Nothing Is Predictable Page 8

  As time went by, I began to notice constant signs of his insecurity and extreme paranoid behavior.

  Shortly after the bathrobe incident, we were invited to a friend’s birthday at a restaurant and of all people to show up, you would not believe it, Jamal was there. Tariq’s eyes never left him. He was very distressed by Jamal’s presence. I tried everything to avoid contact with Jamal, so as not to cause dramas with Tariq, having by then discovered his possessive streak.

  I walked to the ladies’ room and at the same time, Jamal walked out of the men’s room. Being the polite gentleman he was, he greeted me, just as anyone would under those circumstances. I will never forget the way he looked at me. I knew seeing me with another man hurt him deeply.

  Of course, Tariq saw us and when I returned to our table, he gave me a deadly look as if I had just dishonored him. Really? I was not aware we were living in the year 500 BC! Tariq demanded we leave the party at once. I was extremely upset by his decision; however, I stood by him and left to avoid further embarrassment. On the way home, he swore at me, banged on the dashboard in anger and frustration, threatened to kill Jamal, and threatened to kill me.

  “If I ever find out you’re cheating with him…If I ever find out I’ll kill you both,” he ranted.

  I was silent the whole trip home, but I was boiling on the inside with indignation. There was no point adding fuel to the fire especially when he had been drinking. I had already lived through those sorts of traumas in my early years, and knew it was best to stay silent and avoid confrontation. It was so against my character not to fight for my rights, but that night I was scared he might hurt me in the state he was in. I didn’t believe I had given him any reason to act that way, and strongly believe he had underlying issues with trust that he needed to deal with.

  When we arrived home and walked into the house, he picked up chairs and started throwing them around, although he didn’t throw them at me. He was so full of rage I went into the bedroom, locked the door, and demanded he sleep in the next room. The following morning, I was anxious to confront him and sort out what had happened. I thought he would apologize for his behavior but in fact, he stood by his reactions and proclaimed I shouldn’t have spoken to Jamal, not even a simple hello. What on earth?

  Fair enough if I had sat with him or carried on a conversation, but it had been a simple greeting as we passed each other.

  By then, I knew Tariq and I were going to have serious problems, for I was not a submissive type of woman – as my mother had said.

  I couldn’t continue to live trapped, worried about every little thing that might trigger his madness. I couldn’t even go to the beach to sunbake without his interrogations. I wasn’t allowed to join a unisex gym, it had to be a female gym only. If I went shopping and took a little longer, he would give me the cold shoulder and ask me a thousand questions to satisfy his devious thoughts.

  I finally realized this was the reason why Mom and my family had opposed the union.

  He began to attend his family’s occasions without taking me with him. His disregard and disrespect infuriated me. My family had welcomed him and treated him lovingly and fairly despite their initial opposition, yet he didn’t have the decency to demand the same of his family. He was deliberately invited on his own to weddings, birthday functions, and lunches and he attended them without even considering me. I did not understand how he could accept such behavior after all we had been through.

  I felt entrapped and imprisoned and our intimate life ceased. I couldn’t make new friends, unless I was willing to accept constant interrogations, and I preferred not going out to avoid arguments. I was virtually isolated, interacting only with my immediate family. I was used to constantly meeting all sorts of different people, and it was very hard to limit myself to socializing only with my family.

  After a year of marriage, I was miserable and regretted marrying him. How was I to face my family if I decided to leave him, after their opposition and the battle I had been through to be with Tariq? How could I put my mother through the embarrassment she would be exposed to from those who had condemned her?

  Well, the woman in the white robe helped all that.

  Chapter 17

  The woman in the white robe

  USA 1993

  My friend Bella from college rang me one day to warn me of rumors about Tariq having an affair with a woman I knew. She claimed a friend of hers had spotted Tariq and his mistress having lunch and saw them hug each other in an intimate manner. I was angry at the news, especially knowing my family had been right.

  When Tariq got home, I confronted him about the rumors and of course, he denied all accusations, in fact felt insulted at being accused. He demanded I give him the name of the person who had informed me. I would not tell him. I wasn’t prepared to create more unnecessary arguments and conflict. I had a feeling he was being devious, because his reaction wasn’t convincing.

  One Saturday evening, I decided to stay at Mother’s house, about a forty-five-minute drive from my house. I told Tariq Mom wasn’t well and I needed to look after her. He was fine with that; as long as I was with my family he didn’t mind what I did. He told me he planned to have his cousin over that night to play backgammon.

  At around 6 pm, Mom and I were having dinner at her place. I felt ill and couldn’t eat or relax. Something was pushing me to go home. After dinner, I asked Mom if she would like to go for a drive to my place. She was curious and perplexed as to why I wanted to drive to my house when I was sleeping over at her place. I just said I felt like a drive and needed to get something from home, and then told her not to ask me questions. Mom is an extremely intelligent woman; they say it’s always the quiet ones that are the smart ones.

  She sensed my intention and agreed to go with me.

  We arrived a block away from the street I lived in, and I did a few laps around the side streets to find a convenient spot to park my car from where I could see our balcony. The moment I parked, I saw a woman come out on my balcony. She was wearing a white robe and she stood there for less than ten seconds before walking back inside. I was lucky I had parked, otherwise I could have missed seeing her.

  The universe works in mysterious ways.

  “Who is that woman?” Mom asked.

  “Oh, that’s his cousin’s wife, Mom.” I only said that to calm her down, so she would not distract me from my mission. I told Mom I wouldn’t be long and asked her to wait in the car.

  I went into the store next door to our building where they had a public phone. No cell phones, remember? I rang my home number.

  “Hello?” Tariq answered calmly.

  “Hi honey, it’s me, I’m just calling to let you know Mom’s okay and to see what you’re up to. I’m using the phone across from Mom’s house. Mom’s asleep and I don’t want to wake her. So what are you up to tonight?”

  “Oh, nothing much, I’ve just got my cousin over,” he replied vaguely.

  “Nice! Say hi to him for me. Is there anyone else over or just your cousin?” I needed to make sure the woman was not Sam’s girlfriend before I accused Tariq of adultery.

  “No, just Sam my cousin.”

  “Okay! Well say hi to him and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you. Now tell me you love me.” I forced him to say he loved me knowing there was some other woman in my house. He couldn’t even say it aloud. He whispered it and pretended he was embarrassed by the romantic talk in front of Sam. I knew why he wouldn’t say it. I hung up the phone and went straight upstairs. Of course, I had the keys.

  I stood in front of our unit door for several minutes, trying to build up my courage to walk in. I did the sign of the cross and asked Jesus to give me strength and boy, did I get that strength. I turned the key and slammed the door open with so much force it smashed into the wall and broke the gyprock. There he was, in his bathrobe sitting on the lounge, his face as white as the robe. He was speechless. I looked up on the wall to see our pictures had all been taken down. He stood up and charged toward me
to stop me from going into the bedroom, but I pushed him back down onto the couch.

  “I see the photos are down! Why are you hiding them?” I asked cynically.

  “Zara, wait, wait!” He was still trying to stop me from entering the bedroom, but not even Hercules would have been able to hold me back. I had an energy I had never felt before, in fact, I scared myself with this almost supernatural power.

  I entered my room and there she was, sleeping, at least pretending to sleep and wearing my damn white bathrobe. I turned around and punched Tariq in the face to get him away from me and then I grabbed her by the hair and threw her off my bed. She slammed into the sliding door and rolled back, still pretending she was asleep! She couldn’t face me! I couldn’t believe her gall.

  “Bravo! Bravo! You coward little bitch!” I yelled at her and as I turned around, Tariq’s face, full of shame, was conveniently in front of me so I punched him in the face again.

  Out of spite, I broke many things in my house just to piss him off and leave him with a lot of damage to clean up. It was nothing to the damage he had caused me, much of which was yet to be revealed.

  I rushed out of the unit and ran down the stairs. He ran down after me, choking on every word he tried to say.

  I turned around and lashed out at him. “So it is true! You’re having an affair with this thing, and you, poor thing, were insulted by the rumors!” I let fly with all the things he had accused me of, having the photo frame down, the wet robe, my saying a simple hello to Jamal, and then told him, “You are a disgrace and an embarrassment to me and my family. After everything I went through for you, against my family’s wishes, and this is how you treat me! They were so right about you. You’re nothing but a scum bag, and more. You know what? You deserve her, you’re both trash, you and I would never have worked. Trash needs trash, so go back in there, you sickening gormless fool, and don’t you ever contact me again. Lawyer up, scumbag, our fucked-up marriage is over!”

  His response was unbelievable. “Who is here with you? I want to know who drove you here, I want to see.”

  I charged back up the stairs toward him and this time, I punched him and followed it by an elbow hook that sent him to the floor with a gushing bleeding nose, before charging back down the stairs.

  He so deserved that.

  I got into the car, nervous and shaking. Mom looked so worried. She had been watching the house from the street and wondered who was moving around the house and in and out of the rooms. She could see figures moving around, but not clearly enough to make out who it was. I didn’t tell her it was me up there throwing tantrums and breaking things.

  I drove off as fast as I could, only to collapse behind the wheel a mile or so down the road. I was lucky not to have an accident. Mom took over the driving while I tried to recover from a panic attack. I was shaking, my heart was beating rapidly, it was a struggle simply to breathe. I stuck my head out of the window to breathe in fresh air and control my breathing. But even with everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but feel immense relief. The entrapment was over and now I had a legitimate reason to move on and be free again.

  I stayed at my mother’s house that night, barely sleeping and thinking about his paranoid behavior. It had all been his own guilty conscience, which he had projected onto me. At the age of twenty, I had been subjected to adultery by a husband who I had fought and tortured my family for. Oh God help me!

  Soon after, I discovered he did have three children, not two, and it was confirmed his ex-wife was still living with his mother. It then made sense why they hadn’t accepted me and he’d attended functions without me. In just under two years, I had put my mother through hell and lost the love of my life, Jamal. I was a twenty-one-year-old divorcee and had experienced all that torment, for what? To be humiliated and betrayed?

  I moved back with Mom and for weeks after, Tariq rang the house, sent flowers, sent friends to help us reconcile, but I refused every attempt and made sure he never had the privilege of getting a glimpse of me or speaking with me again. He had utterly betrayed me and there was no forgiving that.

  I slowly regained my confidence and strength. One morning, the phone rang. There was no phone battle with Mom anymore because she knew Tariq was no longer a threat. I answered the phone.

  “Hello Zara, it’s Jamal. Are you okay? I heard what happened.”

  I immediately began to cry and fell to the floor out of humiliation and despair. How could I look at him after what had happened? How could I possibly fix the damage I had caused the two of us? I wondered if I would ever be forgiven or treated with respect again. I was now a divorced woman, defeated and shamed. All these thoughts raced through my mind while he was on the phone.

  “Zara, it’s me, it’s okay, I’m here for you. I don’t care what happened, I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Jamal, I’m sorry this happened, neither of us needed this, I’m sorry, may I please call you back?” I asked humbly.

  “Of course, I’m here if you need to talk, okay? I’m here, Zara.” Jamal kept repeating the words, “I’m here for you.”

  The problem was, I couldn’t be there for him after what I had just experienced. My heart was shattered, and I couldn’t find a way to put it back together. Something inside me turned me back to the way I had been in my teenage years, and I reverted to having an unpleasant outlook on life. I could not trust. I had spent my childhood and many of my teenage years growing up in an ugly world and the familiar feelings were like a kind of protection around me.

  I couldn’t call him back, so I didn’t.

  Chapter 18

  Back to Lebanon

  Lebanon 1993

  By 1993, the war was over in Lebanon and except for sporadic incidents, I really didn’t care and didn’t put too much thought into the safety of my travel plans. I decided to return for a little while. I thought a change might help me forget my pain and restore my once-bubbly personality.

  I booked my flight and flew to Lebanon on my own. Mom wanted me away from Tariq as far as possible and knew relatives residing in Lebanon who would look after me if I needed help.

  This time, I was traveling as an independent adult and easily integrated into the society and culture. People were curious, however, as to how a young lady of my age was able to travel all alone and dare to live in Lebanon with the current volatile political situation.

  I bought a little car and learnt to drive amid the chaos and lenient road rules. Driving in the city was truly hilarious. No one took any notice of traffic lights. Drivers took off the moment they had a chance, mainly just pushing in forcefully. Everyone drove that way and so they were used to looking out for the unexpected. Driving on the highway was worse. No one used the lanes properly, so in one direction six or seven cars would be weaving around one another, while a car traveling in the opposite direction would drive up onto the footpath to avoid the congestion. I truly do not know how everyone survived on the roads and why there were so few accidents.

  A funny sight I witnessed was in an old village in the mountains. It was clear that in some way, they wanted to catch up with the times and get modernized. In the middle of the main road of the village, they had placed a large oil barrel filled with sand with a traffic light plonked on top of it. An electrical cord was taped to the road and it led into someone’s property to be connected to an electricity source. I thought it was hilarious.

  Close to the area where I was staying, there were regular army checkpoints, mainly for the safety of citizens to control any violence that might occur. A few of the soldiers became familiar faces to me because some days, I had to pass the checkpoint several times, as it was the only way I could get into and out of the area. The first time I passed it, they requested my ID and asked a few innocuous questions. When they realized I was American, they welcomed me and constantly cautioned me to look out and stay safe when I drove around the city.

  A few weeks passed and as I approached the same checkpoint one day, a diffe
rent soldier stepped out when he saw my car approaching. He asked for my ID, looking at me with a stern and unfriendly expression, put my passport in his pocket, and ordered me to move my car to the side of the street and escort him to the office. I parked my car and did as he asked.

  “What’s going on? Who needs to see me?” I asked.

  “Nothing to worry about, Miss, the lieutenant asked me to bring you in. He needs to ask you a few questions. I wouldn’t worry, Miss, it’s just routine,” he tried to reassure me. The change in his behavior toward me is characteristic of officialdom in Lebanon; initially stern, but once you converse with them, they become more sociable.

  “Routine? I’ve been passing here the past few weeks, so how is this routine? This has never happened before!” I said in a panic.

  He ignored me and opened the lieutenant’s office door for me.

  “Sir, this is Miss Zara,” he said as he saluted his lieutenant and then walked back out.

  “Miss…is it Miss or Mrs?” he asked politely.

  “I don’t care what you call me, why am I here, Sir?” I asked anxiously.

  “Please, have a seat, would you like some water, Miss?” He had an unthreatening demeanor, considering I’d been asked in for questioning, and I didn’t feel scared. Weird.

  “No, I’m fine, Sir, can you just please get to the point? Why am I here?” I asked bluntly.

  “Okay, you are a feisty one, aren’t you. I’ll get straight to the point. Who are you here with in Lebanon?” he asked.

  “No one, I came alone, I only arrived a few weeks ago from America,” I replied.

  “Do you have family here? Or are they all in America?”