The Other Half of My Soul (10 page)

* * *

Rami placed his hands on Rayna’s shoulders and looked directly into her face. “Coming here was a big mistake. I want to leave now.”

“What just happened between you and Jason?”

“He opposes our marriage.” Tugging at Rayna’s arm, he edged her toward the door and reached for their jackets.

Marisa descended the steps. “You’re not leaving?”

Visibly upset, Rami turned the doorknob. “It appears that you and your husband have your minds made up. A Jew and a Muslim do not belong together. Thank you for your hospitality. I enjoyed meeting the children.”

“You’re wrong. We’re going to help you. Come into the living room and sit down. Please.”

Rami lingered.
Maybe Marisa and Jason have had a change of mind.

Suddenly, Rayna seemed eager to leave. “It’s getting late, Marisa. Rami and I are both tired. We’ve had a long day.” She gave her friend a hug. “Thank you for inviting us. The evening was delightful. I’ll call you soon.”

Rami was baffled by Rayna’s anxiousness to leave just when a ray of hope might be on the horizon.

Jason came down the steps. “I’m getting too old for this,” he grinned. “The three of them keep us hopping . . . you’re not going, are you?”

“Jason, thank you, but we really have to get back.”

“No, Rayna. We want you and Rami to stay. Marisa will make tea.”

* * *

In the living room, sitting on a navy-blue, brushed-suede loveseat, Rami and Rayna shifted restlessly. On a matching sofa, Jason sat opposite them. Marisa carried in a tray with a pot of tea and four mugs. She set it down on the large oval coffee table and took a place by her husband.

“Do you fully understand the consequences of what you are about to do?” Jason asked. “A
fatwa
could condemn both of you. Islamic legal opinions issued by fundamentalist clerics are not to be taken lightly. Rayna could be killed for marrying a Muslim. She could be accused of seduction, of defilement. Look what happened to Salman Rushdie just for writing
The Satanic Verses.
For years, he had to go into hiding to safeguard his life. And his problems are not over yet.”

Rami glared at his host, knowing there was truth in Jason’s pronouncements. “Not all Muslims are bad and not all Jews are good.”

Marisa moved closer to her husband. “We care about Rayna and what this will do to her.” She looked at Jason, who nodded. “When do you want to marry?”

Rami found Marisa’s question unsettling. “Do not dangle a carrot in front of us and then hit us with a stick.” He stood to leave.

“Jason and I are asking you a question. Isn’t love the reason you came here?”

Rami sat down, drawing Rayna closer.

“You’ll need to go to the courthouse and apply for a marriage license. Go to the one in downtown Rockville. You can use our address. In about a week, you’ll have the license and . . .”

Rami could not believe what he was hearing. A chance to be forever with Rayna. “Go on. And what, Marisa?”

“We would like for you to have a meaningful ceremony to hold in your memories. Will you allow us to make the arrangements?”

“I don’t know how Muslims marry,” Jason jumped in, “but there’s a reform temple here in Rockville with a very open-minded rabbi. As long as one of the partners is Jewish, he will marry you. Can we speak with him?”

Rami was not sure why a door was opening. “Is there some-thing I missed? Just a while ago, you were telling me to walk out of Rayna’s life.”

“At times, Marisa and I tend to be judgmental, but we’re working on it. Thank you for shining a light into my tunnel vision. You know, Rami, earlier you asked me a question. I want to give you an answer. If Marisa were not Jewish, I still would have married her, because I love her.” He smiled, “Now, when do you want to marry?”

“This month. Tomorrow. Next week. Two weeks. But sometime this month.” Rami was elated. He squeezed Rayna’s hand. It went limp.
Something is not right. Rayna is too quiet
.

* * *

Inside the dorm room, Rayna silently got ready for bed. She slipped under the blanket. Rami undressed and inched in next to her. Rayna shifted, turning away from him. Rami massaged her back. “What is it, rrawhee? You did not say one word in the car. If I did something wrong, I apologize.” No response. “Rayna, please talk to me. Rayna . . .”

“Getting married is so . . . so final. I’m petrified. Jason is right. What if those Muslim fundamentalists disapprove and take out a fatwa against me? Against us? We won’t be safe anywhere. What if you get tired of me and want someone else? Muslims are allowed four wives. What if I get sick . . . very sick? Who will take care of me? What if Yousef sends you to South America permanently and I’m left here by myself? I’ll be damaged goods. I’ll be ruined. All alone and ruined. My whole family will have disowned me. I won’t have anyone. No one. I will be ostracized from my community, from everyone I know, from all that I know. No one will want me. I’ll have no one. My life will be over. No, I can’t marry you. I can’t marry a Muslim. You can’t marry a Jew. Do you understand?”

Desperation met Rami head on. The essence of his life was at stake. Without Rayna, his heart would surely stop beating. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Gently, Rami nudged her to look at him. “I love you too much to ever hurt you. I love you too much to ever want anyone else but you.” He stroked back her hair with his fingers. “Before I ever knew you, I knew I loved you. From the first instant I saw you, I was sure I wanted to marry you.
Four wives?
What would I ever do with four wives?”

A tiny smile crossed Rayna’s lips.

“And South America? I do not want to live in South America. I do not want to return to Syria. I want to stay here and make my life with you, to have children and grow old with you.”

“We’re so young.”

“I am not too young to know that the thought of you with another man . . . it would be less painful if you plunged a knife through my heart.” Rami felt her body soften. From Rayna’s cheeks, he kissed her salty tears. “Who knows where this journey will lead. A Muslim and a Jew. I cannot promise it will be easy. But it will be our journey, and it will be blessed with our love.” Rami closed his palm around Rayna’s fingers. “I give you my heart. I give you my soul. Take them. Without you, they are of no use to me.”

Rayna strayed from Rami’s gaze, then looked back up into his eyes.

“It is in your hands now. The decision is yours to make.” Rami drew in his breath, afraid to close his eyes, afraid that if he did, Rayna would be gone when he opened them. Invoking Allah, he prayed for Rayna’s love not to be taken from him. He begged for this night together not to be their last.

* * *

Rayna shut her eyes and kept them that way until the first rays of morning light flickered through the blinds. Lifting her huge hazel eyes to him, she wiped a tear from his cheek. “Living without you would hurt so bad, more pain than I could possibly endure. We’ll take this journey together, wherever it leads us. Just never let go of my hand. Swear to me in front of your Allah. You’ll never let go of my hand.”

“On my life, I swear this to you.” He took her hand and held it.

* * *

In a simple ceremony on Sunday, March 30, 1997, Rami and Rayna were married by Rabbi Damian Heschel at Temple Beth HaTorah in Rockville, Maryland.

In sickness and in health. In poverty and in wealth.

In sadness and in joy.

I entrust to you my heart, for the rhythm of its beat

will forever nourish our love.

I commit to you my soul, for it is the other half of yours.

twelve

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

One season passed into another, and spring brought the smell of blooming honeysuckle and flowering dogwoods. On a weekend in mid-April, Rami and Rayna celebrated their marriage by being tourists in Washington. They delighted in the cherry blossoms at the Tidal Basin, marveled at the panda bears in the National Zoo, and climbed the steps to reach the massive figure of America’s sixteenth president. They munched down pizza for lunch, poked fun at the art in the Hirshhorn Museum, rode the elevator up the Washington Monument to view the city from its highest point, dined on a maza platter of Syrian appetizers at Lebanese Taverna, and treated themselves to a night in a luxurious room at the upscale Hay-Adams Hotel.

* * *

In late April, Rayna found the eight days of Passover closely approaching. She felt pressed to spend the holiday with her family in the Catskill Mountains, an experience she was dreading for several reasons, one of which was Sarah’s bombardment of daily phone calls, insisting that she get a ride home with Jonathan.

* * *

“Well, here goes,” Rayna sighed as Rami pulled into the Mishans’ driveway. The couple removed their wedding rings and placed them inside the zippered pouch of Rayna’s tote. “The first gauntlet of married life awaits us.” She put her hands together as if in prayer and held her breath.

“You are not alone. We will do this together.” He gave her a quick smooch, then grabbed her belongings and carried them up the eight stone steps to the front porch. “Wow!” Rami was overwhelmed by the lavish, modern exterior.

Rayna rang the bell and punched in some numbers on the keypad to the left of the door. As she depressed the latch, Rosa, the live-in housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. “
Hola, Rosa.
” Rayna hugged the maid and introduced Rami.

Inside the house, Rami was taken aback by the big two-story foyer with marble flooring, intricately finished walls, and elaborate crystal chandelier. The wide-arched portal led to a stepped-down family room with an impressive hand-painted tray ceiling. Royal blue tie-back drapes decorated the multi-faceted leaded-glass windows. A plush Oriental rug accented the exquisite parquet floors.

Rami gawked and tugged at Rayna’s sweater, “You never told me your family was wealthy.” He remembered Rayna mentioning her father’s lighting supply business, but Rami never comprehended the extent of her family’s fortune. “Why did you not tell me?”

“If I had told you, would it have made a difference? To me, it wasn’t important.”

“Not important?
I thought we tell each other everything.”

“Rami, you’re right. We have no secrets. I should’ve told you about my family’s affluence. And when my parents find out about my marriage to a Muslim, I will never see another penny from them. That’s what I have given up for you. Now you know why I didn’t tell you.”

Rami was stunned, not at the wealth but at learning what Rayna had abandoned for him.

“Rosa,” Rayna called out,
“dónde están mis padres?”
In Spanish, Rosa said that Abe and Sarah were due home momentarily and that she had to go finish cooking dinner. “Rosa is the reason I’m fluent in Spanish. She came to this country from Chile and has been living with us for over twenty years, from before my birth. She still speaks very little English. Come on, Rami, help me up with my bags.”

Up the steps, Rami followed her. Rayna swung open the door to her room. Rami put the bags down. “Whoa! So this is the famous purple and pink bedroom.”

“Like it?”

“I love it because it is so . . . so you.” He shut the door, drew her close, and instinctively kissed her lips. “I do not know how I will survive the week without you.”

Hearing the sound of the garage door opening, Rayna yanked Rami by the hand. “Hurry, my parents are home. They can’t find you up here.” Running down the steps, they made it to the landing just before Abe and Sarah entered the house.

* * *

“We appreciate your bringing our daughter home,” Abe said.

Sarah gave Rami a disapproving once-over. “I don’t understand why Rayna had to inconvenience you when she could easily have gotten a ride home with Jonathan.”

Rami held his tongue.

“Mom, I invited Rami to stay for dinner.”

Sarah started to object but Abe quickly outweighed her. “Yes, of course. Rami, where are you from?”

“Syria.”

“Then you’re Syrian?”

“Yes.”

Sarah glanced harshly at her daughter before going into the kitchen to check on Rosa. The phone rang. Abe picked it up.

“Come on, Rami, I’ll give you a tour of the house.”

Rami’s eyes widened with awe as Rayna guided him through the rooms. Every piece of furniture dripped with lavish stateliness. The walls and ceilings were decorated in a myriad of colors, finishes, and murals. Each lighting fixture was a finely detailed work of art. The window treatments had been scrupulously coordinated with the decor. Everywhere Rami walked, he stepped on marble, ceramic tile, wood inlay, and rich carpets. Every bedroom had its own luxuriously appointed private bath. The house was immaculate, not a thing out of place. Rami now understood where Rayna got her meticulous discipline.

As he was led from room to room, it gnawed at Rami that he had not envisioned this opulence. Rayna was always dressed well, but her clothes did not appear to be indulgent. Her jewelry had consisted of a delicate gold bracelet watch and a diamond pendant that rested just below the hollow of her neck—and now the gold band on her finger.

* * *

Eli exuberantly flung his arms around his sister. “Come here. You’ve never been away for such a long stretch of time. I’ve missed you.”

Rami cringed at the male affection shown to his wife.

“Rami, this is my brother Elijah, known to us all as Eli. Eli, this is my friend Rami. He gave me a ride home.” The two men exchanged a courteous greeting.

Sarah called everyone to the table. Rami studied the kitchen. It was bigger than any he had ever seen. There were two ovens and so many cabinets and drawers. He remembered, in detail, how Rayna had described the kosher laws of Judaism that require meat and dairy to be separate. In his mind, he drew images of the innards of the kitchen.
Two sets of pots, two sets of dishes, and two sets of flatware—all for everyday use. Fancier dishes for the sabbath and holidays. And even more of everything for the week of Passover, just in case any of the family were at home.

* * *

Over dinner, the conversation began quite innocently. Rayna talked about school. Eli also spoke of school. He was working on a master’s degree in business at New York University. Sarah updated Rayna on the latest news of her three oldest brothers and their wives and children. “You’re going to be an aunt again. Daniel’s wife is expecting.”

“Number six, if I’m counting correctly,” Rayna jested.

“Yes, number six. Gita says she is closing up shop after this. Says she’s contributed enough to the family tree,” Eli laughed.

Abe informed Rayna that her grandfather was not well, news that unsettled Rayna. “Will Jidaw be with us in the Catskills?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Sarah answered. “Your grandfather’s kidneys are failing.”

Tears mounted in Rayna’s eyes and she promised herself to spend more time with him this summer. “Tomorrow, I’ll visit with him before we leave.”

“He’s not at home. He’s in Deal spending Passover at your Auntie Livia’s,” Abe said.

Just as Rami was getting comfortable listening to the family exchange, Sarah started in, “So, Rami, tell us where you’re from in Syria? Your accent is very strong.”

“Halab. Aleppo.”

“Really! All four of our grandparents were from Halab.” Eli was excited to make the connection and prodded Rami into telling them about the city.

“Then you’re Muslim?” Sarah was not going to let up.

“Yes, a Shi’ite Muslim.”

“I have been told that Syrians hate Jews and would like to see Israel wiped off the map.”

“To be honest, many Syrians do believe that way. It is what we are taught from early on.” A deafening silence shrouded the table.

Eli broke the awkwardness of Rami’s response. “Mom, why can’t you accept that Rami was nice enough to give Rayna a ride home? Just say ‘thank you’ and let it go.”

“Rayna, you said on the phone that you would explain why this . . . this . . .”

“Muslim.” Rami smiled, helping Sarah find the right word.

“Yes, Muslim. Why has
he
brought you home instead of Jonathan?”

Rayna stammered, trying to say something. No words came out. Under the table, Rami took her hand and held it. Their eyes made contact. Rayna nodded.

“There is good reason why your daughter came home with me instead of Jonathan.”

“Rami, you don’t owe us an explanation.”

“Eli, butt out! Now, Rayna, I want an answer.”

“Jonathan tried to rape Rayna, and almost succeeded.” Rami’s words brought gasps from around the table.

“That’s a lie! Jonathan would never do something like that. I know him. I know his parents. And the only thing I know about you is
you’re a Muslim
. I don’t need to know any more. Rami, it’s time for you to leave. And you are to stay away from our daughter.” Sarah pushed her chair back, but she did not rise. Rayna’s next words kept her in her seat.

“Rami is not lying, Mom. Last January, after Jonathan and I returned to school, Jonathan carried the cooler up to my room. Remember the cooler filled with your Syrian food?”

With a nod, Sarah glared at Rayna.

“Well, Jonathan put down the chest, kicked the door shut, and locked it. Before I could react, he forced me onto the bed and . . . and . . . pinned me down.”

“Rami, is holding my daughter’s hand under the table a habit of yours?” Abe asked.

In reaction to her father’s confrontation, Rayna tried pulling her hand from Rami’s grip, but he held on.

Sarah disregarded Abe’s probe. “Rayna, I don’t believe you. I think you’re exaggerating what really happened. Jonathan is a fine young man from a well-respected and prominent family. He’s going to be a surgeon like his father. You are to find a way to work this out with Jonathan. It wouldn’t kill you to please your family.”

“This is exactly why we didn’t want you to leave home,” Abe scowled. “We were afraid of something like this. School is over! You can’t return to Maryland. Until you get married, you’ll live at home. Aaron Yedid is crazy for you. He’s been waiting a long time. His family is a pillar in the community, and very wealthy. We’ll make a match and you’ll be married before the summer is over. We’ve tried it your way and it didn’t work. Now it will be our way.” Abe turned and gave his wife a stern look, “You’ve been infatuated with Jonathan and his family from the beginning. It is to stop right now. My daughter will marry a Syrian, not a J-Dubb.”

Rami concealed a smirk.
Your daughter married a Syrian
.

“Get your hands off my daughter!” Abe screamed.

Rayna twitched, yanking her hand from Rami.

“I didn’t agree on Aaron Yedid,” Sarah defied her husband.

“Well I did! Ezra Yedid and I have already agreed on the match for our children, so . . .”

“Without consulting me! How dare you! I’m the one who carried your precious daughter for nine months and labored to deliver her. I will not have Rayna’s chances with Jonathan messed up.”

“Wait a minute! This is insane. Mom, you’re asking my sister to embrace her attacker. What’s wrong with you? And Dad . . . you’ve agreed to marry off Rayna without giving her any say in who she will spend the rest of her life with. My vote is for Rami. He’s the one who has been watching out for Rayna . . .”

“I’ll just bet he has, Eli!” Abe pushed away the plate of food in front of him. “No more University of Maryland. I forbid it!”

“I have your hand,” Rami whispered. “Do not pull away this time.”

“Rami, you better leave now. I’ll see you to the door.” Sarah rose.

Rami remained firmly in his seat. “Let me remind you, Mister and Missis Mishan, that it was a Jew, not a Muslim, who almost raped your daughter.”

Eli sought to diffuse the uproar,
“Stop this!
Jonathan tried to rape my sister. Rami was good enough to bring her home. Instead of thanking him, you throw him out. Something is very wrong with this picture.”

Rayna thanked her brother, then made a plea on behalf of her husband, explaining that this was Rami’s first trip to New York and it would be cruel to force him out to face a long ride back at night on unfamiliar roads. “If he got into an accident, it would be on your heads.” She turned to Rami. “I’m inviting you to stay the night. It’s the least we can do.”

“You can have one of the guest rooms,” Eli volunteered, following Rayna’s lead. “Our three older brothers are married, so their rooms are available. And the bathrooms are stocked.”

“Thank you. One day I hope to repay you with the same kindness,” Rami said graciously.

Abe grumbled, “This is not over yet.”

Sarah seethed. “Did I ever tell you about the daughter who dug a grave for herself? She made it so deep, she wasn’t able to climb out.”

* * *

Ascending the steps, Eli led Rami to his brother Micah’s old room. Rayna unwillingly went to her own room and began packing for a week in the Catskills. Purposely, she left the door open. There was a knock. She looked up. Rami smiled. He sat down in the rocker and watched Rayna neatly pack her pink suitcase.

“I’m sorry you had to witness my dysfunctional family.”

“Rayna, rrawhee, do not be sorry. In some ways, your family is not much different than mine.” Rami knew well about Syrian culture. Daughters were sheltered and kept at home until they married, hopefully long before the age of twenty. Parents played a major role in the choice of a prospective mate. Rami reflected on his trip back to Halab in December when his sister, at age fifteen, was consigned to an arranged marriage. Keeping his voice low, Rami encouraged his wife not to go to the Catskills with her family. “You will be miserable there and you will be too far away for me to hold your hand. Tomorrow, I am taking you back to Maryland. Your life is with me now. You can have your Passover seders at Hillel. Gather your things for school. In the morning, we leave.”