Dandelion Wine

“For Love�

The years spent with Aamir were long and flowed into each other like mud. Nadia was only eighteen when they married. Her father knew his father who knew his father. Such is the way in small villages where matches are made in the minds and handshakes of men. He was not an ugly man and that she was grateful for. Many other women did not have such luck.

On their wedding night, Aamir had held her closely, whispering how beautiful she was over and over in her ears. He undressed her, leaving her white veil to the end until she stood naked before him. She closed her eyes as his rough and calloused hands claimed her as his bride under the eyes of Allah. The next morning he inspected the sheets. When he saw the darkened stain of blood, he smiled and left the bed for the shower. Nadia watched him leave and then sank back into the sheets that smelled of sweat and semen and knew that she would never love him.

They lived near the river in a home containing one bedroom and one bathroom. Bright colored shades of red and gold decorated the walls, catching the light from white mosquito netting around the bed. The netting idea had come from a magazine. She liked the idea of moving from one world to another through the parting of the fabric. There was one bookshelf containing a few of the books that she was allowed to bring with her, some from school days; others she horded in secret–a copy of Manto’s short stories, poetry, along with Shakespeare’s sonnets could be found hidden in the back. Two copies of the Qur’an were displayed prominently on the fourth shelf, one was Aamir’s, and the other had been Mahek’s, her mother’s.

“Here you are Nadia,� Mahek had said, giving her the book. “Guard this well with your heart. It contains the wisdom of the world. You are lucky. Not all women can read the words of Allah.�

Nadia thanked her mother and went into her room to read the words. The poetry found her lips, and they moved silently like a prayer throughout the night. She bent over the text, like she had seen others, and her body swayed with an internal rhythm to the words. She continued to read the Qur’an along with other books her mother would give her. Her father and mother were proud to have such a devoted daughter.

After time, however, Nadia forgot how to pray. There wasn’t a specific reason why, she just found herself drifting with her age and time. She and her girlfriends would meet regularly in their homes. Once inside the doors, deposited veils and scarves littered the floor creating a trail that led to giggles and magazines and conversations of men. They often said they would leave for Europe and go to a university. When she became betrothed to Aamir, her friends hugged and congratulated her, but inwardly they wept. She was not the first to be married and to end the dream. Nazim told Nadia Allah had blessed her. But she was sure this was not true. She had not spoken to God for many years. Aamir was a religious man, like her father, so she went to prayer and to mosque. Underneath her veil, however, her lips remained still and silent.

As the years passed, silence filled much of the space in her home. There was still no child. Aamir began to stay away at night, coming home very late. He did not speak to her anymore in words. His hands had never been kind. He blamed her for the disgrace of no children. In the mornings, Nadia stopped dressing in front of a mirror. Her reflection spoke the truth she did not want to see. So she dressed in darkness, like so many other women, covering the marks of her shame. The presence of this truth along with the silence suffocated her, and she spent much of her time by the river.

As a little girl, she used to come to the river with her father. He would tell her all about the fish that swam in the river, how the current changed with seasons, and how Allah spoke to him along the bank.
“Tell me again,� Nadia asked him.
“Oh, Nadia, don’t you tire of such things?� Nazim answered.
“No,� she replied. “It’s my story.�
“Ok. Before you were born, I went to the river to pray,� he began.
“And you sat right here under the tree,� Nadia continued.
“And I sat under the tree,� Nazim agreed. “While I was sitting here I felt a breeze that was different than other breezes. It blew to where I was sitting, stirring up the leaves in the tree.�
“Those leaves?� Nadia pointed to the tree they were now standing under.
“Yes. And in the breeze a name came to me,� here he paused.
“What name?� she whispered.
“Nadia,� he said. “I whispered the name out loud and the wind whispered it back to me.�
“And that’s my name,� Nadia said.
“Yes, that’s the name that came to me on the wind, and I knew you would be a girl, and I would call you Nadia,� said Nazim.
“And I was a gift?� asked Nadia.
“Yes, a gift from Allah,� answered Nazim. “You must always try to follow Allah, my child. He will protect and guide you your whole life.�
“Yes father,� Nadia said and she held his hand, enjoying walking side by side, knowing soon she would walk behind him like her mother.

Nadia stood, much like when she was with her father, and watched the water, listening to the sounds. She only undid the scarf covering her head after making sure no man was around. Her hair tumbled out of the fabric as the wind and sun massaged her face. Stepping out into the water, she lifted up her dress, and the river moved across her ankles. The mountains in the distance always framed her view. She found herself straining to see the tops covered with snow, imagining what lay beyond.

When Nadia returned home, her sister was waiting with news of a car accident.
“Nadia,� her sister said. She was upset and tears were in her eyes. “Aamir is in the hospital.�
“Is it bad?� Nadia asked. She looked away towards the mountains in the distance.
“Yes, he was hit by a truck this morning,� her sister replied. “You must come.�
“Father?� Nadia asked, knowing the answer already.
“He is waiting at home to take you.�
Fear seized Nadia. She finally prayed to Allah. Just one word formed on her lips—please.

Aamir died two days later attached to a breathing machine. She was in his hospital room. She was reminded of her obligation with each sound of his artificial breath. He opened his eyes just once before he died but did not recognize her. She watched him until the machine stopped and waited for the tears that did not come.

After the funeral, Nadia moved back home with her parents. It was modest, her father was a laborer in one of the factories, and her mother still had three daughters living at home. She shared a room with her nine-year-old sister, Safia. Safia was glad to have her sister back at home. Every day Nadia dressed in the traditional muslin without any adornments. Outwardly, she would be required to mourn her husband for the expected four months and ten days. Inwardly, her heart pulsed red and strong with hope.

In the beginning she tried to ignore Kadir, but he was persistent. He worked in the local bakery in the center of town. His eyes would follow her every Tuesday when she was sent for food. Dark as the bottom of the sea, they would catch her late at night in her dreams along with his smile, the shape of his lips, the line of his jaw. Years before she had already resigned herself to a life without love. When it appeared, seven years later, she did not know what to do with it.

Kadir had not always been a baker. As a child he was sent to live with relatives in America. His mother’s brother, Umer, had left years before to pursue his education in law. Umer eventually joined a firm in Connecticut and married an American woman. He told his family that she converted to Islam, and this appeased them. They could not have children of their own, so they had gladly agreed to take Kadir. When Kadir arrived, his aunt showed him through the large white colonial house. He had only seen homes like this one on television. His room was on the second floor. What he noticed was the bed, for it would be his own and then the TV. They were truly rich in American, he thought.

He was the only foreigner at the private school; because of this the other students were sometimes cruel in the beginning. He learned to loose his accent quickly. He became K, instead of Kadir. He didn’t mind the name change. It allowed him to have an alter ego, another identity he could slip in and out of. Under the name K, he was free from his past and upbringing. He could be anyone he wanted, the son of a lawyer made for a good start.

Though Kadir was born into the Muslim faith, in American he moved through a variety of spiritual diets. His aunt and uncle did not practice Islam. Umer did not seem to care too much about religious matters, wanting to distance himself as far as possible from his former life. His aunt’s conversion had been short lived. Over the years she visited Hinduism, Buddhism even Wicca, but nothing seemed to satisfy her spiritual thirst. Kadir didn’t mind. He enjoyed the exploration and became a student of all religions. The smell of incense filled his room quite regularly, and he could often be found reading the Bible, the Qur’an, and the Gita all at the same time.

He also discovered that he had a gift for painting. He had always known that he could see things that others couldn’t and that he could draw. As a young child he would draw pictures of his family on crude yellow paper. In his first art class in high school, however, he painted on canvas for the first time. It came easily to him, and he was quickly moved to private tutoring. This is also where his spiritual quest ended. On the canvas is where he found his church, his mosque. His prayers were the images that flowed from mind to hand to brush.

Soon his home was filled with paintings and color and life and death. The guest bedroom downstairs became his studio. His aunt and uncle were proud of him. When he left for university, they were saddened to see him go, but knew it was the best for him. He left them with a present – a family picture of the three of them with snow-covered mountains in the background. He signed the piece with his given name.

Kadir was in his last year of art school when he received the call. His sister’s voice, sounding so far away, came through the line and told him their father had died. Kadir’s heart stopped and then slowly began again because he knew what her next words would be.
“We need you to come home,� she said.
Kadir took a breath. “How did he die?� he asked, waiting for the delayed response.
“He had a heart attack. It happened while he was pulling the weeds,� she said. “It was terrible.�
Kadir was silent.
“Kadir?� she asked. “Kadir, are you there?�
“Yes,� he said.
“You are the only man in the family now,� she said. “I’m sorry.�
“I will come home,� he said into the receiver.

Kadir had tried at first to find a job where he could continue his art. The town was a small one, however, and did not see the value of a local artist. He would have to go to the city, but this was impossible as long as his mother and sister needed him. Kadir had worked in the bakery for a year before he met Nadia. He was kneading a piece of dough when he looked up and saw her standing by a cart of fruit. She was fully covered, except for her face. He was used to this now and did not try to change what could never be changed, the hearts of men. She froze there for him, like a model, and he began painting her image in his mind. She caught his look and turned away, but she was compelled to turned back again, and he was lost forever inside the green current of her eyes. He continued to watch the spot even after she left, kneading the bread over and over and over.

Later that evening, Kadir took out a fresh canvas. All night long he worked on the painting. He imagined her hair, long and black like a river’s stone. Her mouth was wide and full of laughter. But her eyes is where he spent the most time. He drew them from memory. He had to see her again.

The next week Nadia came to the market again. This time Kadir was ready for her. Trying not to notice him, Nadia walked up to the bread counter and asked for the day’s fresh loaf. Kadir wrapped up her request, taking his time, lingering over the details of her face and hands.

The first time Kadir held her hand, Nadia asked him why.
“Isn’t it obvious?� he replied.
Nadia shook her head.
“For love,� he simply said and bent to kiss her.
She had known a man before, but she had not known love.

They met whenever they could, at the market, in the fields, by the river. They talked mainly about life, each other, Allah. Kadir wanted to know everything about her. What was there to know? She was a simple woman, she would tell him. But Kadir wouldn’t let her dismiss him. What were her dreams? Her passions? He was so different. And he did not practice Islam. He said he believed in God, but his God could not be found in words or religion. He was a Christian, she assumed. She didn’t care. His hands were soft. He had the hands of an artist.

“It is good to see you are done mourning, Nadia,� Mahek said one day.
Nadia knew her mother was referring to the gold bracelet Kadir had given her. She thought she had kept it hidden.
“It is time,� Nadia said.
“Yes, well, your father will be happy to hear this,� Mahek said.
Nadia lowered her head, afraid of the coming words.
“You will be married again soon my daughter,� her mother continued, putting her arms around Nadia. “And there will be children this time. You’ll see. Allah is merciful to those who love him.�

Nadia knew what she and Kadir were doing was wrong and would shame her father and Allah, but she did not care. The scent of bread filled her; she could not go back to the old ways.

Later that evening, the curtains to Kadir’s home were drawn when Nadia knocked on the back door. Kadir answered quickly. He took her hand, leading her through the living room, the kitchen, past where his mother and sister slept and into his room. The house was empty except for the two of them standing, facing one another. He asked her to sit on the chair he prepared for her. She sat down. He removed her scarf, letting her hair fall. He then positioned himself behind the canvas on the easel in front of her. Nadia didn’t know where she should look, so she looked at the ground.

“Why are you doing that?� Kadir asked her.
“Doing what?� she asked.
Kadir got up and positioned her body so she was facing the wall to the side. He then turned her face towards him. He took a handful of her hair and laid it across her shoulder.
“There,� he said. “Beautiful.�
Kadir returned to his position behind the canvas and began to draw. At first Nadia felt shy under such attention. But when Kadir looked at her with such intensity, she surrendered to the moment, forgetting everything but his eyes. They stayed that way for most of the evening and when she saw what Kadir saw when he looked at her, she knew he loved her.

Kadir had a plan. He would go to her father and ask to marry her. She smiled at this because she had already reviewed that scene many times in her mind.
“No,� she shook her head, “Father will not listen.� Kadir did not pray and did not read the Qur’an.
“Then I will win him over,� Kadir said, his fingers playing with a strand of hair escaping her scarf. “I will practice the Adhan. He will see me praying.�
But she was nervous. It had been so difficult keeping this secret. She sensed her mother knew something, and her father was seen meeting with Razak, a widower in his fifties. They stood, facing the river and the mountains. The snow was always there in the distance.
“No. It will not work,� she said. “You do not understand my father.�
“I will wait,� he replied. But Nadia had waited an eternity already.

They married secretly in the city where traditions of old were fading. Nadia did not need a father’s permission. When they returned and approached her father and mother, Nazim saw the defiance in his daughter’s eyes. In Kadir’s, he saw a man without faith. He had lost his daughter. Nazim would not speak to them. He left the sitting room, turning his back on his daughter and her new husband.

Mahek walked Nadia and Kadir to the door. The women embraced. Neither could see the tears that formed behind the two veils, but the women knew they were there. Nadia knew her mother did not understand her decision. They belonged to two different worlds now, separated by more than fabric and age.

Nazim stayed in his room the rest of the day. He did not even leave for midday prayer, something he did only once at the birth of his first daughter.

“It’s a girl,� the midwife pronounced moving past Nazim with bloodied towels.
“You can try again,� his brother said and patted Nazim on the back.

But Nazim knew already that it would be a girl, Allah had told him a week earlier down by the river. Her name came in the wind and rested on his tongue. Then came a second breeze and along with it his responsibility. She would be raised a good Muslim woman and be dedicated to serving Allah. Nazim felt a surge of love for this unborn child, this daughter that would bring him honor and Allah’s favor.

When Nazim held his daughter for the first time he was surprised at how small she was in his hands. She looked at him with large green eyes, the eyes of her father. He vowed to protect her and thanked Allah for such a gift. It had been years ago that Nazim had first heard the voice of Allah.

Nazim had been walking for many days. At first he had moved with great speed, certain of his steps and destination. But after many hours and then days passed, his pace slowed and his shoulders wore his discouragement. How much longer? he wondered. The holy man told him once he reached the base of the mountains it would not be far. Nazim had reached the base the day before.

He had wanted to hear from Allah. This is what he told the imam. The imam knew Nazim had already made his pilgrimage to Mecca, so he thought long about what to tell Nazim.
“You must take another journey,� he finally said to Nazim.
“Where?�
“There,� said the imam, and he pointed to the snow covered mountains in the distance. “There is where you will hear the voice of Allah.�
“But how will I know when I get there?� Nazim asked.
“You will know,� the imam said, and he prayed a prayer of blessing over Nazim.

That was four days ago. Nazim was exhausted and hungry. He had packed food, but was down to the last piece of bread. He did not know how he would make the trip home. His lungs struggled to take in the elevated air, and his legs were heavy under the weight of him.

It was beautiful though. Large trees surrounded him and his footsteps made no sound as he walked on dirt and fallen bark. He discovered a manmade path and thought this had to be the right direction. The path ended at a steep base of rock and to continue Nazim knew he must begin to climb.

The higher he went, the colder the air became, but Nazim did not stop. His fingers became raw and bloodied, and his lips were cracking. Small clumps of snow lodged themselves into the crevices where he tried to place his hands and his feet. He reached the top of one cliff and noticed there was a small ridge, not too small for him to spend the night. He looked and was amazed by what he could see. He could see the whole world from where he stood. He tried hard to see his town, but the distance was too great. He rolled out his blanket and slept.
In the morning he was wakened by the sound of a bird. Looking up, he saw a single black bird perched in a nearby tree. The bird stared at Nazim for a moment before flying away down the side of the mountain. Nazim followed the bird with his gaze and saw that the sun was just starting to rise in the distance. The orange red color was blinding, but he could not look away. The colors moved slowly, spreading like cloth over the land. Nothing was spared from their path. Rivers of water sparkled in the distance. And then the colors began traveling up the mountain, eventually moving over him. He felt their warmth.

The bird returned to the tree and a great wind came with it. Bending over with cold and fear, Nazim looked into its black eyes and saw great pain. He saw the pain Allah had for a people who were stubborn and did not follow his ways. The wind screamed Allah’s wrath all around him as Nazim tried to cover his ears. The bird remained unaffected by the wind and closed its eyes. As its eyes opened, a tear fell to the ground and the bird flew away again. The wind stopped. Nazim stumbled to where the tear fell and found a small pool of water. He drank, letting the water run down his face and neck.

Nazim wondered where he went wrong as he sat in his room, how such a curse could fall upon his family. Aamir was a good man, a good match for his daughter, but
Allah took him away. The baker was an American, an infidel. Kadir rarely stepped inside the mosque. He should have acted on the rumors. They were married now, but in the eyes of what god? He needed Allah to speak to him. The window was open, but the air was still. He could see the mountains in the distance, but knew he did not have the strength to travel this time. This was his test. All men had to face one in this life. One word formed on his lips in the silence—please.

At eight pm, Nazim left his room with small beads of sweat staining his forehead. His wife was sitting in the living room, playing with the other children. He would not meet her eyes as he passed and headed towards the front door. In the heat and in the quiet Allah had finally spoken. He must protect his other daughters. Nazim knew what he must do, but he needed to gather his strength.

After Nazim refused to speak with them, Kadir and Nadia left the town for the city. Kadir wanted to pursue his art, and she dreamed of future children. Kadir’s family was also shamed by his actions, but he fulfilled his duty and sent them money. Nadia was surprised to receive a letter one day from her father. Nazim wrote of forgiveness and reconciliation. Kadir wanted to go with Nadia to face her father. But Nadia thought it would be better if she went alone.

The next week, Nazim met Nadia at the front door. She stood with her head bowed before him.
“Daughter,� Nazim said.
“Yes father,� she replied.

Nazim placed his hand on her covered shoulder and greeted her like a daughter. Her mother had prepared the family meal, and they sat together, her mother, father, and sisters around the dining room table. After the awkward beginning came laughter. Nazim sat at the head of the table, looking around at the great responsibility Allah had given him.

Later that evening, Nadia slept alone in her old room, but she felt like a stranger. She belonged in bed with Kadir. The Qur’an was open on her bedside table to a page with these words, “And whoever does evil or acts unjustly to his soul, then asks forgiveness of Allah, he shall find Allah Forgiving, Merciful.� She knew her parents had probably left this for her. She had known Allah. She had even loved him, but she had not known Allah to be merciful until that night.

She thought of Kadir and couldn’t wait to return to him. They were planning on traveling to America after the wedding. Kadir’s sister was getting married soon, and she would look after his mother. This she had not shared with her parents. Nadia was ready for a change in her life, to see what lay beyond the mountains always in her view.

She had just closed her eyes when she heard the door open.

“Father?� she asked.

Nazim stood in her doorway. He hesitated slightly, expecting her to be asleep already. He began shaking and tried to push the doubts away. He had the other children to think about. He felt the power of a strong wind upon him. He prayed that Allah would give him courage.

“Father, is that you?� Nadia asked again.

Nazim answered by holding one hand over her mouth. The other hand held a machete. Nadia looked into her father’s eyes, asking why with her own.

“For love,� he whispered.

And he slit her throat.