The Other Half of My Soul (7 page)

“Tell us about the assignment Nolan gave you.”

Guarding Rayna’s role, Rami responded, “I had to analyze the positive and negative ramifications of the bacteria. My report is on the computer if you want a copy.”

“Yes. By all means. Be sure I receive it.”

Instantly, Rami regretted making the offer.

“Now, I will tell you all about the infamous Doctor Nolan,” Yousef gloated confidently. “Doctor Quintin Nolan was a chemist long before he became a philosopher. After working twenty-one years for Bryson Research, he was forced to resign. Top management in the multi-billion-dollar corporation did not approve the funds he needed to pursue research on bacteria that would very quickly and effortlessly eradicate oil spills. Western conglomerates that have been making millions on oil cleanups lobbied heavily for Bryson not to take this direction. Bowing to pressure and American government enticements that would sway more business in its direction, Bryson backed off and forced Nolan out. To keep Nolan from talking, they offered him a substantial severance package with strict conditions. Nolan used those funds to secretly pursue his obsession. However, six years ago, the good doctor ran low on funds and had to stop the project. For a while, it looked like he would give up entirely. He pursued a doctorate in philosophy and secured a teaching position at the University of Maryland.” Yousef paused when someone handed him a glass of water. “Now, for whatever reason, Nolan is searching for backers. He wants to raise cash and complete the project. We’re going to provide him with what he needs to succeed. And we must reach him before anyone else does.” Maintaining his focus on Rami, Yousef went on, “Nolan is fifty-two and divorced. The breakup of his marriage hit him hard. He has one daughter, Anna, who attends Princeton University in New Jersey. The two are very close.”

It unsettled Rami to know just how much Yousef could find out about a person. The thought of his own life being so exposed unnerved him. He worried about Rayna.
How much does Yousef know about her? Does he know she is Jewish?
Rami vowed to always protect her from harm.

“This is your first assignment, Rami. If you do nothing else, delivering the bacteria into our hands will be your major contribution to the spread of Islam. We will provide you with money and with whatever else you need. In your next life, Allah will reward you greatly.”

Rami did not want to live for the next life. He wanted to live for this life, the life he knew. He mumbled, “Why do you hide behind Allah to brainwash others into doing your bidding?”

“Speak up. If you have something to say, let us all hear it.”

Rayna’s voice pierced Rami’s consciousness:
Do not let your strength and courage be wasted. Find what you need and use it.
Courageously, Rami stood up and looked Yousef straight in the eyes. With the sagacity of a great warrior, Rami boldly asserted, “I am not flattered by your motive for selecting me to do this job. However, I will deliver the bacteria into your hands. In six months . . . in six years . . . however long it takes. You said Muslims are patient people. I assume that includes you. So do not pressure me, Yousef. It will be done. In return, I want something back. I want my privacy and my freedom. I do not like being spied upon. If there are monitoring devices in the apartment that I do not know about, remove them. I will do it myself if I have to. And I want my own car.” Rami slumped into his seat. Wisdom told him he had said enough.

In the end, Yousef conceded to all of Rami’s demands. For the time being, he needed the young man, and Rami knew it.

* * *

Returning home, Rami found his family squeezed around the kitchen table eating supper. Excitedly, they were discussing Ayisha’s upcoming marriage and the approaching month of Ramadan. Salha stopped when she noted the anguish in Rami’s eyes and the slouching of his shoulders. “Come. Sit down and eat, Rami.”

“I am not hungry. Go on without me.”

Salha gestured to her husband. “Talk with your son. Something is wrong.”

* * *

Seated on the worn, mustard-colored couch in the dimly-lit parlor, Rami disclosed everything to his father. He spoke of al-Shahid and Yousef, of school, the apartment, Abdallah, the imam, Omar, and Rayna. For a long while, Ibrahim did not respond. When he did, Rami felt his father’s words sear like a branding iron imprinting a permanent scar into his brain.

“The Jew is a bad omen,” Ibrahim warned. “She is a fungus that is defiling you. She is the devil in disguise, discreetly luring you into her web. You must keep away from her. Do not ever go near her again . . . ever.” He preached about how Allah was testing Rami, and beseeched his son to adhere to the teachings of the Quran and to fervently practice more discipline. “Allah has chosen your path. Your life is now with al-Shahid. In the name of Islam, you must do whatever must be done.”

Rami could hardly believe his father’s words. Trying to reason with Ibrahim was useless. His mind was already set. Before their dialogue ended, Rami extracted a promise from his father to utter not one word of their conversation to anyone. To himself, Rami vowed never again to discuss anything with his father.

* * *

The following Friday, Rami joined the men who were gathering at the mosque for pre-ceremonial prayers prior to Ayisha’s marriage. Over that weekend, he tried hard to be joyous. His sisters painted themselves with henna—their palms, their feet, their hair. Relatives threw parties. The
kitab
was signed. Ayisha looked beautiful, but far too young to be a bride, Rami thought. After the rituals, Ayisha changed into a gown for the big feast. The celebration lasted late into the night. When the newlyweds departed, guests threw handfuls of rice and candy-coated almonds at them.

The long weekend of revelry failed to lift Rami’s depression. He yearned for Rayna. Family and friends who had always been a close and dear part of his life now seemed unfamiliar. Rami no longer knew them and wondered how many were cemented in the same intolerant, hateful mindset as his father.

eight

A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven.

—Ecclesiastes 3:1

During the last weeks before Christmas, Rayna helped Abe in one of his lighting supply stores. From the time she had turned seven, working with her father during the busy Christmas season had always been a high point and a fun time for her. Abe taught Rayna well and she proved to be a quick learner.

* * *

Sarah had grown fond of Jonathan and was grateful to him for bringing Rayna home on his frequent visits back from school. She cultivated a friendship with Jonathan’s mother and liked the social prominence it offered her. Jonathan’s father was a well-known and respected surgeon with big-name patients from all over the world.

Until now, Sarah had been adamant about associating only with Sephardic Jews. She was steadfast about her five children marrying within the Syrian Jewish community. Yet, for such a notable and wealthy family as Jonathan’s, she would accept an Ashkenazie Jew into the family, and she encouraged a relationship between her daughter and Jonathan.

* * *

On New Year’s Day, the two families left the hustle and bustle of New York City for a week’s vacation at a kosher resort in Curaçao. Rayna and Jonathan went swimming, banana boating, snorkeling, and jet skiing in the calm waters of the Caribbean. Evening entertainment and good food enhanced the blissfulness of the warm climate and the relaxing and friendly atmosphere. Sarah watched with delight as her daughter and Jonathan took pleasure in being together. She secretly hoped for a full-fledged romance to blossom.

* * *

Returning from their vacation, the Mishans were greeted with bitterly cold weather and freshly fallen snow as they emerged from Kennedy Airport. On the drive home, they made a stop at the post office to pick up the mail being held for them. Entering the house, Rayna dropped her luggage on the floor and excitedly attacked the mound of envelopes until she found, buried at the bottom, the letter from
InterContinental Weekly
. Snatching it, she dashed upstairs to her room. A loud shriek followed. The family bolted up the steps, not knowing what caused Rayna’s sudden outburst.

“I got it! I got the job!” She was euphoric. After competing with more than five hundred other journalism students across the country, Rayna had captured the coveted summer internship with the most widely circulated weekly magazine in the world. Working during the upcoming summer at the World Trade Center Towers in New York City would earn her six college credits and a chance to get one of her pieces published. “They want me to come in and sign some papers and discuss the scope of my internship.” Rayna could hardly wait to tell Rami. He had helped her with the application and with writing the three short stories required for submittal.

* * *

That night, lying in bed with a myriad of thoughts vying for her attention, Rami’s energy persisted in dominating her senses. Rayna yearned to be with him, while at the same time praying not to love him so.
Jonathan is right,
she tried convincing herself.
Mixing a Jew with a Muslim is like mixing water with oil; they are compelled to separate.
Yet Rayna could not separate herself from Rami. In just a few days, she would ride back to school with Jonathan. In just a few days, she would begin her second semester. In just a few days, she would see Rami.

* * *

Rami and Omar began the last leg of their journey, boarding a London flight back to Washington. The jet taxied out to the runway and was soon airborne. Omar dozed. Rami tilted his seat back and closed his eyes, but he could not sleep. Greatly anguished over events of the past few weeks, Rami was experiencing the hollow sensation of living on borrowed time.

The special connection he had always shared with his father was gone. Never again could he trust Omar, his once closest friend. Al-Shahid had him locked into an unsettling situation. Yousef now ruled his life. And a Jew had captured his heart.

* * *

On a bright Sunday morning in early January 1997, Jonathan arrived to pick up Rayna for the trip back to Maryland. Sarah insisted he come into the house for some breakfast. Jonathan wanted to get on the road. Sarah’s persistence won out.

Half an hour later, Abe marched out to the driveway with his youngest son, Eli. Each man carried an armload of Rayna’s belongings. With the two back car doors open, they calculated how best to cram the stuff in the back seat.

“Sorry the trunk is so full,” Jonathan apologized.

Eli handed Rayna’s hair dryer to Jonathan and chuckled, “Don’t drive away without this. It’s my sister’s lethal weapon. If her hair doesn’t look good, she becomes deadly.”

Smiling and shaking her head, Rayna approached the car, “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never in a million years would I dare to make fun of you,” Eli teased.

Jonathan opened the car door and gallantly gestured, “Enter, beautiful lady.” He then slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

Sarah bounded out of the house dragging a big red cooler filled with Syrian food. “Wait! You can’t leave without this!”

“Mom! Rayna purposely forgot the cooler. Leave her alone. There’s no room left in the car.” Eli attempted to reason with his mother. Abe, Rayna, and Jonathan joined the protest.

Ignoring them all, Sarah swung open the back door, “I’ll find room. You men just don’t know how to pack.”

In disbelief, Jonathan watched as Sarah began pulling out Rayna’s things, piling some into Abe’s arms, more into Eli’s, and the rest into Jonathan’s. She slid the chest onto the back seat, retrieved Rayna’s stuff, and stacked everything on top. “Can you see out the rear window?”

“No, Sarah, but what difference does that make?” Jonathan made it known that he was not thrilled about having anything Arabic in such close proximity.

“It’ll be worth it. You’ll both thank me. Syrian food is the best.” Closing the rear door, Sarah moved to the open window where Rayna was sitting and reminded her daughter to give a safe call home when she arrived.

* * *

Relieved to be on the road and out of her mother’s clutches, Rayna turned around and readjusted things so Jonathan could have a clearer view out the rear window. “I apologize for my mother’s behavior. Is this better now?”

“Yes.” Jonathan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“She has been known to make us all crazy. My mom and I have our clashes, but she means well.” Rayna slipped off her shoes, settled into her lotus position, and turned up the heater.

Crossing the Verrazano Bridge, she watched as Jonathan carefully concentrated on the many vehicles darting in and out of lanes.
He is handsome.
Jonathan’s curly blonde hair framed his suntanned face. His deep blue eyes danced. His smile was relaxed and warm. His straight nose gave him a near-perfect profile. Being together in Curaçao had been fun. Their match could not have been more idyllic if it were not for the fact that someone else was tugging at Rayna’s heart.

nine

They constitute a universe of their own in which dreamers go beyond their dreams, beyond their desires, swept away by their quest for imagination and salvation and an infinite craving for innocence and wonder.

—Elie Wiesel

There was one last thing to unload from the car. “You go on in. I’ll park and bring up the cooler . . . with the Syrian food,” Jonathan made a distasteful face.

“Thanks, Jonathan, but you’ve done enough already. Really, I’ll get it . . .”

“I don’t mind. I’ll be right up . . . just don’t ask me to eat that stuff.”

* * *

Out of breath, he lugged the cooler up to Rayna’s room and dropped it on the floor. “Shit! This thing is heavy.”

“Sorry, I would have done it.”

“It’s okay. It’s done.” Easing the door shut with his foot and turning the lock, Jonathan cast his eyes upon Rayna. His breathing was slow and deep. Fire blazed in his eyes. Swiftly, he moved toward her, circling his arms around her waist, inflicting a long, coercive kiss on her lips. She fought to release herself from his grip. He tightened his hold. “Don’t fight me, damn it. You owe me!” In the heat of raging hormones, Jonathan pushed Rayna onto the bed, pinning her down. “Start acting your age, for Christ sake. You’re not a little girl anymore. Grow up.”

Straining to get free, she cried, “Jonathan, please don’t do this. You’re hurting me.” The more Rayna resisted, the greater was Jonathan’s resolve. His boiling lust scared her. She did not want him. Jonathan’s kisses drooling over Rayna’s face repulsed her. Feeling his hand wrestling down to unzip her jeans, she screamed. The zipper caught in her skin, tearing it below her navel. “Ouch!” Blood trickled from the open wound. “I’m begging you, Jonathan. Don’t . . . please don’t.” She felt herself sinking. Her breathing was uneven and she gasped for air. Rayna was not physically strong enough to fight off Jonathan’s determined, brute force.

“You like it from Rami, don’t you? Tell me, is a circumcised Muslim better than a circumcised Jew? Here’s your chance to find out.” Panting heavily, Jonathan suffocated her with beastly passion.

“Don’t do this to me,” Rayna sobbed. “I never had sex with Rami . . . or anyone. Don’t take away my virginity,” she wailed hysterically. “No Jonathan . . . no. Please. No . . . don’t.”

Very slowly, Jonathan raised himself up. “I was sure . . . I thought . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Without another word, he turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

The next few hours were a blur. Over and over, Rayna scrubbed herself in the shower, trying to wash away the shame of Jonathan. She cried. She unpacked. She wanted Rami.

* * *

The phone rang. “Yes, Mom . . .”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” Rayna looked at the clock, then out the window. It was already dark. The streetlamps reflected on the falling snow.

“You forgot? You should have called hours ago.”

“I apologize. Mom, I have a really bad headache. I need to lie down.”

“Did you eat?”

“Mom, I’ll call you tomorrow . . .”

“Where’s the food I sent?”

“In the refrig.”

“Is Jonathan there?”

“No, Mom, Jonathan’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“I have no idea where he is.”

“It’s snowing here. Is it snowing there?”

“Yes, it’s snowing.”

“I hope you’re not planning to go out tonight.”

“No, Mom, I’m not planning to go out tonight. Bye, Mom.” Rayna lowered the receiver into the cradle. A knock at the door startled her. Thinking it was Jonathan, she did not respond. Another knock. Then another.

“Rayna. From the street I saw your light on. I cannot imagine you are out in this weather.”

The voice. The accent. It could only be Rami
. Her knees weakened and her lips went dry. Trembling, she opened the door. For several seconds, the two of them did not move. They stared without speaking.

Rami took Rayna’s hand and put her palm to his cheek. His face warmed to a tender smile. “I missed you so much. Please, may I come in?”

This was the first time Rami had been inside her room, the first time they had been completely alone. Rayna locked the door. Instinctively, she knew he would not harm her. Rami placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. She clung to him, then shivered from his cold, wet jacket. “Your jacket. Here, let me help you off with it. I’ll hang it on the door hook to dry.”

“It is a blizzard out there. The weather report predicts more than three feet of snow before it is over.” He slipped off his wet boots.

“How did you get here?”

“I walked. The roads are really bad. The news on the radio says not to go out unless you have all-wheel drive, and even then, only if it is an emergency.”

“Four miles, Rami. You walked four miles in this weather?”

“To see you, I would walk a thousand miles in this weather.”

“You’re not going back tonight. I won’t let you.”

Rami did not need persuading.

“Your clothes. They’re drenched.” She went to the closet and took out her oversized purple terry robe. Handing it to Rami, she awkwardly pointed to the tiny private bathroom where he could change. “This is all I have to fit you. You can’t stay in wet clothes. You’ll catch pneumonia.”

Minutes later, he appeared in Rayna’s garment. Laughing, he said, “I feel ridiculous, but it smells so good.” He held the right sleeve to his nose and took a deep whiff. “Mmmm. It is filled with your scent.”

Rami’s presence was soothing and Rayna felt safe with him. Shutting her eyes, she silently thanked God that Jonathan did not penetrate her.
In time, Rami will be the one I give myself to.
Taking his wet clothes, she spread them out to dry. “When did you return from Syria?”

“Yesterday. And you . . . from Brooklyn?”

“This afternoon . . . around one o’clock.” Rayna’s stomach growled. “Ooops!” She giggled nervously. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

“I have not eaten since last night.”

“Ramadan?”

Rami nodded. “Yes. I will go out and try to find us something . . .”

“No, you won’t. You’re not going anywhere.” Kneeling down, Rayna took out the food from the little refrigerator. “I have
kibbeh, lahamageen, mihshee, baba ghanouj, spanekh, tabouleh
, Syrian bread, and chicken salad. My mother insisted on sending all this Syrian food back with me in a big cooler.” While fussing with the food, Rayna babbled uneasily. “Do you know that my mother has her hooks into Jonathan? She insists he will make a perfect husband for me. Syrian Jew or not, he has her full approval. Jonathan is her wish for . . . ” Rayna faltered.

“And you? What is your wish?”

“Jonathan is definitely not my wish. I . . .” The incident from earlier in the day vividly rebounded. Turning to hide her emotions, Rayna warmed the food in the microwave.

* * *

Slowly scanning the small dormitory room, Rami liked that it was clean and tidy. In the far left corner sat a mini-refrigerator. On the shelf above it was a small microwave. A computer, a printer, a small stereo, and books occupied the space on her desk. A compact device containing a television, radio, alarm clock, telephone, and answering machine sat atop a four-foot high multi-shelved black PVC unit. Neatly-folded towels, sheets, and clothes filled the shelves beneath. Colorful travel posters decorated the walls. A purple and pink valance framed the window. A matching comforter lay across her bed. There was a black leather recliner and one wooden desk chair. Plush purple and pink towels hung in the bathroom. “I like your room.”

“I’m glad you like it. Now, I have a surprise for you.” Looking directly into his eyes, she recited, “Ramadan is the ninth month on the Islamic calendar and the fourth Pillar of Islam. Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset during the whole month. It is a time for inner reflection and devotion to God.”

Rami had taught Rayna about the Islamic holy month of Ramadan and delighted in her eagerness to learn. “I am impressed that you remember.” For the first time in weeks, he was feeling joy. As Rayna laid out the food on two paper plates, Rami gently massaged the back of her neck, sensing her pleasure at his touch. When she pivoted to face him, he lowered his mouth to meet hers and, for a moment, the world withdrew from around them. “It hurts to be away from you.” Rami brushed the hair back from her face.

She blushed, then eased herself from him. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” Rayna laid one plate on the desk with a small bottle of grape juice. She picked up the other plate and took it to the recliner.

Studying Rayna’s face as she ate, an insatiable desire for her consumed him. Still, Rami would only give his love if she wanted him. After the meal, he helped her clean up, tossing the paper goods and plastic utensils into the trash. Rayna dimmed the lamp, creating a warm glow in the room. Gracefully, she moved back to the recliner. “Come,” she gestured, making a place for him to squeeze in next to her.

Rami reached into the pocket of his wet jacket hanging on the door hook. He removed a small package, then edged into the space she had made for him. Rayna handed Rami the cell phone she had kept for him while he was away. “This afternoon, I needed so much to call you, but I knew it wasn’t safe to do so. I needed you to come.” She lowered her eyes, unable to go on.

“Something is wrong. Tell me what it is.”

She shook her head and forced a weak smile. “I’m just glad you’re here.” Quickly, she changed the subject and showed Rami the cell phone her parents had given her for Hanukkah. “Now we can talk whenever we want, anywhere we are.”

He jested, “Two phones will surely put us on some new ground.” Taking her hand, he kissed each finger. “Can I tell you about Hanukkah?”

Squeezing his hand, she encouraged him on.

“On Hanukkah, Jews light candles for eight nights to celebrate a miracle. About two thousand years ago, the army of the Syrian King Antiochus desecrated the Temple with idols. The Maccabees fought the Syrians and reclaimed the Temple for the Jews and for Allah . . .”

“For God.
Hashem
.”

“Yes, for Hashem. The oil left in the Temple was only enough to light a flame for one day, yet the flame in the Temple burned for eight days. This was the miracle.”

“I’m impressed at how well I taught you,” she smiled. “I like that we learn from each other.”

He kissed her forehead, then each eye, then her nose, then her lips. “I have something for you. I found it in an old shop in Halab.” Rami held out the little package. “It reminded me of you. I had to buy it.”

Rayna removed the wrapping. Slowly, she examined the little music box of delicate purple and pink glass inlay “Oh, Rami, it’s so beautiful.”

“Wind it up.”

She turned the knob and lifted the lid. Rayna’s face lit up, “It’s the Arabic wheat song.” Bubbling with pleasure, she sang to the music. “Yarrabee barrek ee barrek wee zee daw, yarrabee barrek ah ah, yarrabee barrek ah ah, yarrabee barrek . . .”

Rami joined in, “Lalala lalalala, lalala lalalala, lalalalaaaaaa . . .” They were laughing and singing and full of joy. “How do you know this song? It is so ancient.”

“It’s one of my favorites. My
jidaw
taught it to me. When I was a little girl, whenever I was sad, my grandfather sang this song and insisted I sing with him. We would clap our hands and dance and then I would be happy.”

“I am glad my gift brings you good memories.” Rami curled his fingers into Rayna’s. “Tell me about your month.”

“You first. I want to hear about your month in Syria.”

“No, no, you first, then me. My month in Syria is a very long story.”

So Rayna began. She spoke about the final weeks in December working with her brother Eli at their father’s Manhattan store during the busy Christmas shopping season. When she told Rami of the summer internship at
InterContinental Weekly
, he squeezed her hand, genuinely excited for her. “I knew you would get it.”

“Thank you for your encouragement and support.”

“Some day you will be a famous journalist and win all kinds of awards, and I will be by your side.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “you will be by my side.”

“Now, tell me how you got this beautiful suntan.”

She tried making light of the vacation in Curaçao, but still it disturbed Rami to know that Jonathan had spent a fun week with her. He said nothing. Then, at once, Rami watched Rayna’s expression precipitously change. He felt her body shudder. Sitting so close in the dimly lit room, he observed Rayna’s lower lip quiver and her eyes well. “Something is wrong. Tell me what it is. Why did you need me to come this afternoon?”

Rayna’s breathing went ragged. A series of quick intakes followed. Her voice broke and she began to cry. Rami brushed the droplets from her cheeks and comforted her, patiently waiting to hear her story.

Gradually, she revealed all that had happened earlier in the day. “I was so scared. I thought for sure Jonathan would not stop. He had me pinned down and I couldn’t budge from under him. His physical strength . . . he is much stronger than me. I couldn’t defend myself,” she cried.

Cradling Rayna snugly, he gently rocked her in his arms until he felt her body soften.
The bastard,
Rami flared in silence.
With my own hands, I will murder that filthy slime.
An uneasy feeling tugged at him and he wrestled to crystallize a memory that flirted with his consciousness. This was not the first time he had failed her, but he knew not when.
If only I had come by earlier
. “From now on, when you go home to Brooklyn, I will be the one to take you. When you go to Hillel for dinner, I will meet you and walk you back to the dorm. I am going to protect you always. And, one day, Jonathan shall pay for what he did. He will not come near you again.”

Having Rami there, Rayna felt safe, and she told him so. “Tell me about your month in Syria.”

Into the wee hours, Rami spoke of his family, Ayisha’s marriage, Abdallah, Yousef, and his diminishing friendship with Omar. He described the four days in the Bekaa Valley, educated Rayna on the Triple Frontier, and confirmed the existence of Doctor Nolan’s project on the oil-guzzling bacteria. After relating the tale of his father’s contempt for her and for all Jews, he cleaved to the security of her nearness. “I feel like I am trapped on the edge of something I cannot escape from. You are all I have in this entire world. There is no one I can trust but you.”