Chap 2
The Meeting
The place to meet was a half-destroyed bungalow of Saddam Hussein, now deserted and desolate. Only a few bulb-lights were working, put on a few months ago when the US forces laid siege on the bungalow and made it their temporary accommodation. Now-a-days it was rarely used.
As Chris sat on the old sandal-wood sofa and admiring the huge hall and tall walls with a half-lit chandelier on the ceiling, he could hear the footsteps of a person from outside. Always ready to combat, he readied his gun only to be graced by a fully covered Iraqi girl, with an old CD-Player in hand and eyes being the only part visible.
As the lady greeted Chris with a nod and a Salaam, with a gaze that lasted only a second, as a shy girl would. As she began getting ready to dance, Chris could already experience a chill with the micro-second gaze of the desert girl. An unusual sensation went up his spine, as if to signal the meeting of the ‘perfect one’. But as with everything else, he was slow to get things to him.
As she uncovered herself, Chris was able to see one-by-one the beauty that was to unfold before his own eyes. First the headscarf coming off showed-off her silky dark brown hair fly freely against the desert wind that blew throughout the hall, then her hijab, exposing fully well her well rounded breasts – giving the impression that they were about to fall off, her wobbly belly – which had become supple and flexible due to years of practice, her thunder thighs in a long soaring knee cut up to her waist.
Here was Farah, a 28-year old girl, 5 ft. 7 in., well-built, not so thin, with years of practice of belly dancing and a steely determination which is the hallmark of every war-ravaged people.
More than her physicality, it was her shy and introverted eyes which rarely made contact with Chris that made the cut for Chris. As he continued getting enveloped in her brilliance – physical and soulful – he couldn’t help but falling in love with her every moment since she stepped in the hall.
She played the CD player and began dancing the sensuous number of belly dance, Chris was already in a trance and was transported to an altogether different world. All his mental agony regarding the war, his worries and tension being washed in the majestic radiance of her dance. He could sense a connect with Farah even before he had spoken to her.
When the dance finished and she began to move towards Chris to collect money, a certain kind of energy surged through him. He hadn’t seen or experienced anything like this before.
Farah demanded, “Five Hundred Dinars Sir”
Chris wanted to know more of her before the exchange of money could take place.
He said, “Please come Ma’am, sit next to me. Be comfortable. Don’t be afraid. I’ll surely pay you.”
“No Sir, give me the money, I shall leave”
“Surely, but not before you answer a few questions. Please sit down”
This assertiveness worked and she complied. She sat at a one feet distance from him, her gaze still down out of shyness or fear, adjusting her slit leg costume to cover her half-naked body at the bottom and her small top to cover her already bared breasts, she made herself a little more comfortable.
Chris asked her, “Please make yourself comfortable. Do you want some water?”
“No Sir. Tell me what you want to ask?”
“Okay, tell me first, what’s your name?”
“Farah, Sir”
“Farah, your dance was terrific. I loved it. And wanted more of it.”
“Thank You Sir”, she said, with her gaze still down at the carpet.
“Tell me something about yourself, have you always been into belly dancing?”
“Yes Sir, I’ve been practicing belly dancing since I was eight years old. My elder sister got me into his after seeing how well I copied her moves to perfection.”
“Okay, so your sister also does belly dancing?”
“Yes Sir, she used to. But she is no more. She was killed by the extremist militants two years ago claiming she was doing a thing forbidden by God – half-naked dancing in front of men.”
“Oh I’m so sorry. So what made you stick to belly dancing despite all this?”
“This is the only thing I know Sir. I’m very bad at cooking or any domestic work”
Chris blurted out with a sudden laughter, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Though Chris thought at the first glance that she was the perfect one for her, he was skeptical of a desert woman would be open to spend her life with a white guy seven seas away, from an alien culture and religion.
To get the best of the situation of relieving his sexual tension, he spoke after a minute of silence,
”Do you just dance or do you also do something else for your clients?”
She sensed what he was up to.
“Sir, though I’m a belly dancer, I’m a Muslim girl with Arab blood running in my veins. I still am a virgin despite belly dancing in front of scores of men for the past twenty years. I have spurned the requests of many a people – domestic, foreign, common men and even royalty. This is the only thing I have with me – chastity.”
“Oh yes Khalid told me so. But what if I paid you one thousand five hundred dinars, will you consent?”
Slowly and firmly she said,”No Sir”.
He handed over the money to her and some more as a tip and as she got up and was about to leave. Suddenly, animality took the better of Chris and he grabbed her from behind.
She was too scared to move or do anything. Holding her right waist with her right hand, he slowly took his left hand upwards from her belly on to her breasts from inside the small top she was wearing; with the clear intent of having her give in to his demands. He could feel the pounding of her heart and the fear she was in.
Gathering her courage she spoke in a confident tone, “Sir, I have seen goodness and a spark in your eyes. Please don’t lose that by going ahead”.
Chris was taken aback with just that simple statement. In those moments, he knew he had done terribly wrong, beyond rectification and forgiveness. He could no longer stand up to himself. He felt guilty.
As he left her lose, this time with his gaze down out of guilt, she quickly covered herself back in her hijab, wore her head scarf, her footwear and unplugged the CD-player.
Chris thought not only had he lost his chance, but also lost the respect he had in his own eyes.
As providence would have it, as she walked towards the door for exit, Farah turned around gazing into his eyes, and said, “Let us surely meet another time. You can take my number from Khalid”. And she hurried away.
Chris couldn’t believe his ears, her invitation to meet had done more healing to his guilt-laden heart than any amount of self-talk or positive thinking. He was supercharged now, for the next meeting.
Chap 3
The Great Argument
Very few places in Iraq were as quiet and serene as the banks of River Euphrates adjoining Fallujah. Both met the other day at the designated time in civilian clothes – Chris in jeans and half-sleeve shirt and Farah fully covered in a hijab but wearing a traditional salwar-kameez inside.
As they met, they couldn’t contain their excitement at being with one another. Hearts were pounding heavily on both sides – not only out of anxiety if this was the right match but also due to fear of someone else watching over them in an orthodox war-torn country. Before their eyes could meet each other, there were lot of giggles and side-gazes.
When they settled down after the usual pleasantries, they got to the main point:
Chris said with still a guilt-laden disposition, “Farah, firstly I would like to apologize for my behavior the other day with you. I’m so sorry for that”.
Farah replied with a smile, “It’s okay, Sir, many people presume belly dancers as prostitutes. It’s not just you.”
“But I’m sorry for whatever I did. And I mean it”
“Okay Sir, got it, I could sense in your eyes”
“ Are you a psychic Farah, you simply sense everything”, asked Chris amusingly
&nbs
p; ”Not psychic Sir, just a good judge of people“
“For heaven’s sake, stop calling me Sir. I’m Chris”
Farah said jokingly, “Ok Chris, that’s what I’ll call you”
“Oh, so what did you judge about me when you first saw me?”
“To be frank with you , I saw a soul which was troubled by circumstances and wanted an escape from the realities of life, even for a few seconds”
“You’re bang on” remarked a rather amused Chris
“I also sensed that you’re not one of those men who would force themselves on others – mentally, emotionally or physically”
Chris being a bit discomforted by the last word, kept quiet.
Farah continued, “Further, I could sense a confused mind urgently looking for a solution”
“Oh that’s so true”
Chris waited for a moment and then continued
“So Farah, what made you want to meet me again after the incident I had with you the other day”
With a deep breath Farah replied, “I could sense a potential life-partner in you”
Chris was taken aback with such a frank and candid confession from a woman raised in a desert peninsula. He sensed her interest in him the moment she asked him to meet again, but wasn’t sure the reason for it. Was it another transactional relationship of a dancer-customer for more money to be earned by her, did she want to take a step further and get physical with Chris or something more than that. But now he was immensely relieved and contented that she too had a thing for him just as he had for her.
“Oh that’s so great of you. Even I had a liking for you the moment I saw you”, revealed Chris
Farah blushed but couldn’t say another further
Chris continued, “So tell me what now? Where do you want to take this relationship? Should we court each other and then marry or just go ahead and get married?”
After a deep contemplation lasting a few seconds Farah said,”Though we like each other and want to get together, it’s not going to be easy.”
Chris retorted, “What’s not going to be easy? Please explain”
Farah started to explain, “See, first thing I’m an Arab Muslim girl, we are not supposed to meet a person of opposite sex before our marriage. Secondly, if anyone finds out that I’m with you they would certainly kill me, it’s called honour killing”
“What? What’s so honorable in killing? Why?”, angrily cried Chris
“Well the culture is so”
“This is culture?”
“Yes. Things for a girl can be pretty tough in Arabia”
“So what is the solution?”, asked Chris in desparation
“The only solution is for you to get converted to Islam. Only then will the society will accept us”, explained an ever composed Farah
“Jesus! Islam? Why?”
“Because a Muslim girl cannot marry a non-Muslim”
“What if we don’t marry the traditional way what if we just start living with each other and then register our marriage with the authorities”
“Live-in is a certain invitation to suicide in Iraq; even the government authorities want a certificate from the Ulemas or the clerics to register a marriage”
“Then let’s just fly off to the US. My term will be getting over in 6 months, and we shall fly back to the US. There we shall be free to live the way we want to”
“Six months is too long a time, I’m 28, already late for a woman my age to get married. My family will not let me be alone for long. They’ll surely marry me off to any guy they find right”
“So what is the solution”
“You have to convert to Islam. Period. That’s the only solution”
“If you can’t leave Islam to get married to me why shall I leave my Christian faith? It makes no sense”
“I can’t leave my faith. Apostasy is a sin in Islam; punishable by death”
“What? Whatever you do here you’re greeted with death. What kind of a culture is this?”
“Chris, we are not supposed to question tradition, just follow it to the tee if you want a frictionless life. Or a life if at all”
“See Farah, I’m thousands of miles away from my home. In an alien land. With a different culture. Fighting a war. My family will surely be hurt if I reject the faith I put in my Almighty God. I’m a pious Christian. I can never turn my back on Jesus Christ. Just as you wouldn’t on Allah. We have to find a middle ground. Or else it won’t work”
After a brief moments, Chris continued,
“Can I talk to your family. Maybe we can talk them out of this situation. Maybe they can understand. What do you say?”
“Forget it Chris. I don’t have parents. They were caught in the crossfire between Saddam Hussein’s forces and the freedom fighters in 1998, when I was but just a girl of 10 years old with a 3 year old sister. We was raised by my paternal uncle and aunt, who are also no more, as they succumbed to the injuries while on pilgrimage due bomb blast at Karbala by Sunni militants wanting to destroy Shia shrines. Who I call family are my cousins, consisting of three brothers – all sympathetic to the Islamic militants and a sister, who never wishes good for me”
“So how can you call them your family?”
“Because they took care of me when there was no one in this world for me”
“So what’s the way out?”
“Convert to Islam”, was the only explanation by Farah
“No way”
“Then it’s not going to work out”
Both of them sat for a few minutes in utter silence, with their brains doing all the work. But they couldn’t seem to get anywhere.
“So Farah what is the way out?”
“There is no way out. We just have to practical, headstrong and get over this. Not everything we want in life do we get. This is also a phase, we’ll surely get over it sooner than later. We just have to go about our lives. That’s what will set us free from this mental and physical agony”
“If that is the only way out so be it”
They hugged each other very tightly with tears flowing down their eyes of sorrow of never having to meet one another again.
She left swiftly; with Chris at the banks of the river still thinking and trying to figure out what had happened. After a few hours, he too left for his military camp.