The Other Half of My Soul (32 page)
Read The Other Half of My Soul Online
Authors: Bahia Abrams
Kamil’s laughter reverberated. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Abe is a lot softer than he comes across. He’s not hard and unforgiving like Sarah. Inside, Abe is mush. Good mush,” Alexis smiled.
“Thank you, Alexis. I needed that reminder. And thank you both for everything. Rayna and I owe you so much. We really do love you both.”
“We’ll figure out a way to collect payment,” Kamil laughed, then handed Rami the satellite phone. “Keep this with you. I expect you to stay in touch, daily. That’s an order.” He embraced Rami. “Salaam. Peace be with you. Now, I’m going home to see my daughter. Nida’s grandmother could use a break.”
“Give Nida many hugs from us.” Rami turned to Alexis, “You are a most special lady. All of us are very lucky to have you in our lives.” He hugged Alexis, genuinely appreciative of her kindness and caring.
Rami walked with the couple to the hospital’s main entrance where a car was waiting. He waved goodbye. “Remember Rayna’s passport.”
“It’s at the top of my list, after my daughter.”
thirty-seven
We are the sum of all the moments of our lives. All that is ours is in them.
—Thomas Wolfe
At the house in Bethesda, Kamil proceeded into the study. He sat in the black-leather chair and reached down into the bottom drawer of the desk. Skimming through the files, he located two purple folders. Retrieving both, he browsed through the first. What Kamil found overwhelmed him. With their own money, Rami and Rayna had started an orphanage. They had taken in infants and very young children who were barely surviving in environments where guns, drugs, alcohol, hunger, and sexual and physical abuse dominated their lives. Eighteen youngsters from a mixture of backgrounds were being fed, clothed, educated, and loved. Tiny human beings were given a chance at life.
Why have I not known about this wonderful undertaking of theirs
? Returning the folder back to its place, Kamil proceeded to open the second folder. In it, he found Rayna’s passport. He tucked it into his briefcase.
Much later that day, when he was back in his office in Manhattan, Kamil called the courier service that he so often relied on. Rayna’s passport would arrive safely in São Paulo and be in Rami’s hands within thirty-six hours.
* * *
Reluctantly, Abe tore himself away from his daughter. Over the loudspeaker, a voice had announced the boarding of his flight to New York. He started toward the line of people at the gate, then reversed himself. “Bye, baby. I love you.” One more time, he hugged Rayna, feeling the uncomfortableness of her Muslim attire. Abe grinned and shifted his gaze toward Rami. “I like you, and I see how much you love Rayna. But life would be so much easier if you were Jewish. Any chance?”
Rami shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“Take good care of my daughter.”
“You know I will . . . and Abe, our home is always open to you. You do not need an excuse to visit.”
“I intend to take you up on that offer . . . often.” He reached out to Rami. The two men exchanged a farewell hug, then Abe joined the dwindling line of boarding passengers.
* * *
Rami curled his arm around Rayna’s waist. Noting her weakness, he gave her his support as they walked to their gate. In half an hour, the flight to Washington would begin boarding.
Forgive me, Allah, for what I have done to Rayna. Thank you for this second chance.
* * *
It felt good to be home. After the long flight, Rayna wanted a shower and to rest. Rami helped her bathe, then bundled her in a bath towel, blew her hair dry, and got her into comfortable clothes. Lifting Rayna to the bed, Rami massaged her back until she fell asleep.
He tiptoed down the steps. In the kitchen, he looked inside the refrigerator.
Rayna will need to eat when she wakes up, and I am not going to the store and leaving her here alone
. He opened the freezer door.
If I know my wife, there must be something in here that is easy to prepare.
Instantly, Rami spotted the Pyrex containers with the Syrian food, all neatly stacked and labeled. He selected some of the frozen fare and set it out on the countertop to defrost.
When Rayna wakes up, I will only have to heat it in the microwave.
The doorbell rang. It was Jeannie from next door. She and Stan had just gotten home from work and had seen the light on in the kitchen. She handed Rami a plastic bag full of mail. “We had no idea when you would be back, so I took the liberty. Didn’t think it was a good idea for your mail to pile up outside. I’m sure there’s a bunch more waiting in your post office box. Would you like us to pick it up for you? Stan and I are going out for a bite to eat. We’ll be near the post office.”
“Thank you. Yes. How kind of you. That would be helpful.” He handed Jeannie the key.
“How’s Rayna? It was all over the news . . .”
Through his fatigue, Rami generated a limp smile. He was in no mood to discuss the details with anyone, and he needed privacy. “Rayna is sleeping. When she feels up to it, I am sure you both will talk. I do appreciate your getting our mail.”
“Is there anything we can do? Can I bring back some dinner . . .”
“We are fine. I took something out of the freezer. Thank you for offering.”
“Call if you need anything. I’ll bring the rest of your mail later.” She dallied. “I’m so sorry, Rami. It must have been a horrendous ordeal for both of you.”
“It was,” he politely acknowledged, edging Jeannie to the door and seeing her out.
Returning to the kitchen, Rami dumped the bag of mail out on the table. Just as he was beginning to go through it, he heard a sound from Rayna and bolted up the stairs.
In the baby’s room, Rayna sat in the rocker, clutching the stuffed otter. “It’s so unfair,” she cried. “Our son . . . not even a chance to be born. We never got to see him, to know him.”
“Let us pray that our son is in a better place than we are.” Rami kissed her, then lifted Rayna to his lap. Together, on the rocker, they cleaved to each other and mourned the loss of their unborn child.
* * *
Later, Rami carried Rayna down the steps and settled her on the sofa. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I need to rest a while longer.”
Rami gently stroked her shoulders and neck. When she dozed again, he covered her with a light blanket, then went back in the kitchen to finish sorting the bundle of mail. A letter from Syria caught his attention. He opened it. Inside was a note from Omar.
Rami—I am back in Halab. All is well. Your mother asked me to forward the enclosed letter. She misses you very much.—Omar.
Rami knew Omar could not risk writing more than a few superficial words. Mail going to America was often inspected.
How wrong I have been about Omar. Three times now, he looked after Rayna. If it were not for Omar, Yousef would still be alive, and Rayna would be . . . no, I cannot think about that. I will find a way to make it up to Omar.
Checking again on Rayna, he found her sleeping peacefully. Rami went back to the mail. Carefully slitting the thin envelope, he instantly recognized his mother’s elegant Arabic script. Salha’s handwriting always had an artistic flair. Silently reading her message, Rami was shaken beyond comprehension. He was not Rami Mahmoud. He was someone else. He was not Shi’ite. He was Sunni. A numbness set in. Rami sat motionless for a long time. Then, slowly, he picked up the letter and read it again.
My dearest son.
Your father died three months ago. An attack of the heart came on suddenly and took him quickly. I am struggling. Zakieh and Abu help me in the souq. Your sisters also help when they can. It is my only means of support. Things are difficult without your father. I depended on him for so much. I write to you now because I am compelled to tell you the truth which I was forbidden to do when your father was alive. Ibrahim and I had been married five years. We were childless and you know how important children are to our way of life. Family and friends told your father to divorce me and find another wife who could give him sons. But he would not do so. May Allah bless his memory. It was on a Friday in late February 1982. I will always remember that day. Your father was at the mosque for noon prayers. The mullah announced that a child was found wandering alone in the streets. He asked for someone to claim the little boy. Your father brought you home. You were disoriented and cried for your mother. Inside the pocket of your red jacket a note was pinned. I have included it so you will know for sure. I saved it all these years. I kept it hidden from your father.
Ibrahim went to Hamah to look for your family. He was told they were all killed during the uprising. So with a blessing from Allah we had a son. We loved you so much. You were our joy. Shortly afterward I became pregnant with your sister Ayisha. Then three more daughters came. But you were our only son. Now you must know who you really are. It is all on the scrap of paper. In my heart you will always be my son. In my heart I will always be your mother. In my heart I love you.
Salha
Rami promised himself to help Salha and to send her money. She had been a good mother. He held the tattered piece of paper in his hands. Over and over, he uttered the message written in Arabic.
Hello. My name is Rami Adjmi. I am three years old. I was born 10 August 1978. I am Sunni and live in Hamah. Whoever finds me please return me to my parents Nida and Jawad Adjmi or to my oldest brother Kamil Adjmi.
Nida
, he reflected.
Kamil’s daughter, Nida, is named after his mother. My mother. Kamil is my blood brother
. All the repressed memories gushed to the surface. Vivid images of his home and family came alive. Terrified, he had clung tightly to Kamil. “
Hold me, Kamil. Hold me.
” He relived the scene of his father’s head falling to the ground. “
Ebeeeeee
!”
Kamil had been running with him, clutching him protectively, searching frantically for shelter, and then . . . and then . . . forcibly, Rami was snatched from Kamil. “
Kameeeeeel! Kameeeeeel! Do not let them take me away! No, Kamil! Noooooo . . .”
Sobbing, Rami’s little hands stretched out to his big brother.
Kamil screamed to him, trying to grab on, trying to reach the toddler. “
I’m here, Rami. I’m coming . . . I’m coming for you.
” Yet, no matter how desperate the brothers were to cling to one another, they could not stop the power pulling them apart. Alone and frightened, Rami wandered the streets, crying and hungry. Now, he remembered it all.
Rami picked up the phone and dialed Kamil.
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