I swallowed, my face burning. Ahmed had made no promises to me about marriage. And except for that once, he had always touched me with restraint. I couldn’t believe how far Mishail had gone, and I couldn’t believe the casual calmness with which she was admitting to sin after sin. These weren’t ordinary crimes, music tapes and jeans or dreams of tattoos and colored hair. Mishail had fallen into the kind of love we all ached for and yet feared, the obsessive and impossible hope we clung to that we would find a man who loved us enough to carry the weight of all our unanswered prayers.
“But all we did was talk. All night, all he wanted to do was talk. About my father. About how much he hated the ministry. He checked every wall and window for surveillance cameras, even when I told him they would never put cameras in a girl’s bedroom. In the morning, he left without even saying good-bye. That’s when I knew he didn’t love me. He never had. He’d been using me to get information on my father. But that wasn’t the worst of it. That isn’t why I—” She swallowed. “He took a photo of me, a photo that I’d let him take as a token of my love, and he posted it online for his friends to comment on.”
Aisha and Sofia looked between me and Mishail uncertainly, horrified mirrors of each other.
“And that wasn’t the worst of it. The guys on the forum commenting on my looks, the girls commenting on my weight, everyone on the Internet having an opinion on how my eyebrows were shaped—I could have survived all that. The worst was when my father found out.”
I gasped.
Mishail looked at me, her eyes full of love and gratitude, but also resignation.
“Yes, he saw it, before Leena took down the post. Nothing is ever really deleted once it’s online. The ministry can always find it.”
Mishail put her arms out on the table and rolled up her long sleeves to reveal deep bruises.
“He wasn’t too happy,” she said, laughing bitterly. “He moved me into my mother’s room and made sure someone’s with me at all times. The driver’s out there, watching us, making sure I really am where I say I’m going to be. In two weeks he’s going to marry me off to a colleague before I can damage his reputation even more. And then I’ll be free.”
“Mishy, you can’t—”
“What do you want me to do, Leena? There isn’t a single soul on earth I trust anymore. You always said you’d find a way, you’d never leave my side, and I trusted you to save me. So? Do you have a plan?”
I stared at her in stunned silence.
“Of course she does,” Aisha said. “Leena always has an answer. So what’s the plan?”
I showed them the papers I’d taken from Maryam Madam’s office, told them in a quick whisper what they were, what I meant to do with them.
“Are you joking?” Aisha asked. “This isn’t some high school prank.”
“Good, because we graduate from high school in a month,” I said. “You just heard Mishail. I’m not about to let her— Look, I’m going to do this. I’m only telling you in case you want to do it, too.”
“I … would it work for Nasser?” Aisha asked. “He’s in Dubai, and I’d heard—”
“It’s the same form for marrying a non-Saudi as for marrying anyone else. It’s an open slip, signed and ready whenever you are.”
“But then we’d have to go to Dubai,” Aisha said. “He wouldn’t be able to get a job here, but I can’t travel without my father’s permission. Oh my God, we’re talking about jobs and marriage like we’re grown-ups.”
We grinned awkwardly, but Aisha was right. This was the first time we’d had conversations as women, about how we’d live out our lives. Live them out. We were making the biggest decisions we had ever made, all in the span of the isha prayer.
It was a good thing it was the longest prayer of the day.
“When?” Sofia asked.
“Next Tuesday,” I said, looking at Mishail. Her face brightened as she understood. It was the day of the debate.
“The guy you’re choosing,” Sofia asked me slowly, “you’re sure of him? I’m not sure I’d even trust my own brother with something like this.”
“I’m sure. Mishail?” My heart was in my throat.
“If he consents,” she said shakily.
“Are we really doing this, then?” Sofia asked nervously. “Once we do this, we can’t go back. This isn’t like choosing between college and working in a coffee shop. This is the rest of our lives. Can we really make a decision like this without—”
She broke off.
“Consulting our guardians?” I asked sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. That we’re not going to be treated like children anymore. I’m tired of complaining about not having any choices. I’m tired of being helpless, waiting for some hopefully not awful guy to rescue me. So here’s your freedom. Take it or don’t, it doesn’t matter, but for once, choose, and live with it.”
Sofia stared at the table as the waiter brought us our check. Mishail paid it quietly.
“I guess if you’re old enough to be married or taken to jail, you’re old enough to choose your own husband,” Sofia said. She shrugged and looked up. “I’m in.”
Aisha said, “After this, we’ll all be in our separate lives. How are we supposed to go on alone?”
“You’re not alone,” I said, kissing the top of her head as I got up. “The contract you wrote says we’re in this together for life.”
“You won’t forget about me if I move to Dubai?”
“Aisha, darling, we can’t do any of this without you. If your part doesn’t work out, we’ll all be packed off to jail. How are we supposed to forget the one who saves us all?”
Aisha burst into tears then, nervous laughter mixed with grief. In a few days we’d never see one another again, and I hugged her to hide my own tears.
On the way to the car, Mishail dragged me aside. Her eyes were wet, and she whispered, “You once asked why there weren’t more of us out there. Do you see now what you can do that Manal couldn’t? What only you can do?”
I shook my head. I told her it was chance, chance and the will of God, that I had been driven to such measures, that I’d taken law lessons, that I’d known to mention adhl to the minister at the right time, that I’d thought of this plan and taken all the forms and not just one for myself.
Mishail clicked her tongue in exasperation and nipped my ear fondly.
I grinned, because she only did that when she was truly happy.
23
INHIRAF
The days leading up to the debate were the most nerve-racking, slow days I’d ever experienced, and I was no stranger to the desert’s heavy hours. You didn’t need to watch the news to know that things were heating up again. Outside the malls, various posters cited phrases from the Quran, but no phrase was more prominently featured than the one at the center of the debate at the Majlis—qawwam’una a’ala aln-nissa.
Men are the guardians of women.
Outside Faisaliyah mall, the muttaween’s chants were growing more frantic. They now addressed women directly, yelling “Cover your eyes!” with increasing desperation, while women shot back with easy sarcasm, “Cover your own eyes, pervert. You’re supposed to look away.”
SUVs were always swarming around the major streets, Al-Hai’a waiting to catch women doing something. The minister appeared on television looking gaunt, as if he hadn’t slept for a month.
“It is true that the Women’s Council has submitted a recommendation that the qawwama of men over women be a recommendation and not a legal requirement,” he said. “Even if it is ratified by the king, I urge caution and prudence in the application. The very fabric of society could be changed. This could plunge us into chaos.”
Mishail used one of Rasha’s burner phones that I’d given her to send me a message. If this doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. At least you won’t have to worry about my betraying you ever again.
Don’t be so dramatic, I sent back, my fingers trembling with fear. I knew it wasn’t an idle threat an
ymore.
Over the weekend, in Mamlaka mall, a celebrating crowd of college students ended up fighting a bunch of the multazimat. The police could do nothing. It wasn’t as if they could ask the women to leave the building and stand outside in the street without their guardians.
So when the minister announced a countrywide curfew that restricted women’s movements after the maghreb prayer at sunset, I wasn’t surprised at all. On TV, crazed-looking pundits asked what qawwama actually meant—protection? caretaking?—and what the issue was that meant stirring up a debate at the Majlis. What was wrong with wanting a man’s protection from the dangers of life? A few concerned women, who were so concerned they were willing to appear on television, concurred gravely, stating that qawwama was a woman’s right to a man’s protection and that by making it a matter of choice, a life of abandonment and poverty could be forced upon half the country’s population. How was a woman supposed to maintain herself without exposing herself to unspeakable dangers? There was at least one fatality on the roads of Riyadh every day. Were women supposed to drive in that?
Imam Fatullah said that the growing number of female preachers was an indication that women wanted guidance and stewardship and that only a few men (such as himself, of course) had stepped up to really reach the souls of women.
“A woman’s deviant depths cannot be penetrated by ordinary words,” he said with a knowing look, and for the first time since Ahmed had betrayed her, I heard Mishail laugh.
The word deviant made me uneasy, but not because I was insulted. It seemed to unlock a memory, one I couldn’t place.
“We should play matchmaker,” Sofia said, “and set Fatullah up with Bilquis.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Aisha said, glancing up from her collection of hadith.
A key turned in the door, and we stiffened and put on our veils. We knew from the exchanged glances and Aisha’s nod that her father had come home and that he knew our plan. We were in her house, and at Dr. Haider’s mercy.
If he helped us, we’d never be at the mercy of anyone else ever again.
If he gave us up, we’d never see the outside of our bedroom walls.
It caused me near physical pain to have to trust in the kindness of men this much. I swore that one day soon I’d have my own money in my own bank account, and I’d scrape camel dung all day if I had to as long as it meant I didn’t have to beg for favors.
Dr. Haider walked in and rubbed at the checkered shimagh on his head as if he was exhausted.
“Whose bright idea was this anyway?” he asked. The others looked at me, and I raised my hand. “Do you even know what you’re asking, girl? I don’t even mean the certificates. If I wrote one without authorization, I could lose my license. But the test, the examination I have to perform before I can vouch for your chastity? It’s terrible, and I’m not about to do it on three teenage girls whose guardians aren’t even here.”
The other girls shivered. None of us had really thought about what it would mean to prove our chastity. I had to admit I thought it would be a matter of testimony.
“Can’t we just swear on it?” I asked helplessly.
“Wallah, you’re such children!” he groaned. “Tahani, get in here!”
Aisha’s mother walked in, looking unlike any woman I’d ever seen. She was unveiled, of course, because the only men in her presence were her mahrams. But there was something truly stunning about her. There were edges of crow’s-feet by her kind eyes, and dimples in her cheeks as if she’d spent so much of her life smiling that her face knew no other way to be. Her hair showed no signs of gray, and she relaxed against the doorway on one leg, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
I had never seen a woman look like that.
“Tahani-habibti,” Dr. Haider said, almost shrinking in physical size to appear smaller than her, “do you know this grand plan that your daughter and her friends have cooked up?”
“Of course, dear,” Tahani said, walking up to her husband and placing her hand on his thigh in perfectly comfortable affection. Aisha didn’t seem to notice the insanity of it, but Mishail’s and Sofia’s raised eyebrows told me I wasn’t alone in realizing that there was no couple we knew who doted on each other this much. It was unheard of.
“And you approve?” Aisha’s father asked his wife. “That Aisha is to marry Nasser?”
“Much like his father, Nasser has never changed his mind once he’s made a decision. The two of them want this, and our daughter brought it to our attention instead of slinking about in shame. I see no reason for these children not to experience the kind of happiness that Allah has shown fit to give us. Do you?”
“But the tests, Tahani!” Dr. Haider said. “The bloody tests!”
“Let me,” Tahani cooed, and added, “Now go eat your dinner before you get even more grumpy.”
Dr. Haider grumbled something under his breath but went off to the dining room. Tahani closed the door, and we unveiled.
“Aisha,” Sofia said, “can I adopt your mother?”
Tahani laughed, a schoolgirl sound free of any worries. But she was no fool. She told us then all the secrets we would have to know, about mothers-in-law who searched the sheets after the wedding night for drops of blood, and why you couldn’t store blood from your period to avoid suspicion. Thoroughly disgusted and terrified, we scowled at Aisha as if it were her fault we were here.
But Tahani kept rambling on with stories, adding at the end, “Not that any of you need to resort to the lamb’s liver routine, you’re all chaste.”
“We could’ve told you that,” I said, annoyed.
“Oh, sweetie, if you think this is disgusting, don’t ever have children. They come out covered in blood and everything, and somehow you just don’t care about any of it, you just want to hug the little things. I’m a nurse in the delivery room, you see.”
We sat in silence, horrified by everything in general. Once we were veiled, Tahani went into the other room, and we heard her say, as casually as if she were passing her husband some more bread, “You can sign for all of them. It’s written on their faces how little they know about anything. How’s the lamb?”
Sofia was the first to break the tension.
“I changed my mind, Aisha. You can keep her. My mother’s crazy, but even she doesn’t go from talking about putting lamb’s blood inside you down there to asking how the lamb you’re eating tastes.”
“Doctors are strange people,” Aisha said. She had a faraway look. “So this is it, then. We’re really doing this.”
“I haven’t got my part lined up yet,” I admitted, dreading the conversations I needed to have. A part of me had put it off until we’d done this part, because I had thought it would be harder to procure certificates of chastity than it would be to find a man willing to marry me.
Faraz had technically not proposed, and what I was proposing was not just embarrassing, it was seven different kinds of perverse.
The quote I’d been struggling to remember popped into my head. If we prevent Nature from reaching its object through a straight path, it would be forced to seek it through a deviant route.
That was what my father had said that evening at the Quraysh house, while Mishail and I chased a helium balloon.
“Don’t say such things in front of them,” my mother had said.
“I wasn’t talking about al-inhiraf al-jinsi,” my father had replied, and this time all the other adults hushed him. That was when I’d started to pay attention. I remembered the words, understood them now thanks to Tahani’s stories. Sexual deviance.
My father had laughed, an easy boyish laugh. “There are other, worse kinds of inhiraf that you can get forced into, isn’t that right, sadiq?” He threw an arm around Mishail’s father and drew him in close. “You may think you can play the game, twist yourself into the kind of person they want you to be without losing yourself. But the day will come when you’ll have to choose, when you’ll find your principles and your pride on one side, and every
one you ever loved on the other, and you’ll have to close your eyes and jump toward one before you lose both.”
I took in a deep, shuddering breath. When it came to the people I loved, I wasn’t going to let my pride stand in the way. That was what my father had chosen, but I wasn’t him.
I got up to leave, taking the thobe I’d packed into the bathroom. When I came out, dressed as a man, the girls gasped. They’d known I did this, but they’d never seen it.
“You look—”
“I know,” I said. “Wish me luck.”
It was a short walk to the Hosseins’ house from Aisha’s apartment. I knocked on the door and was shown in, given the usual automatic tea and sugar. I stirred it idly without drinking any.
“It’s late for you to be here, isn’t it?” Hossein asked, coming out of his room and adjusting his thobe. He looked the same as he always had, an old man and a good one, steady in everything. For some reason, his measured gait touched me, made me feel warm inside.
“I’ve come to ask you for a favor, Uncle.”
“There are no favors between us, child. Whatever you want is yours if I can give it.”
I smiled.
“You’ve been everything to me. Teacher, father, employer. Can I really ask you for more?”
Hossein sat beside me on the sofa. He’d never done that before. He took my hands in his own freckled ones.
“You say these things because you’re young,” he said. “You don’t understand, and you won’t for a long time. A teacher’s greatest happiness is a student’s character. A father’s greatest pride is a child’s happiness. And an employer’s greatest success is being able to support others. I’ve given you nothing that I didn’t enjoy giving.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I felt ashamed even for being here.
“Now there is one thing I wish you could give me,” Hossein said. “But it has not so far been yours to give.”
I looked up.
Driving by Starlight Page 18
