Midnight (39 page)

“And your son?” I asked. “Where will your son go?”

“From the looks of things, my son will go wherever Akemi goes.” She smiled. Naja laughed. I broke out in an uncontrollable smile myself. She definitely took me by surprise.

“Perhaps there will be a finished basement or attic for the two of you. After you recite the
Nikah
together, you will both be welcomed there, of course,” she said, blowing my mind.

“I spoke to the imam. He said the New York State law requires a man to be fifteen to marry, and only with both parents’ permission,” I informed her.

“There is New York State law and there is Allah’s law. Allah’s law is the highest law. It is best for you two to recite the
Nikah
and for you to take a wife than to corrupt yourselves and bring forth a ‘chaos baby,’ ” Umma said. “Two or three witnesses and it is done. You two will be married.” She drank from the water glass once more. “Yes, you are young. But you are mature, really. There is no finer young man in this country than you, my son. And we are business people. We make our own money. We make our own way. I am certain that you
can
and
will
provide nicely for our new household.” Naja’s eyes and ears were wide open.

Today was a day of firsts. Later on was the first time I saw Umma working out in a gymnasium. She ran on the treadmill with her eyes closed, wearing pants, one of my long shirts, and a scarf.

I pushed the weights, worked the circuit, while Naja tried to walk across the floor on her hands.

Late night while Naja slept, Umma and I sat on the floor together diving into the details of our real lives, no fantasies.

“Wherever we move, Naja has to have a good school. I really don’t want to take her out of Islamic schooling,” Umma said.

“We can ask at her school if they have information about other Islamic schools in the state,” I added.

“True. You know Temirah Auntie has told me that there are many Sudanese people living in upstate New York and in Philadelphia and the Washington, D.C., area. They must send their children somewhere to be properly trained. But Temirah Auntie said that the daughters of African people, especially in Washington, D.C., are down there losing their dignity.”

“So you and Temirah Auntie are friends now, or just business acquaintances?” I asked.

“She could be a friend, I guess,” Umma ventured.

“I could arrange for us to see some properties on Wednesday very early after we drop Naja off.”

“Good,” Umma agreed. “And there is the small matter of getting our citizenship papers. You remember, we completed our applications together and went for fingerprinting?”

“No one forgets being fingerprinted,” I said.

“So it is time to go in and get our citizenship papers,” she reminded me.

“Yes, I remember. I’ll go to City Hall and get the updated list of requirements,” I promised.

“Good, because since your sister was born here, she is an American citizen. Allah forbid something crazy or unexpected happens. You and I would get deported and only she would have the legal right to remain here. They could force us to be separated from Naja.” She said these words so seriously, it seemed that she was experiencing a piece of the pain from the thought alone.

“I’ll get the papers for us,” I reassured her.

“And you should consider taking an English course,” I said to Umma.

“You’re funny,” she said, laughing. “Your mother speaks only Arabic. Your love speaks only Japanese!”

“True, and both of you will have to learn if we’re going to stay in the U.S. Otherwise you’ll both worry me to death,” I said seriously. She hugged me. “I’ll do it for you,” she said.

The young bank teller who sat at the same window every day broke out of her mechanical routine and got soft and friendly when I handed in the dough. When she looked up and smiled at me, I gave her that mechanical look she usually has plastered on her face. As I turned to leave, I thought to myself,
it must be the money
.

In the taxi waiting for me outside, I handed Umma the
passbook. I pointed out the new stamp, confirming our new bank balance, eighty-five thousand U.S. dollars.

We dropped Naja directly at
Khadija’s School For Islamic Girls
. Afterwards we directed our cab to the address of the dojo. I needed to speak directly with Sensei about rescheduling my weapons class. He was strict about his students keeping their word and honoring their agreements. So was I.

We rescheduled and agreed on weapons class for Thursday at 8:00
A.M.
until twelve noon. I think he considered my punishment for rescheduling to be the extra early morning class and the extra two hours of instruction. But there was no punishment in it for me. I was ready to learn whatever he was willing to teach.

At home we unpacked and resituated things.

I showered and jumped back into jeans and kicks and a Polo shirt.

We prayed.

By telephone I made the appointments for us to see some properties tomorrow.

In our building, I spoke to Ms. Marcy about our scheduling changes for the week due to Umma’s temporary night shift. She eagerly agreed for Naja’s sake and the extra earnings as well. I spoke sharply to her about getting enough rest so she wouldn’t leave Naja unsupervised while she slept. I reminded her that only she should answer her door and even then, there was no reason to open it.

I escorted Umma to work by 3:45
P.M
. She went in fifteen minutes early.

I had some downtime until basketball practice at the gym, so I headed to the bookstore feeling all right but with a whole lot of shit on my mind.

“Long time,” Marty Bookbinder said. “Don’t I deserve a rematch?” he asked me.

“A rematch is cool. But I hope you been practicing,” I joked.

“All day! I got nothing better to do.” He smiled.

“Thursday then. I’ll come by. Today I need to do some reading.”

He watched me as I changed from my usual path, which was to check out the mystery books first. I turned and looked back at him, jarring him so he would mind his business.

All of the adult magazines were covered up with paper so you couldn’t see the images until after you made the purchase. They were always there in the bookstore in the same “Adults Only” section. But I never messed with them or even stopped to try and look.

Now, curiosity had me open. It wasn’t really the pictures I wanted. I wanted to read about females, what they want and what they like. I wanted to learn about how to make them feel good. I wanted to know when I put my finger on her panties, why did she suddenly get wet? I wanted to know why on the phone, and whenever I was near her, she breathed so hard. I wanted to know why she
moaned and what really triggered it to happen. I wanted to know everything about women without having a conversation about it.

I knew I could just rely on my instincts about what to do. I could just deal with each situation as it came up. Yet when I looked into these females’ eyes, they stared at me like I was gonna give them the most extreme amount of pleasure imaginable, the highest high. Truthfully, I wanted to be able to do it right and smooth so she could feel real, real good. When she thought of the best earthly feeling in the world, I wanted her to think only of me.

I knew that when I kissed Akemi, she started sucking on my lips and tongue. It felt so good to me that I found myself recalling the feeling and re-experiencing it when I was all alone. Her kiss alone left a deep craving in me. I wanted to be kissing her all of the time. I didn’t need no magazine or book to feel and react to that. Still I was curious about the female body, the inside and how it worked. I wanted the upper hand, to be in control of the lovemaking even though I didn’t have the experience.

I left out of the “Adults Only” section and found a human anatomy book instead. It was corny, dry, and factual. The drawings of the human body in there didn’t seem real. All of the women were red. All of the men were drawn blue. It was hard for me to look at their drawings and transform them into what I saw when I looked at a real female.

I read the words anyway.

I discovered the clitoris, a woman’s pleasure point. It was all news to me, a small spot like a button at the opening of the vagina, which a male could touch, even just lightly with a finger, to bring a female a great rush of pleasure. And what if I put my tongue on it and moved it back and forth? I thought.

I read about how a female’s pussy gets moist as she
becomes excited. And that a female’s pleasure is related to how relaxed, safe, and comfortable she feels.

I read about women’s nipples and how they’re also highly sensitive and become erect when she is excited. I was fascinated that even a light wind could cause a nipple to plump up. I thought it was amazing of Allah to design our bodies to reveal our true desires. Both of us, the females and the males.

I learned about a woman’s orgasm, the point where her pleasure becomes so intense and unbearable that she experiences an internal explosion and showers down fluids and feels an unbelievable release and peace. Wow! That’s something I can’t wait to cause to happen. I want to watch and see what her face looks like when I am there making it happen to her.

I read about the difference between foreplay, touching, kissing, fingering, sucking, and actual sexual intercourse. I had to put the book down for a few to think about it all, and for other reasons.

I started wondering if foreplay and sex could actually be separated. I did not think so.

A kiss didn’t seem casual to me. It seemed crazy intimate and erotic and powerful. When we kissed she aroused me and made me feel aggressive as though I could not stop myself.

And, in one conversation I had with Umma, she didn’t think any of this was casual either. The way Umma talked about it, after the first touch and feel of a woman’s body, everything else is an avalanche. After the first touch, the momentum alone pushes and pulls and drags you to engage in and enjoy and finish.

And what did the Imam Musa believe? I never read anything in the Holy Quran forbidding kissing, although I read about how it forbids sexual intercourse before marriage. So is
kissing sexual, and a part of sexual intercourse? Or does it fit a different category like this book says, “foreplay”?

Could a female suck a dick and still be considered a virgin? I wondered. If I allowed a female to do me, does that mean we didn’t have intercourse because I never actually went inside of her? Like Fawzi said?

I read that a virgin has a “hymen,” a thin piece of skin over her vagina opening. The first man to go up inside of her bursts the hymen and some blood should come streaming down. I never knew that before. I just knew in the streets, a busted cherry meant a girl’s first time having sex. Now I knew why.

My mind wandering, I wondered about Akemi. I always thought of her as a virgin like myself. I always thought of her as someone who was into me and only me. She never gave me the feeling or any evidence that would lead me to think differently, not even a glance or interest in another man. Of course she is a virgin, I assured myself.
She would have to be a virgin to become my wife.
My wife, that’s deep.

I started thinking about my life, religion, and culture. Our Sudanese females are virgins until marriage. It’s considered a woman’s honor. I wondered why it didn’t matter to American girls. Even American men didn’t seem to give a fuck if their woman was a straight-up, used-up whore. I wondered if maybe it didn’t matter to anyone else except the Muslims?

After a couple of hours of reading and thinking, I was only certain of one or two things. Based on what I felt under that big tree in Jersey, when the touching and sucking jumped off, I would not think about any of the shit I read this afternoon.

The foreplay and the sex would all be the same thing to me. It already was. When I looked at Akemi, or any beautiful woman, it was sexual. I guessed that’s why the Muslim
men and women are required to turn their eyes away from one another and dress with modesty. If I just watched Akemi moving her legs on the swing, in an incredible yoga pose, walking, even just talking, it was
all
sexual and alluring to me.

If I wanted to do things right, in the required order as my family believes, I needed to get married swiftly. The only other alternative was for me to do nothing at all. I’d have to stay away from Akemi because the love would ease right into the touching. I’d have to stay away from even the females who I didn’t love but whose physical presence turned me on. Once the seduction started, I noticed, it was getting harder and harder for me to just turn away.

Or, I could just roll with it. Be all in. Be like an American man would be, and just start fucking without thinking. Just follow the pleasure feeling.

In the book, I read about erogenous zones, other parts of a woman’s body that might not be obvious, but brought her great pleasure. But I discovered that for each woman, the erogenous zone could be in a different location; the crease in her inner thigh, the inner ear, the back of the neck, the toes . . .

I was liking reading the part on aphrodisiacs. Aphrodisiacs are things which increase and intensify the feeling to want to have sex in the first place. The natural aphrodisiacs were things like various hot sauces and certain fruits like the pomegranate or “Chinese Apple.” Even chocolate is an aphrodisiac. I laughed to myself at how we all running around all day aroused, and not even knowing we intensifying it by the items we choose to enjoy. Akemi had a pomegranate tree growing in the greenhouse in New Jersey. A whole tree dedicated to arousal.

Afterwards, I found a small book, smaller than my hand. The cover and the pages inside were all colored black. The
drawings were white. It was titled
Positions
. I opened it up. Each page showed a different sexual position, a different way to enter inside of a woman. I looked at each of the fifty pages carefully. I wondered what was the difference between these positions and the yoga positions I saw Akemi do in the park. It all involved a great amount of flexibility. I knew that Akemi’s body was as flexible as a rubber band and light. As an athlete, I could lift her body easily and move it however she wanted and liked it to be moved.