The Child Bride (21 page)

‘As I got a drink of water, one of my little cousins asked me again if I wanted to play. I didn’t feel like playing, but I knew I had to behave normally so I wouldn’t be found out. I joined in her game, but I was still in a lot of pain and I didn’t feel well. Then suddenly she let out a scream and pointed to my legs. I looked down and saw bright red blood running down my legs. I felt sick and dizzy and I must have passed out. I don’t remember any more until I woke up on the mattress in my hut.’

Zeena took a deep breath and I held her hand reassuringly. I didn’t dare speak for fear emotion would get the better of me.

She stared at some distant point on the floor and her voice remained flat when she spoke again. ‘My cousin, Mita, who was sixteen, was sitting beside me in the hut. When she saw I was awake she said, “You have cut yourself, Zeena, but you must never tell anyone and we won’t speak of it again. You will be better soon.” I knew I hadn’t cut myself. It was Hasan who’d hurt me, but I also knew I couldn’t tell her that. Then she said she’d put a cloth in my knickers and I should wash it if I needed to. She said I didn’t have to do any chores that day. She left, and I think I must have fallen asleep because when I woke it was dinner-time and she’d brought me a plate of food. That night my brothers didn’t sleep in the hut with me, and in the morning I found the metal bowl for washing already had water in it. Usually I had to fill it from the pump. I got up. The cloth in my knickers had blood on it, so I washed it. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, although I was still hurting, but I didn’t feel sick or dizzy anymore. I got dressed in clean clothes and then Mita came in and asked me how I was. I told her I was OK. She saw the cloth I’d washed and asked if I needed another one. I said I didn’t think so. She said, “Good. You are a woman now, Zeena, but don’t tell anyone. We mustn’t speak of this again. Do you understand?”

‘I nodded. That was all she said, and no one mentioned it again. Not until now. This is the first time I have spoken of it to anyone. But I wasn’t a woman, was I, Cathy? I was a little girl who was raped by her cousin.’

Zeena fell sobbing into my arms and I held her close as she cried openly, and all the years of silent suffering at last found some release. I held her and swallowed the lump in my throat. My eyes filled and I blinked back the tears. Zeena sobbed as though her heart would break – tears for the vicious attack that had taken away her childhood and had been blamed on her. My anger flared at the family who had allowed her cousin to get away with it, for clearly they knew. How many more young girls had he raped before or since? It didn’t bear thinking about. And of course by refusing to acknowledge what had happened to Zeena, her parents had denied her the support and understanding she so desperately needed in order to heal. It was shocking, but what Zeena had told me didn’t explain her comment about being married. With a sinking heart I knew there was more to come.

When she finally lifted her head I passed her some tissues.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s time you cried for what happened. It’s truly shocking, and you must never blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. You must believe that.’

‘I wish I could,’ she said sadly.

I waited while she blew her nose and wiped her eyes again, then she continued her story. ‘No one said anything about what had happened during the rest of our stay, although I’m sure the adults and some of my cousins knew and blamed me. The adults hardly spoke to me again, and my teenage cousins kept looking at me and whispering. It was as though I was unclean. We were there for another week. I didn’t go to my mother’s village again, and when we left there weren’t so many relatives to see us off as when we’d arrived. I had the feeling they were relieved we were going, and I was right. Once we were in the car my mother started shouting at me.

‘“See what you’ve done? You wicked girl!” she cried. “You’ve brought shame and dishonour on the whole family. You’ve turned them all against us.”

‘“I didn’t mean to,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

‘“You’re a slut,” my mother shouted. “A dirty little slut. You’re no child of mine.”

‘I started crying and my brothers asked me what the matter was.

‘“Don’t talk to her. She’s evil,” my mother said.

‘No one spoke to me again during the car journey to the train, but once we were on the train my brothers had to sit on my lap, so they started talking to me. My parents didn’t even look at me, and when we got to the airport I said I needed the toilet. “Find it yourself,” my mother said, and turned her back on me.

‘I went by myself to the Ladies, but then when I came out I got lost and couldn’t find my family. The airport was very big. My mother had to come and look for me and when she found me she was even angrier. She grabbed my arm and pinched it hard. I knew her anger wasn’t just about me getting lost but about what had happened before with Hasan.

‘The plane journey home wasn’t fun, as it had been going out. And when we got home my parents still refused to speak to me. I tried to tell my mother that what happened wasn’t my fault, but she slapped me and screamed that I was not to talk about it ever again. So I didn’t, until now. But you know, Cathy,’ Zeena said, turning to look at me with pain in her eyes, ‘not talking about something doesn’t make it go away. It doesn’t make it any less painful. It makes it worse. It grows inside you like cancer and eats away at everything that should be nice, so you are never truly happy. I knew it was my fault and I felt guilty.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said again, but Zeena just shrugged.

‘Life at home wasn’t the same again,’ she continued in a slight voice. ‘My father had never been close to us children, but now he kept right away from me as though I was dirty, which I felt I was. He didn’t speak to me and for a long time he couldn’t even be in the same room as me. When my mother spoke to me it was to give me orders or tell me off:
Zeena, clean the floor. Zeena, put out the garbage. Zeena, see to your brothers. Zeena, why is this rice dry? You stupid girl.
And so on, until I learned not to say anything. I did as I was told and looked forward to going to school, where people talked to me nicely and I was doing well. School has been the only place I can do things right. At home, I liked looking after my brothers, and then my sisters when Mum had the babies. But it was a lot of work. If I had homework from school I did it late at night when they were in bed. I think my teacher suspected something was wrong at home, because she asked me if everything was all right with my family. I said it was. What else could I say? I guess she accepted this as I was doing well at school.

‘My parents ignored all my birthdays from then on – ten, eleven, twelve. So I didn’t get any presents or cards. Each year I hoped they’d forgive me, but it didn’t happen. Then suddenly, two weeks before my thirteenth birthday, my mother came to me and said, “It’s your birthday soon. We are going on holiday as a present.”

‘I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. On holiday? A present for my birthday!

‘“It will be a special holiday,” she said.

‘“Where are we going?” I asked incredulously.

‘“To Bangladesh,” she said. “It’s time we all made up and the families became friends again.”

‘I jumped for joy. I was so pleased. I was being forgiven at last and going on a special holiday for my birthday! All the bad things that had happened to me disappeared and I forgave my mother everything. I can’t tell you how happy I was, Cathy.’ Zeena smiled wistfully, although I could see the memory was painful.

‘A few days before we were due to go,’ Zeena continued, ‘my mother began packing a suitcase. The last time we’d gone to Bangladesh – four years before – we’d taken lots of cases, and now we had my little sisters too. I knew one case wouldn’t be enough, so I asked my mother if I should pack the cases for my brothers and sisters. She said, “No, Zeena. They’re not coming with us. Your Aunt Riya from Bradford is coming to look after them while we’re away. It’s just you and me going on the special holiday.”

‘This added to my enjoyment. It was just Mum and me. I went to hug her but she pulled away. She’s never liked physical contact. I told my form teacher I was going on holiday, so I wouldn’t be in school. She said I needed to bring in a letter from my parents asking for an authorized absence. I was at secondary school by then. When I told my mother about the letter she was angry. “You stupid girl!” she said. “Why did you tell your teacher?”

‘I was sorry I’d upset her when she was being so nice to me and taking me on holiday. It seemed I couldn’t get anything right. My mother’s English wasn’t good, so my father wrote the letter. He wrote that I wouldn’t be going to school because we had to go to Bangladesh for a family funeral. When my teacher read the letter she said she was sorry and asked me to pass on her condolences to my parents. I wondered why my father had lied, but I didn’t dare ask him. We never challenged my father, and he was still hardly speaking to me.

‘The day before Mum and I were due to leave my Aunt Riya came to stay. We saw her every few months. She was one of my father’s second cousins. She hugged and kissed us all and gave me a present, which she said I could open straight away. It was a beautiful bangle with big stones that glittered in the light. I thanked her and she said it was a gift for my big day. I thought she meant my birthday. It was the first birthday present I’d had in years. I was so happy. The following day Mum insisted I wear a shalwar kameez; that’s the dress and pantaloons you see many Asian women wearing.’ I nodded. ‘As usual, Mum wore a sari. I cuddled my little brothers and sisters as we said goodbye. I was excited to be going on holiday with my mother but sorry to be leaving them behind. They were upset too.

‘My father took us to the airport in the car and then went to work. My mother didn’t know what to do without him, so I took control in the airport and read the signs. When we were in the departure lounge I tried to talk to my mother – you know, like mothers and daughters do; like you do. But she said she was tired, so I left her in peace and just sat looking at the other passengers, wondering where they were going and why. We both slept on the plane and then, once we arrived at the airport, I took control again and led us through passport control. I was expecting to catch a train as we did before, but Mum said one of her relatives would be meeting us in a car. It was only then I realized we would be staying in my mother’s village, and not in my father’s as we had done before. I immediately felt anxious and started to worry. Hasan was sure to be there. I didn’t think he would attack me again – I was bigger now and could fight him off – but how embarrassing to have to meet him again. I knew by then that what he’d done to me was called rape, and I was dreading having to face him.’

‘One of my mother’s cousins met us at the airport,’ Zeena continued evenly. ‘He made a big fuss of us, and Mum was pleased to see him. She was less anxious now she had a man to take care of everything. She sat in the front of the car and I sat in the rear; they talked for ages, catching up on all their news. Then he asked me if I was looking forward to the celebration. Mum frowned at him disapprovingly, but I didn’t know why. I assumed he meant my birthday, so I said, “Yes, I am, very much, thank you.”

‘He drove through the night and eventually I fell asleep. When I woke the car had stopped. It was daylight and we were in my mother’s village. Through the car windows I could see that the village was exactly as I remembered it from my last visit.

‘It was morning. The men were at work, but all the females came out to welcome us. They kissed and hugged us, so I knew I had been truly forgiven. I was so pleased. Of course they were all four years older, and while my aunts hadn’t changed much, my little cousins had and I didn’t recognize some of them to begin with. Mum and I were made to feel very special and I no longer felt the stigma of what I’d done.

‘After we’d eaten, some of my teenage cousins led me away to the hut where my mother and I would be sleeping. Our suitcase was already there. My cousins said they’d help get me ready for my special day. They were nearly as excited as I was. They began by painting henna designs on my hands and arms. You know, Cathy, like the ones I did for Lucy and Paula, only these were more elaborate. It took them ages but it was great fun. It was like the party had already begun. They asked me where my jewellery was for my big day. I said I only had the bracelet my aunt had given to me. They said my mother had brought more and started searching my case. All women in Bangladesh have jewellery – brightly coloured bracelets and bangles; they’re not expensive – but how they knew the jewellery was in my suitcase I didn’t know.

‘They found it at the bottom of the case. I was delighted. “I shall have the best birthday party ever,” I said.

‘They laughed. “It’s not for your birthday,” they said. “It’s for your wedding.”

‘Clearly they’d made a mistake. “It’s my birthday tomorrow,” I said, also laughing.

“Yes, and you’re getting married,” the eldest of my cousins said.

‘“Of course I’m not,” I said. “I’m far too young.”

‘She looked at me seriously. “Hasn’t your mother told you?” she asked.

‘“Told me what?” I said.

‘“That you’re getting married tomorrow.”

‘It was then I started to feel a bit uneasy, although I still didn’t believe what they were saying. I thought something had been translated incorrectly. “I’ll fetch my mother and she’ll explain,” I said.

‘I went out to the hut where my mother was. She was sitting on the floor with the other women, talking and laughing. For once in her life she was looking happy. “Mother,” I said in English. “Come and tell my cousins we’re here because it’s my birthday. They think I’m getting married.”

‘My mother couldn’t look at me as she spoke. “They’re right,” she said. “You are going to marry. Now go back and be good. I don’t want you causing any more trouble.”

‘I could hardly breathe and a rushing sound filled my ears. The other women hadn’t understood what we were saying and were still smiling. “But this is ridiculous!” I said, taking a step closer to my mother. I was starting to panic. “Of course I can’t get married. I’m only thirteen, and I don’t know any boys.”