An Ishmael of Syria

by Asaad Almohammad

  I respected Caroline’s wishes and when she called, I made myself available. I never heard from her after she left the island. Social networking wasn’t my thing. I seldom appeared online; when I did it was almost always by mistake. It was around a year after Caroline had left the island that we had a conversation. She was staying in New York and wanted to tell me how much she missed life in Malaysia. Jennifer was a close friend of hers. Caroline asked me to help her get by. Through a number of emails, Jennifer and I arranged for a meeting once she landed on the island. I friended her on Facebook before she left South Korea. She looked younger in person.

  **********

  There she was, a petite, hyperactive woman; talking to three people while collecting some files. She didn’t notice me at first. Once her brown eyes caught a glimpse of mine, her pale face lit up with the most pleasing smile I’d ever seen. She was all business, a little uptight but it didn’t matter since I only wanted to familiarise her on how to get things done. I have to admit that there wasn’t much that I could offer. She was one of the most organised women I’d ever met. On the bus to the café, she showed me this envelope. In it she had arranged printed advertisements of rooms she liked, with contact information and everything; it also included her plans for a week with maps and budgets. She had it all figured out. In the café she gave me a number. It belonged to a customs officer in the airport. Jennifer had had an issue with her luggage; it wasn’t the last time though. Every time she came to the island, a delay in collection occurred. That day the officer had told us to go there after 7.00 p.m. Meanwhile we met a few friends, took our lunch, and bought a few things from the mall.

  “Would you like to join me for a cigarette?” I pointed to the café patio. Jennifer looked shocked and in a tone of agitation she noted, “I don’t smoke!”

  “I know! I meant to continue our conversation outside. I guarantee you, the view is better from there. Ha, what do say you?” I gave her a grin as if it would persuade her. I opened the door and waited for her to walk out. I tapped a cigarette against my lips and offered her one; from her seat she gave me a face that clearly said, “Fuck off.” A belly laugh escaped from me while studying her expression. Trying to collect my breath, I teased, “Take it easy madam, I am just messing around!”

  “Ha,” she gave me the profile of her face.

  “Jennifer, take it easy! Tell me now, are you tired? I can take you to your guest house…”

  “No, no. I am fine,” she waved a hand in front of her face and smirked. She thinned her lips and continued, “It’s just that everything is in that bag; my cosmetics, clothes, books, your gift. Are you busy? I don’t want to bother you though.”

  “Oh, you’re asking me something! You lost me at gift.”

  “My brother said that I should buy you something…”

  “Jennifer, Jennifer,” I pursed my fingers’ tips. “I am kidding. You’re not bothering me at all. I was worried you might be tired. I am not planning to work today. Remember, I offered my help. Besides, I haven’t gotten to know you, yet. Tell me, why Malaysia?”

  “I’ve worked for the last five years, non-stop. I had no option, I had to. I guess I've missed out on a lot of things in life. Think of it as a vacation so I can figure out my life ahead.” I could see that she was forcing the words out. Though, I had no doubt that they were sincere.

  “Hey cheer up, Penang is a good place to decompress.” For a few months to a year, the place is great. If you’re a Caucasian, you get treated like royalty. Korean and Japanese likewise. She will love it. She’ll make a lot of local friends in no time. I reckoned they’d paint her the picture: Middle Easterners are dangerous folk with their cocks over the shoulders, on alert to attack. In our bags there are all tools of misogyny. We are not to be touched. We are to be feared.

  Being a tanned Arab comes in handy in socialising with the Malay, but not the Chinese, should you be Muslim. Still you fall short on the list of peoples’ values. But being a tanned Arab infidel, you are lowest of all lows. Lower than cats for the Chinese Malaysians; lower than dogs for the Malay. Of course, I wouldn’t dare to generalise the observation, even in my head. It was just my limited personal experience. And I would not say that you could not have a lasting friendship with locals; I had had the pleasure of meeting some bright-minded individuals. However, having been on the defence long enough, I’d been overwhelmed with a desire to change the status quo. I’d managed to elicit a change in the attitude against my kind in my own circles. Admittedly, I’d avoided such urges on many occasions. I’d often found myself weak in an endless struggle against a deeply-rooted culture of bigotry. For me the island had long been branded as a place of exile. But for Jennifer, I was confident that she would like it here.

  Jennifer sighed, “I have my doubts after my experience at the airport.”

  I averted, “Come on, these kind of things happen anywhere. I am sure you’ll love it here! Besides, it’s a chance for us to get to know each other.”

  “Right, right, you’re right Mister Adam…”

  “Drop the ‘Mister’ please. Unless, of course, if you prefer me to address you as ‘Madam’.”

  “Madam,” she grinned and continued, “No don’t, Adam.” Calling me by name sounded heavy and forced.

  “That’s better Jennifer! So what did you do? I mean for living?”

  “I worked at a cosmetics packaging company in Seoul. We dealt with different suppliers and distributed our products around Asia. I handled the Chinese market.”

  “Oh, that sounds good. So, do you speak Chinese?”

  “Yah, of course! What about you?”

  “Before coming to Malaysia, I worked at a college. Here,” I looked around to indicate I was referring to the island, “Many things. All boring stuff. You know, I am still doing my PhD. So do you have a family?”

  I realised that the question sounded a little odd as she began to crack a laugh. “Everybody has a family,” she smirked and continued, “but if you mean whether I am married or emotionally involved, I am not!”

  “You mentioned your brother, any other siblings?”

  “No, just the one. You?”

  “Now, five sisters and two brothers.”

  “Oooh, your mother had given birth to eight…”

  “Actually, nine.”

  “I am sorry…”

  “Don’t worry about it, it was long time ago.”

  I suggested we go inside. It was a hot day and the sun was slowly approaching us. “Would you mind if I worked a bit on my laptop?” I asked. She didn’t mind. She was a very polite lady. She paid attention and was full of gratitude. After skimming the news headlines, I gave her a look. I couldn’t fail to see her exhaustion as she started to doze off. She made these soft snoring sounds. I thought it was very cute. It hit me that she had arrived the night before and still hadn’t made it to bed. She couldn’t have had even an hour to rest. I worked on my thesis for few hours.

  Regardless of how soft her snoring sounded, it woke her up few times. She would crack open her eyes, look around, close her eyes, and snore again. The time flew past as I fixated on some theory of unconscious emotional reactions. It was already quarter to eight. I tapped Jennifer on her shoulder and gave her a grin as she opened her eyes.

  We took a cab to the airport, got her luggage, and took another cab back to the town. For most of it we didn’t talk. Though, whenever we passed a street, I’d tell her the name and the attractions. Her luggage was quite heavy and I carried it to the third floor of her guest house. “Jennifer you must be starving,” I said. She nodded in agreement. I added, “Let me wait downstairs. I’ll take you to an Indian restaurant. It’s famous; there is a whole section about it in Lonely Planet.”

  “Let me decorate myself first!”

  “Ha ha, you mean fix your make-up!”

  “No, decorate myself,” she thinned her lips and made this angry-kid face.

  We walked through a few alleys of old Georgetown. “This is the cheapest place on
the island if you want to get some beer,” I pointed at a place called Anterabangsa. “Here we are,” I announced our arrival at the restaurant.

  “I am starving,” Jennifer rubbed her skinny tummy.

  I couldn’t help it but notice her studying me eating. With a mouth half full I asked, “What’s up?”

  “Slow down, Adam. Let’s enjoy our dinner! Are you in rush or something? Am I boring you?”

  “Ooh,” I felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry, force of habit,” I justified.

  “I am sorry; it’s just that I used to be you!”

  “What? Were you a guy who was born in the wrong body? I am ok with that, just so you know.”

  She stared at me for seconds before she belly-laughed and I could see the tears drop from her eyes. I tried to keep a serious face until the upper corners of my lips started to quiver, cracking a laugh. We noticed the little kids at the next table staring at us like old men bothered by our childish outbreak. Jennifer had this thing for kids. I swear, regardless of gender or race, she loved them and they loved her back. She talked in toddler tongue to them. I was not sure whether they got what she said but those old-men-looking toddlers started giggling.

  “Do they have beer in here?” she asked.

  “No, this is an Indian Muslim restaurant, I am afraid not.”

  “Are you?”

  “No, I don’t believe in the guy, girl, or whatever it might be. And if it does exist, I am not a big fan. You?”

  “I believe in family as the only divine, sacred thing.”

  “I like that, having faith in family!”

  I walked her back to the guest house. She wanted to check out the next day. I knew her luggage was heavy and she needed some help to get by. The next day she moved into a room in a Chinese woman’s house. We both kept things formal. However, I’d taken the initiative of checking on her every now and then. I invited her out few times but never only the two of us. One day, I messaged, “How are you? How are your studies? I hope all is well.” She replied, “Why?” I wrote her back, “Just checking on you? I thought that’s what friends do!” She didn’t write a thing. The next day, while I was working from the café, she came and stood opposite to my table. It took me a while to catch a glimpse of her angry face.

  For several moments she stood there in silence. She might've been waiting for me, hoping that I’d be able to read her mind. I was no psychic though! She crossed her arms, folded them, and gave me that deadly stare. She berated, loudly, “Who are you? What do you take me for? I am a woman, not some helpless child!” I looked around as the people in the café started to study us. I gave her a grin and said, “It is my fault! Can you take a seat please?” “I didn’t mean to offend you,” I continued.

  “Jennifer, what can I get you?” I pointed to the nosy barista who seemed to be entertained by our quarrel. Jennifer's face turned slightly red, and she pressed her elbow against the table while leaning her forehead against the back of her hand. “I’ll choose for you,” I lowered my face so she could see my eyes.

  As I waited to be served, I couldn’t help but recall the last time we’d been together. It was in one of those upscale areas. For me, every time, I went there, the beauty of the ocean, the imperial architecture and the yachts brought bad feelings, reminding me of my limits. We had gone together to meet the guys over there. Our friends had left earlier. On our way back to the bus stop, she told me about her ex-boyfriend. Actually, I brought the subject up. She briefly recounted their affair. When I enquired about the reasons that had brought their relationship to end, all she said was “Promises are important. It’s okay if you cannot deliver them all. It’s enough to try.” She was talking about her former boyfriend, but I knew she was telling me something else. I played dumb to keep things formal. It’s not that I didn’t desire her then. My past, if anything, proved that I inflict people with nothing but heartbreak. Once I got there, there was no going back. I didn’t want to lose her. In the back of my head, the only true voice I could hear was, she’s too good for you.

  Every time I looked at her, a gracious grin masked my face. I handed her the drink and seated myself. I kept observing her. She broke in, “I just humiliated myself, no?” Thinning my lips as I struggled to hide my smile, I nodded sideways. I could see the confusion in her eyes, “No, no, just a simple misunderstanding; that’s all,” I clarified. The awkward silence couldn’t have been louder: say something, say something, anything! While I collected my thoughts, she stared at me. “Jennifer,” I chipped in and studied her face for moments, unable to come up with anything to clear the air.

  Finally, I was able to articulate myself. “Listen, Jennifer,” I said, “we are both strangers in this country. I just thought, as a friend, I should check on you from time to time. I meant no offence, though. It’s just the way I treat my friends. I just wanted to assure you that you can count on me, as a friend. I know you can handle things on your own, I am just offering help, in case you need any.”

  She broke in, “Adam, friends only message each other on occasion, like Christmas, New Year, not to check on them.”

  “Oh, come on Jennifer. Friends should be there for their friends!”

  “Not in Korea!”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention. Let me make it up to you! Have you ever tried Mexican food?”

  “Yeeees.” It was one of the longest yesses I’ve ever heard.

  “I like Mexican food. What say you, I treat you for lunch?” She just stared at me. “Fine, let’s go,” I invited. Over lunch, we talked about many things. She watched the news. We found ourselves drifting from the conflict in Syria to Obama’s job act. After lunch we parted ways. I didn’t contact her for weeks. I thought it would be better that way.

  I was restless on my bed when I finally got her call, the first since that lunch at the Mexican joint. It was late and got me worried. She blubbered, “I need to see you now!” No questions asked, I called a cab. I stood by the elevator of her block before messaging her to come down.

  I watched her as she emerged. She was wearing that pink tank top that had a painting of a toaster with a headset plugged into it. The shirt showed her bewitching little arms; still I hated that fucking top. Her beige mini shorts revealed the beauty hidden by those stupid jeans of hers. Her tearful eyes were red, leaving me with wondering, did I do something? I put out a gentle hand, almost touching her shoulder blade, and walked her to a marble seat by the entrance to her block. She sat so close that her arm was a breath away from mine. For the fraction of a second it touched mine, some sort of heated, minor electrical shock pushed mine away. Those brief almost unnoticeable touches raised in me some sort of masochistic desire I never knew existed. Suddenly, all I wanted of her was to toughen her grip on my chest and press her hands so hard that her finger nails cut through my rough flesh. As I pushed away my dirty thoughts, Jennifer broke in, sobbing, “Do I look like a cheap whore?!”

  “What?” I chipped in, “What happened?” Ashamed and angered, her eyes were unable to hold her tears. I watched as she placed one hand on her temple while the other wiped both cheeks. I offered her a cigarette and whispered, “Take your time!” Her reaction was a mixture of a gape and a high pitched laugh. “No thanks, that’s not the solution for everything,” she replied to my silly offer.

  “That’s better, smiling suits you better.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered and gave me a feeble grin.

  “So Jennifer, I’m all ears. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  She recounted, “There is this guy from my class…” She went silent for a while before adding, “We usually study together. Yesterday…”

  I could see that it was hard for her to talk about it. I put a hand on her shoulder and assured her, “It’s ok you can tell me anything.” She pulled the phone out of her pocket and murmured, “See for yourself!” The opened message read, “I like you. I’ll give you RM 100 to have sex with me.” I was in shock for a moment, with no id
ea what to say. I guess she could see that I was dumbstruck. She broke in, “He is from Jordan. His name is Islam.” For some reason, I hissed, “Islam!”

  “Why? Do I look like a cheap prostitute?” she demanded an answer.

  “It’s not about you Jennifer. It is not! He is a bad person.” I could’ve spoken my native tongue, saying curses like a waste of human spirit, anus mouth, and assed-faced-fuck. But all I said was the shithead is a bad person. I gasped, “You are a decent woman. I know some good Jordanian people. But this guy is an idiot. In what world could anybody say something like that? Don’t you dare entertain the idea that it’s somehow your fault! I know a lot of half-men who have no clue whatsoever on how to treat a lady, let alone show affection. Jennifer, listen to me, it is not your fault. I’ll deal with him, just leave it to me.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, holding back tears.

  “You think you’re cheap,” I broke in after moments of awkward silence and I continued, “let me tell you a story. I think it was my second day in Penang. I wanted to buy an SD card. My roommate told me to get it from BG. You know the mall near your institute? So I took the bus, reached the mall, and bought the SD card. I wanted to take the bus back home but I didn’t know which number it was. A man was standing by the bus stop. He looked in his late sixties. I asked and he told me which one to take. He was waiting for some bus but I didn’t know which one it was. I noticed his intense look at me before he asked, ‘Can I touch your arm?’ I just went, ‘What? Why? No!’ He said, ‘I give you fifty.’ So you see, I am cheaper than you.”