The Jewish Neighbor by A.M. Khalifa Read Free Book Online Page A

her yearning for Felix. She figured he must have moved or left the
country. It was a much better reason for why he hadn’t responded to the two
letters she had sent him, even if he was married or seeing someone.
    On a
few occasions a pretty real estate agent in short skirts and high heels would
come by Felix’s house to show it to potential buyers. One sunny Monday morning
Umayma finally mustered the courage to go up to her to ask what became of
Felix.
    “Has
Mr. Susmann left the country?”
    “I am
sorry, who are you?” the agent asked with a modicum of suspicion.
    “I am
his neighbor,” Umayma said with disarming innocence as she pointed to her house.
    “So,
you don’t know then?” the young woman sighed and tilted her head to one side.
    “Don’t
know what?”
    “Mr. Susmann passed away eight months ago.”
    §
 
    The
colors of autumn were spreading like fire for a second time since she had first
met Felix. Umayma was sitting in the garden sipping mint tea when she heard the
door bell. Instinctively she touched her hair to tighten her scarf but
remembered it had been a while since she had removed the veil. She had figured
if God had wanted it concealed, he may as well not have given her
any hair to start.
    “Registered
mail for Umayma Yaghshi ” the postman said, peering up
from behind his glasses, seeming confused how a woman living in this house had
not only opened the door, but with her hair exposed.
    It
was her finalized divorce papers from Kamal .
    §
 
    After
dropping Layal to school one morning in November, Umayma conceded to do
something she had been avoiding. She finally accepted she would never be fully
liberated unless she made her way back to Fizroy Park, sat on
the swing and faced her demons. She had never returned to her ground zero since the day Felix had
rescued her.
     It
was exactly one year ago that two men tried to rape her, spurred into an
aggressive sexual frenzy by a racial hatred she could hardly understand back then.
She had lacked the courage to shout out or scream or even fight for her life. Kamal had already killed her many times before, so surrendering
seemed like the only honorable thing to do. Except there was no honor in giving
up and playing dead.
    She
made her way to the swings, scanning the park but found no one. Bitter cold air
was penetrating through her clothes and aching her
bones. Still the skies were open and the sun beamed down generously. She closed
her eyes and listened to every sound she could make out. The
hum of the motorway. Birds singing melodically. Crickets chirping industriously. And her own lungs inhaling and exhaling air rhythmically.
    §
 
    Umayma
must have dozed off on the swing. When she opened her eyes the sun had been
swallowed by thickening, ash-grey clouds and the sky was spitting out light
rain. But it wasn’t the sun’s disappearance or the misty drops of water gently
caressing her face that woke her up. Something else, she realized as her heart
ricocheted back and forth in her chest. Someone was standing behind her, with
their hand on her shoulder. It’s them again.
    What
had started out as gentle rain exploded into a torrential downpour with thunder
crackling ominously above her head. Yet the hand on
her shoulder remained there, firm, resolute. This was it. This was the moment
everything in Umayma’s life had been leading to. A final opportunity to fight for her dignity even if she was killed
in the process. A chance to stand up to the next man
who wanted to rob more of her self esteem. She will scream
her lungs out in one loud, resounding ‘No!’ Never again would a man plunder from her what was not
his to take.
    Umayma
shot up to her feet with the fire in her belly countering the iciness in the
air. She turned around to face whoever was standing behind her.
     Even
though Umayma was staring at a ghost, he wasn’t white as white can be and his
eyes were not ice-cold. The man standing before her was smiling from inside,
although his