by Puja Guha
The line connected a moment later, and he picked up, his voice disgruntled, “Hi, Dinah, this isn’t really a good time. Can I call you back?”
“Raj, you need to get home right away. I know Mariam finally told you about Tareq…” her voice trailed off, unable to believe what she had to tell him. “He’s alive, and he’s in Austin. Get home and get Mariam. You have to run.”
Austin, USA – May, 2016
Mariam sighed as she parked in front of her house once again, having spent only two hours at the office before feigning sickness to head home. Raj had been driving her since the morning he had found her on the shower floor, but having leaned on him so much over the last couple of days, she had finally convinced him that she was fine. She had made sure that Aliya left on her trip, even persuaded herself that she could venture into work without any issues. That belief had been crushed within less than ten minutes at her desk—the disappearance of her nameplate and the book that she’d been reading had seen to that. She’d asked three colleagues about both items—it had to be some sort of weird prank, an odd coincidence—but the voice in the back of her mind would not be silenced. The fact that the book was gone was even more disturbing than the nameplate: The Spirit of Destruction, a book that featured the Kuwait Towers on its cover. How much of a coincidence could it be that a book set in Kuwait had disappeared? Where could it have got to? She hadn’t taken it home, and it was nowhere around her desk.
Mariam turned off the engine unable to stop her body from trembling. She had no idea where to go, home hardly seemed like a refuge, especially alone, but she refused to call Raj. After a slow exhale, she called her therapist and scheduled another emergency session for late that afternoon.
Now all I have to do is get through the next few hours. Mariam glanced at the clock on her dashboard as she headed home to wait it out.
You’re going to be fine. Perhaps if she reassured herself enough times, she would eventually start to believe it?
Her nose wrinkled when she stepped inside, she detected a faint burning scent. After checking the stove to be sure that none of the burners were on, Mariam shrugged it off. One of the neighbors must be barbecuing. She smiled, remembering the last time that they had gone out for barbecue. Raj was still able to eat as much meat in one sitting as he had when they’d first met, something which never ceased to amaze both her and Aliya. He would turn into a college freshman, taking down one beef rib after the next, followed by a full plate of pulled pork, all as if he was consuming a standard two-egg omelet. Aliya had quoted Star Wars to him—“Impressive, most impressive”—while Mariam watched in disbelief, just glad that he didn’t eat like that every day. They had both maintained their physique and health quite well, at least physical health, perhaps because of Aliya’s constant hounding. She had taken far too many nutritional health classes to let any poor eating habits persist in the house, even though she no longer lived with them.
Mariam put her feet up on the couch and connected her phone to her Sonos speakers, then stretched out as “Jessie’s Girl” played over the sound system. She swayed back and forth for a moment, the old 80s classic forcing her to relax.
Everything is going to be okay.
She even started to believe it.
At the end of the song, she went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. On the way back to the couch, she caught a glimpse of the bookshelf to the left of the bedroom door and did a doubletake. There, on the second shelf was the image of the Kuwait Towers, the book that had gone missing from her office.
How on earth? She picked up the novel and felt a flutter in her stomach, she’d been so sure that she hadn’t brought it home. Unless she’d forgotten? She’d been under so much stress. She tilted her head to the side and noticed that her missing nameplate was wedged behind the book against the bedroom wall.
Now I know I’m losing it.
Book in hand, she returned to the couch, she might as well use the free time to read until she had to leave for her therapy session in two hours.
She turned the pages and the next hour passed quickly, the story was gripping, and she found herself completely taken in. Eventually, she felt a wave of sleepiness coming on, and after setting an alarm on her phone, decided to give into it. She set the book on the coffee table and settled back with her head on one of the couch cushions.
MARIAM HEARD A noise and sat up. Her eyes scanned the room, everything seemed in order, the book was still lying next to her on the coffee table, and the kitchen looked just as she had left it that morning. A draft blew in from the back porch, and her brow furrowed as she, once again, caught the smell of smoke.
Raj must have left the door open again.
She refused to allow herself to think anything else and walked over to shut it, goosebumps forming up and down her forearms—the sun had disappeared behind gray cloud cover, and it was a cooler than a normal spring day.
When she got close to the door, she noticed that the firepit was glowing. Stepping outside, she checked the setting to ensure it was firmly on “Off”.
He’s not here, he’s not here.
She had convinced herself the last time the paranoia had hit by looking in the closet, she’d do it again.
It will be just like you left it, she told herself. Messy and disorganized, the way it always is. Mariam covered the steps to her closet and opened the door.
It had been reorganized: color-coded just the way Tareq used to keep it. She stumbled backward, catching hold of the wall for support.
He was dead, how can he not be dead?
There was still a chance this was a dream, that this was all in her head. Only one way to tell. She grappled her way back to the bookshelf seeking out her copy of The Godfather. She pulled the books off the shelf and threw them to the floor, searching, but coming up empty. Once all of the books were splayed across the floor, she grabbed the side of the bookshelf to stand and groped her way along the dining room wall toward the outside. She no longer trusted herself to stand unsupported, but she had to know….
Somehow, she found her way to the firepit and raked through the fire stones. She heard her phone ringing from the dining room but ignored it, she had to find out for sure.
Please let this be a nightmare. This has to be a nightmare.
At the bottom of the firepit, she saw it, the deep red cover, with the letters “God” still visible and the word Puzo underneath it. Mariam backed up against one of the porch columns, unable to breathe, her vision blurred by tears and slid slowly to the ground.
Tareq was alive, and he had found her. Everything about her life that she loved, her independence, her work, her family, all of that was behind her now—over.
I will never be free.
Austin, USA – May, 2016
Tareq panted as he made it past the fence back over to the loft where he was staying. He wanted Mariam to realize that he was there before he finally approached her. He’d left clues for her that morning, the book with the Kuwait Towers on the cover, along with her nameplate on the bookshelf, and had returned to rearrange her clothes while she was napping. He couldn’t wait to feel her excitement once she realized that he was alive, that he had found her and that they could be together again. His skin tingled, the electricity of that moment awaited.
When he saw her copy of The Godfather on her bookshelf, though, it was all he could do not to trash the entire house—how could she have defied his memory to that extent? He remembered their argument about the book as if it were yesterday, how Dinah had given it to her and she had brought it home that night in Kuwait. He’d had no choice but to make it clear, to discipline her for that audacity—such a book could not be tolerated.
It must be that man, this is his fault.
Tareq broke into a smile, he was so close to Mariam he could taste it. After his capture in Kuwait, he had sworn to find her, but following his release, he had searched for months only to come up empty time and again. He slammed his boot into the base of the wall, envisaging
it connecting with Raj’s head as he hit the same spot four times in a row before he stepped back to peer out the window once again.
He watched Mariam approach the porch door he had purposely left ajar. She paused with her head in the doorway before she pulled it shut. Through the binoculars, he caught the expression on her face, the look of fear that she had performed so well when they were living together.
It’s all an act. He grinned, his toes curled, he knew that she would be overjoyed to see him. She disappeared into the bedroom, and he grunted in frustration, they still hadn’t opened the blinds since the evening before and he hadn’t dared open them himself in case she heard him from the living room where she’d been napping. It had taken all of his self-control not to venture closer to her, he wanted her so badly, but his intent to leave clues and watch before he surprised her had superseded that longing. She would find the evidence in her closet soon enough.
Tareq checked the magazine of his pistol, he wanted to have it just in case Raj showed up, but his preferred reunion would be with her alone. Mariam would give herself to him, he had no doubt about that, but that impostor would almost certainly put up a fight. Clenching the grip panel of the gun, Tareq raised it and pointed it toward the wall, lining up the sight before he slid it into the back of his waistband.
He returned his attention to Mariam’s house, frustrated by the lack of activity. A few seconds later she reappeared, emerging from the bedroom and stumbling out toward the back porch where she knelt over the fireplace. Tareq watched her rake the coals, then reel away before she crumpled to the ground.
She knows. He beamed as he watched her sob.
He grabbed his jacket and pulled it over his shoulders, now was the time to approach her, to validate her excitement. He would show her that she was right, that she could hope again. His entire body quaked in anticipation as he walked toward the door. A small hop over the fence and a few steps and he would be there, she would be in his arms again.
I will never let her go.
Austin, USA – May, 2016
Raj hammered his palm into his horn at the traffic around him drew to a standstill. He hit the call button on his phone again, now for the sixth time.
Why isn’t she picking up?
“Damn it, Mariam, pick up, pick up!”
When the cars in front of him started to move past the construction area which had blocked one of the road lanes, he hit the horn again, “Move, people! Drive!”
Several moments later he was speeding forward. As soon as he passed the road closure area, he made a sharp lane change to the left and sped down the street, ignoring the honking that followed as he cut off yet another driver. He turned off of South Congress Avenue and finally came to a screeching halt in front of his house.
Leaving the engine in neutral, he jumped out of the car and ran toward the door.
Please be there, please be okay.
He sprinted up the driveway just dodging Mariam’s CR-V which was already parked there. He scrambled to enter the lock code, his hand was shaking so badly that he had to enter it twice before the mechanism disengaged and he raced inside.
Salmiya, Kuwait – October, 1990
Raj waited until well past sundown to take his car out that night. After a few hours of anxious tossing and turning in his bed, he’d given up on sleep. He squashed the emotional turmoil raging in his head—they were leaving the next evening. This would be his last shot to find Ritika. As he reversed out of the parking spot, he had to wonder how he felt about her—he wanted to find her, he had to know what had become of her, but at the same time, he could no longer imagine building a life with her. So much had happened, and their wedding seemed like it belonged to someone else after everything he had been through since the beginning of the invasion. Even if he found her—he still clung to a tendril of hope—would she want a life with him? If she were still alive, she had to have been to hell and back, too. He sighed, imagining what his mother would say under the circumstances, You’ll be able to connect based on your experience, even if it wasn’t together.
Raj took a deep breath and looked out at the deserted streets, a stark contrast to the normal activity that would have characterized them on a Thursday night just months earlier. He passed two shwarma sandwich and fatayer shops that would have been packed with cars picking up take out, then turned right by the old Naif chicken place where he would buy his rotisserie. The route he took to the hospital involved a roundabout way, designed to avoid some of the larger streets which were more likely to have patrols. Although most officers that manned the checkpoints would wave him by when they saw a man with Indian features, accompanied by the words, “Hindi sadeek,” meaning Indian friend, Raj still felt his blood pressure ratchet up any time he had to stop at one. Instead, he preferred to take smaller roads to avoid the officers, and nowadays, the Resistance too. While the Resistance was primarily active in the more Kuwaiti neighborhoods such as Sabah Al-Salem, he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.
The soldiers seemed to have run out of steam though, with the street patrols fewer and far between—bored by driving empty streets since the Westerners had evacuated. That fact couldn’t help but spur some resentment, the American and British embassies had evacuated all of their nationals in secret within a few days of the invasion. The Indian embassy, on the other hand, had only just started evacuation procedures out of Jordan a few weeks earlier—a momentous task, he had to admit, but a fact that nonetheless frustrated him. Raj had heard that plans were in motion, that the Indian Foreign Minister had met with Saddam to secure permission for the evacuation, but what he wanted to see was action, not promises. From what he’d been told, both Daniels and Sanjay had slaved over the process to make it happen, but the reissuing of passport documents that would be required for so many in the group remained a question mark. We’ll see what happens when we get to Jordan, he thought, a point that Daniels had conveniently left out of his speech. Not that Raj disagreed with him, they needed to rally the residents to leave, and disclosing that they might end up stuck in a Jordanian refugee camp would do more harm than good.
At the end of the day they had no choice—remain in a time bomb or do something about it.
Raj pulled into a parking spot outside the wall of Farwaniya Hospital and stopped to buy a piece of khoobus flatbread from a hawker on the street along with a pack of cigarettes. Munching on the bread while he sucked down a cigarette eased his mood a tad as he approached the entrance despite the steep price tag that had gone along with them. Prior to the war, cigarettes had been available on the cheap, but he’d cut down considerably since then—a pack that had cost less than one Kuwaiti Dinar just a few months earlier was now priced at almost nine-fold with the reversal of the dollar exchange rate.
Snubbing out the cigarette, Raj gathered his courage to move forward. His eyes stung, the air was more sandy than usual for early October, the last remnant of Kuwait’s summer. He made his way through the gate, glad that he had called ahead to see if Yusuf would be at the pharmacy. After a quick hello, Raj walked back through the radiology ward, where he asked two nurses on call if they knew anything about Ritika. He showed them a picture of her from their wedding. Both took one glance at it and shook their heads, but he pressed them. “She would look a little different since she was dressed up for the wedding.”
The second one, named Talia, tilted her head to the side and scrutinized the picture closely. “I think I’ve seen her,” she said, “but not in some time.”
“Is she here? Where? Where did you see her?”
Her expression was grim as she looked up from the photo. “Come with me.”
Raj followed her out of the radiology ward through several sets of interior double doors, he had no idea where she was taking him. Eventually, they exited that building and entered a second one.
“Pediatrics?” he asked with a frown. “She wasn’t a pediatric nurse.”
Talia ignored his question and led him down a long hallway into the pedia
tric intensive care unit. She stopped next to a bed where a young boy, maybe five years old from what Raj could see, was sleeping with an IV in his left arm. She touched his shoulder gently to wake him.
The boy opened his eyes, staring at Talia in a haze of grogginess before he sat up. “Yes?”
“Suhail, do you remember me? I’m Nurse Talia. I took care of you for a night a few weeks ago,” she said in Hindi.
He nodded, and she continued, “This is Raj, he’s a friend of mine. We need to ask you about one of the nurses who took care of you. We’re trying to find her.”
She waited for him to nod again before she showed him the picture, “Is that the nurse who was taking care of you before me?”
“Yes, that’s Nurse Ritika. She doesn’t dress like that though, she wears normal clothes.”
Raj’s heart leapt into his throat.
I can find her. I’m going to find her.
Talia asked, “Do you know where she is? Has she been back to take care of you?”
“She was here a couple of days ago, but then she had an argument with one of the soldiers, and they took her away,” Suhail answered.
His heart sank.
“They took her away?” No… Raj’s voice caught, trying not to picture what the soldiers would have done to her. “Do you remember what the argument was about?” he could scarcely get the words out, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know.
“I couldn’t understand,” Suhail pointed toward the hallway, “they were too far, but the soldier was always mean to her. He came in here a few times to talk to her, but this time he forced her to leave with him. He knocked over my dinner, then he grabbed her arm and dragged her out to the hallway before he started yelling.”
“Was anyone else here?” Talia asked.
Suhail shrugged, “I don’t know. She never came back, though, and she’s the only one who would bring me chocolate pudding. All of the other nurses bring me Jell-O, but it’s not nearly as good.” He crossed his arms and gave Talia a grumpy look.
