The Other Half of My Soul (5 page)

“What about tomorrow? Can we meet tomorrow?” Rami asked.

“I can’t. I’m going home for the holidays. I’ll be back Sunday night. I’ll call you then.”

“Home? Where is home? What holiday?”

“New York. Rosh Hashanah. I have a ride and I can’t be late. Bye.” She rushed out.

Rosh Hashanah
. It hit him like a bolt of lightning.
She is Jewish and has a ride home with that student Jonathan
.

six

I offer my hand of five fingers and you offer yours. Together we have a complete ten. This is a handshake. You and I are only fragments of the whole until we come together.

—The Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson

The weekend had dragged on far too long and Rayna was upsetting the delicate balance of Rami’s world. The more Rami struggled to get his thoughts into some kind of order and erase Rayna from his brain, the stronger she gripped him.

Early on Monday morning, the phone rang. “Yes . . . who is this?” Putting his hand over the mouthpiece, Omar gestured to Rami. “It is for you. She says her name is
Rayna
.”

Snatching the phone, Rami knew there would be no privacy with Omar standing over him, so he carefully measured his words. “Hello.” Rami cupped the mouthpiece and turned away from Omar.

When he hung up, Omar asked, “Who is Rayna? An American girl? Rami, what are you doing?”

Angrily, Rami shot back. “In the name of Allah, is this how I am to live my life here? With you over my shoulder? I have a philosophy assignment and the professor paired us off. We are working on a project that is one-third of our grade. Why must you project more into it?”

“She is American.”

“Am I not allowed to do schoolwork with an American? Yes, she
is
American! This country is full of Americans. She is also Syrian. Her family is from Halab . . . and why do you have a car and I do not? I, too, should have a car.”

The phone rang. Omar picked it up. “Hello.” After a brief conversation, Omar put the phone back in the cradle. “The imam expects us at the mosque at seven o’clock this evening. You can ask him about a car then. I do not make those decisions.”

* * *

After a delay in sluggish traffic, Omar pulled the car into the mosque’s parking lot. He and Rami entered the large vestibule. The imam was waiting. “You’re late.”

“Traffic was heavy.”

“See to it that it doesn’t happen again, Omar. Abdallah does not like to be kept waiting.” He led the two into his office. As soon as Rami saw Abdallah, the urge to put his fist right through the man’s face almost overcame him.

“As-salaam alaykum.” Abdallah’s heavy hands bore down on Omar’s shoulders as he greeted him on both cheeks.

Rami prayed that Abdallah’s greasy face would not graze him. His prayer was not answered. As Abdallah approached, Rami was forced to endure the same greeting as Omar had experienced.

The imam motioned for everyone to take seats around the desk. Abdallah asked in his gruff voice, “How was your first week, Rami?”

“Fine.”

“Tell me about your classes.”

As Rami provided a shallow, one-sentence account of each class, Omar sat quietly.

“I want you to take your Spanish very seriously, Rami. Fluency in the language will seal your future with us.” Abdallah grinned, exposing the wide gaps in his teeth.

Brazenly, Rami met Abdallah’s focus. “Why is Spanish so important? I am already fluent in Arabic, French, and English . . . and I would like to have a car like Omar.”

“Your mission with us will take you to South America. It is important for you to know Spanish.” Swiveling his chair, Abdallah turned to face Omar, “Rami can get around on the metro. If he needs use of the car, see to it that you take him wherever he asks . . . within reason, of course.”

“It is a very long walk to the mosque,” Rami argued.

Abdallah brushed off Rami’s comment. “I understand you got a phone call this morning from an American named Rayna. Tell me about her.”

“Did Omar tell you this or do you have a habit of listening to private conversations?”

“Where will you meet her?”

“It is a class assignment, Abdallah. And it is none of your business where I will meet her. I will not spend the next four years living like this. Now, either you give me some freedom to do my schoolwork, to make friends . . . to breathe, or . . .”

“Or what? Everything you do is my business, Rami. Everything! Be careful. You have a family back in Syria and some very lovely sisters.”

“Are you threatening to harm my family?”

Attempting to calm the escalation, the imam asked Rami and Omar to step out of the office for a few moments.

* * *

Alone with Abdallah, the imam said, “We must not unsettle Rami. Al-Shahid has big plans for the boy. Slowly, we will indoctrinate Rami and prepare him. Patience, Abdallah. Rami is not like Omar. Rami is strong-willed. He won’t respond to threats the way you would like. Abdallah, you must not interfere with their time at school . . . neither of the boys. Yousef has made this clear.”

Summoning the two students back into the office, Abdallah pulled his chair close to them. “The imam is a wise man. Listen to him. Omar, do what it takes to help Rami get a driver’s license. Provide him with use of the car when he needs it. You both can work out the details of sharing the car.”

Making it known that he was pleased to have any differences settled, the imam counseled, “As Muslims, we must stand together. Disturbances among ourselves are frowned upon. I hope this will not happen again.” He rose, extended his hand, and led Rami and Omar to the door. “I expect to see you Friday for prayers. Salaam.”

* * *

On the ride back to the apartment, alienation overtook Rami. Alone in a strange country, he yearned for his family. By some twist of fate, a Jew had captured his heart. The apartment he lived in was bugged and the phone was tapped, if what Omar said were true. He hated Abdallah. He could not trust the imam. His relationship with his best friend was quickly deteriorating. “Omar, did you tell them about Rayna’s call this morning?”

“No, I did not. But I am concerned for your safety.”

“Do not be. Al-Shahid needs us more than we need them.”

“If you want your driver’s license, you will need to get a permit so you can practice. There is also a booklet you must study. I will help you. When do you want to start?”

“Tomorrow.”

* * *

Hurrying out of Spanish class, Rami shielded his eyes from the bright sun and scanned the grounds, hoping to spot Rayna. As he slowly turned, she came into full view. Striking in her purple jeans and hot-pink stretch tee, her long dark hair was pulled back with a large pink barrette. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked toward him. Rami’s heart stilled.

“You need some shades,” she smiled.

“Shades . . . window shades?”

“No,” she laughed, “shades as in sunglasses.”

“Oh . . . sunglasses are called shades in America?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you mind if I walk with you?”

“I don’t mind.”

“You mentioned that you are taking advanced Spanish conversation. You must speak the language well.”

“Fluently. I’m carrying a full load this semester, so taking Spanish makes my life a little easier. My major is journalism.”

“I am fluent in Arabic, French, and English. Spanish is very new to me. But I am told I must learn the language for my future.”

“Why do you need to know so many languages? Will you be an interpreter?”

“Something like that. Would you be willing to help me with Spanish?”

“Sure.”

“How was your weekend home? Did you have a good Rosh Hashanah?” Rami had practiced the correct pronunciation to impress her.

“It was okay. How was your weekend?”

“Also, okay.” Rami wanted to tell Rayna how much he longed to see her again, how each minute that passed had seemed like an eternity. He wanted to know about her ride home with Jonathan. He wanted to trust her with the burden he was carrying. But he spoke none of this.

Entering the philosophy lecture hall, they found two seats together. Professor Nolan was already on the platform pacing back and forth, stroking his beardless chin and pushing back his black spectacles as they slipped down his nose. Students rushed to take their seats. Nolan started his lecture. Rayna leaned over to Rami and whispered, “He’s a nerd.”

“In Syria, we would never make fun of a teacher.”

* * *

“Today, I want to talk about abortion. Why would a woman choose abortion? Perhaps the mother’s life could be at serious risk. Her physical or mental health might be jeopardized. The pregnancy could be the result of incest or rape. Maybe the woman is unmarried and cannot care for a child. Maybe the child would be born deformed. What if the baby were to be a financial burden? Or interfere in some way with the happiness of the woman? Or with her career? Or her family? Or maybe, she just doesn’t want a child now, or ever.”

Nolan signaled his assistant to turn off the lights and start the projector. “Conception takes place when a male sperm combines with a female ovum resulting in a single cell that embodies the full genetic code donated by both parents. Twenty-three pairs of chromosomes.”

With his red laser pointer, the professor expounded on his discourse. “During the first eight weeks, this cell is known as an embryo. After the first eight weeks, it is known as a fetus. The fetus undergoes a continual process of change and development during its life span. Movement of the fetus is felt somewhere around the sixteenth week. By the twenty-fourth week, the fetus reaches viability, the point at which it is capable of surviving outside the womb.”

Professor Nolan had the students spellbound. “Soooo . . . at what point of fetal development, if any, and for what reason, if any, is abortion ethically acceptable? Or is it never acceptable? Does a fetus have the right to life? Does a woman have the right to control what is done to her own body? Whose rights take precedence, the mother or the fetus?”

Rami leaned over to Rayna and whispered, “He is not a nerd. He has given us a lot to think about.”

Still pacing back and forth, Nolan pressed on, “We have a precedent case known as
Roe versus Wade
. A young single woman challenged a Texas law on the constitutionality of a criminal abortion law. The case went before the Supreme Court under Justice Harry Blackmun. In concurrence with six of the other justices, it was determined that a woman has the right to terminate her own pregnancy during the first trimester. After that, the state has the legitimate right to protect both the mother and the potential life inside her.”

Rayna raised her hand. Nolan signaled for her to speak. “What about birth control? A lot of unwanted pregnancies could be curtailed if . . .”

“Good question. But who is going to be there to guarantee that a woman, or a man, will always use birth control? And isn’t abortion a form of birth control?” After several more minutes of class interaction, Nolan stopped the exchange. “I would like you to break up into groups of six and discuss this issue. Pull your chairs to form circles. Each group is to choose a leader. Keep to the topic. You have forty minutes. Don’t box yourselves into the Supreme Court ruling. Expand your horizons.You can go as conservative or as liberal as you see fit. Take notes and be prepared for a lively discussion during our next class.”

* * *

Rami was looking forward to a challenging debate until Jonathan approached and pulled up a chair beside Rayna.

“Hi, Jonathan. This is Rami. I told you about him, remember?”

“Yes.”

Rami nodded politely, wishing for Jonathan to disappear. Three more students joined them. After all introductions were made, Rayna was chosen to be leader. An energetic dialogue began. Rami sat silently, stewing in a jealous rage. At the end of class, Jonathan placed his hand on Rayna’s shoulder, “What if I come by and get you at six?”

“Great. Thanks. See you later.”

That exchange drove Rami into deeper resentment.

Without another word, Rayna straightened her chair, picked up her things, and darted out the door. Grabbing his books, Rami ran after her. “Wait! What is your hurry?”

“I’m trying to ditch you,” she yelled.

“Ditch me? What does that mean? Ditch?”

“
Ditch
. Like get far away from you,” she hollered.

“But we have an assignment to finish . . . remember?” Rami picked up his pace until he reached Rayna’s side. She stopped. Their eyes locked. Gently, Rami took her arm.

“Let go of me!” she demanded, pulling away.

He stood back and studied her.

“You are very moody! What’s wrong with you? On the way to class, you were so pleasant. Then, in the group, you didn’t open your mouth, didn’t contribute one word to the discussion. You sat and sulked. I don’t think I like you.” Rayna reached into her book bag, pulled out the notes from the other day, and shoved them at Rami. “Here. I don’t want to work with you. I can handle the bacteria assignment on my own.” She took off.

Rami found her irresistibly sensual. An insatiable craving for Rayna devoured him and he ran after her. When she picked up speed, he called out, “Rayna, please. Let me apologize. Let me explain. I am really sorry.”

Coming to a standstill, Rayna turned and faced him. Impatience flickered in her huge hazel eyes. “I’m listening. You have five minutes and this better be good.”

“Can we find a quiet place to talk?”

“No!”

“Please, Rayna . . .”

“Five minutes. You have five minutes and your time is ticking away.”

In a panic and without a convincing alibi, Rami impulsively blurted, “I am in love with you. I knew it the instant I saw you in line registering for classes. I cannot take you from my head . . . from my body. The harder I try, the more intensely you hold on. I went crazy knowing you and Jonathan traveled together to New York for your Jewish holiday. Then, when I saw him join our group and sit down next to you . . . I was jealous. Rayna, I am so sorry. I do not know what else to say.” Embarrassed and feeling exposed, Rami prayed she would not poke fun at him and turn away.

Unexpectedly, she touched his hand. “Thank you for being honest. I would not have confessed so courageously. And don’t be jealous of Jonathan. There’s no romance between us, at least not one I’m aware of.”

“I want to have your heart.”

“You already do.” For a moment, there was only silence as their eyes held. “I’m hungry. I’ll race you to the Student Union.”