Part 24 (2/2)
It was clear Nisrine would not escape, today. She must face Madame and this family. But, there was still something she and Adel could do, another way to break the spell of faraway love. She took his hand.
”Come,” and she tugged on him. He had been intent on the door, intent on his strength. There was not much time, Madame might be home any minute.
”Come, Adel!” she said again, and so he let himself be pulled by her; down the hall, through the living room, he left his tools. Two young lovers, they ran like light before me into the children's bedroom, where she turned, winked once, used both hands like birds on the unstable door, there was a sc.r.a.pe of wood, she pulled it shut.
For a moment, I felt bereft. Even though it had been my idea, they had gone and taken the excitement with them. I poured myself another cup of juice and sat in the kitchen, trying not to listen. Outside, light glinted off the buildings where Adel had come from. Who had seen him suspended on a laundry rope like that, a straight line to our bedroom? The neighbors?
But then I glanced where Nisrine and Adel had gone; happiness spilled from their room, where, even though I wasn't listening, after a while I heard one soft giggle, like a perfect word.
AFTER LOVE.
ADEL LEFT THE WAY HE HAD COME.
At the last second, Nisrine grew worried. ”You must help Baba,” she said. ”Promise, he's signed a doc.u.ment. If he's in trouble now, you must help him.”
He promised.
”And you must come for me.” Madame would find out. When he swung over, the antic.i.p.ation of love had kept them buoyant. Now, on the way back, they faced a precarious situation. What would happen to her? Madame would return her; she'd lock her in the closet.
”I'll come for you, Nisrine. I'll come for you tonight, tomorrow at the latest. I'll find you a new house.”
He promised, too, that if he heard Baba was in trouble, he would send a warning.
She squeezed his hand, nodded.
He wanted her to go with him now; he wanted to swing her like a princess across the rope. She refused. It seemed flimsy, dangerous. She would rather he get her at the door; until then, take her chances.
”I'll wait for you. But, Adel”-she looked for the birds-”I won't be locked in again.”
On his way back he kicked out wrong, and there was a sudden sag of the railing. He let out a small cry, felt a sudden pain where his foot hit it, but it was only a moment. He swung hand over hand, with a full, expanded feeling. His head had grown to the size of a mountain, his heart burst in his chest. She was on every part of him: under his fingers, imprinted on the backs of his eyeb.a.l.l.s.
At the station, he had missed his hour for questioning, so he had missed an interview with Imad. Another policeman had done it in his place. He went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, to read over what this policeman had written. As he read, his brow furrowed. There was troubling information.
Nisrine had told him, You must help Baba, and he had promised.
Adel paced back and forth. He was only one man, who had much to do that day-finish his s.h.i.+ft, find a way to help Nisrine, find her a new family, come back for her. At the same time, his legs and arms felt soft as silk.
Police stations are like small towns, news travels quickly through them. The neighbors who might have seen Adel on the rope were not friends with Madame because they were on the side of the president, but they were loyal to the police. Adel's father was an important man, and so when they came to him, he did not waste time.
Adel was still in the bas.e.m.e.nt. He looked up when his father entered.
”Who was your grandfather, Adel?” his father asked him.
”A general, may he rest in peace.”
”Who is your father?”
”A general, may he live a long life.”
”Who do you want to be?”
Adel had been asked this question many times. Before, he had always answered, A general, G.o.d willing, like my father. Now, he stopped to think.
His father didn't wait for an answer. ”You were guarding foreign women.”
”Baba, I'm in love.”
”You rode a rope to see them.”
”Baba, I've changed. Would you accept an Indonesian?”
”In this family, we don't change. When we do, it's for the better, we only change for the better.”
Wasn't love better?
Adel's father hit him once, hard, across the face, the way Adel had hit Baba.
Adel stood up. ”I'm a man. I love, and I'm a man.”
Adel's father hit him again. Adel sat down hard, as if the hit hurt him.
”You know your grandfather was tortured? It was war, and foreign soldiers came to him. They wanted him to foreswear the president; they said, Change your words, change the president and the country you love. He said, I can't. So they hit him, until he was bleeding. From his head, he was bleeding. They said, Change your words. He said, What I speak is who I am. What I speak is right. Who are you, Adel?”
He was the grandson of a general.
”Who are you, Adel?”
He was the son of a general.
”Who will you be, Adel?”
There is a letter in Arabic that stands for silence. It is called the hamza; its shape is a half-moon, or a teardrop, and like a teardrop it asks you to pause a moment, and breathe. It opens up s.p.a.ce.
Fighters will tell you that when they are in the middle of a fight, sometimes a strange thing happens. They cease to notice their pain and instead, they feel their souls open within them; they levitate. Some say it feels like love; others say this is the closest they have come to G.o.d.
Adel's father continued to hit him. Adel tried to stand. His face hurt. His side hurt. But his mind was a hamza, his arms open. His limbs from Nisrine were the softest flower- ”Who are you, Adel?” And his father wanted to hear, A policeman.
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