by Puja Guha
She had grappled with the possibilities, going in circles through all the scenarios, but the only clear part was that she wanted a fresh start.
I don’t want to be Mariam Al-Salem anymore.
The idea of using Tareq’s name ever again made her queasier than the worst of the morning sickness. The obvious solution was to go back to Qatami, her maiden name, but that part of her identity felt just as far away. Dinah was the only connection she had left to that name, and although being associated with her father’s family was far better than being connected to Tareq, the two weren’t far apart. Besides, even if she used her maiden name, she would still have to address Tareq’s death with the Kuwaiti authorities. The prospect that her baby might be tied to Tareq was unfathomable, yet she saw no alternative.
It’s not like I could just take on another identity.
She searched the darkness outside for a solution to magically appear.
THREE HOURS LATER, Mariam rolled her head to the side and thought of how wonderful a full body massage would feel. They were one of few indulgences that had kept her sane after her marriage to Tareq, the one small pleasure he’d allowed without her having to keep it a secret. Her mind wandered, recalling her stash of books at the back of her closet, and she sighed. She was so glad to be rid of him—even if she hadn’t figured out her path forward, she would never have to see him again, never have to let him touch her. Her memory flashed to that last moment at Dinah’s house, and she suppressed it. With a deep breath, she focused on her books instead, and the comfort they had brought her. While she wished she didn’t have to leave them behind, she could now—finally—imagine a life with her library out in the open, she would never be forced to hide her books from anyone again. Despite how terrifying and uncertain the future was, she couldn’t help but smile.
I’ll finally be able to read The Godfather.
She remembered Tareq ripping up the book right in front of her. Before the troops invaded, Dinah had tried to get her another copy from the British Council library, but it was already checked out. She’d promised Mariam that John would get it for her, but that had of course been put on hold with everything that had happened.
Mariam glanced over at Dinah, who was fast asleep with her head against the bus window. John was in London waiting for her, but Mariam knew that Dinah would never leave without her. Mariam sighed and closed her eyes again. She’d come this far, whatever came next, she would be able to survive it.
I have to, for my baby.
OVER THE REST of the drive through the Iraqi desert, Mariam dozed as much as she could. During the daylight hours she tried to read, but the movement of the bus made her head spin, so the only thing she could do other than sleep was stare out the window and wonder what would come next.
The hours passed, and after how long the first twelve hours to Baghdad dragged out, they crossed into Jordan faster than she had thought possible. The journey had a few hiccups, including three different checkpoints, but the Iraqi soldiers had waved them through as “Hindi sadeek” and the group rallied through. Thankfully their provisions for food, water, and gasoline had been adequate, helping the journey to pass smoothly. An elderly man on the bus suffered motion sickness, but he’d been moved into one of the cars and that seemed to alleviate the symptoms. She was amazed by how well she’d weathered the journey herself, but to be fair, the frequency of her morning sickness had decreased dramatically in the last month. Mariam shifted in her seat, she already felt as if she had put on three or four kilograms from her pre-pregnancy weight, but so far, she wasn’t showing through her clothes. She glanced down at the slight bulge in her belly, not yet enough to make her look pregnant.
When they came to an abrupt stop at the border crossing into Jordan, Mariam’s eyes shot open.
Moment of truth.
She waited as several officers inspected the bus. In the distance, at the front of the caravan, she could make out what looked like Sanjay speaking to one of the officers next to the first car. She sat on the edge of her seat for several minutes before he returned to his car. The minutes felt like hours, but eventually, the officers allowed each vehicle through, one by one.
The bus erupted into cheers once they were past the border post and Mariam smiled, the optimism was contagious.
We’re free.
She would never have to sleep on the bunk bed at the school camp again. She grabbed Dinah’s hand, and they looked at each other, both struggling to believe that the worst might be behind them.
The first thing Mariam noticed when they descended from the bus was the Indian flag waving from the building in front of her. Even though she wasn’t Indian, she couldn’t help but be infected by the national pride that surrounded her.
“This way,” she saw Daniels ushering them toward a line that led into the building.
Mariam followed the crowd, but her eyes scanned the vicinity, searching for Raj. If nothing else, she wanted a moment to say goodbye. She had no illusions that their relationship—if you could call it that—would continue past this checkpoint, but she refused to just abandon their connection. Even if their paths never crossed again, she would look back on their time together with fondness.
As if he could read her mind, he waved from the top of the stairs where he was helping an elderly woman from the camp. She watched him escort her inside, accompanying her into the building, but then he disappeared.
Mariam’s heart sank, she couldn’t see him anymore, and with each step, she was drawing closer to the front of the line. How on earth could she claim to be Indian? If she told the official the truth, what would happen to her? She tugged on Dinah’s sleeve, and from her expression, she could tell that her cousin shared her concern.
“I’m going to get John to sponsor your visa, Mariam,” Dinah whispered. “I’ll call him as soon as we get inside.”
Before Mariam could object, Raj appeared next to her. “Can I speak to you?” he grabbed her arm and pulled her a few steps to the side.
“I was worried that we wouldn’t get to say goodbye,” Mariam said with a smile.
“Of course not, but what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know who you really are.”
His words hit Mariam like a tidal wave as she processed what he meant.
He knew? All this time?
She was grateful, in a way, that he hadn’t turned her in—he’d certainly had the opportunity, but they had shared several tender moments, and he had never thought to tell her this during any of those times. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she finally asked.
Raj gave her a tender look, and her anger melted away, recalling the feel of his arms around her, the connection that they had shared.
“I thought you didn’t want me to know,” he answered. “You never told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
They stood there in silence for a few minutes until Dinah motioned from the entrance. “I have to go,” Mariam said.
“Come with me.”
Austin, USA – May, 2016
Raj looked out of the kitchen window of the house where they had taken refuge for the last two days and checked his voicemail. Shortly after their arrival, he’d called his boss, Bruce, citing a family emergency and letting him know that he’d be taking some personal time. Raj had purposely left a voicemail rather than speak to him directly—he didn’t trust himself not to confide in his colleague and old friend about the situation he and Mariam were facing. A couple of hours later Bruce had returned his call, and the message brought Raj a sliver of comfort as he listened to it for the fourth time.
“Hey Raj, returning your call here. I’m guessing you’re already in flight back to India, I hope everything with your family turns out okay. Take as much time as you need and I’m around if you’d like to talk.”
Raj disconnected and set the phone back on the counter, glad that they had been able to buy some time by claiming that they needed to return to India. Mariam had used
the same excuse to get out of her job at BookPeople, so they were okay for a few more days, but he wasn’t sure how much longer they could stay put. Eventually their lives would catch up with them, and for that, they needed a plan. He breathed a long sigh and stirred the store-bought soup he had set to heat on the stove. Neither of them had been in the frame of mind to do anything but the most basic cooking, and that was unlikely to change anytime soon. 5405 Jeffburn Cove, his gaze remained focused on the street outside—the eerie street name seemed so apt for their situation. Jeffburn, just saying it gave him the chills.
Raj shook off the feeling and cracked two eggs into the soup and watched the egg whites dissipate into droplets instead of remaining whole as the eggs cooked with the heat from liquid. He let out a chain of expletives, cursing the brain-fog that had caused him to err at a recipe for poached eggs he had successfully executed hundreds of times. He was tempted to pitch the entire pot down the drain, but they were already low on groceries, and Mariam was terrified of either one of them going to the store. She seemed to think that if they stepped outside, even into the front yard, Tareq would materialize right out of the bushes. Inside she jumped at every corner, but that was nothing compared to the panic that had come upon her when he’d suggested they eat out on the front patio. Raj already had the worst case of cabin fever, and he had reservations on how much longer he could take being cooped up in the house. “We can at least go out into the backyard, it’s completely fenced off,” he had tried to assure her to no avail.
He tabled his frustration and set another piece of bread on the pan, then focused on the soup. Once it started to bubble, he lowered the flame and set up a saucepan on the other burner to make two grilled cheese sandwiches. Since tomato soup with a poached egg cooked on top accompanied by grilled cheese was Mariam’s favorite comfort food meal, he’d gotten quite good at making it over the years. Normally he even found it relaxing. He stepped away from the stove—everything would take a few minutes to cook now—and wiped down the counter, then focused on loading the dishes in the sink into the dishwasher. Unable to silence the debate raging in the back of his mind, he set one of the plates back in the sink and gave in to his thoughts, allowing the different scenarios to play out. If they remained in hiding, they would eventually run out of money, or they would need help to run—new identities, a new home, everything. If running was off the table, at least in the long-term, that left them only two options—either confront Tareq or go to the police. Drumming his fingers against the counter, he saw only one option available, and that was getting help, which meant they had to go to the police.
Which would mean…
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling,
There has to be another way.
Try as he might though, if there was, he couldn’t see it—if they went to the police, they would have to explain who Mariam really was; they would have to admit to her real identity, that she was guilty of fraud. Before she told him why she had wanted to use Ritika’s name he had resented her choice, he couldn’t help but feel it was an affront to his first wife’s memory, but now he understood.
That choice is what protected us for this long, and now we’re going to pay for it.
A sizzling sound came from the stovetop, jolting Raj back into the moment. He pulled the lid off the soup pot and turned the burner down, watching as the bubbles at the top subsided. He sniffed the air, noticing a burning smell, and cringed, he had forgotten all about the bread for the grilled cheese. Reaching over to flip the first slice of bread, he grimaced—the bread was almost black instead of golden brown. Before he could stop himself, he picked up the scalding toast and flung it into the garbage disposal. He shouted out several swear words, a combination of the pain shooting up his fingers and the direness of their situation. Raj leaned over the kitchen counter with his head in hands, kicking at the base of the floor cabinets. It took several moments before he regained his composure, all he wanted to do was smash every breakable item in the kitchen against the wall, followed by the unbreakable ones.
Once he had sufficiently suppressed his emotions, he remade the grilled cheese sandwiches, this time not letting them toast enough, but his patience had worn thin. He carried them to the dining table next to the kitchen, but as he looked out at the yard his gaze caught the poolside table and he changed his mind. He couldn’t take it anymore, they had to go outside. He’d hoped he would be able to lift Mariam’s spirits with one of her favorite meals, but he had to concede that was a virtual impossibility.
We’ve been pretending that we can live like this, but we can’t. There’s only one option.
Raj picked up the plates and took them outside, a return to reality would have to start with the first step.
Austin, USA – May, 2016
Mariam turned the page on her Kindle to get to the end of the chapter, realizing that she couldn’t recall a single thing that had happened in the last several pages. She tapped back several times until she came upon dialogue she recognized and had started reading again when she heard Raj coming down the stairs from the kitchen. She looked up with a frown, the dining table was upstairs next to the kitchen.
“Do you want to eat in front of the TV?”
“Let’s go out to the back patio.”
“No, we can’t,” her throat went dry, the mere thought of going outside was petrifying.
“Mariam, if he finds us here, it won’t matter whether we’re inside, in the backyard, or on the roof.”
She swallowed. Why did he have to be right? Mariam rubbed her fingers against her mouth, a remnant of an old habit of biting her nails, then braced herself as she stood.
If you never go outside again, Tareq wins.
She took several deep breaths before she felt able to join Raj outside.
Sitting across from him, she looked out at the stone landing with a small pool, about fifteen feet long, nested against some elaborate landscaping. “I don’t think I ever really looked at the garden, I didn’t realize that John had such extravagant taste in gnomes,” she said, making a halfhearted attempt at a joke.
Raj chuckled, although she could tell it was forced, and picked up the grilled cheese sandwich on his plate. “It’s not as good as I normally make it,” he shrugged. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Mariam took a bite and chewed slowly, he was right, the bread wasn’t toasted properly, and the cheese was only partially melted. “It still tastes good,” she fibbed.
“You’re a bad liar, my dear.”
“It’s still bread and cheese—there are worse things.”
“That’s true, I guess,” he sighed.
They finished the food in silence, with Mariam making furtive glances to catch his eye. She could tell he had something to say, but was trying to work up the courage to bring it up—she had lost count of how many times he had repeated the same behavior over the years. She had a feeling that she knew where the discussion would go. He would want to call the police—to turn Tareq in. She coughed, her fear almost sent her into a tailspin, but she also knew in her gut that he was probably right. If there was some other option, she had no idea, although she wasn’t ready to admit defeat.
I never wanted to be the victim again, but after twenty-five years, here I am.
Raj set his mug of soup on the table with a soft thud, “Mariam, we have to talk.”
I know, she considered saying, but instead, she feigned surprise and raised her eyebrows, “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
“We’re lucky John had this place, that Dinah could set us up here, but it’s not like we can stay forever. This situation can’t continue.”
Mariam’s heart sank even further, she wasn’t sure if she could stomach what he was clearly about to say.
“We have to turn him in, have the cops arrest him,” Raj continued.
“For what? For stealing my nameplate from the office? He hasn’t done anything…yet, at least nothing that we can prove.” Mariam could scarcely keep her voice
steady. Everything that Tareq had done had been to another woman, to Mariam Qatami, not to Ritika M. Ghosh.
“You know that’s not true. What about everything that he did to you before? He’s a monster, why can’t you hold him accountable?”
“And say what? That I was his wife, Mariam Qatami? I don’t think that aligns with what’s on my citizenship papers,” her voice cracked, no matter how they looked at it, their lives as they knew it were over.
Tareq has won.
“Come on, we can’t live like this—we can’t hide out here forever. What do you want to do? Go on the run? Have him hunt us for the rest of our lives? He knows you’re alive, he’s never going to stop searching for you. It’s not like we could fake our deaths.”
Mariam let her imagination run wild, “We could leave the country, get away. We have some money saved up, I bet we could live a decent life if we found somewhere low cost.”
“And then what? When the money runs out? Besides, we’re not in witness protection, we don’t exactly have access to new identities. And even if we could run, what happens to Aliya? Are you really willing to never see her again?”
“We could take her with us…” even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true, that she didn’t want to inflict that upon Aliya, but what else could they do?
“Come on, Mariam. We can’t do that to her, we’d be throwing her whole life away. All of her education, all of her hard work? I know you don’t want that for her, and neither do I.” He reached across the table to grasp her hands, “There is no other way—we have to turn ourselves in. That man hunted you, I’m sure the police would understand why you wanted to stay away.”
They won’t…
“I committed fraud, Raj. We committed fraud—we used Ritika’s name to get me new papers. We can’t go to the authorities; we could go to jail.” Two stray tears ran down Mariam’s face. She hadn’t considered that ramification of running, she had only thought about fight or flight, and she didn’t believe that they could defeat Tareq if they confronted him directly. Either she admitted to fraud, or they gave into his attack, neither of which she would consider winning, but she had ignored the cost of running as well.
