by Puja Guha
If she’s still alive.
Raj shut his eyes, and the tears returned once again, full force this time. He cursed aloud and looked up, shaking his fist at the universe. He’d been raised a traditional Hindu, but he wasn’t sure what he believed. Whatever forces controlled the universe, they shouldn’t be allowing this to happen.
How can she be gone? She was barely here to begin with.
He bent over the sink and fought to regain power over his emotions. Have faith, Sanjay had said, you have to have faith that you will find her. The words had sounded easy and wonderful, they’d been exactly what Raj had needed to hear, but the inability to take action made him feel as if he was walking around carrying a three-hundred-pound barbell on his shoulders. If he was supposed to have faith, then he had to be able to do something. How else could he have faith? What other source of hope was there? If he didn’t find her, did he even have the right to call her his wife? Ritika had vacillated on whether or not she wanted to work in the long term, but had said she wasn’t ready to give up her job quite yet, and he had helped her get started at Farwaniya Hospital. A job that came with overnight shifts, the reason that she hadn’t been with him the morning of August 2nd.
Did I do this to her? Did I make her take that job? Another tear rolled down his cheek; he had certainly encouraged it, even if he hadn’t forced her. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head, beating himself up this way served no purpose, but he couldn’t help it. Especially since I don’t seem to think of her that often—that was the crux of the issue, his guilt that he didn’t miss his wife, that they hadn’t had enough time together for him to feel that sort of emotion. Rationally, he had to believe that that didn’t make him a monster, he knew that relationships and love took time to build, but he wished that their chance hadn’t been snatched away.
She must be alive. She has to be.
Washington D.C., USA – March, 2016
Tareq looked up from the file the private investigator had shared and glanced over the details for the third time in as many minutes.
“Do you have any questions?” the investigator asked.
How could she be with anyone else? he wanted to shout, wanted to scream it from the rooftops. The information that the investigator had provided struck him to the core, Mariam was married to another man, and they had a twenty-four-year-old daughter together. How could she? The fact that she was living under another name hadn’t surprised him, there had to be a reason he hadn’t been able to find her for all these years, Nadia had confirmed as much. The realization that she had remarried explained a lot, although it made his blood boil.
How could she do this to me? He envisioned the last time that he had seen her, the last time that he had touched her, followed by the massive blow to his head when all the lights went out.
“Mr. Salem, do you have any questions?” the investigator repeated.
The question didn’t register, he was still too immersed in thought. She’s been in Texas, this whole time, so close. He had even been to Houston for a conference three years earlier.
She was right there.
“Mr. Salem—”
Tareq looked at him, his face snapping back into focus. “I don’t think so. Her phone number, her address, her work information…this should be more than enough.” For a moment he considered asking if the investigator had a contact in Texas with whom he could liaise, but decided against it—he had given too much away already. I can always Google someone else. “It will be good to see her again, she’s an old family friend who I knew in Kuwait before the Gulf War,” he continued.
The investigator nodded, although Tareq could tell that he didn’t really buy the explanation he’d come up with on a whim. Oh well, it’s not like he cares, Tareq tabled his concerns, the investigator was hardly going to call Mariam and warn her.
He won’t spoil the surprise, and neither will Nadia.
Tareq stood with a nod and picked up the file, “I believe I have everything I need.”
“Great. I’ll go ahead and charge your card for the rest of my fee.”
“Of course.” Tareq paused at the doorway, a thought occurring to him, flashing in front of his face like a billboard in neon letters, Mariam has a twenty-four-year-old daughter. Twenty-four….
He turned around, “Actually, I’ll need one more thing from you—all the information you can get on her daughter, Aliya.”
Austin, USA – March, 2016
Aliya exhaled, the gravity of what her parents had just told her descending onto her head like a one-hundred-pound weight.
Holy shit.
She locked eyes with her dad, who she now knew wasn’t her biological father, her friends had always said that she looked more like her mother than anyone else.
I’m adopted.
The concept seemed so strange, so completely separate from her reality. Aliya’s gaze moved to her mom, who was fidgeting in her seat, clearly nervous as to how she was going to react. It took her a few moments to form words. She had known that her mother had decided to change her name when she got out of Kuwait after the Gulf War, and that she had wanted to cut ties with her family other than Dinah Auntie. That was heavy enough….
“Mom, Dad, I love you, that’s the most important thing,” Aliya finally mustered. “I don’t know what to say, all I know is that I’m shocked.” She took another deep breath and looked at her mother again, “I can’t believe what you went through… I’m so sorry, I wish that man wasn’t my father—I mean my biological father—but he’s definitely not my dad. Like I said, I love you both.”
“Should we not have told you?” her mom asked. “You are nothing like him, I promise you, and you’re everything like Raj,” she reached out to grasp his hand.
“I know, I just wish none of that had happened to you, Mom. I’m really glad you’re going to therapy.”
How on earth could you think you didn’t need it? That man attacked you, beat you.
“Is there any reason you’re telling me now? Did something change?”
Her mom sighed and exchanged a glance with her father, “I didn’t want to, maybe I even couldn’t, hold on to the secret anymore.”
“I understand,” Aliya’s eyes moved between the two of them; there was obviously more that they weren’t telling her. When did she tell Dad? she wondered. When she got back from D.C. a couple of weeks ago? Something in his posture gave her an inkling that he hadn’t known for long, there was a new rigidity and anger directed at the universe that she hadn’t seen before. She was just grateful that it wasn’t directed at her mother.
How could she have kept this a secret from him, too?
Aliya wandered over to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, anything to keep her hands occupied. She had always been curious as to why her mom had used a different name, why all of that had to be kept a secret as she’d learned in her late teens. She moved on autopilot, filling up a pot with water and adding the tea leaves along with a few whole spices: a cinnamon stick, three cardamom pods, and a pinch of cloves for the perfect masala chai. The recipe that Dad taught me, she relished. He’s my dad, the corners of her mouth twitched upward, my dad. She had said the words to him, and she believed them, but that simple recollection made her cherish them. She finished making the tea in silence, adding only a splash of milk at the end, the way they all liked it, and served it to her parents.
They each made an attempt to change the subject—her mom talked about the event in D.C., about seeing her Aunt Dinah and how much fun they had had. Aliya couldn’t help but smile, the truth was heavy, but clearly her mother was dealing with the secret in a new light. At least this will help her PTSD, she shuddered, realizing that most of her mom’s nightmares probably had nothing to do with the Gulf War and everything to do with what this man had done to her.
Tareq Al-Salem, Aliya’s right hand formed a fist, and her fingernails bore into her palm, you asshole.
For a second, she let herself envision doling a punch straight at his eye, the
n forced herself to focus on her mom’s story. She’d obviously had a wonderful time in D.C. and was trying to extinguish the fire her secret had caused by telling them about how much fun she had had.
Oh, Mom, I love you, Aliya thought as she half-listened.
When she reached the end of her teacup, she made an excuse about having to get to an afternoon study group that had just come up—she needed time and space to process what her parents had just told her. “I love you both so much,” she emphasized. “I’m glad you aren’t carrying this around on your own anymore, Mom. You shouldn’t have to, no one should go through something like this alone.”
Aliya hugged them both and squeezed her mom so hard she had to wriggle free, then watched them drive away. Once their car was out of sight from her second-floor window, she sank down into the couch. She wasn’t sure which part was the worst, the fact that this monster was her father, even if it was just biology.
That’s all it is. She’d be telling herself that for a while, yet.
Or was it the trauma her mom had endured? The secret that she had carried for so long? Aliya wiped her eyes, picturing Tareq standing in front of her like a punching bag in her kickboxing class. She felt the impact of each blow she delivered, and the catharsis that came with it, letting the scenario play out in her head.
He deserves to pay.
After almost an hour chewing over what she had just learned, Aliya rose and changed into workout clothes. Visualizing the encounter in her head was helpful, but it would be all the more so if she could hit an actual punching bag.
At least in my head, I’ll see him pay.
Washington D.C., USA – April, 2016
Tareq gawked at the email attachment he had just received from the investigator.
I have a daughter?
He could scarcely comprehend it, but her birthday confirmed his earlier suspicions. Still, the concrete realization was more than he had expected. Aliya, he remembered that name, Mariam’s mother’s name. A daughter, as if he had needed further validation that he and Mariam belonged together. His torso quivered, the anticipation of seeing her returning in full.
His anger toward her magnified as he thought further.
When did she know? He remembered visiting Mariam in the hospital and he slammed his fist onto the table. She must have known then, she had to have known. As he continued down memory lane, another possibility struck him. When I finally found her, she was at Dinah’s… His posture relaxed, he understood what had happened now—Mariam had never wanted to leave him, this was all about Dinah, and then this man, Raj, who had been occupying his bed all these years.
Mariam always thought we belonged together, in his mind, he could feel her beneath him again, the nights they had spent together at his home in Kuwait.
Opening another browser window, Tareq went to the American Airlines website and booked a flight to Austin. The process was frustrating, the website slow, and he longed for the days of travel agents. A few minutes later, he relaxed though, the booking was complete.
Two days, Mariam, I’ll see you in two days.
Tareq reopened the file the investigator had given him—including a family photo—and leaned over to stare at it. He ogled Mariam for several moments, then glared at Raj, his face only an inch away from the photo. He took a swig from a bottle of whiskey on the table, gulping it down until he reached the last drop, then threw it at the wall. The shards landed all over the floor and he felt a release, he would have his revenge.
I’ve found her now and I’m coming for you.
Tareq straightened up and grinned at Raj, Joke’s on you, she belongs with me. He concocted a picture in his head, snickering as he played out what he would do when he saw them in person. He imagined how he would torture Raj, make him pay for having his wife all of these years. Looking at Mariam, his anticipation heightened. It will be just like before, he wanted to say to her. His gaze moved to Aliya, only a teenager in the picture and he shrugged, he had no real interest in meeting her. But she is proof that Mariam is mine. He returned his gaze to Mariam and leaned back in his chair, pleasure coursing through him—she was standing in front of him now, in that maroon dress from Nadia’s picture...
Salmiya, Kuwait – September, 1990
Raj returned to the first sitting room to check on his charges after he emerged from the bathroom, still feeling slightly unsettled. Some nights when he did his rounds, he was more active, asking questions and seeking out conversation, but this time he simply listened and maintained his distance. One of his wards needed an extra blanket, which he agreed to try to procure, although he doubted there were any extras available; another asked if he could see that the cooking didn’t contain dhaniya in the future because she didn’t like the taste of it. Raj found these requests relatively simple compared to what he had dealt with over the last few days and made his exit, retreating to the next sitting room, which tended to be calmer. His pulse raced when he saw her on the other side of the room, but chastised himself in a hurry.
You’re married.
Raj focused on the other end of the table, this time sitting down to eat himself before entertaining requests from his “supervisees”. Twenty minutes later he stood and made his way along the table, stopping twice to hear requests similar to those he had heard in the other room. When he reached the end, he greeted the three women who were usually clustered there.
“Hello, Raj,” Janhvi said as he approached. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. You? All three of you?” he attempted to catch Mariam’s gaze, but all she gave him was a quick nod and a smile.
“We’re doing fine, thank you,” Dinah answered, drawing his attention away from Mariam. “That curtain you set up to divide the room is really helpful, and I know Ashok and his family appreciate it. They’re lovely, but it’s nice for us to have a little bit of privacy, even here.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Raj continued to ask Dinah a few questions to make sure that they were comfortable in the sleeping area he had allocated for them on the left side of one of the smaller classrooms across the hall. He’d set up the curtain as a personal touch since he couldn’t give them a room on their own; they shared it with a family of four, whom he was sure also valued the separation. Luckily the classroom had two doors, so each side also had its own entrance as well.
After one more attempt to speak to Mariam, Raj pulled himself away, he had no business being interested in another woman when he had no idea what had happened to Ritika.
What is wrong with you? He made a quick exit, not wanting to open himself up to that channel of emotion any more than he already had, and retreated to his own bedroom. Calling this a bedroom is a bit of a stretch, he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the blanket he had laid on the floor to create his “bed.” The concrete was cold and hard beneath his back, but he relished its sturdiness—it would remain as it was no matter what hell broke loose everywhere else.
Raj interlocked his fingers behind his head, the only pillow he’d elected to have in favor of making sure that there were enough pillows for the elderly, the women, and the children. He was about to let himself doze off, he was exhausted from hauling in supplies and being out in the camp offered him no solace, but at the last minute decided to make a visit to the bathroom before turning in for the night. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he emerged and turned the corner toward his room, almost running straight into Mariam.
“Hi, Raj, I’m so sorry,” she said in a shy voice. “I should have looked.”
Something in her tone made him look at her in concern. “That’s okay. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she choked, then bounded off toward the bathroom.
Raj frowned, watching as she disappeared into the men’s restroom without realizing where she was going. He pressed his ear to the door, then backed away immediately, his suspicions confirmed.
She stepped out a few minutes later with a dazed look. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said clearly n
oticing that she’d been in the men’s bathroom.
“Are you sure you’re all right? Did you get food poisoning?” Raj asked, ignoring her apology.
Mariam placed her hand on her stomach, “I’m fine, I guess something just didn’t sit right. Good night.” She moved past him, sporting an embarrassed expression and disappeared down the hall.
He watched her leave with another frown, wishing that he could do something to help her. After a moment of pondering, he went to the kitchen in search of Mylanta, a stomach remedy that he’d discovered was quite helpful. He found some in the cabinet and extracted two tablets encased in plastic.
When he got to the classroom where Mariam slept, he knocked on the door, and Dinah answered it. “Hi, err Dinah,” he said and handed her the tablets with a hasty explanation.
“I don’t think it’ll help, but thank you.”
Raj tilted his head to the side, unsure why she was so certain. He opened his mouth to ask, but she had already disappeared back into the room. He shrugged it off and returned to bed, battling his thoughts. Mariam was beautiful, mysterious, and intriguing, but he kept trying to redirect his attention to Ritika. He was already starting to forget what she looked like, he had known her such a short time and now hadn’t seen her since the occupation began. Raj tossed and turned in frustration until sleep finally took hold and he dozed off despite the limited cushioning and the hard floor.
Salmiya, Kuwait – Three weeks later, September, 1990
Raj’s eyes followed Mariam as she left the breakfast table, then refocused on the man sitting across from him. Now that they had been at the school for over a month, the demands had eased as people adjusted to their new circumstances, but his role as a dispute moderator had amped up even more. The continued proximity had only added to some of the tensions throughout the camp. He and the other supervisors had even had to reallocate some of the sleeping arrangements to mediate two of the disputes, much to their frustration. Despite that, everyone had settled into something of a routine. Cooking responsibilities alternated from day to day, and he and some of the other men made weekly trips to procure food and supplies. The visits to the cooperative down the street had started to worry him as they had already exhausted some supplies, but thankfully the stores of rice and canned goods were continuing to be replenished if for no other reason than to meet the soldiers’ needs as well. Fayaz, the owner of the cooperative, sounded as if he had things under control, so Raj chose to believe him, especially since the alternative was too grim to contemplate. He had seen Fayaz and Sanjay having a few hushed discussions, but Raj had decided not to butt in. He had enough to deal with taking care of his charges, he had no interest in adding to his responsibilities unless absolutely necessary.
