Forbidden Love (16 page)

Then, suddenly, I thought of Michael. I had to warn him. He’d be next on their list. And I had to tell him what had happened that Dalia had been murdered, that he might be next. How could I reach him while my father had me under a microscope? I remembered that in order for Dalia’s family to have the legal right to kill him, an autopsy had to be performed on Dalia first. If the results of the autopsy showed that she’d had premarital sex, nothing I or anyone else could do would spare Michael. If she was found to be a virgin and her family went ahead and killed him nevertheless, they would be heavily fined by the courts and risked years of a bloody family feud. Although some families did ignore the law and kill the man involved regardless of the autopsy findings, I didn’t believe that Dalia’s family would take that route. I’d known them all my life, and I was sure that all they’d want to do was find a quick end to this embarrassment. I didn’t doubt, however, that they’d kill Michael if the results were unfavorable, but I knew Dalia. I was sure that she was still a virgin.

I had to find a way to contact Michael and let him know what had happened. I hated having to be the bearer of bad news, but he had to hear it from me, no one else.

When Dalia died, she was transformed, by the state and by Islam, into a body, to be handled by Jordan’s laws and system of burial. But I could only feel her death as a personal thing.

What had happened in the brief minutes, or seconds, of her death? Did her brothers join her father in pinning her down as he stabbed her, or did they stab too? Did she know she was about to be killed? Did she hear furtive sounds and padding feet coming towards her room? Did her breath stop in terror? Or did they creep in as she slept and stab her in darkness? I have come to believe that her father, alone, wielded the knife. In the code of silence that surrounds an honour killing, I will never know for sure. But I will always be haunted by the possible scenarios, and cannot bear to think of Dalia awake and knowing what was moving towards her-seeing the face of her father, perhaps of her brothers, and a knife

flashing towards her chest.

Did he, or they, feel anything for her as they struck? Or had their obsession with betrayal of honour turned Dalia into a faceless object of hate? Had they so depersonalized her as an enemy of the codes they lived by that erasing her from the face of the earth was easy? Did Mahmood feel any guilt or remorse as he resisted calling an ambulance until he was sure his daughter was dead? And even if the brothers did not raise a knife, their support of the act makes them accomplices; Mohammed, who clearly betrayed Dalia to her father, is equally a murderer.

What is almost as hard to bear is the facelessness of her treatment after death. When the twelve stabbings were done and the knife pulled from her chest, her murder became a minor matter to be dispensed with swiftly in the Islamic courts that ruled on all religious or family matters. Hidden away from the light of the civil legal system, there would be no more punishment for her killer than the inconvenience of two or three hours before the Sharia courts. There, male judges and juries, in their hearts cheering this father for upholding tradition, always sat with sympathetic ears for male murderers.

The police, no doubt, made their initial report of the incident before transporting Dalia’s body to Palestine Hospital and noted that it was an honour killing. I imagine, as is usually the case, that the crime scene would not be taped off to protect the evidence and no murder weapons or other evidence would be collected. All her father would be required to do was to make a perfunctory appearance at court to testify that Dalia had dishonoured her family. If the court agreed that her actions warranted an honour killing, then he would receive the male judges’ and jurors’ respect and support for abiding by the ancient laws and having the courage to uphold his family’s honour.

The laws pertaining to honour killings stem from ancient beliefs that, by now, have been codified into law. Because of this, someone charged with neglecting to wear a seat belt while

driving faces stiffer penalties than the perpetrator of an honour killing. While anyone found publicly criticizing the King automatically faces three years in jail, a man performing an honour killing spends less than three hours in front of the Sharia courts.

Mahmood’s court appearance would no doubt be scheduled for the following week. If I went and publicly defended Dalia’s actions, I would certainly be killed. I wanted desperately to attend, but I knew that it would be almost impossible to get my father’s permission to go. In the meantime, the hospital would perform the autopsy, and make the results available to the family and courts. It was vital that Michael be warned and remain hidden so he could survive until the autopsy results proved that Dalia was still a virgin.

I left my room and went into the living room to find my mother serving my father his tea. The room reeked of the apple-scented tobacco my father was steadily stuffing into his ai gila (water pipe). He sat in his black recliner, carefully poking and prodding the hot coals with his large metal pincers, in an effort to keep the argila lit. My mother knelt in front of him her head lowered, as she carefully placed mint tea on the end table nearest him. Then she turned her attention to untying his shoes. He didn’t acknowledge my entrance, but I knew he was waiting for me to go through compulsory formalities.

“Excuse me. Forgive me for disturbing you. May I please sit down and

talk to you for a moment?” I asked.

“Sit,” he replied.

“Yabba (father), please forgive me. You’re right, I was very disrespectful in my actions and my words, both to you and to Dalia’s father.” As I lowered my gaze, I caught my mother’s glance and sensed her relief.

“Yes, you were. Until you answer my question, I cannot forgive you. Did you have anything at all to do with this scandal?” he asked sternly.

“Please, Father, forgive me for my actions and words. I was very hurt and upset at the time and I lost control. And no, I had nothing to do with it.” I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. I didn’t think I could deny my involvement if I had to look at him. I hated the words I was forcing out of my lips, and kept thinking, “Please, God, forgive me. Dalia, forgive me, but I have no other choice.”

Paternal feelings were now so deeply buried that there was no sign of relief in his face, as I’d seen in my mother’s. Just the formal words.

“I’m glad to hear that you were not involved in this mess. I’ll forgive you, but I expect you to apologize to Mahmood and his family as well. Understood?”

“Yes, Father. I’ll go there right now, if you wish, and apologize.”

“No, don’t go now, it’s getting late. It can wait till tomorrow. I’ll take you then.”

“As you wish, Father. May I ask something?”

“What is it?”

“I believe that I should go to the salon and put a notice on the door to let our… the customers know that it will be closed for a few days. I’d also like to get the appointment book so I can reschedule all of the appointments. If I may, I would like to do that tonight.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something that can’t wait. I’ll drive you once

I’ve finished my tea.” \020”Thank you, Daddy, but I feel horrible about what I’ve done today. I’ve troubled you a lot, and I don’t want to trouble you any more. If it’s all right with you, I’ll ask one of my brothers to accompany me, or I can just walk there and do it quickly.”

“No, I will not allow you to walk there alone at this hour. Amjed is in his room, have him take you.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Again, I apologize for disturbing you.” I stood up and slowly left the living room.

I stepped up the two semi-circular white marble steps that led from the living room to the long hall and went up the wide marble staircase to Amjed’s large and elegant room. This old house handed down through the family had touches of grandeur, even if our middle-class life did not. As I walked, I summoned up the manipulative skills that had been well honed this past year. By the time I stood outside Amjed’s door, I believed I could pull it off.

My oldest brother, Amjed, and I were never very close. Preoccupied with his own world, he maintained only a distant interest in the events of my life. This distance meant that I had some respect and admiration for him, since he never meddled in my life, and so never compounded already complicated situations. I knocked on his door.

“Amjed, Dad said you have to drive me to the salon right now to pick up the appointment book and place a sign on the door.” I said it boldly.

There was no answer.

“Did you hear me?” I called.

“Yes, yes, I hear you. Just give me a minute to change,” he said through the door. “I’ll be down in a second.”

I walked through the house in a daze. Poured myself a sip of tea in the kitchen and waited for Amjed.

“Let’s get this done quickly, I have plans tonight,” he said when he appeared in the kitchen.

“I’ll be quick, I promise. Thanks for taking me.” I followed him out into the cold early evening air, and prayed that the short drive would be silent.

No such luck. \020”I heard about what happened to Dalia,” he said once we were out of the driveway. “It’s a terrible thing, she should have known better.” The indifference in his voice angered me.

“It’s more than terrible,” was all I could say.

“You weren’t involved, were you? You should know better.”

“No. If you don’t mind, I’m really not in the mood to talk about it,” I said, hoping to cut him off before I lost my composure.

“Well, I can understand that. So how long are you going to be?” he asked.

“Just a little while. You can wait in the car if you want,” I replied, thankful he’d changed the subject.

“OK. I can make some calls while you’re inside,” he said, and sat in silence the rest of the way.

He parked the car in front of the salon, pulled out his cellphone, and began making calls.

Once inside, I closed and locked the door and drew a shaky breath before flipping on the lights and going behind the front desk. I reached for the phone and realized, frantic, that I couldn’t remember Jehan’s number; the same number I’d repeatedly dialled, week after week, for the past twelve months. It had vanished from my mind. I reached for the appointment book to search for her phone number. I have to get hold of Michael, was all I could think as I frantically flipped through the pages. If I took too long, Amjed would come to the door to see what I was doing.

My anxiety and fear must have affected my eyesight. I was sure her number was in the appointment book, I remembered writing it down myself, yet I was flipping through the pages for the fourth time and I couldn’t find it. I closed the book and shut my eyes tightly.

“Calm down, Norma,” I told myself. “Take your time and you’ll find it. It’s in here, just calm down.” I started turning the pages more slowly. “Take your time and you’ll find it. It’s in here, just calm down.” Finally, of course, there it was. I reached for the phone.

As I dialled, I dreaded telling Michael about Dalia. This call would alter his life forever, just as it had mine, and I wasn’t sure if I could stay composed long enough to say what needed to be said. I held my breath as the phone rang. A pleasant-sounding, older woman’s voice echoed through the receiver,

“Marhaba,” she said.

“May I please speak to Jehan?” I asked.

“May I ask who’s calling?” she replied.

“It’s Norma,” I said.

“Hold on a moment.”

A few minutes later I heard Jehan’s bubbly voice jump through the line. “Hi, Norma. Is that you? How are you? What a surprise, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until next week. Are you OK?”

“Not so good. Something terrible had happened and I need to talk to Michael. Is he there? Can you quietly get him to the phone?” I asked. My voice started cracking.

“What’s happened? Can I help?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry, Jehan, but I really need to talk to Michael directly and I’m pressed for time he can explain it to you later.”

“OK, I’ll get him as fast as I can,” she said.

Within seconds Michael came on the line.

“What is it?” he asked. I could hear concern and confusion in his

voice, making what I had to say even harder. \020I started sobbing. “I, it’s… they… they… it’s Dalia I managed to say between sobs.

“Dalia? What about Dalia? Norma, what’s happened? They who? Please, Norma, calm down and tell me what’s happened Is Dalia OK?”

“No, no, she’s not OK! She’s gone! She’s gone, Michael. They took her away from us. She’s gone,” I kept repeating.

“What do you mean, gone? They who? Norma, you’re not making any sense. Gone where?”

“Gone. She’s gone, and you… and they’re going to want you next!”

“Norma, calm down. Calm down and tell me what you’re talking about. They who?”

I took a deep breath and forced the words out.

“Michael, listen! It’s Dalia’s father, he found out about you. I don’t know how Mohammed, I think but he did, and he killed her, and I think they’re going to try to kill you too,” I blurted out.

“No, Norma. No, it can’t be true. What do you mean he killed her? It can’t be. How? When? It can’t be true, I don’t believe it, it can’t be,” he said over and over again.

“Michael, it’s true. He killed her this morning. They took her to Palestine Hospital. I saw her. I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but it’s true.”

“NO! God, no. Why, God, why? Oh Dalia, no!” he cried into the phone, and the pain in his voice was almost more than I could bear. Please, God, I prayed, don’t let Amjed come to the door right now.

“Michael, listen, you have to stay at the army base for a couple of days. You’ll be safe there, in case they come after you.”

“Norma, I can’t believe what you’re saying. There’s nothing more they can do to me, they’ve taken my heart and my soul. If they want to collect my body, let them come,” he said, sobbing into the phone.

“Michael, no, please, you have to stay at the base. Do it for Dalia, please, I can’t lose you too. Please, Michael. We’ll make them pay, I swear to you we will, but you have to make it through this, we both do. I need your help, please, Michael, I can’t do this alone, please.”