Midnight (35 page)

I wanted to know the meaning of her last word, but I didn’t. I wanted to know from where and what time to pick her up, but I didn’t.

While I was thinking about whether or not to call her back this late at her cousin’s house, my phone rang again.

“Akemi insisted on calling you first. Now it’s me.” It was her cousin.

“How are you?” I asked her.

“Okay, I think,” she answered. “Anyway, there are balloons everywhere, all over my house,” she said.

“Do you like them?” I asked her.

“It doesn’t really matter. Akemi loves them. She is thrilled and no one can even talk to her. They’re very nice really,” she admitted, reluctantly it seemed.

“Will she be able to come on Saturday?” I asked.

“Who can stop her? She was supposed to do something here at our house with our family. It’s been planned for so long since we are all out of school and work. But she will come to you on Saturday, no doubt. Uncle has said that if Akemi wants to go along with your family, then I had to go along with you two. I don’t want to cancel my plans, so I don’t know what is going to happen. I’ll let you know,” she said.

“One question.” I caught the cousin before she hung up the phone.

“
Aishiteru
, what does this word mean?”

“Did Akemi say this to you?” the cousin asked. I paused instead of answering her question.

“I don’t know. Maybe you are pronouncing it wrong,” she said. “I have to go now.” She hung up.

On Saturday at 5:00
P.M.
when I rounded the corner to The Palace Hotel, she was standing there. Even though her cousin had phoned me at the very last minute to ask me about the address, I was still stunned.

She was standing taller than usual, and the first thing I noticed were her incredibly expensive black ostrich skinned stiletto heels and matching black ostrich clutch bag. She wore a silk black dress, which was well tailored to her figure and cut short just below her hips. She wrapped her waistline with a beautiful silver grey scarf causing her mini dress to ride up even higher. Thankfully she wore matching black silk capris underneath, covering her legs. Her dark eyes came out more, with the coordination of her clothes. They were like an endless sea of beauty.

Her natural nails were manicured immaculately with a clear polish with a hint of a grey sheen that could only be noticed if you looked closely. Her jet black hair, the way it flowed and surrounded the jet black dress, and the way her jet black eyes peered from her face—I was floored by her. I felt everything shifting within me. Still, I managed to appear cool.

Playfully, I walked past her as if she wasn’t standing right there. She called out my name softly as if I could have missed seeing her standing there. She followed behind me quietly. Even the sound of her heels against the pavement caught my attention and aroused me. Yet, it was impossible for me to follow my natural instincts.

I should have ordered a magic carpet. Her shoes, alone, were too expensive for the ground, I thought to myself.

In the lobby of the hotel, I pulled the silver grey scarf she had wrapped tightly around her waistline of her dress and put it over her hair instead, tying it in the back. She was still and allowed me. We were standing so close that her scent gave me fever.

The way I tied it wasn’t a Muslim style of wearing the scarf, but it was fashionable the way Akemi would rock it. It complemented her, while covering her hair as all of the women in the ceremony would have their hair covered. Truthfully, I wanted to cover her hair. I had begun to feel that it was mine, for only me to see, and that she was mine also.

The elevator door opened, revealing Umma and Naja.

Umma was a radiant star. Her silver thobe, made of an elegant and fine sheer cloth, was a sparkling outer garment to her long silver grey dress beneath. During the two and a half days of our separation, she had applied a beautiful henna design to her fingers, hands, and feet. Her style and beauty had everyone passing through The Palace Hotel lobby in complete awe. Two curious and fascinated European ladies interrupted her, delaying her from reaching us.

I introduced Akemi to Umma and Naja in Arabic. Instinctively, Akemi bowed her head down to Umma. When she raised it up, she reached out to Umma’s hands and flipped them over, feeling her palms with her fingers, her eyes showing complete amazement at Umma’s henna art. Even after several seconds, Akemi was still staring and holding Umma’s wrists.

Umma smiled, adjusted her hand to hold Akemi’s, and began walking away with her, only saying to me in Arabic, “We will see you tonight at the ceremony. I love you, son.”

Naja held back and said, “She is sooo pretty.”

“She doesn’t speak English,” I informed Naja. “And she doesn’t know what’s happening here today.”

“Well, she should fit right in!” Naja laughed.

I gave Naja a kiss on the cheek and told her, “Take good care of Akemi,” then sent her on her way to catch up with the ladies.

In Fawzi’s suite, I warmly greeted the Sudanese men gathered there in the living room. I felt like I was not myself. Right then I was my father in his private area of our estate, greeting his guest and business associates, a gathering of men in the finest suits and most elegant traditional wear as well, surrounded by swirling cigar, cigarette, and
bidi
smoke. The quiet murmur of the men speaking only the important words, following through on previous agreements and making new plans and deals, filled the suite.

In the foyer, I pulled out a heavy wooden chair, with a dense cushion, that was covered by a thick upholstery embroidered with a scene of the bland British ancients. I sat down. I needed to be seated close to the telephone. Discreetly, I began calling business numbers on a long checklist that I had prepared to make sure that every detail was absolutely covered for tomorrow’s wedding.

There were the tent builders, who had already constructed
the wedding site. I needed to confirm the tent takedown and final payment date. There were the painters, two Sudanese and two Iranians whose services Umma and I contracted. I needed to push those guys. They did great work but were scheduled to complete their job yesterday morning. Yesterday evening when I phoned them I found them, “still finishing up,” which delayed me from arranging their payment. The fruit, flower, and candy deliveries for tomorrow morning needed to be reconfirmed, even though I had confirmed them yesterday. The portable commode people needed a confirmation as well, and then there was the company where we rented the chairs . . .

I had an hour and a half before the limousines would arrive here at The Palace. So I used my time effectively.

When the groom’s uncle, Mr. Ghazzali, arrived he and I would get squared away with all of the checks that needed to be issued to pay the various independent contractors. We would go over the details once more so that everything would flow as planned,
inshallah
.

Limousines lined the cluttered streets of New York and brought the business at The Palace Hotel to a standstill. Seated inside of one of them, I watched Umma, Akemi, and Naja entering another limo with some women from the bride’s family. Akemi was the last to get in. She stood watching everything as though she were not a part of it. She looked left to right, stared at the women from head to toe and eventually gazed up at the sky.

I traveled with Fawzi, his father and uncle, and two male cousins. Fawzi’s father was intense and pensive, the way powerful men (like my father) tend to be. He and his son were dressed to the nines in tuxedos. I had chosen a clean black Armani suit. All of our white shirts were glistening. Uncle Ghazzali and his two sons all wore white
jelabiyas
. Believe me, they were looking sharp and crisp as well. There was not
one speck to blemish the bright whiteness of their cloths. On the floor of the limo were six pairs of brand new shoes, ranging from Mr. Ghazzali’s JCPenney’s to Fawzi and his father’s mean and authentic black crocodiles. I felt powerful seated among all of them, although my status was the same today as it was yesterday.

“A small ceremony at the mosque for the signing of the
agid
,” Umma had said. “Nothing compared to the actual wedding ceremony.”

The spacious, medium-sized mosque was filled up with the groom and bride’s relatives. Despite the expensive wears, when the call to prayer, the
Azan
, was sung out, in complete unity, the
ummah
bowed their heads to the ground and made
salat
. The feeling was so unexpected and awesome, to be welcomed into a mosque and make prayer among an international, Islamic community right here in America. I felt overwhelmed.

There was such incredible power in the call to prayer. It humbled even the richest of the believers. The words entered the body, aroused the spirit, and soothed the soul. They caused the knees to willingly bend, and the head to touch the ground in a way that no believing man would bow for any other reason any other time.

Imam Musa was in
jelabiya
, his head wrapped in a turban. He was a tall Sudanese African. He sat facing the
ummah
and in front, but between the bride’s family and the groom’s family. He had a small table at his side, and a Holy Quran mounted on a carved wooden stand. After his salutations to Allah, he offered the
khutba
, which is the “spiritual message,” exclusively in the Arabic language.

“It is the responsibility of a Muslim man to be the guardian of his wife and family. In today’s times, the non-believers scream, “ ‘Why marriage? Why limit myself ? Why bother?’

“In Islam we have always had a tradition of marriage.
We marry however, not because it is a tradition, but because Allah requires this from us and Allah is the best knower of all things, and Allah always commands us to do what is best for us, whether we know it or not.

“The arrogant will scream, ‘
I know
what is best for me! I don’t care what is best for everybody else!’

“But, a person who is arrogant is also ignorant. Otherwise, arrogance would not be his chosen way of life.

“We marry because a complete family is the foundation of life and civilization. Where there is a man who willingly bows down to Allah, and voluntarily obeys Allah’s laws, there is a man
capable
of respecting limits, of being a good husband, the responsible party and good father.
Not
sometimes, but each and every day.

“A woman who bows down to Allah, and obeys Allah’s laws, is a good woman who is modest, wise, and mature of intellect. Women who are wise, are the opposite of boastful, conceited, and flagrant. And a boastful, conceited, and flagrant woman is never necessarily intelligent.

“Where there is a humble man who accepts the limits imposed on him by God, a man who bows his head in prayer, thought, and praise along with a modest woman who observes her limits and bows her head in prayer, thought, and praise, happy children can be born to live happy and balanced lives. Happy and balanced children respect their parents, because it was their parents who cultivated their knowledge of Allah. Happy children, in turn, bow their heads in prayer, thought, and praise as they witnessed their parents do.

“Among the arrogant, ignorant, proud, and boastful non-believing people there are born nations of unhappy children, living unbalanced lives, drowning in depression and anxieties, children who love things more than they love the womb which bore them.

“Arrogant, ignorant men make horrible husbands to their
wives whether they are rich or poor. They make horrible fathers to their children, are full of fancy and deceitful words and promises. But they are only capable of the ‘no show.’ Even with a pocket or bank filled with money in their name, they can only pay out in pain and sadness. There is a short life for them on Earth, and an eternal and roaring fire in their future.

“Immodest, boastful women of no shame and no limits make horrifying wives and mothers who can only make themselves look and appear good. But, they are rotten on the insides and in their wombs is only misery.

“But enough of this, today is a celebration of this Muslim man and this Muslim woman who together will bow their heads in prayer and thought and praise to Allah, who have both agreed to live their lives and conduct themselves in accordance with Allah’s laws. And
inshallah,
they will bring forth many happy children who will live good lives and do good things and humble themselves in prayer and thought and praise of Allah too.”

Each of his words fell like large rocks on my shoulders and head. I was reminded of what I must do and in which order I must do it. But I was not a hundred percent confident that I could get it right.

My eyes surveyed the people in the room, as Imam Musa carried out the asking and answering of the questions to the bride and groom. There was Fawzi and his father and mother seated beside him. I could see now that he also had three sisters who were older than him as well. He was not only the only son, he was the baby of his family. Still he looked strong seated up there with his family, including his uncle and aunt and their two sons and three daughters.

This scenario reminded me of my father posing for a rare photo we had taken at our estate on the last day that I saw him. It was my father standing beside Umma, his first wife,
and Amata, his second wife, and Hanifah, his third wife. My northern grandfather was there, my Umma’s two brothers were there with their children, cousins of course and babies, brothers and sisters and an unborn Naja lying safely in a welcoming womb.

In the delight of the completed signatures and
agid
agreement, I caught a glance of Akemi, who held on to Umma as if they had known each other for years. I thought to myself,
Ain’t nothing wrong with that.

Mr. Ghazzali and I had to go. He said we would take one of the town cars and head to Westchester, which was the wedding ceremony site. We needed to check with our eyes to assure that everything was perfect for tomorrow. “This evening was the spiritual seal,” he said. “Tonight is the party for the groom and his male family and friends, and another for the bride and her female family and friends. Tomorrow is the splendor.” He had a genuine energy, excitement, and happiness about his nephew’s wedding. Even though I could easily see that the greatest portion of their extended family’s wealth was in his older brother’s hands, I felt nothing but love and commitment coming from Mr. Ghazzali towards all of his family members.