Midnight (59 page)

Before leaving, Mr. Ghazzali said to me, “I see you have taken a wife for yourself.
Alhamdulillah,
please come to the mosque with your family and become part of the
ummah
. It will be difficult to have your Islam privately. We will need to support one another and praise Allah mutually. And, if you haven’t registered your marriage with an imam at a mosque, you should. It is your protection of our traditions and beliefs which outsiders and unbelievers will never understand.” He embraced me. I embraced him.

“When you marry a non-Muslim woman, you must provide the spiritual leadership and example to her. She will do as you lead. So lead,” he finished. I respected his advice. I was one step ahead of it though.

I had so much in mind for Akemi, so much to share and teach and learn also. But I didn’t think it required a rush. Weeks ago, after careful thought, I realized that Akemi sees everything. It was Akemi who said, “Like you, your religion is so beautiful.” Since she was already beginning to see the beauty and rightness in our way of life, I felt she would move slowly and willingly and relax into the fold of Islam. This way, she would feel like she chose, not like she had lost something, or lost a lot, just to gain a man whom she loved. She had
already fallen in love with me. Soon she would fall in love with Allah also,
inshallah.

Late Saturday night all the females were worn from travel. Everyone took turns washing up in our one-bathroom apartment.

Umma lit the incense and seasoned the fish for Sunday breakfast. She soaked lentils, prepared dough, chopped cheeses, and washed then soaked beans for the
fulu
.

“Tomorrow will be your
walima
.” She smiled with knowing contentment. “We will have it for our small family, same as if there were twenty, or fifty of us.”

“Akemi looks even more beautiful since you went into her. She’s radiant. She’s glowing,” Umma said softly.

What could I say in response to that? I kissed Umma, went to Naja’s room to say my good night, and then returned to my room and closed my door.

Akemi unpacked her clothes and placed them in small stacks. She lined her sneakers, two pairs, and her sandals, two pairs, and her shoes up against the corner wall. Her jewelry was in a neat pile on my desk, even her wedding and toe ring. I figured she was so used to her fingers and hands being free to create and draw and paint, and that maybe this was why she removed all of her jewelry.

On the floor, she stretched as I watched. She was completely flexible, as I had come to know. Within those yoga moves, open leg splits were simple for her. She could even be relaxed in a completely twisted pose.

She loosened her silk robe of a thousand colors and dropped it down but not off completely. She walked towards me and pointed to the side of her waist. I looked to see what she was showing. It was a birthmark.

“I see,” was all I said. She lifted her bare leg and turned to show me her foot. She pointed to something. It was a beauty mark on the back of her heel. She smiled.

“I see,” was all I said.

She took her pretty foot down and lay down on my floor, dropping her robe all the way open. She pulled her knees up, then opened her legs. She pointed to the inside of her right thigh. Her finger was pointing to the crease that separated her thigh from her pussy. I looked, there was a beauty mark there also, in the softest part of her skin.

I looked at her and said, “You better stop fucking with me, girl.” She smiled. Then we made love right there on the floor. I had to turn on some music to drown the sounds of her pleasure.

In the morning I felt a sense of alarm. I felt myself sinking so deep in love it was as though I was drowning but wouldn’t do anything to save myself. The love was in my heart, of course. But it was in my limbs too. I could feel it in my arms, legs, and toes, moving in my chest and weighing me, holding me all the way down.

I could hear her breathing and she could hear me too, I’m sure. The first sign that I was awake, she was already moving on top of me. I thought I heard her moaning only to discover it was myself. It was a feeling of complete ecstasy, but for the first time I felt powerless. I was the same man, the same fighter, the same soul, but felt a love so heavy I was surrendered to her.

I was unfamiliar with fear. But now I feared any morning where I had to wake up any other way than this way right here, with this woman right here.

Our
walima
occurred on a Sunday, which was also family day. It was good to see the joy that Akemi brought to everyone. She was like a grown-up daughter to Umma, who she paid such close attention to and showered admiration on, and a big sister to Naja, who had already informed everyone that
Akemi had to learn five words in English every day. She occupied them, which freed me up some. I was grateful for that. Besides, I believed that women needed each other in this way.

As Akemi finished washing dishes after a spectacular meal, Naja appeared with some magazine cut-outs glued to a piece of construction paper.

“Where is Saachi?” she asked Akemi.

“Saachi?” Akemi repeated. “Uncle,” Akemi responded.

“Does Saachi have a bike?” Naja continued, pointing to her picture of a bike on the construction paper.

“
Hai!
” Akemi said.

“That means yes,” I told Naja.

“Well, say yes then!” she scolded Akemi. “And let’s go and get Saachi. I want someone to play with,” she insisted, trying to hold Akemi’s moist hand.

I looked at Akemi. I didn’t know the details of the status of her relationship with her people or my relationship to them either. If she wanted to go see her uncle there was no problem in it for me.

“Saachi,
hai,
” Akemi agreed softly.

“Saachi, yes,” Naja repeated in English. “
Hai
means yes in English.” Naja taught, and then proceeded to say “
Hai!
Yes!” a hundred times until Akemi either understood or gave in. “Yes,” Akemi said. Then Naja was satisfied for the moment.

We arrived on Sunday afternoon at her family store. She went inside first. Umma and Naja and I remained outside in the great warm weather.

Akemi returned outside shortly, standing under the canopy with Saachi. Both of them began waving at us to come inside.

Akemi introduced Umma and Naja to her uncle in Japanese. He spoke stiff but polite English, saying, “Hello, pleased to meet you,” as he might say to one of his customers.

Umma said in English, “Very nice to see you for the first time, Mr. Nakamura.” Her Arabic accent was heavy.

To the Americans, I am told Arabic sounds like an overdose of z’s and s’s.

I hoped he was satisfied with Umma’s greeting because that was as much English as he was going to get out of her that afternoon, or at least for the time being.

Akemi’s aunt appeared from the back room of their store. She spoke Japanese to Akemi. Akemi introduced Umma to her aunt. The aunt watched us so closely, it seemed like she had something to say or ask, but she didn’t.

I thought it was interesting how they interacted with Umma but not with me, or Naja either.

Akemi touched my hand and then said some words to her uncle in Japanese. He nodded. She spoke some more, standing happily at my side. It felt good seeing her wear her wedding ring and bangles in their presence.

Naja and Saachi were in the background playing and speaking to each other comfortably and easily. Saachi was showing Naja some of the accessories their store sold that she liked. I did hear Naja ask Saachi, “Is that your father? What’s wrong with him? Does he have a stomachache?”

“Nope,” Saachi answered swiftly. “He doesn’t like Black people, but I told him you guys are fun.”

Well there it was spelled out and spilled from the mouth of the two seven-year-olds. Only thing was, Umma and Akemi could not understand those English words. But me and the uncle could. I heard them loud and clear. He pretended he did not.

Akemi spoke again to her uncle politely and softly. Finally, he turned to me and asked, “Where are you planning to take Saachi, not far from here, right?”

“To the park, maybe to the bookstore and to dinner. If she has a bike, she can bring it, if you wouldn’t mind,” I said.

“Saachi has school tomorrow,” he said, searching for excuses.

“So does my little sister Naja,” I pointed out. His wife spoke to him in Japanese.

“Saachi has to be back here by seven
P.M.
, not one minute later,” he cautioned.

Saachi jumped up and down, up and down, up and down. “Thank you, Father.” I knew it was only because of his soft spot for his daughter that he allowed her to come. I imagined that she had probably been asking for both Akemi and Naja over and over again, the way little girls tend to press.

Saachi ran in the back and came right out pushing her pink bicycle with the “Hello Kitty” logos all over it.

In the Manhattan park Saachi and Naja zoomed around on their bicycles. They were laughing and smiling. The double burst of energy attracted other little kids who were already there looking bored with their parents or nannies. Soon four or five other children joined them and the race was on, the women who supervised each of them screaming out “Be careful!” in every language and dialect.

Naja was out front, her head covering flying in the wind. Saachi was doing her best to catch up and edge her out. They were playing follow the leader. I had never seen Naja smile so brightly before. Behind the bicycles, kids without bikes began chasing. The whole park was converted into a children’s paradise.

When they ran each other crazy and grew tired, they ditched their bikes and climbed up the monkey bars, every child trying to be the head monkey. Umma and Akemi supervised them. I was sitting on the top of the back of a bench reading a book, noticing that I was one of the few young men in the park.

I looked up every now and then, just to be mindful. It was family day, so I had to pay some attention.

In one glance I saw Akemi pushing Umma, who was sitting on a swing. Akemi was excited, repeating something in Japanese. I figured she was telling Umma to kick her feet so her swing would take flight.

When Umma started pushing her legs forward and pulling them back again, and her swing picked up momentum, she smiled brightly also, her head covering on her pale pink thobe falling to her shoulders. She looked young and happy.

Akemi jumped on the swing next to Umma. Naja and Saachi were already swinging beside the two of them. As I watched all four of the females’ swings fly higher and higher, their pure joy brought back that feeling of alarm.

Perhaps Mr. Ghazzali was correct. Maybe I should find the right mosque and join in. I would need to be a part of a brotherhood of men with similar beliefs and ideas and complete dedication to protecting their families from all of the definite threats that lingered all day and night every day and night. How else would I be able to secure the three of them, all moving in different directions to schools and jobs all at once? How could I protect Akemi in the same way as I had always protected my mother? How could I be in two places at one time when I had already given my life to Umma, and built my own world in response to what Umma needed and wanted? But then again, how could I not protect my wife also?

My father had been a part of a brotherhood of men, a real one. He didn’t have to leave our estate to go to mosque. It was on our property along with my school and everything else that was necessary to have a secure community. But then life wouldn’t be life without the intruders, the invaders, men who work overtime to make themselves your enemies, who represent the threats that have to be stopped, eliminated, wiped out.

I pulled my thoughts back and got them under control.

When the girls finally exhausted themselves, pedaling, walking, running, swinging, and crashing into stuff, we went for ice cream. I sent all of them inside the store and stood outside watching the bikes.

I dropped Saachi back at six-thirty, just to maintain a decent amount of respect.

“I have a half hour left,” she said to me with a smile after Naja informed her of this fact.

“We’ll come and see you again sometime,” I promised her.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” Saachi asked Akemi. Akemi spoke back to her in Japanese and she and Saachi conducted the rest of their conversation in their language. However, Akemi stayed clung on to my arm.

I felt good to know that her family actually knew that we were together, married, and serious. Before, I was thinking that neither side might really be having the full story.

On the way back to Brooklyn we stopped at The Open Mind bookstore. I wanted to see if Marty had received my order.

He was happy to see me, happier to see Umma, and surprised at the new addition of Akemi. He looked her over in an obvious but harmless way.

When he and I were standing alone, he said, “Who needs to read books? I’m having a great time just watching you live your life.”

Akemi came over with a book that caught her interest. It was a picture book on Japan. She flipped through the pages slowly, me looking in with her. She stopped on a map drawing and pointed out a city. She said, “Kyoto, Akemi.”

“Oh, yes, Kyoto,” Marty said. “It’s the ancient capital of Japan. It’s got great architecture. It’s a really beautiful place. In fact, it is so beautiful, that during World War II when the Americans were going to bomb it, they picked another Japanese location to bomb instead, declaring that Kyoto was too startling and wonderful to destroy.”

“That was very nice of the Americans,” I told him. “Have you been to Kyoto, Marty?” I asked.

“Only when traveling through the pages of one of my books,” he answered with a laugh.

“Do you have my order?” I asked him.

“What’s my name?” he said back.

I paid him fifty-nine dollars for a leather-bound Holy Quran written in the Japanese language, a gift I planned to present to Akemi, which was also listed as one of my gifts to her in our
agid.
I would not thrust it on her. I knew she needed and wanted to concentrate on her big show coming up in less than a week’s time. In fact, I was surprised that she was spending all of this time with me now. Before, I was all worked up into waiting until after her show to have her all to myself.