The Other Half of My Soul (14 page)

“Rayna, come close.” He opened his eyes. His voice was weak.

“I’m right here,” she moved her face nearer to him.

“You’re so much like your sitaw. You have her beauty and her determination. Do you know how much I still love her? She was my life. I’m starving to death without her.”

Rayna remembered how, earlier that day, Rami used that word starving to describe how much he was missing her. The death of Rayna’s grandmother three years earlier had devastated Isaac. Rayna still remembered his inconsolable grief. Until Rayna went away to school, she had spent long hours comforting him, crying with him, loving him.

“God will soon grant me my wish to join your grandmother. I miss her so much. Promise me, Rayna, not to cry when I’m gone. Be happy for me. I will finally be at peace.”

Rayna stroked Isaac’s head and kissed his brow.

“I want you to do something for me,” his voice was barely audible.

She strained to hear him. “Anything . . .”

“The safe in my house. Do you remember the combination?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a large pink envelope. I made sure it was pink so you would know it.” Isaac’s breathing grew heavier. “I don’t have much time, so you must bring it to me tomorrow.”

“On the way home tonight, Eli and I will stop by your house and get it.”

“Rayna . . .”

“Shhh. You need to rest.”

“Let me say this one thing, then I’ll rest.” He held onto her hand. “I pray that you find a man who will love you as intensely as I have loved your grandmother. I so much want that for you.” Isaac closed his eyes and slept.

Please, God, let him live long enough to meet Rami on Friday evening
.

seventeen

Job was right. Life is warfare. But for the true survivor, the worst that can happen is merely another obstacle that must be hurdled.

—Baltasar Gracían

For the second day in a row, Rayna and Kamil were having lunch at Gemelli’s. From his shirt pocket, Kamil took out a small map of Syria, unfolded it, and smoothed out the creases. “Here is Hamah,” he pointed. “It sits between Aleppo and Damascus. Sunnis make up seventy-five percent of the Syrian population. In Hamah, my people lived peacefully with their Christian neighbors. President Hafez al-Assad and his family rule. They are Alawaites and comprise about twelve percent of the Syrian population.”

“Who are the Alawaites? Are they Sunnis? Shi’ites? What?”

“They’re Shi’ites, but not quite. They deviate from prescribed Shi’ite practices and are more lax about Quranic interpretation. Some Muslims regard them as unbelievers . . . heretics.”

“Really? Muslims consider other Muslims to be unbelievers?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Tell me about the Shi’ites.” Rayna thought about Rami.

“Shi’ites are in the minority. Five or six percent of the Syrian population.” Kamil did not elaborate. Instead, he continued the tale of the Hamah massacre. “Most entitlements, better housing, good jobs, the right to own businesses, and government and military positions have consistently gone to the Alawaites, ever since al-Assad came into power in 1970. Sunnis have been treated like second-class citizens, even though we are in the majority.”

“The Shi’ites . . .”

“The Shi’ites, to use an American phrase, are very low on the totem pole. Hasn’t your Shi’ite husband told you?” A hint of sarcasm embodied his question.

“Yes. Yes, he has.” Goosebumps erupted on her arms and neck. “Please go on.”

“Is he involved with al-Shahid? Is your Shi’ite husband part of Yousef’s gang of terror? Yesterday you said no, but I think differently.”

With her hands unsteady, Rayna looked down. “Rami would never hurt anyone. He’s a good human being.” She lifted her head, “The answer to your question is
no
.”

“Oh. He has a name. Rami. Rami the Shi’ite who knows Yousef the Syrian terrorist. Do I have that correct?”

Cautiously, she nodded.

“You, a Jew, tell me that your Muslim husband is not involved with Yousef Mugniyeh or al-Shahid. Yet, you ask for a profile on Yousef and tell me you have met him. Something is missing from this picture.”

A wave of nausea swept over Rayna. “I don’t feel very well. I need to leave.”

“No. Stay. I want to tell you about Hamah.”

Uneasy about divulging more information, Rayna guardedly stared at Kamil. “I’ll stay.”

“The Sunnis in Hamah staged a well-organized, peaceful protest against the government. Equality for the majority, my people had demanded.” Kamil paused, anticipating another question. When it did not come, he resumed. “On February 2, 1982, President Assad sent in the Elite Defense Brigade to quash the demonstrators. Tanks rumbled in, accompanied by fighter planes flying low overhead. Shells were fired from every direction. Citizens, young and old, had nowhere to hide. People . . . children lay dying in the streets. Soldiers carried out executions in cold blood. My father’s head was blown off in front of me.”

“Oh, God!”

“The brutality lasted four weeks. By the time it was over, my city was devastated, flattened by bulldozers, and drowned in bloodshed. The stench of decomposed corpses permeated the air. Mosques, markets, schools, and homes were in ruins. Witnesses have said that as many as fifty thousand people were killed and an equal number were wounded.”

“I’m so sorry, Kamil.” For a long moment, their eyes held. Rayna could almost feel his agony. “Where is the rest of your family now?”

“They’re gone. Dead.”

“You’re the only survivor?”

He nodded. “I lost my parents, four sisters, and three brothers. My youngest brother was just three years old at the time. Frightened and crying, he had clung to me for protection. I held onto him as tightly as I could, gripping him against me, trying to shelter him from the carnage. Then, in an instant, he was yanked from me. It all happened so fast. His tiny hands reached out to me, but I couldn’t grasp them. I never again saw my little brother.”

“How old were you when this happened?”

“Sixteen. Yousef Mugniyeh murdered my father. Yousef Mugniyeh tore my brother from my arms. I’ll never forget that man’s face.”

Rayna wanted to touch his hand but restrained herself from doing so. “Then what? How did you survive?”

“For weeks, I was crazed. I searched everywhere for my brother. Everyone loved him. He was adorable. A happy child, and extremely bright for a three-year-old. He was attached to me. I remember one morning when I was leaving for school . . . he grabbed hold of my leg with his little hands and body. He wouldn’t let go.” Tears welled. Kamil swallowed hard to keep them from flowing. “I looked all over for my family. I prayed to find even one of them alive. In time, I fled to Tarsus, a city in southern Turkey. I have an uncle there, my mother’s brother. I found shelter with him and his family. After that, I went to the university. Then I got a job writing for an English newspaper. Simon found me, offered me a position with the magazine, and here I am.”

“My God, Kamil, how did you endure it all? In the Bible, there is a story about a man named Job. He loses his children, his home, everything. Then, because of his faith, God restores Job’s life and . . .”

“Rayna,” Kamil briskly interrupted, “nothing can ever replace the family I lost. I live with it every day of my life. Why was I the one to survive? That question will forever haunt me. Only death will bring me peace. I loved my family. I still do. We were very close. So don’t preach to me about Job, and God, and faith until you have walked in my shoes.”

“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry about your family.” Rayna noted the gold band on Kamil’s finger. “Are you married?”

“Yes, to an American. My wife is a teacher. In November, we’ll have our first child.”

“Before my internship ends this summer, you will know about Yousef.”

* * *

After work, Rayna emerged from the south entrance of the World Trade Center. She stood on Liberty Street in the middle of rush-hour traffic and hailed a cab. “New York Presbyterian Hospital,” she instructed the driver.

* * *

Entering her grandfather’s private room, Rayna approached him quietly. Isaac’s eyes were shut and she thought he was asleep.

“Rayna, is that you? Come closer.” His voice was weak.

“Ahhhh. You’re up.” She put her tote bag on the chair and, being careful not to disturb the tubes attached to his frail body, she kissed his cheek and hugged him gently. “Yes, it’s me.”

“I’ve been waiting all day for you. Will you stay?”

“I’ll stay,” she assured him, adjusting his blanket. “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”

“Did you bring it?”

“Yes, I have it right here.” She reached into her tote, took out the pink envelope, and placed it in Isaac’s hands. It fell from his fingers. Isaac asked her to open it. “Jidaw, this is the title to your house. I don’t understand.”

Isaac lived on Ocean Parkway, just down the block from Rayna’s family home. His property in that prime location was worth a lot of money. “Rayna, come close. I have little strength left.”

Rayna moved nearer. “I can hear you.”

“I made an irrevocable trust. All that I have goes to my nine children. They can split it anyway they want. But to you, I leave the house and all that is in it.”

“But . . .”

“Shhh. Let me finish. I have no energy to argue with you.”

With her fingers, she combed through his full head of white hair and smoothed his bushy eyebrows. “Okay, I won’t interrupt.”

“I want you to have my house. Our house. The house your grandmother and I lived in for over fifty years. It’s yours. The title is now in your name. Look at it.”

She examined the paper. “But, Jidaw . . .”

“Shhh. Your sitaw also wanted it this way. The trust was made while she was still alive and it can’t be changed. Now, there’s another sheet of paper inside the envelope.”

Rayna reached down and took it out.

“It’s the name of my lawyer and the people who will purchase the house. There’s no realtor involved, so there’s no commission. Just the lawyer’s fees, which I have paid in advance. We worked through all the loopholes. The buyer offered three million dollars and paid one-third of it up front in earnest money. It’s in an escrow account until settlement. The lawyer, who is my designated trustee, is expecting your call. The buyer wishes to close as soon as possible. It’s a Syrian family who wants to live near the shul.”

Isaac struggled for air, and Rayna was concerned. “You need to rest now.”

“Let me finish. I don’t have much time.” His voice was weak. She cradled his cheeks in her palms and kissed his forehead. Her tears flowed down onto his face. With a mischievous grin, Isaac toyed, “Is it raining in here?”

“My tears,” she laughed, blotting his face with a tissue. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know that, but we don’t always get what we want in life.”

“You’ll get better and we’ll live together in your house.”

He took her hand. “Invest the money wisely and you can live well off the earnings and still keep the principal. Don’t get caught up in the materialistic lifestyle of the Syrian community or your money will disappear very quickly.”

“Jidaw, I’m really sorry I went away to school and left you . . .”

“The lawyer is a good man. Wise and ethical. He will guide you. The only lawyer I ever trusted.”

“No! I won’t let you go.”

“Shhh, listen to me. Be prepared to face difficulties from your parents, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins. They will all be angry about . . .” A coughing spell overtook him.

Rayna lifted his head and reached for the water. She put the straw to his lips. The whooping subsided. “Jidaw, don’t be upset with them.”

“No, rrawhee, I’m not upset with them. I’m disappointed. Do you know that next to your grandmother, I love you second.” He shut his eyes and dozed.

Her head rested next to his on the pillow and her fingers gently stroked his face.
My grandfather and my husband. The two people in this whole world who call me ‘rrawhee’ because they love me so much
. “Jidaw, did I ever tell you how handsome you are? I used to dream about marrying a man just like you.” She took hold of his hand. Soon, Rayna felt Isaac kneading the gold band on her finger.

“What is this?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Rayna, I may be a dying old man, but I have not lost my mind. You have never kept things from me before. Don’t start now.”

Rayna was at a loss.

“I will quietly listen to what you have to tell me.”

I cannot lie to my grandfather, but how do I tell him the truth?
And so it was that Rayna told her grandfather all that occurred from the very first moment she met Rami.

“An adventurous love story for me to share with your sitaw up in heaven. Together, we will worry about you.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I can never be angry with you. Who else in the family knows?”

“Only you.”

“Being married to a Muslim. This is not what I hoped for you. Your marriage will prove to be a far heavier burden around your neck than anything you have ever known. The rabbis will be punishing. They’ll banish you from the community. Everything that has been your life for the past eighteen years will be no more. You’ll be thrust into Rami’s world, and the only way out may be through . . . through . . . through . . .”

“Through what, Jidaw? Through what?”

“Through death, Rayna. Is your love that strong? Can it withstand that kind of future?” Neither took their eyes from the other until Isaac’s eyelids grew heavy and he drifted.

Quietly, Rayna rose from the bed, postured herself on the floor, maneuvered into a lotus position, and meditated. An hour passed. Isaac stirred, “Rayna. Rayna. Are you still here?”

“Yes, I’m still here.” She came to him and sat on the bed.

“My poor Rayna. I’m to blame for persuading your parents to let you go away to school against their better judgment. Now, I’m deserting you when you need me most.”

Rayna rested her head on her grandfather’s chest and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“God has challenged you for a reason. Some day it will become clear. You know, a long time ago, I learned from your grandmother that absolute love is two sides of a single soul yearning to be one. True love comes to everyone, but only once in a lifetime. Love makes no distinctions. It is what it is. For most people, if it doesn’t fit their way of life, they walk away from it. You didn’t.”

Reaching inside her tote, Rayna pulled out the little music box. She wound it up and held it close to Isaac’s ear. “Remember? The wheat song? Whenever I was sad, you sang this to me.”

“How can I ever forget the joys you brought me. Where did you find such a treasure?”

“Rami brought it back for me from Syria.”

Winding it up again, she sat beside Isaac and sang to him. “Yarrabee barrek ee barrek wee zee daw, yarrabee barrek ah ah, yarrabee barrek ah ah, yarrabee barrek wee zee daw. Lalala lalalala, lalala lalalala, lalalalaaaaaa . . .” When the music stopped, Isaac slept. Rayna snuggled close. Within the warmth of her grandfather’s mortal frailness, she, too, slept.

* * *

It was almost ten o’clock when Eli came to pick up his sister. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, gently touching Rayna’s shoulder to wake her. “There was a major problem at the Fifth Avenue store and I had no choice but to stay and work it through, especially with Dad being in Deal.”

“It’s okay.”

“Did you have dinner?”

“No.”

“We’ll stop and get something to eat on our way home.”

Eli walked to the other side of the bed and kissed his grandfather’s forehead. “Jidaw, I have to take Rayna home now. She’ll be back tomorrow around five. I’ll come by in the morning.”

Rayna tried slowly to detach from her grandfather. He clung to her. “I love you, Jidaw, but I have to leave.” She stroked his face.