Chapter Eleven
Sometimes Ama Rahman unleashed a torrent of insults on her husband, Imam Omar, during our ‘love-ins’. It was the only personal subject she was comfortable opening up to me about. In reality she desperately needed the release. She insulted him in front of me, again and again. Hated him fiercely. Acted to spite him in every moment. Her greatest joy: eternal revenge.
Every moment of her life, everything she did was, in fact, part of that revenge. She avenged herself constantly, for this or that slight with this or that act, although sometimes I didn’t know which was which.
I found out from her (perhaps the only real secret she ever revealed to me about her personal life) that he took advantage of her absence to close the door to his room and drink alcohol (his sacred motto:
