The Rebel

Amina-2

I look up at him regretfully, and just then, the recognition comes as a shock: if it turns out that I have been adopted, then Hamid is not even my brother. I study his face desperately, looking for features we both share, but I can’t really find one. Everything I have is lighter than his, my hair, my skin, my eyes. Then I begin to wonder if Hamid knows about the issue, because if he does, it would mean that he has been lying to me for years, or at least, he has kept quiet about the truth, which I consider as the same. I just have to ask him about this.

“Is there… anything important that you have kept from me?”

He looks at me with a furrowed brow, and asks me as if I was talking to him in Greek.

“What are you talking about?”

I step closed to him and lift my eyes to him imploringly.

“Please, tell me, is it really true that I have been adopted? Does it mean that we are not siblings?”

At first, he stares at me petrified, then he tilts his head and reaches out to me. I have the feeling he is about to press his palm against my forehead to check if I have a temperature. He thinks I have gone insane; the news of my marriage has gone to my head. Finally, his hand lands on my shoulder instead of my forehead, and he gives it a light squeeze. His voice is so careful as if I was ill and he tried to spare me.

“What are you talking about, Amina? What is this complete madness?”

“It’s not madness.”

“Who has told you as nonsense as that?”

“Mum,” I blurt it out, and Hamid’s hand drops. Ha staggers back. “We had a fight about the sheikh, and when I said that I won’t marry him no matter what, she answered that I should be happy Saud sheikh is interested at all, regardless of my bloodline.

Hamid stares at me dimly. I can see how he is trying to brood over my words. Sure as hell, he is calculating the same way. Why would anyone have anything against my bloodline is I am the daughter of my parents?

“Did she say, regardless of your bloodline?” he repeats gravely.

“Yes, exactly. I think it’s quite obvious,” I look at him expectantly.

“And what else did she say?”

“She wouldn’t say anything else, no matter how much I asked. She locked herself into her suite, and hasn’t spoken to me since.

“The whole issue makes no sense at all. This is just bullshit,” he breaks out with anger, and stepping up to me, he grabs my hand.

He begins to pull me madly after him, out the door, and by the time I realize what’s going on, we are in the hallway.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” I pant.

“We will clear the issue right away. Dad will not lie to us,” he says resentfully, and walks on like a steam engine.

He is taking such large steps that I almost have to run in order to keep up with him. A thousand thoughts are flashing through my brain, but I finally come to the conclusion that it even works out better if I don’t have to question my father on my own, but Hamid is also there for support. On the way we stumble on Rafa who stares at us with big eyes, and asks me with alarm what’s happened. I only shrug my shoulders, there is no time for more, because Hamid is squeezing my wrist with an iron fist and drags me after him towards our father’s suite. Rafa is following us, she also needs to run to remain in Hamid’s trace. My brother is continuously murmuring something under his nose, but I can’t make a word out of it.

By the time we reach my father’s suite, I’m all out of breath. Hamid freezes at the door, garbs the door handle, then releases it. He makes a fist of his hand, then loosens it and takes a deep breath. No matter how nervous he is, respect takes the better of him, and he will not just open the door of our father’s private. He knocks powerfully, and as we hear my father’s angry shout from inside, he is pressing down the door handle and opens the door. Rafa and I exchange a glance, her face is pale like mine, and I keep gulping with the same fear. Before I could say a word, my brother yanks me after him over the threshold, and I take refuge behind his back.

My father’s suite is larger than mine or Rafa’s, even more spacious than my mother’s. It is arranged in a unique way, it’s quite like a huge beduine tent. As you step inside, you have the feeling you’re on some time journey through time, and landed somewhere in the middle of the desert, in an oasis. Starting from the focal point of the ceiling, a baggy texture makes the cover of the room, and all around, mahogany and beige coloured carpets are covering the walls. The floors are lined with hand-woven Persian rugs, and there are flat stools all along the walls. My father is standing away from us, on the other side of the room, in front of the windows, and quickly turns his head towards us with a glittering stare as we storm in through the door. For sure, he is about to yet, even opens his mouth to tell Hamid off, but just then he sees me behind Hamid, and is taken aback. Hamid pulls me next to him, and I step forward obediently, and chewing on my lips, I stare at my father who – I can only see it now – is not alone. My mother is standing at a distance from him, and wringing her hands, glances at us. It seems like she has beat us. I hear Rafa’s disturbed breathing behind my back, quite a nice little family gathering has formed here.

“Peace, father,” Hamid speaks up hesitantly, now he doesn’t seem very determined either as before, on the other side of the door.

“What do you want?” my father grunts with annoyance, his eyes shift back and forth between us three, but finally they settle on me.

I want to speak up, but my throat is bone dry. What do I actually want? There are a whole lot of things I want answers for, yet, the most important thing about which Hamid dragged me here, was my mum’s strange slip of the tongue regarding my bloodline. The tension is so strong in the room that the air is almost sizzling, although if I take a better look, my father’s eyes are the ones that are sparkling. I’m trying to swallow, doing my best to gather some courage, but before I could say anything, Hamid begins to speak.

“We must talk.”

My father fixes his eyes on Hamid with a frown, then looks at me with irritation.

“If it’s about the marriage, there’s nothing to discuss. It’s settled, once and for all,” he thunders.

His words chill me to the bone, sadden me, and upset me to the bottom of my soul. While I squeeze Hamid’s hand, I take a new vow deep inside, that no matter what, I will not be the sheikh’s wife. I gather all my courage, step forward from behind Hamid’s back, and take a few steps towards my father. He’s not making a move, and his face is so tense as if his features were carved in stone. I can feel the storm approaching, but I simply can’t back down.

My father is a tall man, just like my two brothers, and although I’m not exactly short, I still have to look up at him as I stop two steps before him.

“This time it’s not about the marriage, but my origins.”

Dad’s mouth jerks at the word ‘origins’.

“I must know what secret you are keeping from me. Am I really your daughter, or have I been adopted?”

Dad gives my mother a devastating look. If he could kill with his eyes, my mum would drop dead right now.

“What are you talking about? How could you not be my daughter?” he roars, while mum makes a move as if she was in pain. I’m beginning to seriously pity her.

“Then what’s all this nonsense about her bloodline?” Hamid says right behind me, and I almost crap myself with fright.

Dad turns his back on us and looks out of the window. His shoulders are heaving up and down with agitation. It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about the issue. I need to change my tactics – the thought crosses my mind.

The thing is, we women learn in our early childhood that it’s best to avoid direct conflict with men, as in that case our chance of winning equals zero. An Arabian man – a proud prince from the Emirates, like my father – will never subordinate his will to a woman’s, especially not in public. That would be a sign of weakness which his ego would probably not survive. Although out of necessity, but we became manipulators in this society dominated and controlled by men. If you want to achieve something as a woman, be humble, cunning and resourceful. Use what you’ve got. I step up to him, but I don’t touch him. That would be too much at this point. I quiet my voice and change my tone to begging.

“Dad, please, I must know the truth. Why am I so different? Why don’t I look like my siblings?” mum wells up and buries her face into her hands. A deep, frustrated moan breaks from Hamid. I go on, determined yet humble. “Dad, please. Everyone has the right to know where they come from.”

My father turns around and gives me a stern look. The wrinkles on his forehead are now much deeper than usual.

“The right?” he repeats my words threateningly, making me shiver and lower my gaze. I didn’t choose my words well, now I see that. Who has a right for what, is strongly a question of point of view here, and my father’s point of view is high above mine.

“Did you adopt me?” I ask, almost in a whisper.

“Nonsense!” he answers with vehemence.

“But if you are my father, and I’m not adopted, then—” my voice breaks. I carefully glance at my mother, who can’t stand my gaze and turns away.

Dad closes his eyes and slowly begins to shake his head. I know him well, he is filled with anger and is working hard to restrain himself, but I have no idea how long he will manage to do it. When his opens his eyes again and looks at me, I already know: I have won this battle. He is going to talk.

“Tariq,” my mother sighs his name, but dad shouts out with rudeness and authority.

“Get out!”

Not only my mother, but I also shiver at the rude imperative, even if I know the order was not meant for me but everybody else present. My mother hunches herself and in her eagerness to leave, she almost stumbles on the edge of her abaya. Only Rafa makes a speedier exit than her. My father fixes his eyes on Hamid, but he is not making a move from me, and I also step closer to him. He does not resist with words, although the fact itself that he didn’t follow our father’s order at once is considered rebellion, and I adore him for it. I have never heard him or even Kareem raise their voice with him, even if they had a difference to settle. I have also witnessed it more than once that my brothers left the room backing out towards the door, so as not to show disrespect towards him. The fact that in this situation Hamid is still here with me, shows his endless affection and worry for me, which fills my heart with warmth. I hold on to his shirt sleeve and begin to implore my father.