The Other Half of My Soul (21 page)

twenty-four

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.

—Helen Keller

After returning from Colombia, Rami and Rayna spent the next few weeks settling into their new house and starting back to school. Given their hectic schedule, Rayna at first paid little mind to the evolving change in Rami’s behavior, attributing it to his mental recuperation from the harrowing ordeal he had endured on the southern continent. Still, day after day, his demeanor grew worse. By late September, Rayna found herself carrying all of the responsibilities for them both. She did the shopping, cooked the meals, washed the clothes, maintained the house, and paid the bills. She shouldered not only her own heavy load of classes but also struggled to keep Rami focused on his studies. Apathy was crushing him. When he refused to leave the house, Rayna grappled each morning to get him up and out for school. No longer was Rami the enthusiastic, attentive, loving husband she had known. His passion and backbone had vanished. Their intimacy was gone. Rami moped. His appetite dwindled and he was losing weight. He refused to see Nolan, which put another burden on Rayna. She had to keep the professor’s commitment to Rami intact. Soon, Rayna found herself stretched beyond her limits.

More weeks passed. Rami was no better. Then, just before Thanksgiving, Rayna reached an impasse. Her energy was depleted. She was existing on very little sleep and not eating well. In desperation, she called Marisa. “I need to talk. Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? I’ll be on campus.”

* * *

“It sounds to me like Rami is suffering from depression. Something has happened to trigger this change in him. Tell me what’s going on.”

Rayna would not tell her friend about Rami’s trip to South America and his involvement with Yousef and al-Shahid. She would not tell Marisa about the danger and unrest besetting their lives. Rayna would not break the trust Rami placed in her. “I don’t know,” she answered.

“Then you need to find out. Things won’t improve unless you get to the root of the problem. Rayna, you may not be able to help Rami. You may be too close to him. Have you thought about professional help? A therapist?”

“I’ve tried that approach. He refuses. I’ve tried everything.”

“Do you still love Rami?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you must keep trying. Do you remember your wedding vows?” When Rayna nodded, Marisa urged, “Say them for me.”

Rayna’s eyes welled. “In sickness and in health. In poverty and in wealth. In sadness and in joy. I entrust to you my heart, for the rhythm of its beat will forever nourish our love. I commit to you my soul, for it is the other half of yours.”

Marisa reached into her purse, then handed Rayna a small packet of tissues. “Rami comes above all else. If you have to stop everything in your life to take care of him . . . whatever it takes to help him through this, then you must do it.” Marisa rested her hand on top of Rayna’s. “Time and love are good healers.”

* * *

Wednesday night marked the eve of a long Thanksgiving weekend. It began no differently than all other nights of the past three months—Rami feigning sleep, Rayna staying up late with chores and homework. Yet, tired as she was, Rayna was determined to break this toxic path before it destroyed them both. She wanted her husband back.

Rayna lifted the covers, crawled into bed, and snuggled up to Rami’s back. “There are just three weeks left to the semester. Let’s get through it. I’ll help you. Then we’ll take a break for however long we need. School is not my priority. You are. Nothing matters to me except for you to be well and for us to be together. I love you so much.” Several minutes passed. Rayna lay quietly next to her husband.

Slowly, Rami turned to her, “I have no life without you.”

“Tell me what happened in South America. Whatever it is, we’ll work through it.”

“I cannot.”

“You cannot or you will not?”

“I will lose you. I have done something so horrible . . .”

“Rami, I love you. You will never lose me. Nothing could be that bad. Unless . . . another woman?”

“No. No one else. Only you.”

“Then what is it?” She wrapped herself around him and infused his senses with her love. “I will lie here next to you and wait until you’re ready to tell me. And when you’re done, I will still be here. Now, if it were me in your place, what would you do? Would I lose you?”

“No. My love for you is forever. Forever does not change.”

“Then why would you think you would lose me?”

Gradually, Rami began. He described Yousef’s warehouse of weapons, his own abduction at gunpoint in Manaus, the trip into the forest, the weapons-for-drugs transaction with a black man named Carlos el Negro, and his experience in the jungle where he was left alone to die. “I negotiated weapons for cocaine. Weapons that will be used to kill many people. Cocaine to sell in America and Europe . . . to craze the minds of people. I have become part of Yousef’s reign of terror. I raised money, lots of money, to fund his violence. I hate myself for it. But Yousef would have had me killed if I refused, and that would have left you vulnerable. More than anything, I needed to protect you.”

Compassionately, Rayna listened as Rami told of being hit in the head with the butt of a gun and then pushed from the jeep. “The pain in my head hurt so bad. I was scared that darkness would come. I prayed not to be ripped apart by savage beasts. Then I thought I saw some people, women and children by the water. I started toward them. What I remember next is lying in hell. My body shook from chills. My insides gushed from retching and excreting. In front of me, I saw a vision. A very long time ago, you and I were fleeing Spain . . . southern Spain. We were boarding a boat to cross the Straits . . . to Morocco. Our hands separated so that I could take the fare from my pocket. In an instant, you were gone. Frantically, I looked everywhere and fell into a timeless pit searching for you.” All that Rami had kept locked inside, he now set free. “I believed I was no longer worthy of you for what I did. So instead of suffering the devastation of your rejection, I protected myself from you.”

Rami’s agony was her agony. He had placed an enormous burden of guilt and blame around his neck and it was choking the life from him. Rayna wished she could erase his pain and questioned God’s motive for so much suffering. “The most responsible thing you can do now is to ensure that the bacteria project never reaches completion and Yousef never gets his hands on the stuff. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“Indirectly, Nolan saved your life. Kamil told me. He learned it from Omar. Yousef ordered several different men to bribe Nolan, browbeat him. They even threatened to harm his daughter, and you know how much Nolan loves Anna. Still, Nolan kept his allegiance to you, pushing Yousef into a corner. Yousef did order your death. He wanted you out of the way until he realized that you were the only one Nolan would work with. Yousef needs you. Nolan is not a nerd. I was wrong about him. He’s tenacious and very loyal. Nolan is the reason Yousef allowed Omar to go with Kamil to search for you in the jungle. They saved your life.”

“Thank you for telling me that.” Wrapped within each other, the two fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Through the skylight, the early morning sun made itself known. Rami opened his eyes and kissed Rayna. “This summer, can we take a trip to southern Spain?”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Yes, southern Spain this summer.” She rested her head on his chest. “Rami . . .”

“What is it, rrawhee?”

“We have a respite, a window of safety until your mission with Nolan is done. After that, Yousef will come after both of us with a vengeance. That’s what Omar told Kamil.”

“Then we will take that window of safety and extend it for as long as possible. Nolan plans to stretch the research for five or six years. Longer, if he can. The best that can happen between now and then is for Yousef to die or be killed. Anything is possible.” He swaddled her in his arms. “Do you know how very much I love you?”

“Yes, I do.” She kissed him.

“My behavior was very difficult on you and you did not deserve it. I am sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Under the covers, he surrounded her.

* * *

Final exams were over and the couple welcomed the winter break. Rami spent some much-needed time with Nolan. At great length, they discussed Yousef, Abdallah, al-Shahid, South America, Yousef’s henchmen, and the bacteria situation. When Rami expressed a deep gratitude to the professor for his loyalty and credited him with the reason he was still alive, Nolan responded in kindness. “You know, Rami, I would have liked to have you for my son-in-law. That’s how highly I think of you. Never have I known a nineteen-year-old to show so much maturity and integrity as you.”

Rami was humbled by this man’s sincerity. “If I were not madly in love with my wife, I would have been honored to marry your daughter and make you my father-in-law.”

“And if Anna didn’t have a serious boyfriend, I would have taken you up on it.” The two laughed, then turned their attention to the bacteria in the glass enclosure. Deeply engrossed, they lost track of time. Darkness had fallen when they emerged from the lab.

Rami looked down at his watch. “It is after seven. Rayna is expecting me home. Would you like to come for dinner? She always cooks extra.”

Nolan held up two stacks of papers, “These are the finals from my philosophy and chemistry classes. Well over three hundred tests to score and only two days to get all the grades turned in. I’d like a raincheck on that dinner.”

“It is yours.” Then Rami graciously volunteered his assistance. “Can I be of help?”

Nolan hesitated, then accepted Rami’s offer. “These are from my two chem classes. Ninety-nine papers. Multiple choice. Fifty questions, two points each. Many are chemical symbols, but not all.” He handed Rami the answer sheet. “All you have to do is check each student’s responses against this sheet, multiply the number of correct answers by two, and mark the grade at the top. Students won’t be getting their papers back to check them, so make sure you’re completely accurate.”

After promising to have them back in time for Nolan to record the grades and make his deadline, Rami took the exams home.

* * *

That evening, after helping Rayna clean up from dinner, Rami sat down at the kitchen table and began grading the papers. Rayna was in the study finishing her exposé of the 1993 attack on the World Trade Center.

Reaching the halfway point, Rami began to tire.
I will mark up one more paper before turning in for the night
. The page sat in front of him. As he checked each question against the answer sheet, something kept jumping out at him. Several times, his eyes drifted to the name at the top.
Jonathan Klezman. Jonathan Klezman. The Jonathan Klezman who had forced himself on Rayna and nearly raped her. The same Jonathan who almost stole Rayna’s virginity. Okay, Jonathan,
this is payback time
. Shuffling through the pens in the desk drawer, Rami found one that matched the ink color on Jonathan’s paper. He then proceeded to change several of the answers. Rami wrote the grade at the top—
38
. He hoped it would be low enough to give Jonathan a failing grade in the course.

twenty-five

And the blind and the seeing are not alike; nor the darkness and the light; nor the shade and the heat.

—Surah 35:19-21

The third week in December, a package arrived containing six copies of the latest issue of
InterContinental Weekly
. “It’s my article! Finally in print!” Rayna was overjoyed. “Kamil said Simon didn’t cut one word.” Elated for her, Rami snatched one of the copies, sat down at the kitchen table, and immediately became glued to the story.

On Friday, February 26, 1993, at 12:17 PM, Islamic terrorists drove a truck with 1,000 pounds of explosives into the basement parking garage of the World Trade Center. The blast left a crater 22 feet wide and five stories deep. Six people were killed. One thousand were injured. Within a month’s time, the towers were repaired, cleaned, reopened, and back in business.

From extensive interviewing, narratives by those who were in the building at the time, all told a familiar story. They spoke of inadequate security, lack of emergency evacuation plans, absence of backup lighting in the stairwells, and an inefficient communication system. Phones fizzled. Lights went down. Computers crashed. Elevators froze. Still, most people had no clue about the attack.

Workers remained in their offices under the illusion it was a temporary power outage. Then, slowly, through word of mouth, news of the attack trickled in. Thousands began to flee, searching for the nearest exits. Descending blackened stairwells, the people moved in orderly fashion, guided only by the individual in front. Within a short time, they found themselves confronted by a locked door or a brick wall. Doing an about face, they ascended the steps, climbing to reach a floor above where they searched for another stairwell to go down. Over and over, they repeated their actions for two, three, four hours until successfully zigzagging their way down to the entrance lobby.

If the attack had been far more extensive, if tens of thousands of people had only minutes to evacuate . . .

Rayna wrote of the New York Police Department landing helicopters on the rooftop to rescue people from the upper floors. She questioned the motives of the New York Fire Department for ordering the rooftop doors permanently locked after the attack.

“Wow! This is excellent. When did you ever find time to do all those interviews . . . and that research? I will frame it and we will hang it right here.” Rami pointed to a space on the wall in the family room. “How many languages will it be printed in?”

“Thirteen. Thirteen languages. And I’m far from through. This is only the beginning. It’s not just about the terrorists. I’m going after the building management, FBI, CIA. They won’t like me when I’m done.” The phone rang. “Hello.”

“
Mabrook
. Congratulations. Your first article and it’s already causing a stir. Our phones are ringing non-stop and e-mails are pouring in.”

“Kamil!”

Kamil laughed. “It’s nice to know you still recognize my voice. Simon wants more, Rayna. We’ll pay you real dollars for the next one. Will you take it to the next level?”

“Yes. I was hoping you’d ask.”

“I have more good news. I have a daughter. She’s three weeks old already. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. Her name is Nida, after my mother. She weighed seven pounds, six ounces at birth, and measured twenty inches long. Lots of dark hair, down to her shoulders. Olive skin and hazel eyes just like me. Oh, Rayna, she’s so beautiful.”

Rayna had not known Kamil to be this animated. Privately, she hoped that the baby would secure his marriage to Maddy. “How’s Maddy?”

“She’s fine . . . Simon promoted me to editor-in-chief. World-wide. He’s renouncing that role. Says his micro-managing is wearing him down and his wife is demanding more of his time.”

“Kamil, how wonderful. I’m happy for you. I bet Maddy’s excited . . .”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Maybe she’s going through some postpartum blues.”

“Maybe.”

“If men had to go through childbirth, our population would come to a screeching halt.”

Kamil chuckled, “You’re probably right. I can’t wait for you to see Nida. When will you visit? You and Rami will stay with us, in the guest room.”

“Soon. We’ll come soon. I can’t wait to hold your daughter. You may never get her back.”

“Well, in that case, I take back my invitation.”

“Uh-uh. You can’t do that.”

“I better have a talk with your husband. How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine, just as long as I keep him satisfied with Syrian food.”

“Lucky man. If he ever gives you up, tell him I’m waiting in the wings.”

“Let me put the lucky man on and you can tell him yourself,” she laughed, handing Rami the phone.

Rami reached for a pad and pen and took some notes. After finishing his conversation with Kamil, he tore the sheet from its perforation and held it up, “Look what I have.”

“What?”

“Kamil said I should make an appointment with that excellent immigration lawyer he told you about, the one here in Washington. Tomorrow I will call.”

Shaking her head, Rayna raised her eyebrows.

“I know. I know. I did not listen when you suggested it.”

Rayna sighed with a hint of exasperation. “I don’t ever want you to go back to Syria and leave me . . .”

“Do not worry. I am not going back to Syria. Kamil said there is more clamping down, more arrests for those speaking out, and more send-offs to Palmyra.”

“Palmyra? What’s that?”

“A prison in Tadmur, south of Halab. Palmyra is really an archaeological site, but the prison there is known as Syria’s torture chamber. People live in fear of Palmyra. Real fear! And even if Syria were paradise, I would not return. My place is here with you.” He locked his arms around her waist, “When can we make a baby?”

“Uh-uh. Remember? After we finish school. Then you can have four children.”

“Grinning, he hugged her. “What if I want six?”

“Four. You can only make as many babies as I agree on. This is the one area of our marriage that I definitely do have all the control.”

“I would not bet on that . . .”

“Four . . .”

The two continued their bantering until Rami whisked her up in his arms, allowing their playful intimacy to swell their love.

* * *

Nolan was leaving to spend Christmas with his daughter and her fiancé. “I need to see you before I go, Rami. Can you come by at two?”

“I will be there.” Rami returned the phone to the nightstand and fluffed the comforter. He stepped into the bathroom where Rayna was showering. Reaching in, he washed her back. “Nolan just called. He wants to meet with me at two. What are your plans this afternoon?”

“I have an appointment at one-thirty to get my hair trimmed, then I’m going over to the mall. I have to stop at the bookstore. What time will you be home?”

“No later than six.”

“Shall I pick up some fresh salmon for dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

Rayna turned off the shower. Rami reached for a towel, wrapped it around her, and affectionately moved his hands over the outline of her body to dry her. She felt him grow strong against her belly and smiled, “I just showered.”

“You can take another shower later.”

* * *

“How did it go with Nolan today?” Rayna asked over dinner.

“Good. Except things are moving faster than I would like, so he is slowing down and taking a long holiday break . . . I like your haircut. Shorter than you normally wear it, but I like it. Makes your exotic eyes even more tempting.”

“I’m glad you like it. I saw Omar at the bookstore today. He was with a friend. Says Yousef is fuming because Nolan won’t talk with him and you won’t return his calls. He says Yousef’s been trying to reach you for days. Omar said you need to answer your cell, or at least respond to your messages.”

“I hope Yousef’s fuming is enough stress to give him a heart attack and he dies.”

“That would be a blessing. Anyhow, I told Omar to inform Yousef that you’re working with Nolan and when you have something to report, you’ll contact him. Then Omar said he had something for you and asked me to walk with him to his car.”

“Did you go?”

“Of course not. I waited inside the cafe at the bookstore.”

Rami sighed with relief, “Good.”

Rayna fixed two mugs of cinnamon-spiced tea and heated them in the microwave, then lifted an envelope from her tote and handed it to Rami. “Omar said he picked up the mail on his way out of the apartment today. That’s why it was in his car.”

The aerogram showed a Syrian postmark. “It is from my father.” Rami took the letter opener from the drawer and slit the thin paper along the top. To himself, he read the Arabic script. When he was done, he looked up at Rayna, then lowered his eyes and read the letter again.

“Tell me what it says, Rami.”

“You will not like it.” Rami translated into English.

My dearest son,

What is happening? Why have we not heard from you for so long? It has been almost a year. Your mother cries with worry and your sisters want to know about their brother. What shall I tell them? When will you come home? The father of Omar says you are married to a Syrian. I am not sure to believe him. Surely you would not keep something like that from us. I beg of Allah that you are not with that Jew you spoke of last year. There would be no greater shame you can bring upon us. No greater disgrace to Allah than merging your life with a Jew. Each day I pray to Allah that you stay true to the words of our Prophet and remember the teachings in our Quran. Jews are pigs. Evil subhuman infidels. Worse than the Christian non-believers. My son, I beg you to ease my mind. Tell me you are not married. Come home. At least write to us. We know little of your life this past year. Always your mother and I curse the day you left for America. We should never have let you go. Ramadan will soon begin. Each fast day, look into your heart and answer to Allah for your actions. Remember you are a Muslim. A Shi’ite. I hope soon for a reply

—Your loving Eby.

Rayna felt sick. “Oh, God. What have we done?”

A long silence fell between them. The phone rang. They ignored it. Tenderly, Rami took Rayna’s hand and kissed it, then held it to his cheek. “Yes, my rrawhee, look what we have done. We married because we love each other and do not want to live apart. Love and marriage are not the problems. Intolerance, religion, blind hatred are the problems. The entire world is consumed. Our families, our communities, our governments, our countries. They are obsessed with the fear that acceptance and tolerance might infect them. They hate what we have done because we shove that infection in their faces like a plague. We are getting a good lesson on how to survive intolerance, a lesson that schools and religious leaders fail to teach us.” Ibrahim’s letter had invoked Rami’s ire. He stroked Rayna’s hair. “Everything happens for a reason. Our fate was sealed a long time ago, before we were born. Do you believe that?”

Rayna shuddered. Her neck and arms erupted in red blotches.

“For my father, he would have preferred my death in the jungle to my happiness with you. He would praise my weapons-for-drugs trade and curse me for loving you. I thought I knew my father. I had idolized him. To me, the man could have done no wrong, except . . .”

“Except what?”

“Nothing.” Rami took the letter and tore it into shreds. “My father will not hear from me again. Not ever. You will not lose me to anyone.”

* * *

On a Saturday morning, soon after New Year’s, with temper-atures hovering just above freezing and a drizzling rain dampening the air, Rami and Rayna left for New York City to visit Kamil and Maddy. Although traffic was light, icy patches on the road made the trip tenuous. Given the depressing weather, Rami and Rayna were grateful that Kamil had insisted they stay in the guest room. “I won’t have you dragging back and forth to a hotel,” Kamil had said.

Adhering to Rayna and Rami’s religious dietary laws, Maddy ordered in vegetarian gourmet Indian food for dinner. On Sunday morning, Kamil and Rami went to Zabar’s and picked up bagels, lox, an array of scrumptious delicacies, and Zabar’s own brand of coffee.

All weekend, Rami and Rayna delighted in Nida. She was as beautiful as Kamil had described, and looked just like her father. They took turns changing her diapers and feeding her formula from a bottle. They bathed her, played with her, and delighted in her coos and smiles. Nida was the highlight of their visit, and it was evident that the child had bewitched her father.

The joy, however, was offset by marked tension between Kamil and Maddy. Maddy was intent on hurling pointed daggers and casting cutting remarks at her husband. Embarrassed, Kamil ignored her and focused his attention on his infant daughter and his two guests.

Rayna felt sorry for Kamil and wanted to help. Rami, at first, tried to dissuade her from getting involved, but then he, too, agreed with Rayna. Easing into the subject, they quickly learned that Maddy did not want to be a stay-at-home mom, while Kamil wanted Nida to be raised by her mother, not tossed into day care or pawned off to a nanny. The two had been arguing this point since Maddy’s sixth month of pregnancy, and it destroyed the few thin threads they had of a marriage. When Rayna asked why they decided to have a child, Kamil hung his head.

“There was nothing to decide,” Maddy retorted sharply. “Pregnancy came first. Marriage was the by-product.”

“Well, should your daughter suffer the consequences of your actions?” Rami’s question further inflamed Maddy.

“My daughter is
not
suffering.”

Rayna came to her husband’s defense. “Rami didn’t mean it in a bad way. He was only . . .”

Maddy cut her off. “Look, recently I was offered a new position. The principal is leaving at the end of the school year and I was offered the job. I accepted and am not going to risk losing that career step. Why don’t you ask Kamil to decline the new position Simon has offered him? Ask Kamil to stay at home with his daughter.”

Not wanting the conversation to get any uglier, Rayna said, “I think it’s time for us to be heading back while it’s still daylight, and before the weather gets any worse. Rami and I had a lovely weekend. Thank you for your gracious hospitality and for letting us have so much time with Nida.”