Chicago

Chapter 23

Everything that happened to Tariq Haseeb that evening was out of his control. He was not in a position to accept or reject it. If what happened had taken place a hundred times, he would’ve done exactly what he had done. He had found himself glued to Shaymaa, who raised her hand to pick up a tin from the shelf. He felt her whole breast brushing against him. He spontaneously reached out and embraced her. She didn’t object. He felt her luscious body filling his whole being; he plunged his hands around her back and showered her with kisses all over: her lips, her face, her hair, then her neck and chin. Her fresh skin was so soft it aroused him even more. He kept kissing her neck and began licking her ear then took it between his lips (as he had seen in pornographic movies). It was then that she let out a soft passionate moan and murmured a few indistinct words in a low voice, as if making a weak, formal objection that she was the first to know would not change anything, or as if she were proclaiming her innocence one last time before being swept away by the flood of pleasurable lust.

After a few moments of passionate embracing, Tariq extended his hand and undid the zipper in the middle of the dress, making a light whizzing sound. Shaymaa did not object and kept watching his hands as if she were hypnotized. Her chest was revealed behind a rose-colored cotton bra. He pressed the breasts out of the bra as if they were two ripe fruits hanging on a branch. Tariq inhaled strongly then exhaled and pressed his whole face between her breasts, rubbing it against their unbelievable softness. He was suddenly overcome by an urgent desire to cry, as if he were sad that he hadn’t done it before, as if he were a child who had been lost for such a long time that he’d given up hope then suddenly found his mother, as if the warmth coming from her breasts was his original abode, which he had known at an earlier time then lost and was now coming back to. He kissed her breasts all over and gently bit them and she let out a soft, pained, and coquettish scream, whereupon he became certain that her body was now at his disposal, obedient and responding and clamoring for him to go forward. He undid his fly and clung to her tightly. He didn’t dare take off her dress but they embraced closely and their muscles contracted in instinctive successive thrusts until they both crossed the gate of pleasure together. His body shook with great ecstasy, real flesh-and-blood ecstasy, not that artificial one that he experienced in the bathroom every night. It occurred to him that he was being born at that moment, brought back from the dead, leaving behind forever that old colorless life for another, a real and wonderful life. He closed his eyes and hugged her hard, as if cleaving to her, seeking shelter with her so that she wouldn’t leave him. He began once again savoring her fresh smell voraciously and kissing her anew. He was ready to make love to her time after time, forever. But he came to when he felt her tears wetting his face. He opened his eyes and withdrew his head as if waking up. He patted her on the cheek and she burst out sobbing and speaking in a disjointed voice:

“How I despise myself!”

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her hands.

“I am now an immoral woman!”

“Who said that?”

“I’ve fallen!”

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world!”

She looked at him from behind her tears and said, “You couldn’t respect me now after what I’ve done with you.”

“You’re my wife: how could I not respect you?”

“I am not your wife.”

“Aren’t we going to get married?”

“Yes, but right now I am forbidden to you.”

“We haven’t committed fornication, Shaymaa. And there are noble hadiths, all authentic, all unanimous, in stating that God Almighty forgives the trespasses that do not amount to fornication of those He wills. We love each other and intend to be lawfully wedded, God willing. And God the Merciful forgives us.”

She looked at him for a long time, as if to see whether he was telling the truth, and then whispered, “Won’t your opinion of me change after what I’ve done with you?”

“It won’t change.”

“Swear that you will continue to respect me.”

“I swear by God Almighty that I will go on respecting you.”

“And I swear to you by God’s mercy to my father, Tariq, that I haven’t done this with anyone before you and that I’ve done it with you only because I love you.”

“Of course.”

“Are you going to leave me?”

“I’ll never leave you.”

As they went out of the kitchen, her steps looked confident and graceful, as if she had found fulfillment or got rid of a burden. He sat her next to him on the sofa and they exchanged a few whispered words interspersed with tender and heartfelt kisses from him on her hair and hands. Little by little the troubled look left her face, replaced by a warm softness. In a moment, as if he had just received a sign from her, he extended his arm and pulled her toward him, slowly and confidently this time. He felt her neck and lips with his fingers, then lifted her face, and they lost themselves in a long kiss.