Page 114 of Kiss Her Goodbye

My twitchy feeling from our initial arrival refuses to relent.I have a constant itch between my shoulder blades, often whirling around for no reason.The other women begin to whisper, especially when Habib and Jamil start following me to work and I have to remind them again and again not to bleed on the carpet.

I come home exhausted, but fall asleep, only to suffer terrible nightmares.

I dream of blood and death and bullets.Of my father’s mutilated face, of young Omid’s blue-tinged lips.Of strangers whose names I recorded on a whiteboard only to watch them die hours later.

I take to once again watching you sleep, Zahra, holding vigil because I can feel the threat growing closer, a near constant pressure against the base of my skull.

When you wake up, we work on re-creating the matrices.Over and over.You have the memory; it’s just a matter of teaching youa steady hand.It’s very important you get them right.I don’t have much time left.

One day, I catch Isaad counting out pills, checking to see if I’m still taking my Haldol.In his mind, my hallucinations have returned.I don’t have the heart to tell him Habib, Jamil, my mother are more than mere figments of my imagination.They are my burden to bear as well as my only true comfort; I trust their senses better than my own.

He flushes and returns the bottle before getting to my stash of antidepressants.It’s just as well.So many nights I’ve stared at the line of orange bottles and yearned to just open my mouth and pour, pour, pour.

Anything to dam the river of bloody dreams pouring through my sleep.

I hold myself tighter, determined to cling to my sanity through sheer force of will.I learn mass transit and strip malls and overly cold grocery stores with their prepackaged foods.I practice new social customs and American habits.I do not want to fail Isaad.

I don’t want to fail you.

Then one day, riding home on the bus.

I see him.Right there in flesh and blood.My brother, Farshid, standing on the sidewalk.He’s turned slightly away.But the hair, his profile, the set of his shoulders.He holds himself differently, too rigid, as if in terrible pain, and yet—

I clamber to my feet, shouting at the bus driver to stop.

Then as the other passengers start yelling at me to sit down, the man twists around.He finds my frozen form standing in the bus window.He stares straight at me.

Except it is not my brother, Farshid.

It’s our cousin, Habib.The one I killed, thought I killed, tried to kill.

But now, very much alive.

And clearly coming to get me.

I don’t remember starting to scream.

I mostly remember not being able to stop.

Once I got out of the hospital, it took several precious days more to get Isaad to believe me, to understand the full danger not just to me, but to you and him.We made the decision I should disappear, while Isaad takes the necessary steps to protect you.It only cost me one last secret, kept from the man I have grown to love.For if Isaad knew the other news the doctor had to tell me…

I think of my mother so often these days, and the terrible choices too many women are forced to make.

Isaad will keep you safe, Zahra.He was not the fire in my heart nor the husband of my choosing.And yet he has become my anchor, a pillar of strength even during moments of darkest despair.

My family awaits.I see them in my dreams.My mother and her fashionable ensembles.My father and his parting look as he heads out the door.My brother, teasing me as we race between dark green branches heavy with bright red fruit.Two halves of one whole.

We all belong to Allah.Into his graces we shall return again.There’s no sorrow, just the comfort of his all-encompassing embrace.

I miss them more than I can say.

I love you more than I have words.

And now, my precious daughter, I will honor my mother one final time.

Chin up.

CHAPTER 42