Free The Other Half of My Soul by Bahia Abrams Page A

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