Marrying Ameera (4 page)

Tariq rang as soon as I reached my room. ‘I’m sorry about Samuel’s comment and telling your name,’ he said. ‘I could see it upset you.’

I should have told him that seeing Ibram had upset me more, but what good would it have done? It would have created bad blood between Tariq and Raniya’s brothers, and caused more trouble than it was worth.

‘I should have ignored him,’ Tariq went on, ‘or explained.’

‘No, it’s okay, Tariq. There are enough differences without outlining more. I can cope with being introduced. My Uncle Richard does it all the time.’

‘I’m glad you’re not upset with me.’ There was a different tone in his voice; I let it wash over me like water from a healing spring.

‘Ameera?’

‘Yes?’

‘I have another idea.’

I felt a quiver of excitement but it was coupled with dread.

‘Maryam will ask you to go to the movies. Make sure you sit on the end of the row but leave the aisle seat free. I’ll pretend there are no other seats. I have to be nearby in the dark to watch Maryam doesn’t come to harm.’

I laughed. Natasha would have called Tariq’s protection stifling, but I was Pakistani enough to feel the care and honour given when we girls were ‘looked after’. But Papa would think it should be Riaz looking after me, not his friend.

I was a mess at the cinema, worrying about how to stay at the back of the line of girls walking down the aisle so I’d be the one sitting at the end of the row. What if one of the girls decided to sit on the other side of me to chat? Then Tariq’s plan would be stuffed.

Besides Maryam and me, there was Natasha, her Anglo friend Luanne, Raniya and Seema. They all filed in licking ice-creams. My stomach was in too much of a knot to eat one. I managed to sit down last but there were two seats vacant beside me.
Uh-oh.
Tariq would have to sit in the furthest seat. I couldn’t ask everyone to shift up one: it would only draw their attention to him. But he didn’t come.

The ads began; still no Tariq.

‘I thought your brother was coming,’ Natasha said to Maryam.

Maryam crunched on the cone. ‘He’ll be around somewhere.’ She didn’t sound concerned. Luanne was
leaning over, listening. ‘Is Maryam’s brother your boyfriend?’ she asked Raniya. ‘He’s so hot.’

Natasha understood our customs and began to explain, but Raniya cut in. ‘We don’t date, Luanne.’

Luanne’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re kidding? What if you like someone? How do you get married?’ She giggled uncertainly. ‘You can’t all be nuns.’

Raniya frowned. ‘Our parents arrange our marriages. We have input, of course,’ she added. ‘I’ll go on dates with my fiancé when we’re engaged.’

‘Is that the first time you get to kiss him?’ Luanne asked.

Raniya kept her face calm but I knew how scandalised she was. ‘We will be chaperoned.’ It came out of her mouth as a tight hiss.

Luanne didn’t know what that meant and Natasha had to explain. Luanne looked even more horrified.

Seema stared at her lap; she hated it when our customs were criticised, especially since each family had variations on the theme. Mum had told me some Pakistani families were allowing love marriages now, but I knew Papa would never agree to that. I’d asked Maryam recently about marriage in her family. ‘I’m allowed to choose,’ she’d said, ‘but Mummy and Daddy want me to choose a Christian. They say it will be easier to marry someone with the same world-view.’

Raniya began explaining our customs to Luanne but I had the odd impression her words were directed at me. Perhaps it was my own guilt or the way she looked at me once or twice. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from continually glancing to the empty aisle seat.

Then the lights dimmed and I felt the seat next to me move, heard the faint squish of flattened leather, smelled cologne, subtle and fresh like a beach breeze. Tariq. I could just see his smile, the left side of his mouth following the right as always. He’d left the aisle seat vacant and was sitting right next to me. He bent close and said in my ear, ‘Good to see you, Ameera.’ My ear burned with his breath.

I couldn’t say a word about the movie later; throughout, I was only aware of Tariq’s presence. At one point we both fumbled with the armrest and our hands brushed. For a second too long he left his hand on mine and I felt as though the movie theatre had faded away and we were alone. In that moment I knew this wasn’t simple friendship. I felt his care like a fierce physical embrace. If I’d been asked to explain why I cared for him in return, I wouldn’t have been able to. I just knew I did.

Papa had told me folk tales from Pakistan about lovers who fell in love at first sight. I used to think that was unrealistic and romantic, but Mum said it was like that with her and Papa. And now I felt it too. I guess when you don’t meet many boys socially, things can happen quicker.

Papa would say that love should come after marriage but I knew now that wasn’t true. He probably thought you could only love someone after you’d slept with them. How unfair of him not to allow his children to marry for love when that was what he’d done.

At the swell of the closing music, Tariq shifted to the aisle seat. When the lights came on, the girls began to chat about the movie. I glanced at Tariq. He half-smiled
and his gaze lingered on my face. I turned back to my friends and caught Raniya watching me. Her glance flickered to Tariq. Did she guess he’d been sitting close beside me, a place reserved only for a brother, father or husband?

It was the week before Christmas when my world fell apart. I had been at Maryam’s house, and yes, I saw Tariq there, but mainly we girls watched music DVDs and made gulab jarmins for dessert. It was daytime so I took the chance to walk back by myself, and as I approached our house I saw an unfamiliar car take off. When I let myself in, Papa was stalking up and down the lounge room. I remember noticing the rug: an antique faded red Bukhara, one of Papa’s favourites. Mum was watching him from the couch. I hadn’t seen her look like that before, as though something terrible would happen if she left the room. She saw me first and motioned quickly for me to go upstairs. She looked frantic, which had the opposite effect of what she wanted: I was rooted to the spot with apprehension.

‘What’s wrong?’ I said.

Papa turned on me. ‘You!’ he said. Gone was his usual loving greeting of ‘beti ji’. He was a stranger.

Mum stood up. ‘Hassan.’ But her warning was tentative. Neither of us had ever seen him like this.

He jabbed the air in front of me. ‘You have been seen. Acting dishonourably with boys.’

I was too shocked to defend myself.

Mum cut in. ‘I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, Hassan. Ask her.’

‘How will we hold up our heads in the community?’ Papa raged. ‘What will the family say in Kashmir?’

I wanted to say he’d got it all wrong, but would he believe me?

‘The imam has visited—he said I should know so I can deal with it. You have been seen at a mixed party. You, Ameera. How could you do this to us?’

I licked my lips. His anger was spilling into sorrow; the combination wasn’t good to see. ‘Papa, I’ve done nothing immoral.’

Mum smiled at me, a little too brightly. ‘See, Hassan, it’s all a mistake.’

He shouted, ‘Were you at a mixed party? Was the Yusuf boy there and others?’

I couldn’t lie so I said nothing. Papa would say even the phone calls were immoral. He must never know about them; that would get Riaz into trouble as well.

Mum was looking more concerned now. ‘Ameera?’

‘I was there, but it was innocent. I went with Maryam.’

‘It was a boy’s party. You cannot go to boys’ parties. It is not seemly. Everyone will think you have a relationship.’ Papa said ‘relationship’ as if it was a swearword.

‘Hassan, stop. Ameera is a good girl.’

He swung around on me then, so close I thought he’d hit me. I flinched, but his next words hurt more than his
hand would have. ‘You are not a good girl.’ He spaced the words so I wouldn’t miss any. ‘You have brought dishonour to this family. Where there is smoke there is fire. Chello, go to your room. I will decide what is to be done.’

What did he mean? I understood the dishonour part—though I disagreed—but what had to be done?

Mum was the one who voiced it. ‘Hassan? What do you mean? What are you going to do?’

I didn’t get to hear an answer, for Papa shouted, ‘Go!’

I ran to my room like a disgraced little girl.

I didn’t know if it was Raniya who had told her parents about the party—for my own good, no doubt—or her brother. Someone had said it and that was enough. I’d never seen Papa so angry and I felt sick with fear. What was he thinking of doing? Two months in my room with only bread and water? Would he do that? No computer or phone for a month?

My phone. I began erasing Tariq’s messages. I could hear the warmth of his voice even in the texts. His beautiful words. I was crying as I read each one before I hit the delete button. Then the music. It was like cutting my heart out. But Papa must never know I spoke to Tariq late at night.

No one came near me that first night, not even Mum. Fortunately, I had my own bathroom and toilet. It wasn’t until Papa went to work in the morning that she brought me breakfast. I fell into her arms and sobbed. She cried too.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I never thought it would come to this.’

‘You don’t think I’m bad, do you, Mum?’

She stroked the hair away from my face. ‘Course not. But you do need to tell me what’s happened so I know what I’m dealing with.’ She raised her eyebrows.

I knew Mum would still love me even if I’d slept with Tariq, but I’d be too ashamed to ever tell her something like that. With relief I said, ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t even kissed anyone.’

Mum looked sideways at me as she pulled me to sit next to her on the bed. ‘What about the party?’

I bit my lip; I knew what she’d say next.

‘You didn’t tell us it was Natasha’s brother’s party. You led us to believe it was hers.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I just wanted to go. Maryam went.’

‘She’s not Muslim, love.’ Mum sighed.

Nor did Maryam have a father like mine. Mum wasn’t about to say that to me, but I could sense her disapproval wasn’t all directed at me.

‘What’s Papa going to do?’

She frowned. ‘I don’t know. He did have a surprise for you, but I don’t know if he’ll follow through on that now.’

‘What sort of surprise?’ I could tell by Mum’s tone she didn’t think I’d like it. What if he stopped me from going to uni and I had to join the carpet business? I didn’t want to do that any more than Riaz did.

‘You’ll have to wait and see. Ameera, I need to know.’ She put her hands on my shoulders. ‘Do you feel something for Tariq?’

‘Will you tell Papa?’

‘Not necessarily, but I need to know how serious it is.’

‘We just talk. He’s nice, Mum.’

‘I already know how nice he is. I presume it was you who arranged his visit to Riaz that night?’

I nodded slowly.

‘What if your father arranged a marriage with him?’

I tried to appear deadpan but my eyes betrayed me. Mum dropped her hands from my shoulders and rubbed her forehead. She looked at me and I saw that she was almost crying.

‘So you love him,’ she said.

‘What can be done?’ There was hope in my voice, but Mum didn’t share my tone.

‘If it’s a question of honour—’

‘But I haven’t done anything.’

‘I believe you, but in your father’s eyes you’ve dishonoured him. Dishonour sticks like slander. He says it stains like dye, you can never erase it.’ She thought for a second. ‘Sometimes dishonour can be fixed with a marriage.’

‘But Tariq’s Christian—that’s why I kept my interest secret.’

Mum nodded slowly. ‘I know—it’s a problem. I just needed to know what you felt in case your father thinks of it as an option. Though the way he talks about the Yusufs, I doubt it.’

Mum gave me another long hug then got up to leave. ‘This will calm down, Ameera. I’ll talk to him. But please don’t do anything rash, like going to Maryam’s house. It would increase the shame your father already feels,
maybe force him to act more strictly than he normally would. I’m sorry.’

At the door; she turned and rushed back to hug me again. ‘Oh, Ameera, God loves you so much. He is your true father—He will look after you.’

She kissed me and left. I sat there after she’d gone, astonished. Mum rarely spoke to us about what she thought of God. I knew Papa wouldn’t agree that God was my father. But what if He were? Could I dare to ask Him to look after me better than my own father?

That night Riaz came to my room with chicken korma. Mum had made it using curry paste from a jar but he’d gone to the Tandoor Kitchen to buy me a garlic naan. He knew how much I loved naan.

‘Riaz, you’re an angel. I’m so hungry.’

He watched me while I fell on the food. ‘Ameera, I’m sorry if giving you Tariq’s phone number caused all this.’

I swallowed down a mouthful. ‘I could have refused the number or not used it. Besides, it was worth it.’ I looked up at him. He seemed truly concerned. ‘Tariq was never my boyfriend—we only ever talked.’

‘I believe you, Ames.’

That was when it hit me: my ‘friendship’ with Tariq would have to end. Papa would watch me like a falcon forever now.

‘I suppose I’ll be lucky if I get to go to uni after this,’ I said.

Then I saw the look on Riaz’s face. The concern had morphed into sorrow and pity; it made him look older.

‘Riaz?’

He moved to the bed and put an arm around me. ‘Ames, I want you to know how sorry I am.’

Not sorry enough, I thought. If he was, wouldn’t he have stood with me, taken half the blame? But maybe he didn’t see how having a girlfriend had led him to give me Tariq’s number. Still, it was my choice to use it, and I was proud of that. I couldn’t blame Riaz. Though a little voice whispered that Papa probably wouldn’t be as angry about Riaz having a girlfriend.

Riaz hadn’t finished. ‘I love you, Ames. And I mean this—if something happens that you don’t like, you call me and I’ll come.’

I gaped at him, amazed. What did he mean? He couldn’t leave a nightclub on time to drive me home, so why promise something like this? But he was serious. There was a concern in his eyes that I’d rarely seen.

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘I hope not. I hope this gets sorted okay.’

He’d overheard something, I could tell, but he wouldn’t let on. He just held me for an age then left the room, taking my plate with him.

I didn’t dare ask Papa what was going on. I used to be able to talk to Papa, but he was a different person now. I yearned for the days when we had been close. He’d taught me Urdu and it had transported me into his world. He told me stories, and those stories had taught me everything I needed to know: how to behave, how to treat others, how to obey, and how I would have an arranged marriage. Papa said I was the princess in the stories, that I was as beautiful as the moon.

I remembered the story of Punnu and Sassi. Sassi was beautiful and the astrologer said at her birth that she would marry a man from another faith. To save the community from such bad karma, her Brahman parents put her on the Indus river in a basket, and a Muslim washerman found her and adopted her. She married Punnu, a chieftain’s son from a faraway place. His family weren’t happy and his brothers abducted him after the marriage. Sassi wandered into the desert to find him. One night each could hear the other calling above the wind, but each believed it to be an hallucination produced by the desert. They didn’t know they were only a few yards apart, unable to see one another because of the driving wind and sand. And so Sassi and Punnu each died alone.

My eyes always teared up when I remembered that story but it had become even more poignant now. Would Tariq have changed his life for me, like Punnu? Become a Muslim? But I wouldn’t expect that of anyone. I loved the movie
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
—guess that’s because I could relate to it—but Toula’s boyfriend converted because he didn’t believe in anything. Tariq did, and he wouldn’t be who he was if he couldn’t practise his faith. Even if he changed, Papa had a thing about new converts. ‘It’s the family you marry, not the boy,’ he always said.

It hurt not speaking to Tariq. He rang many times and left messages, but I didn’t dare ring him back and his
calls gradually stopped. Maryam called to make a time to hang out but I said I didn’t feel like it. I felt awful. When she asked how I was I knew she was fishing but I couldn’t tell her about Tariq. I think she thought I was having a bad period and didn’t press for details.

When Papa was at work, Mum allowed me to leave my room. I read books I didn’t have time for during the term and watched BBC DVDs Mum borrowed from the library. Papa still didn’t want to see me and it had been days. I knew that he believed his decisions concerning me were based on good parenting: ‘in your best interests’ and ‘because I love you’ were phrases he often used. I believed him, and no one could fault his concern for my welfare. But my personal wishes? They were never considered. When I was ten Maryam had given me a kitten. Papa had told me to give it back. ‘What a gift,’ he fumed. ‘I’m the one to pay for it.’ I was too young to point out that Maryam knew I wanted the kitten. If I’d said that, though, I would have been frivolous at best, disobedient at worst. Papa hadn’t spoken to me until the kitten was returned. I didn’t like remembering that; it made me feel disloyal and I prayed for forgiveness.

On the fifth day Papa relented. I was asked to come down to breakfast. I checked his face as I tiptoed in. It was an awful feeling to be nervous of my own father. He seemed at peace; the anger was gone. If I had known why, I wouldn’t have relaxed.

‘I’m sorry, Abu ji, for causing you pain,’ I said.

He looked gratified. Mum seemed surprised. It was a good sign, I thought, and hoped this would be the end of it. Christmas was in a few days; Mum would be glad to
have this over before she celebrated with her family. But would I be allowed to go?

I remember exactly what I was doing when Papa told me his ‘surprise’. I was pouring milk into my muesli. I missed the bowl, but was too shocked to get the dishcloth to wipe it up. Mum took the carton from me. Papa had to say it all again.

‘Your Uncle Rasheed said you can stay with them for a while. Your cousin Jamila is getting married. You can be involved in the wedding.’

‘But, Papa, they live in Azad Kashmir.’

‘Ji.’ Papa gave a half-smile. ‘It is a surprise I’ve been working on for some time. I know we’ve had this…little problem, but there is no reason why you still can’t go.’

I looked at Mum. She didn’t seem very happy about the idea.

‘What about uni?’ I said. ‘Will I be back in time? Weddings can take ages.’

Papa frowned. ‘It is just for some weeks. I’ve organised it all.’ He said this last bit as though he’d bought me a new car.

Mum was studying him, trying to read between his words. Why the turnaround, I wondered. Why give me a surprise when I had disappointed him so badly? It didn’t make sense and I could tell Mum thought so too. Riaz’s face rose in my mind: how he had looked so sad for me and held me close. Then I realised: it wasn’t a surprise overseas trip; I was being sent away. How long for? As long as it took for the gossip in the community to die down? How many people knew I had ‘gone off the rails’?

Papa’s smile was almost his old one. He looked at me as if he was about to deliver the best news in the world. ‘Your flight leaves tomorrow.’

I stared at him in horror. ‘Tomorrow!’

‘Hassan, you never said so soon. She’ll miss Christmas.’ Mum’s voice squeezed to a squeak and then she burst into tears. ‘She’s my daughter too. How can you do this without any discussion?’ Then she stopped. ‘The elections. Have you thought, Hassan? She won’t be safe.’

But Papa wasn’t listening to her pain, only the words. ‘Of course she’ll be safe—she’ll be with the family. This is for the best, the best for Ameera. She’ll have a nice holiday in Kashmir and see how to live properly the Muslim life. She’ll come back a true Muslim.’ He looked so pleased with himself.

‘Papa, I’m Muslim already.’

‘I mean, to follow God’s path. You only follow your own.’

That was when I cried. The tears slid silently down my face. How could he say something like that to me?

Mum pulled herself together enough to stick up for me. ‘Hassan, that’s too harsh. You know she tries hard for you.’

‘Then she won’t mind going to the family for a few weeks. Stop those tears, both of you. Anyone would think something terrible is happening.’ Papa passed me the ticket. ‘See? A holiday in Kashmir. Any Australian girl would jump at the chance.’

I checked the ticket before passing it to Mum. The return date was in a month. I breathed out slowly. A
month wasn’t so bad; I’d be back in plenty of time before uni started. I gave Mum a tentative smile. I would miss her and my friends. All those things we were going to do: movies, shopping, the beach. And Tariq…but I closed my mind to him.