn’t comforting me now! No knowledge is! I know about sex, but I don’t know about sex. What if…how do I…what about…
All my thoughts and questions fell upon me like a pounding waterfall, made up images of the night going wrong mocking me like a tormentor until I thought I’d scream.
Mom’s hand weighed on the top of my head. “Shhhh.”
I hadn’t made a sound, but still she shushed me. She gingerly lowered herself beside me, and I gripped on to her gaze like a lost child. “Shhh,” she said again.
I sat there and waited, hungry for words of assurance. The night ahead of me was nothing to fear. Lovemaking was a beautiful act, to be anticipated. Karim was a gentle man and would not hurt me, as I’d read was sometimes the case. A few syllables of sage advice, that was all I needed.
No words spilled from my mother’s lips as the flap lifted and a breeze wafted through. She kissed me on the forehead and then dabbed at her eyes, sitting back away from me.
My heart raced. I wasn’t ready. I took back what I’d said earlier about being thankful the ceremony was only going to last one day. Surely there was enough water in the area to sustain us a bit longer. Tomorrow. Maybe I’d be ready tomorrow.
The bangles on Yara’s wrist jingled as she motioned to me. “It’s time.”
On shaky legs, I stood and walked out into the night. Jamal stood before me in splendor, freshly washed and fitted with a houdach saddle, brightly colored tassels hanging from almost every inch of his body.
I swallowed hard as I stepped up to Karim’s camel, wishing I could sneak away, wishing for a bit of privacy. The whole clan would witness the procession as I was led away from the protection of my father’s tent and delivered on the other side of the encampment to Karim. Embarrassment tinged my cheeks as I mounted and swayed with Jamal’s motion as he stood. My veil offered a cover to hide behind, but I still wanted to slink away. There was a difference from everyone knowing what occurred on a wedding night and having everyone’s eyes on you as you made your way to it.
Already I knew the talk. Knew how hardly anyone agreed with Karim’s decision to marry me. I wasn’t a fitting wife for a sheikh.
For Karim, I squared my shoulders and straightened my posture. Though the people respected him, he would receive hardship on my account. I wouldn’t add to it by shriveling under the accusatory stares that followed me as Jamal plodded on.
Too soon and yet not soon enough, Jamal was tugged to a stop in front of Karim’s tent, his knees tapped to kneel so I could dismount. The musicians played with enthusiasm, the height of the celebration culminating in the clapping and dancing of those on the outskirts of my vision.
Karim opened the flap of his tent, his tailored white thawb reflecting the flames of the nearby fire. He stood erect, a statue of manhood, his trimmed beard not hiding the firm tilt to his jaw.
I sucked in my breath at the sight of him. With me he had always been kindness and patience. Never angered or taking offense when I did something that was culturally unacceptable growing up. Instead he’d direct me with a gentle hand.
The man who stood in front of that tent flap resembled nothing of the compassionate boy I knew. His hard gaze slowly oscillated from face to face. As if he dared every man there to speak against him. To raise even a sound of discord within his hearing.
I waited. Waited for him to turn his gaze on me. For his face to soften to the Karim I knew. The Karim that had carried me after the scorpion sting. Had helped me back up after toppling from my first camel ride. Had kissed me in the cave.
But he didn’t look at me. Not once. With his scrutiny over my shoulder, he lifted his palm skyward in my direction.
The official summons.
Head bowed, I stepped toward him, the knot in my stomach twisting tighter. My soul craved a kind word as I passed him. Something under his breath meant just for me. A small grazing of his finger on my skin that no one else would notice. But all was silent and still as I stepped past him and into the tent.
Air whooshed around me as the flap closed. I stood without moving. Though tradition had written the procession of the day, everything was unscripted from here. Would Karim escort me directly to the sleeping pallet? Would he touch me in ways I’d never been touched? Would the orchestra play and the choir sing deep within my soul, as he’d implied in the privacy of our cave?
My muscles grew taut as I stood there. My heart raced. Like a sixth sense I could feel Karim’s movements as he tied off the entrance.
Still I waited. For his touch, his direction.
He stepped past me without a word, and the displaced air from his movement took the breath from my lungs. My coiled muscles released so quickly I thought I’d drop to the floor. Instead, I took a step forward. Allowed my face to lift and take in my surroundings. I’d never been inside Karim’s tent before. It was huge. My parents’ tent had one large room, but Karim’s was sectioned off. Which made sense. With him being the sheikh, he often had guests and visitors that he entertained in this main section.
Karim walked behind a partition, and I took another step forward, curious about my new home. The rugs along the floor were the highest quality. It must have taken the women months to dye and work such a neat and intricate weave. Large pillows bordered the center rug in an inviting manner.
Should I sit? Stay standing? Investigate wherever Karim and gone off to?
Before I had too long to decide, the partition lifted again, and Karim entered with a steaming carafe and two small cups.
“Sit, Hannah. Be comfortable.”
Sit I could do. Be comfortable? I had my doubts.
I lowered onto a pillow and arranged the billowing skirt of my dress around my ankles.
Karim poured coffee into a cup and handed it to, me then poured his own and sat down. He took a drink and eyed me over the rim. The hardness had left, replaced with a hint of mischief.
There went that knot again. Tighter, tighter.
He set down his cup with a small smile and leaned toward me, his gaze never leaving my face. “May I?” His hand lifted toward my cheek.
I nodded and held still as he lifted the circlet from my forehead and the veil of gold discs no longer hid my face. He set it on the ground, then turned and removed the pins fastening the head covering. It fell to my shoulders before drifting the rest of the way to the floor.
His eyes widened, surprised my hair had been left down.
“Your mother,” I said as way of explanation.
He said something, but I couldn’t make it out, the music outside the tent rising in volume at the height of the song. Draining the last of his coffee, he stood and offered me his hand.
This is it.
I ignored the hammering of my heart and slipped my palm into his, his strength easily helping me rise to my feet.
Instead of leading me away, he let go of my hand and took a step back. Openly regarded me from the tip of my head to my bare toes peeking out under my hem. Admiration lit his face, and my cheeks flamed. Again.
“Your mother did a beautiful job with my dress.” I looked down and folded my hands into the chiffon.
He stepped forward and kissed my cheek. Lingered. “I’ll be sure to thank her later.”
Later. After.
My vision clouded as my muscles tightened again.
He stepped back, and I hoped he hadn’t sensed the quickening of my pulse. The underlying nerves that charged through my body like a lightning storm. I didn’t want him to think I was having second thoughts. That in any way I would reject him.
“Would you like to see your new home?” He offered his hand again, and I took it with resolve. Now would be when he led me to the marriage bed.
We ducked under the partition he’d gone through before. The room was smaller than the one we’d left, but still comfortable. Cooking utensils were stacked in an organized manner in the corner.
“This is the women’s section. My mother uses it mostly for cooking and entertaining her friends.”
I nodded, not really seeing everything all the woven walls contained. Any minute now he’d lead me on. To the bedroom. Though there was a lot to take in, my mind wouldn’t release its grasp of that thought alone. I was like a child afraid of the monster in her closet. I knew there was no monster, nothing to fear. And yet my hands grew clammy and my heart raced. Or maybe I was more like a world-renowned chef about to place a delicious dish in front of a critic. That critic had tasted delicious food before, maybe he’d deem mine less than desirable.
I shook my head even though I knew the movement would do nothing to dislodge my thoughts. What I needed was to be still. Get out of my head.
I scoffed, knowing my ability to stem my thoughts would be about as possible as damming the Nile river with a single chopstick.
With a hand to the small of my back, Karim led me forward and through another partition. In the middle of the room, wool quilts had been laid over henna-dyed goat-hair mats. At the head of the quilts rested two rectangular pillows. It didn’t matter what country or culture a person was from—everyone would know I stood at the foot of a bed. My chin trembled, and I bit my lip, hating myself for the irrational reaction I was having to the whole thing.
“Your room,” I forced myself to say past thinned lips. If I could command my tongue to work, then that was a small victory. One small victory at a time and perhaps my wooden limbs would work less like a marionette and more like a fluid human.
The heat from Karim’s body radiated into my back. “Our room.”
His breath on the back of my neck caused an uncontrollable shiver. Not necessarily unpleasant, but it wasn’t helping me to clear my mind either.
He moved past me and sat on the bed, removed the shoes from his feet. “How was the celebration in the women’s tent?”
His question caught me off guard by its normalcy. How could he ignore the suffocating presence of what was to come, as if the future were a living thing that took up space and oxygen within this very room, and ask me something so mundane? Were not his nerves pulled as tight as mine?
Of course not. Because whereas I only knew about what was to happen, he knew. We were on unequal ground, and I was the only one of us unbalanced because of it.
His question did remind me though. “Thank you for sending the chicken. That was very thoughtful.”
He looked up at me with a grin. “Couldn’t have you losing your stomach on your wedding day, now could I?”
I returned his smile and shook my head.
The tilt of his lips fell a little as he regarded me.
I tried not to squirm, not to let my gaze fall to the ground. Tried not to let the knot sink to the very bottom of my stomach. When his smile drooped, I tried not to dwell on the fact that he looked disappointed.
“Sit down, Hannah.” His words were heavy, tired.
Anguish had me clenching my eyes shut before I took a step toward him. All this time I’d been dwelling on my own feelings and hadn’t once cared enough to look past those to see how my friend was holding up. This day was big for both of us for different reasons. While I had been petty in allowing jealousy and doubt control my emotions, Karim had been nothing but honorable.
I sat beside him, an apology tumbling from my lips. How many brides felt the need to say they were sorry so many times on their wedding day?
He entwined our fingers and ran the pad of his thumb along the back of my hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I turned to look at him. “But I do. A marriage shouldn’t start as an act of sacrifice, and that’s what this is. You’ve sacrificed marrying a woman you love so that you could protect me and my family. You deserve another chance with a woman of your choosing. Like you had with Maleka.” I knew their union hadn’t been a love match. Karim had told me as much before. But at least with her he hadn’t been forced into the situation, the only solution to a problem he thought his responsibility.
He shook his head. “I had less of a choice with Maleka then I did with you. My fa
ther chose Maleka. I chose you.”
Karim’s hand came up, and he rested his wrist on the top of my shoulder, his fingers sliding over my hair. I watched his eyes track the movements of his fingers until they shifted and captured my gaze.
His eyes had always entranced me. They were as dark as midnight without the glow of a moon. So dark, in fact, that I often had difficulty discerning where his iris and pupil began and ended. Even at this close distance they melted into one another.
“Do you believe a person’s soul can bond with another?” His breath fanned my face and smelled of the coffee we had drunk.
The knot in my stomach clenched in an unfamiliar way. As if it responded to Karim’s question before my mind could form an answer and my voice deliver it.
Did I believe that souls bonded together?
You and Karim are not two halves that make a whole. Already you are both complete. His mother’s words came back to me. I agreed with her. Plato’s philosophy of love being a single soul that was divided into two bodies was a romantic idea for the movies, but not something I believed in nor thought Biblical. Helpmates, yes. Soul mates, no.
But bonding? Wasn’t that God ordained? Through intimacy? The two shall become one.
Karim traced my bottom lip with his finger. “I have never understood it, this inexplicable drawing of my soul to yours.”
I shrugged away his intensity. “I’m different.” A peach in an almond grove.
“Different. Unique. Special. But those words do not define the invisible cord that connects us.” He moved my hair off my shoulder and gently rubbed the lobe of my ear between his fingers. “You are sorry because you think I was forced into the decision to choose you, but, Hannah, I think my heart chose yours that day you were stung by the scorpion and I scooped you up in my arms and carried you to your parents.”
My breath was coming in short bursts now. “It did?”
He moved closer, his fingers at the nape of my neck pressing me closer as well. His mouth hovered over mine. “I choose you again, today and every day,” he whispered. With infinitesimal measurements he closed the gap, his warm mouth on mine.
