Reed In the Wind
Apr. 5th, 2003 10:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
niankhsekhmet**A Small Favor Please** To those of you who are my friends of Middle Eastern ancestry, if I have done anything in writing this piecethat is out of line, please, please, please, let me know. This particular piece came out of a morning writing session after I had read a very disturbing article on the practice of honor killing. It is actually one of a series,so it is not done yet. Its a rough subject, and I sincerely apologize if I have done anything to perpetuate sterotypes in any way shape or form. Please feel free to correct and criticize. Be gentle, please. I am trying to handle a difficult subject well. I look to you all for help in understanding. Thank you in advance.
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Aisha pulled her legs up under her chin. The warmth of the bath could not remove the chill that she felt. Water tumbled over her feet, filling the tub and yet her hands shook, her body shivering as if she were a woman freezing.
Nikos Christodoulakis had given her no respite. He had been relentless in his dominance and control over her since he and his men broke in to her hotel room at the Plaza in New York. Nikos had offered her no details as to how he had found her and even less of a why. She stared at her hands that still shook. Although Nikos had touched her with nothing more than his eyes, she felt dirty and defiled. His glance was not admiring or even mildly appreciative. In a world where she had been taught the role of women was a small one, she had at least felt more in control than she did now. How much more cruel was a man like Nikos than her father or even Hafiz? She didn’t know where she stood - there were no clearly delineated rules here, except for the one’s that Nikos had imposed upon her.
’Perhaps you majored in Marketing?’, he had said. Nikos was clearly not impressed with Aisha and his tone had been mocking and sarcastic. His demeanor with her pummeled her as squarely as if he had slapped her face and called her a whore. She had no position with which to bargain, and both she and Nikos knew it. Maybe she was a whore, she thought. That would be what her family would think, what Hafiz would allege and there would be no choice. Her family or Hafiz or both would seek to restore their honor. It wouldn’t matter if she had been the one that had left or been kidnaped. Honor killing would be the only way to set things to right. Either Moustafa Khatib would send one of his men or even one of her brothers to make sure the order was carried out.
Aisha wiped away a kohl-streaked tear leaving a dark smudge across her cheek. She picked up a sea sponge from the nearby bath basket that Patricia Corder had brought. A year ago she still believed she could find a life of her own, break away, and maybe even find someone to care about her as much as she once believed her father did.
Khaled El-Dhib had been that someone; or so Aisha had believed. He was her best friend in college, a Coptic Christian from Alexandria, Egypt. She would have liked to have imagined that they would have married and settled in Alexandria, just like they had promised each otherthat they would do. Of course Aisha’s father would have accepted Khaled. He was a Christian and the son of a wealthy hotel owner in Cairo. It would be a good match. Two days before St. Valentine’s Day, Khaled was killed in an act of blind rage. Road rage was something that only happened in the United States, in Hollywood - not on the M-5 near London, and yet Khaled was gone. She wept for days and was nearly unconsolable. If it had not been for some concerned friends at school, she probably would have let herself waste away. They encouraged her to get back to her studies, to dance and to do the things she loved to do again before Khaled was killed. For the most part it had worked. It was all business - of course she would obey. Her father’s word was law. She had screamed and cried, praying to the spirit of Khaled to take her away from all of that. But she only heard his still small voice that reassured her as it always did, that she was very much loved and that in spite of appearances everything would be alright.
Even though it was now three years later, the wounds were still raw for Aisha. The deep gouges in her soul had been ripped afresh by her father’s arrangements to marry her off to Hafiz and even deeper by having escaped only to be captured again by Nikos Christodoulakis.
She turned off the spigot and eased back into the water. Taking the Chandrika soap that Patricia had managed to magically come up with she rubbed the bar beneath her breasts and over her torso. The sweet familiar scents of sandalwood and patchouli filled her nostrils. She ducked down in the water and quickly washed her hair. Part of her wanted to melt into the water, staying there until her flesh shriveled, but another part of her could not get comfortable, even though she had at last stopped shivering. The thick terry robe that Patricia had divested Aisha of for her meeting with Nikos had found its way on the back of the door of the bath. Reaching for it instead of a towel to wrap around her body, she emerged from the tub. The bath had been refreshing but had done little to calm her.
The sheer white curtains of the balcony billowed inward from the sea breeze that blew lazily through. Only the sound of the waves pervaded the quietude of her room. The room that Nikos had let her have adjoined his and was fairly spacious. Only he and Patricia Corder, the hotel manager had invaded the space, but she was not foolish enough to think that he was not watching her in some way. Once business was concluded in the Bahamas, Nikos had said they had other places to go.
Aisha flopped heavily on the bed, and pulled her legs up, to her chest, laying back against the pillows, the soft cotton draped with her long wet hair as she stared out the balcony and to the distant sea that disappeared into the horizon.
The certainty for her future, she mused, was never further away than it was right now.
************************************
Aisha pulled her legs up under her chin. The warmth of the bath could not remove the chill that she felt. Water tumbled over her feet, filling the tub and yet her hands shook, her body shivering as if she were a woman freezing.
Nikos Christodoulakis had given her no respite. He had been relentless in his dominance and control over her since he and his men broke in to her hotel room at the Plaza in New York. Nikos had offered her no details as to how he had found her and even less of a why. She stared at her hands that still shook. Although Nikos had touched her with nothing more than his eyes, she felt dirty and defiled. His glance was not admiring or even mildly appreciative. In a world where she had been taught the role of women was a small one, she had at least felt more in control than she did now. How much more cruel was a man like Nikos than her father or even Hafiz? She didn’t know where she stood - there were no clearly delineated rules here, except for the one’s that Nikos had imposed upon her.
’Perhaps you majored in Marketing?’, he had said. Nikos was clearly not impressed with Aisha and his tone had been mocking and sarcastic. His demeanor with her pummeled her as squarely as if he had slapped her face and called her a whore. She had no position with which to bargain, and both she and Nikos knew it. Maybe she was a whore, she thought. That would be what her family would think, what Hafiz would allege and there would be no choice. Her family or Hafiz or both would seek to restore their honor. It wouldn’t matter if she had been the one that had left or been kidnaped. Honor killing would be the only way to set things to right. Either Moustafa Khatib would send one of his men or even one of her brothers to make sure the order was carried out.
Aisha wiped away a kohl-streaked tear leaving a dark smudge across her cheek. She picked up a sea sponge from the nearby bath basket that Patricia Corder had brought. A year ago she still believed she could find a life of her own, break away, and maybe even find someone to care about her as much as she once believed her father did.
Khaled El-Dhib had been that someone; or so Aisha had believed. He was her best friend in college, a Coptic Christian from Alexandria, Egypt. She would have liked to have imagined that they would have married and settled in Alexandria, just like they had promised each otherthat they would do. Of course Aisha’s father would have accepted Khaled. He was a Christian and the son of a wealthy hotel owner in Cairo. It would be a good match. Two days before St. Valentine’s Day, Khaled was killed in an act of blind rage. Road rage was something that only happened in the United States, in Hollywood - not on the M-5 near London, and yet Khaled was gone. She wept for days and was nearly unconsolable. If it had not been for some concerned friends at school, she probably would have let herself waste away. They encouraged her to get back to her studies, to dance and to do the things she loved to do again before Khaled was killed. For the most part it had worked. It was all business - of course she would obey. Her father’s word was law. She had screamed and cried, praying to the spirit of Khaled to take her away from all of that. But she only heard his still small voice that reassured her as it always did, that she was very much loved and that in spite of appearances everything would be alright.
Even though it was now three years later, the wounds were still raw for Aisha. The deep gouges in her soul had been ripped afresh by her father’s arrangements to marry her off to Hafiz and even deeper by having escaped only to be captured again by Nikos Christodoulakis.
She turned off the spigot and eased back into the water. Taking the Chandrika soap that Patricia had managed to magically come up with she rubbed the bar beneath her breasts and over her torso. The sweet familiar scents of sandalwood and patchouli filled her nostrils. She ducked down in the water and quickly washed her hair. Part of her wanted to melt into the water, staying there until her flesh shriveled, but another part of her could not get comfortable, even though she had at last stopped shivering. The thick terry robe that Patricia had divested Aisha of for her meeting with Nikos had found its way on the back of the door of the bath. Reaching for it instead of a towel to wrap around her body, she emerged from the tub. The bath had been refreshing but had done little to calm her.
The sheer white curtains of the balcony billowed inward from the sea breeze that blew lazily through. Only the sound of the waves pervaded the quietude of her room. The room that Nikos had let her have adjoined his and was fairly spacious. Only he and Patricia Corder, the hotel manager had invaded the space, but she was not foolish enough to think that he was not watching her in some way. Once business was concluded in the Bahamas, Nikos had said they had other places to go.
Aisha flopped heavily on the bed, and pulled her legs up, to her chest, laying back against the pillows, the soft cotton draped with her long wet hair as she stared out the balcony and to the distant sea that disappeared into the horizon.
The certainty for her future, she mused, was never further away than it was right now.
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Date: 2003-04-05 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 06:16 pm (UTC)