She was no Beatrix. (part five)

Adeel sent her home one day, on the premise that he would come to pick her up after a few days. He had some business trips to take care of and it would be better for Fouzia and Hina, their 4-month-old daughter, to stay at her parents’ house for a few days. Adeel said he would call from America and let her know when he’d be coming back.

It would have remained an uneventful trip if one of Fouzia’s classmates hadn’t called her late one evening asking bluntly if she trusted her husband. Zubda was an old friend of hers from Kings’ College and had attended their wedding. She had moved to the States very recently and after months of staying out of touch, she had called to ask this question.

There was a part of her that wasn’t surprised at all. But niceties expected her to be a little shocked, at least. “What are you talking about, Zubda!” she exclaimed with little effort, ready to hear what she already knew.

“I have a friend here. She’s from New Zealand. Her name’s Celine and I – oh, Fouzia, I think your husband is living with her here.”

“Celine?”

“Yes, she’s a colleague from work. I’m teaching here at the university and she works in some administration department. I’ve only run into her at random moments. At first, I didn’t believe my eyes. I was about to go say hello, you know. I was about to go say hello to Adeel Bhai and ask how he was doing and I was so excited, I was about to go ask if he’d brought you along. I had no idea – “ she paused, evidently at a loss for words – “I had no idea, Fouzia, I’m so sorry. He was – he kissed her and went into the car with her and I’ve been asking around ever since. It’s true, they said. Celine is having an affair with some Pakistani guy. Tall, slightly duck-footed, from Karachi, brown French beard, a mole on his left cheek. I don’t think Adeel Bhai remembers me. I ran into him at a party here last week but he didn’t recognize me. I didn’t introduce myself, of course. Just rushed away.”

Fouzia responded with ‘mm-hmm’s and ‘Acha’s.

Zubda paused. It was the pregnant pause that people punctuate the conversations with the idea that something much bigger, much more sinister than the previous reports, is about to come through: “They’ve been living together here, Fouzia. For over 3 weeks.”

The divorce was finalized in a hurried mess of incoherent, ugly events. Adeel’s parents never returned from Saudi Arabia. They had no bearing on their son’s life, it seemed. Adeel remained in the United States and told his lawyers to ask Fouzia to give their daughter because he had told everyone he knew that the wife was incapable of handling the house affairs and incapable of taking care of the child. Fouzia’s family told anyone who’d hear that Adeel was a slimy cheating bastard. One night, she received a call from a local landline number.

“I want to see you. Before I send you summons from the court for getting the custody of Hina.”

“I have nothing to say. You cannot have Hina.” Her tone was level and cold but her heart was thumping in her chest with fear. She was always afraid of him. Even though he had already realized every fear that had lurked in her head since she was a child, even though there was nothing more to run from, to forsake, she sensed a certain unspeakable, incomprehensible evil from him. He was a sociopath and she was a victim. But her fear did not end at formation of an explanation. It went on. Every time she faced him in court. Every time she met a duck-footed man. Every time she saw a French beard. Every time she heard the name Adeel.

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot have,” he said simply. His tone was equally level. But the malice behind it was volatile, tempestuous, just like he was. “You will be left with nothing. Just because your friends couldn’t mind their own business and because your family couldn’t keep their mouths shut and you – all you do is sob your heart out to them. What a pathetic, weak, kitten of a woman you are. You know nothing about strength. You couldn’t last in my life. I never should have given you my home, you useless piece of shit.”

She said nothing.

“I’m going to come over there in half an hour. If you’re not there, I will find you. Do you hear me? I will dig you up from your own grave, you selfish bitch. You wait and watch.”

She put the phone down and sat still. The stillness that seemed to be proving a defense mechanism. A forced calm that could help her see. See what? A way out? Out of what? A miserable existence? Not just her own. What about Hina? What is he going to do to Hina? She couldn’t give her to him. To some strange woman whom she would address as ‘Amma’? Why was he doing this? What could he possibly gain from this last attempt to torture her?

Her brother insisted he be present when Adeel came and Fouzia could not convince him of otherwise. Her family only knew parts of Adeel’s violent nature. They knew he was abusive but they did not know anything about that night on the beach. They did not know Fouzia’s secret attempts at contraception. They did not know philandering wasn’t a new feature on Adeel’s to-do list. They did not know just how terribly low that man could go if he wished to.

(end of part five)