The polished, dark-brown handrail slithered in Mahsood’s grip. Once again he retreated from the landing and into the second floor’s corridor. Wiping his moist palms on the delicate silk of his wedding kurta, he leaned back on the wall next to an oil painting of a sprawling tree.
The recollection of Jane’s exit onto the staircase obscured his mind. Like flies in milk, lascivious looks sullied the alabaster skin of an angel, the delicate curve of the neck, naked shoulders, and a hollow between the breasts.
Mahsood swallowed. If not for the shame, he would have ogled her along with the other men. Jane didn’t notice the stares, or maybe she enjoyed the attention.
Dull throbbing ravaged his chest. He took a deep breath and approached the stairs. His soft khussa shoes brushed against the hardwood as he descended without a sound. Yet, all eyes turned to him.
His head down, Mahsood walked forward. The parquet underneath his feet formed bizarre, sinuous patterns—a naked dancer, a serpent, a mutilated face.
He stopped at the wedding sofa, where he and Jane had been entertaining guests just minutes ago. Now, the high-back settee along with the barrier of the bridal table offered a safe haven. Mahsood slumped down on the plush snow-colored pillow and hid his face in his hands.
Why did she do this to him? What fault did he commit? An ulama once said that every female carried inside her an unpredictable and hazardous bomb that would explode upon contact with freedom, forcing men to crash on the rocks of lust. Like a sila, such a woman beckoned, taking one’s sanity in exchange for minutes of bliss.
Mother said that he wouldn’t be happy. Father hated Western women. Awad suffered deeply in his marriage. Would he fall into his cousin-brother’s footsteps, like he always had—back home, leaving deep prints in the rich mud of rice paddies, and now here, treading on concrete, unfriendly pavements of a foreign land?
A tap on his shoulder. Mahsood pulled his gaze away from the thick, intricate rug, which covered a good portion of the spacious main hall.
Standing in front of him, Gafar tayaa’s round figure occluded the rest of the room. “What happened, bhanja? Where’s Jane?” The old man said, a wrinkle settling on his forehead.
Mahsood clenched his teeth. “She’s changing clothes.”
“And for how long she will be changing?”
“Until she puts on the right ones.”
A sigh escaped Gafar tayaa’s mouth. “Only hours into the wedding, and I see you hit middle stump already. Wake up. Even girls from our family aren’t wearing dupattas and salwar kameezes anymore. ”
True. A few of Mahsood’s female relatives appeared at the party in western clothes and with loose hair. But what did he care about them? They weren’t his wife.
Gafar tayaa glimpsed at the antique clock above them. “If you pressurise her, she will divorce you before you get to do the registration.”
“I didn’t give a reason for divorce,” Mahsood said.
“Ah, bhanja, things aren’t done like this here. All wrong.” Gafar tayaa shook his head. “Nikah is no good in this country. You need to register marriage with an official. And even if you register, your good wife could divorce for any reason or no reason because her dress didn’t suit you or your personality didn’t suit her.”
Mahsood opened his mouth, but no sound came out. How was that possible? How could he have no rights? A completed nikah meant that the beautiful houri was his. But now Gafar tayaa was telling him something absurd. “What should I do? If she comes out in this nightgown, I swear I will burn in the eternal flames of Jahannam. Each look cast upon her by other men is like elaborate torture to my heart.”
Gafar tayaa patted him on the shoulder. “My dear, it’s not so bad. But, you can’t take it with force. A trick is needed here. Give in a little, and in gratitude, she will do everything as you want.”
“Give in?” Mahsood furrowed his brow. “But how?”
“Tell her that she doesn’t have to wear dupatta. Believe me, bhanja, you aren’t losing anything. Dupatta every day—it’s too different from what she knows.”
Mahsood closed his eyes. Houri’s beautiful hair would flutter in the wind for anyone passing to admire its bewitching gold. In the streets of Lahore, whistles and slurs would chase her if not stones. A sharp pang of pain stabbed him. “I agree.” He jumped to his feet.
Gafar tayaa raised his hand. “Better I go. If you don’t hold back, you will drone all our efforts. You still need time to hone the skills of diplomacy.” He winked, grinning as if he had told the funniest joke.
***
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“Jane, can we converse?”
The voice didn’t belong to Mahsood. More like Uncle Gafar’s. He no longer addressed her as “Miss.” Their newfound familial bond must’ve warranted some familiarity. The old fox, no doubt, came to cajole her. Jane stood up from the bed and peeked out into the hallway.
Uncle Gafar fidgeted in front of an oversized flower pot containing a fake cypress. His gaze shifted from the eternal evergreen onto Jane’s lily-white gown, which blossomed from underneath Mahsood’s crimson overcoat. “I heard what happened.” A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck, and he dabbed it with his checkered handkerchief. “I deeply apologize for my nephew, but please understand that Mahsood hasn’t adapted to local style of clothing and comes from what he’s used to.”
Jane raised her eyebrows. The Islamic traditional ceremony was nice, but the uncle must’ve known that the immigration service recognized only marriage certificates officiated by a judge, and at this point, they didn’t have one and wouldn’t get it if she decided to stay in this bedroom for another fifteen minutes.
“When he settles down, Mahsood would learn that everything’s different here. Have little patience, Jane. He does it because you’re his wife, because he wants take care of you.”
Silence.
The uncle hesitated. “And you don’t have to wear dupatta if you don’t want. Mahsood knows that it’s a bit extreme for you.”
Jane rolled her eyes. Uncle Gafar retained an uncanny ability to bargain even in a dire situation. “Two minutes.” She slammed the door in his face, nearly striking the nose of the blabbering peacemaker.
Mahsood’s coat fell on the floor. The light fabric of the dress slid down her thighs, giving way to heavy carmine velvet. Golden bracelets locked shut around thin wrists, and long wide sleeves and a high collar concealed Jane’s arms and chest.
Only the dupatta lay on the bed. Jane’s uncovered head buzzed with lightness, while the rest of her body slumped under the weight of the outfit. The oval mirror over the dresser reflected back a princess without a crown. Jane sighed and reached for the headcover.
When the veil hid her face, the world plunged into shades of scarlet. She grabbed Mahsood’s jacket and stumbled out of the room and down the stairs.
Would they make it? How long would Judge Jefferson wait?
Aunt Ilma caught up with her on the first floor. She plucked Jane’s train, which swept past the intricate lace of the staircase’s cast iron railing. “He’s in car. Run.” The old lady’s holler rang behind her.
Why was Uncle’s great hall so huge? Why was this garment so tight?
A man in a blue turban held the front door open for her as she barreled out onto the porch. The limo was waiting, with Mahsood in the back seat.
Jane scrambled inside and dragged in her tail, fixing it with her hands. “Let’s go.” She breathed out.
A smile flowered on Mahsood’s face. “These clothes really suit you, angel.” His stare glided down her body.
A wave of heat flushed through Jane. She grunted and shoved him his outerwear.
“I hope you wouldn’t need it anymore.”
What an arrogant, infuriating tone. Maybe she had surrendered too easily. “Angel? This is something new.”
“Isn't that what you call the bright maidens who give bliss to the righteous?”
Jane gaped. “Bliss?” Is that what he called sex? She let out a giggle.
Mahsood pouted. “You aren't an angel. You’re a demon.”
“You know demons can also...umm...give bliss.”
He jerked at her words, his cheeks turning rubescent.
Laughter filled her chest, and Jane hiccuped, pressing together her shaking lips. Despite his bold looks that flustered her, he possessed endearing innocence.
They pulled into a small but well-maintained parking lot of a one-story cream-colored banquet hall. The driver stopped at the entrance and let Mahsood out.
Jane scrambled after him. Certainly, they were the last ones to arrive. She straightened her skirts and took a deep breath. This marriage was about to become real and sanctioned by the almighty government.
The few guests that Mom invited spread throughout the building. A single long table occupied most of the space. Simple lavender tablecloths and a few glass jars with pink-beige dahlias completed the decorations.
Would Mahsood mind such an uncomplicated set-up? She examined his face—chin up, mouth in a straight line, focus gliding from one invitee to another. He didn’t appear displeased, only serious and concentrated.
In an alcove to the side, Judge Jefferson fumbled with papers in a leather folder. His dark robes reached the floor. “Let’s hurry, ladies and gentlemen. I have another ceremony at eight.” He raised his head and squinted as his gaze reached Mahsood’s turban. “Friends and family, gather around, please. The bride and groom come forward.”
Here goes nothing. Jane approached the Judge, Mahsood by her side. Another glance up at him—unperturbed as if he was attending an uneventful dinner party and not his own wedding. Well, at least he didn’t seem like he was about to run.
After flying through the introductory part, the Judge paused and looked at Mahsood. “Do you, Mahsood Khan, take Jane Stepanoff as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until parted by death?”
Jane held her breath. He wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to say ‘no,’ would he?
“Yes.” The word sounded loud and clear.
The Judge nodded and turned to Jane, posing the same question.
Oh Gosh. This was happening. Her dream of the past five years materialized. She met Mahsood’s stern regard. “Yes.”
“And now the rings.”
Uncle Gafar shuffled toward them with a couple of jewelry boxes, and Mahsood took a golden band from one. He brought it to the tip of her finger and hesitated. As Jane remained motionless, Mahsood began to slide up the marriage token like he was conducting the most delicate operation.
His bronzed skin flared against her pasty complexion. She had never come so close to him—the slightest movement would make them touch. The gleaming disk reached her knuckle and halted. He pushed harder, upsetting their fragile balance, and his hand brushed over hers for a split second.
Goosebumps raced up Jane’s arms, and a fluttery sensation rose up in her stomach. She encountered a startled pair of black onyxes. Guess, she wasn’t the only one unsettled by their contact.
A cough to her side. “Jane, your turn.” Uncle Gafar was offering her a wedding band similar to her own except wider and weightier.
Mahsood’s fingers were not too long but well-proportioned and much larger than hers. She snugged the piece of jewelry into its place, grazing Mahsood lightly with her thumb.
He jolted and glared at her.
Same piercing stare as during their first meeting at the airport. He didn’t like her touching him? Or was it something else? So hard to read.
“I now declare you husband and wife. Congratulations.” The Judge’s pronouncement resonated throughout the place, followed by measured applause.
Well, she wasn’t expecting an avalanche, but they could’ve clapped with some enthusiasm. Who was she kidding? Aside from Rachel, Uncle Gafar, and Mom, the attendees either wondered at her decision to marry Mahsood or disapproved of it. Thankfully, most were too polite to say anything negative.
“The dinner should be served shortly. Please enjoy,” Mom said as the small crowd dispersed, and waiters entered carrying trays full of platters.
Jane followed Mahsood to their seats and, after settling in, received a plate of chicken with mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus along with a side salad. A server poured her a glass of champagne. Not a glamorous feast like the one at the Khan’s, but at least she knew what she was eating.
A subtle chatter ensued as everyone got their food and was partaking of it. To her right, Mahsood was picking through his greens with a fork. He hadn’t tasted the meat and had only water for his beverage.
Maybe their meal was too unsophisticated for him. Even she had to admit that the poultry entrée was overcooked. “You don't like this dish?” Jane said.
He put his utensils down. “I eat only halal.”
“You eat what?” As far as she could tell, this morning he ate everything.
“Only food prepared according to Sharia law.”
Jane blinked. This marriage gained complexity every hour. “And what does this law say?”
“One can not eat food with chemical additives and preservatives, genetically modified products. No pork or alcohol...”
Well, that covered most of what could be found in her apartment.
“The meat must be from animals killed by Muslims in the name of Allah. The slaughtering should be done by cutting the throat with a sharp knife and the blood drained immediately.”
A gastronomical disaster impeded—in no time she would be a young widow whose husband died of hunger in the land of plenty. Surely, no one butchered anything in the name of Allah for miles around them. “And you can’t eat ordinary stuff? What if there’s no other?”
“Only if it’s necessary to survive, but don’t worry.” A mischievous smirk flickered on his lips. “Gafar tayaa buys groceries at a special market, and we can go there as well.”
What? No! She wasn’t ready to give up the thick-sliced bacon that frequented her fridge, hamburgers from the diner on the corner, pizza with prosciutto di parma, ketchup, Coke, and Friday evenings with a glass of wine. Did the Judge really just say ‘until parted by death’? Her demise never felt so distant and unattainable. There ought to be sausages in hell.
Watching her face, her husband chuckled. “You’ll get used to it soon enough. Halal is good for your health.”
A sudden wave of warmth engulfed her chest. On weekends, they could drive over to that special store and, walking hand in hand through the aisles, study package labels for the presence of disallowed elements. Their future together didn’t have to be bleak.
She must’ve lost her mind. Mahsood was taking over her world, and she was making concessions again. Yet, his presence at her side made the sun shine brighter, the air easier to breathe, and her existence less gray and ordinary.
Jane grinned at these pleasant and dangerous thoughts. Earlier, she decided to enjoy this day, and though it was coming to an end, she wasn’t ready to wake from the sweet reverie. She didn’t know what lay ahead of her, but she couldn’t stop now nor did she want to. Whatever this marriage held, she would see it through to the end.
The dinner party drew to a close, and after receiving the last portion of well-wishes, Jane and Mahsood headed for the car. They drove back to Khan’s without saying a word.
No strength to speak. The sleepless night was taking its toll. As her mind wandered off, Jane rested her head on the back of the seat.
“Angel, wake up, we’ve arrived.”
She flung her eyes open.
A glance slid over her lips and neck and stopped at her collarbone. “It's too early to sleep.”
She swallowed. Was he hinting at the coming night? Was it here already?
Darkness enveloped Uncle Gafar’s mansion, shattered only by the dimmed lights of the windows and the illumination of the front yard’s landscaping.
Her heart hastened, and heat rushed to her face. Tension tightened her lower abdomen. A few months had passed since she had sex with Chris. Who cared about him now? Life held new possibilities. Jane simpered as she followed Mahsood over the threshold.
“This way.” Aunt Ilma pulled her aside as Mahsood proceeded to the great hall, which was no less crowded than when they had left.
What were all these people still doing here? Wasn’t it past the time to go home and leave the newlyweds to their moments together?
“In Pakistan, it is tradition for bride to expect groom in bedroom while he is receiving instructions from elders,” Aunt Ilma said. “Wait there and don’t take off your dupatta. Mahsood will remove it.”
Jane nodded. Whatever the old men had to say to Mahsood, they better make it quick. She yawned as she headed upstairs.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMkAJDLRUe8
