CHAPTER ONE
While stark white walls surrounded the single bed in the hospital room, shafts of dusty afternoon sunlight cross-examined the spotlighted occupant. Kamila, however, was not alone as she sat propped against her pillow, huddled in a nest of rumpled bed sheets. The young woman, dark-eyed, and still astounded by the miracle, gazed at her perfect baby. Tentatively, her manicured fingertip touched the face of her newborn daughter, tracing a gentle line across the infant’s downy cheek and leaving a soft path in the delicate baby fuzz. The new mother’s untested heart filled with tangled emotions as she absorbed the sleeping infant into her soul.
“Sofah, my own little star, I love you…too much,” murmured the new mother, as she held the baby girl tenderly to her breast and kissed the top of her head. She smelled so clean, so innocent, all fresh and new. After the birth, when the nurse had placed Sofah in her arms, Kamila’s breasts had filled and leaked instinctively even before the rooting mouth had touched her skin. At last, she was a mother. This feeling was much more than she had dreamed possible, and now how could she do this thing? Do this for Sajid? Do this for Allah?
As tears threatened to cascade from her filling eyes, Kamila quickly blinked them back. Heavy male footsteps approached her room from the hallway. She heard a man speaking and looked toward the door. The recognized voice was not boasting the paternal pride usually heard in the maternity ward. Her husband, Sajid, and his brother, Hassad, filed through her door at New York City General and stopped. Not looking up, Kamila felt their unspoken disapproval as the bearded men stood there silent, watching her cradle the baby. Still damp-eyed, her cheeks flushed with tenderness and a hint of unusual defiance, she pulled Sofah even closer and covered the baby’s face with the blanket. Her husband, walking as mechanically as a soldier, came to her bedside. His eyes were black with warning. Sajid stood beside Kamila’s bed for a moment looking at his wife and infant daughter, his arms folded close to his chest. Kamila tried to read his mood, but kept her eyes low and focused on her child. She knew he had just come from work and was tired. His wrinkled, stained shirt smelled like the ethnic foods served at his downtown restaurant …a combination of spices, humus, and lamb kabob. His stale breath held the odor of many cups of strong Arabic coffee. Ordinarily, the familiar aromas of home would have comforted Kamila.
“How are you feeling, Kami?” Sajid asked, placing a cool hand on her shoulder.
Kamila shrugged, not trusting herself to speak. Sajid lifted the blanket ever so slightly to reveal Sofah’s plump, pink face. Hassad also glanced at the baby, but then turned away. Suddenly Sofah’s eyelids popped open, revealing huge eyes, bright and sparkling sapphires framed by long, black lashes. She was a beautiful baby. First her rosy lips puckered, then her mouth circled as if in amazement, as the baby’s inexperienced eyes struggled to focus on her surroundings. Then, seeming to siphon strength from the heavens, Sofah scrunched up her face, prune-like, clenched her little fists, and opened her mouth as if preparing to scream. But no sound emerged. Instead, an O-shaped yawn consumed her expression and the tiny girl squirmed, closed her eyes, and again fell asleep, cuddling contentedly against her mother’s breast.
“She’s such a good baby, my husband,” said Kamila, finally able to speak, her eyes again filling with passion for her infant daughter and dread for what was to come.
“Kami. Are you feeling you can soon leave the hospital?” Sajid demanded in near perfect English, his dark eyes expressionless. He ran his fingers up and down her arm as he spoke, his hand reaching beneath the cotton hospital gown to rub her shoulder. Hassad stood in the corner by the window, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, staring at the traffic in the busy street several floors below. Kamila looked away from the men. Words formed in her mind, but her tongue and lips were paralyzed by distress. Again, she couldn’t answer her husband. Sajid’s caress of her shoulder became a squeeze, his fingers pressing harder and harder into her soft skin.
“Kamila!” he whispered harshly, bending close to her ear. “When can you leave?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” murmured Kamila, pulling her arm away, but averting her eyes from his stare. She still held Sofah tightly to her breast, and protectively covered the tiny head with the pink flannel blanket. Fear was clouding her thinking, but she responded quietly, “I will ask Dr. Fleming tomorrow, Sajid, tomorrow morning.”
Satisfied with the answer, Sajid bent towards Kamila, kissing her forehead, before his lips again formed a hard, thin line. “She will be a martyr. She is the only way we can accomplish our goal. What greater end for all of us?” he breathed into her ear, leaning on the bed with his elbow, and adjusting himself to be closer to her face. His fingers outlined her jaw line, working their way to her neck. Pushing aside her long black hair, his thumb felt her throbbing carotid artery, pulsing in fear, pulsing in grief and sadness.
“Try not to become too attached, my wife. You are only making things more difficult.”
“Yes, I know,” whispered Kamila, bowing her head until her chin nestled gently in the baby’s dark hair.
“I love you, and the baby…and Allah. We will all be together after the hell storm, I promise you,” said Sajid.
Kamila didn’t voice an answer. She nodded and squeezed his hand.
A female voice on the overhead intercom system announced that hospital visiting hours had ended for the afternoon. Sajid kissed Kamila’s hand and turned to look at his brother.
“We can soon go forward with the plan. Praise be to Allah,” said Sajid, hands tented into a gesture of prayer toward the other man.
Hassad’s eyes fell once more on the wife of his brother and he said, “Good night, Kamila. You’ve done a good job. Praise be to Allah.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned away following Sajid into the hallway.
They were gone and Kamila’s shoulders sagged as she dared to breathe again. She gently peeled back the blanket and watched the face of her sleeping daughter. Yes, praise be to Allah.
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