True Blackmail cont'd

I remember the first time that I saw him, standing there in the background, never really materializing. Strange though, we were all standing in a circle by the secondhand bookshop shooting the shit, and I remember someone saying hello to him. He was not really in the circle, he was standing behind someone, like he was watching us or waiting for someone or even expecting someone to acknowledge him so that he can re-materialize and this would in fact reorder things and make him normal. He was totally uncomfortable in social situations, not knowing what to do, half wanting to run away and the other half wanting to hug everyone. The boyhood innocence was remarkably strong that I felt this strange sense of love immediately. He was standing there, moving nervously while holding a can of coke. The black hat and the black jacket went well with his persona, the little boy lost in the world of adults. Not knowing how to talk to us and how to share all the weird and revolutionary ideas.

And then it begins, the blackmail, like all other instances of desire and longing, my lies take over, converting every sweet and innocent gesture into something despicable and grotesque. Turning that sweet innocence into what I know, what most of us know- that the world is mad and we are madder for trying to fit in. Trying to break the mold and think ourselves normal, only to realize at some point that this is nothing but a façade. True human nature can only be exposed at those moments of weakness and vulnerability. His vulnerability, to some extent has its roots in rejection and abandonment, which all too well help create the boy that stood before us by the secondhand bookshop.

On the 8th of July 1982, she woke up next to him. After 2 years of knowing him and participating in all the riots and demonstrations, he still seemed like a stranger. She always had to remind herself that this was her boyfriend. The man that she had always envisioned was not lying next to her, but rather the epitome of every average English fathers fears. He was there on a student visa (and as an athlete). That’s how they met, she the innocent virgin from the midlands and he the star swimmer from the orient. They were the talk of the university when they first got together, all the pretentious English girls could not get enough. The snickering and the dirty looks that she got everywhere she went. But she passed it off as being jealousy. What would these chavs know about what he had to offer? His knowledge of the world, a completely different culture and the way he made love. God they were such fools for not realizing it. But then she had nothing to compare him too, but all she could think about though, day in and day out, was when their next encounter would be. She had orchestrated so many rendez-vous where their emotions had taken over- it was becoming dangerous. If her father found out, she knew she would be pulled out of university and she would have been forced to get a job in the local factory like her mother. The irony of it was that she was only child and that alone would have made them realize that she deserved something better. But no, they were stuck in their old ways. She knew what the reaction would be at home, if she ever dared to bring him home. She only knew full well that the house would be filled with tension when they would initially enter. Then they would start drinking and their tongues would loosen into saying what their hearts were thinking. Then she would feel utterly ashamed and disgraced, not only in front of him but also in front of them. They had always managed to do it to her, always forced her into silence, into submission. Like a good old English girl, she had to behave as if she lived in the 18th century. Their pride and joy, the only reason, her father would say, during moments of intense happiness, why he was put on this earth: To look after his little princess. But little did he realize that his princess has now grown up and is about be someone’s white queen to taken back to Baghdad.

She knew that THAT day would arrive when he would ask her, but she secretly, in a very demented way, longed for that day and yet wished it would never happen. She knew that if it did, then she would have to make a choice, between them and him. At this point in her life, gosh she was only 19 she would not and could not think about loosing any of them. She needed her family, financially, emotionally and most of importantly she would be lost without them. They made her into what she is and what she will be. No matter how she might wish that they would change and give her more freedom, she relished in their security. The thoughts of being on the train back home, knowing that they will be waiting for her, knowing that her dad would have come to the station 20 minutes earlier just in case the train was early only gave comfort and strength. Ironically for all the things she loved in her parents, she saw something different in his eyes. He was hungry, hungry for something that she could not clearly see. The sheer ambition and drive was similar to what she used to watch on TV, the American dream. They would struggle and starve to make something better of themselves and their motto: reach for the stars. Make themselves more happier, smarter and off course richer.

With him, he took it a step further and that’s what scared her the most. But she knew, the minute he opened his mouth she was like putty. His words and the way he spoke to her only made her tingle. His accent, the smell of his body, his smooth, small body that he had perfected all these years served its purpose well. Like that she knew that the day would come and she knew that she would be forced to make a decision, a rash and sudden decision. Little did she realize that it would be so soon.

When she woke up next to him in their horrible London flat, she had this strange feeling in her stomach, like she was going to throw up. She had not had anything to eat yet, but she was feeling more and more nauseous. She was starting to get worried maybe it’s one of those super bugs that Raj always goes on about. Maybe she had been hanging out with the Pakis too often. Maybe he was right, those guys are into weird shit, and maybe she got a third world virus. Only god would know…She could not bring her self to vomit anywhere in the room. Even though they have shared so many intimate moments, she could not do this in front of him. So she slowly climbed out of that old bed and made her way to the bathroom. She knew she had to get in there quick, any other movement and she would spew everything that was inside of her on the floor. It should not have mattered; the floor would have looked better spotted with vomit. Those old flats in Nottinghill were renowned for their decay and he had managed to find the perfect one too. The toilet never flushes, you have to pour water into the commode and hold the valve open so that the water pushes everything down. Even the kitchen was the same.

As she entered the bathroom, she could no longer contain herself. She knelt down, next to the bowl and retched till she woke the neighbors. She could feel her stomach turning and she could feel everything she had for lunch the day before come out in a such a vengeful way. She could not image what could be causing this. She had not fallen ill in this way since she was a child. Oh how she longed to have her mother and her grandmother around her now. The presence of strong women always made her feel alive and sturdy, they would be able to diagnose her quickly and prescribe a remedy just as quickly. After throwing up everything she had consumed for the past two weeks, she just sat there, unable to move or even to call for him. She then realized the amount of noise she made, Saeed could not have slept though it. Slowly she realized that he had been standing there pacing up and down, she could see his shadow through that little space between the floor and the door. God, she thought what I am going to tell him, that I am ill and that I need to go home. That she had to go home straight away. She could not stand the thought of lying to him but she had no choice. What else could she do, she needed the help of her flatmates, they would know. So she slowly washed herself and put on his robe. As she slowly opened the door, he quickly turned around to face her; the sheer look of worry on his face, like something terrible had happened was all she could see. She just began to cry, not knowing what to do, she was so frightened and she just wanted to be in his arms. She could not stand the thought of leaving him, but she knew she had to. She needed to figure out what was happening to her. Then it suddenly dawned on her, all her mothers premonitions, all her mothers advice before she left for university. “Whatever you do hon, do not get PREGANAT, like those loose women in the City. You know what you father and I think about those kinds of girls. But just in case that you do meet a nice Christian, oh please honey, just make sure he is a practicing Christian and if things get out of hand make sure you use something”. “MAAAA” is the only thing that she would say. But now all the predictions and warning have come to face her like a ton of bricks. God she wished he could not see the expression on her face…

As they stood there and spoke silently without words, he could not bear it anymore. He just blurted it out… “are you pregnant, please tell me that you are not pregnant”. This is something that he would come to regret, years later. As he said those word, tears came rolling down and she could not control herself. As she heard his words, she just began to sob, slowly at first and then violently. She knew the consequence of this. She could not go home but where could she going go? She would have to leave school but she was to graduate the following year with degree in Philosophy and Middle Eastern History. As her sobs began to get louder, she could not hear him anymore. All she knew is that this was end! The predicted end where she has managed to fail everyone she loved and everyone that loved her.

From there, all she can remember is the true blackmail that she had concocted like the child in her womb. She knew that he was not the one, she knew that he would treat her bad and she knew that THAT day would come. And it eventually did, after eight years of abuse and the pain compounded by pressures to convert and to leave him because he is a fundamentalist. Yet she struck it out until he beat her so bad that she could not hide the bruises any more. Her son was the true product of the blackmail that she had conceived and it hurt her so bad to take him away from his father. She could not do it but she had to force herself. The strange thing is that he knew and she knew that he knew- she could already sense his anger but again the blackmail was the only last resource. So she took him and ran, ran to Scarborough away from Leeds to her parents; got a job in fish factory like her mom and tried to bring up her son. Her half-breed Arab, as her mother’s neighbours had called him once. Then their true blackmail started too… and then one day, he convinced himself that he was a true believer and said yes to Saeed and his new wife, freshly imported from the outskirts of Baghdad. Little did he realize that this would cost him dearly (the loss of his foreskin at the age of 17) but then he believed his blackmail to be true and thought it was the right thing to do. So the little boy and the innocent boy that I meet for the first time in front of the second hand bookshop really did need to materialise; his trauma and pain comparable to mine deserved to be recognized.

So there begins my true blackmail where I conceived of him as someone who wants me, as someone who needs me and as someone who could not live without me.