Asma's Eyes Are Opened Ch. 03

Asma was pleased to be wearing her head-scarf. It was a filthy day as she walked to the bus stop. Then she saw the three young men gathered up ahead of her and ducked her head, hoping to avoid their attention.

"Fuck off home Paki. We don't need you fuckin' Muslim terrorists here." The three youths laughed raucously as Asma turned away.

Such big strong young men to intimidate one woman like that. But Asma's ears burned and she felt anger as she tried to hurry away from them. Not just anger at the youths - they were fools who knew no better - but also at the people of her own background who had deliberately stoked the fear and resentment between faiths.

"You old cunt - get that fucking shit-rag off your head. We should cut that fucking beard off you fucking shit-face."

Asma realised in that instant that the words weren't being aimed at her after all. She hurried on a few more steps and then risked a glance back.

The three men were there, tall white youths surrounding a much smaller stooped figure. With a shock Asma recognised Mr Hassan. He had to be nearly eighty and about half their size. They jostled him and laughed as he tried to get by them.

Finally they tired of it. "Fuck off you Paki cunt," one said and gave Mr Hassan a hard shove on his back. Their laughter followed him as he staggered and struggled to keep his balance.

Asma saw Mr Hassan's face. She saw the tears rolling down his cheeks, his shame at what had happened. He had always been a proud man, he was a leading member of the mosque, very well respected in the community. It had been an honour to be invited to his house - back before... Back when she and her husband had been welcome at such events.

Now Asma felt such compassion for the old man, felt the need to assuage his frustration and despair. His shame that three stupid thugs could treat him like that. She moved forward.

"Mr Hassan - I am so sorry..."

His eyes were little pools of fury. He looked up and saw her, those fierce dark eyes focusing on her.

"Go away, go away - haven't I been shamed enough. You think we don't know about you? About your thief of a husband - that apostate whore of a daughter - you think my grandson hasn't told me about that filthy son of yours. He should be stoned, you should all be driven out. You bring disgrace to our faith."

His virulence shocked Asma. She recoiled from his white-hot rage, barely registering all of his words. They had left the mosque because of the contempt of the congregation but she had never imagined that it was so bad. Mr Hassan's words were fuelled by his humiliation, she knew that, but they were not random.

She turned away and headed for her work, her mind churning over the events of those few minutes. She had thought that one day her husband's business affairs would be settled and that they could then return to the mosque. Now she knew that there was much more to this. It was not only her husband, or perhaps it was that those who felt cheated by Afsar now assigned the guilt down to his children as well. Her daughter Rubina left her hair uncovered and lived a western lifestyle, refusing an arranged marriage. That was enough to draw Mr Hassan's opprobrium but not enough to deserve it. Then - what about Ashraf? Her son was such a gentle soul. What could he ever have done...

She reached her work and tried to concentrate on it. It was hard. Dealing with the customers, answering questions and making suggestions. She could do such tasks easily.

"You alright girl - you ain't yourself today."

Deep velvet tones. She knew who it was before she turned. He hadn't spoken to her in the weeks since their last incident. She had seen him around but he had not spoken one word. It was as he had said - he would wait for her to make the first move.

Tony's face was sombre, concerned. He hadn't got his usual look of wry amusement on his handsome dark-skinned face. Her eyes met his for a second before she remembered herself and instead looked down at her counter. "I am alright Ton... er, Mr Turner."

He shook his head. "Oh no - it certainly ain't alright. But I understand..." He held up a hand and gestured to catch Ellie, her supervisor's attention. Only when the blonde woman was there did Tony speak again. "Now Ellie's here you can tell us what's wrong."

Asma's surprise was genuine. She thought that she had understood Tony Turner. The big Jamaican was a crude, rough, boisterous man - a womaniser who took other men's wives for his pleasure. She knew that those women were very willing partners but that did not alter the fact that such things were wrong. She knew that he wanted her, had made his interest in her clear. She knew that he wanted to take her as he took so many women. She knew that he was a threat, or perhaps a temptation..

This was a different Tony. His concern was genuine. He had understood that she felt uncomfortable talking to him alone, without Ellie there too. There was none of his flirtatiousness, none of the raw sexual power underneath the superficial charm. He wanted to help rather than to... do other things.

"Now," he repeated, "tell us what happened."

Asma looked at each of them and then the words came. "It was on the street - the things that were said - they were terrible, horrible."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess - there were three of them? One taller than the others, the third one with a stud here." He touched just above his right eye-brow and then turned to Ellie. "Everton told me about them. Said they were targeting people by the bus-stop there. We were going to have a meeting tomorrow to decide how to deal with it. They hadn't come after one of ours then so I was minded to let the Police deal with it. Now I think it's going to have to be rather more personal."

Asma saw the set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. She suspected Tony had been dealing with such things 'personally' since he'd been old enough to ball his fists. She also suspected that he would take great satisfaction in doing so again. However, she did not want that - those three were bad youths who cared about no law or decency. They would certainly have knives, perhaps worse nowadays.

She spoke her thoughts. "No - they were bad but they were not the reason for... They were not the problem for me and you cannot help with that, no-one can. I wouldn't want you to be hurt - or arrested."

Tony shook his head. "I know their sort. They target women, old men and half-grown children. They see Everton and me coming and they will run a mile. Or maybe they'll be stupid and think three against two are good odds." The familiar half-smile returned.

Asma realised with a shock that she had no doubt what would happen if the three youths were 'stupid.' They would pay for their over-confidence and they would pay dearly. She momentarily thrilled to the idea but then shook her head.

"Please - let the Police deal with them. They did not target me."

Tony's voice was clear. "Look at me Asma - tell me that what you are saying is true."

She raised her eyes, tried not to flinch before his penetrating gaze. "It is true - they were not the ones."

He seemed momentarily frustrated but finally nodded. "Shame - I could settle that problem for you real easy. But maybe I'll leave it to PC Staniforth. Couldn't find his own ass but he can handle this sort of crap. Meanwhile you got problems you should talk to Ellie here, remember that you got friends."

"That's right," said Ellie, "do you need some time to sort something out. We can cover for you."

"No," Asma said, "I will be alright. I want to work."

She did indeed work but she sometimes seemed to be on auto-pilot. She had so much swirling around in her brain. Mr Hassan, the youths... and Tony. She had seen another side of him, one that didn't fit with her perception of Black men. She had been taught all about them. They were big and tough, many of them were criminals and drug-dealers. They were dangerous for decent women. They wanted sex and, so the whispers went, they were very good at it. She had heard such stories since she had been at school in Hyderabad, when the only Blacks she knew were in books or movies or on the news. Black men, African men, were sexually voracious and very well-equipped.

She felt the warmth of blood pulsing through her veins and struggled to contain or ignore it. Such stories were nonsense. Black men were like any other. The people telling such tales knew nothing anyway. None of them had been with a Back man. No decent woman would...

Asma felt shame. She had met her daughter's new boyfriend. He was Black indeed, the son of West African parents. He had been polite and pleasant and her daughter cared enough for him to have risked introducing him to her. Tony was very different and certainly met some of the stereotypes she had been taught. He was big and tough, he was a womaniser, he had... She remembered what she had seen. The excitement of the women with Tony, Tony himself and his... The blood was surging through her body again. She felt warm. She took a few deep breaths and controlled herself. Tony had been different today. He had been ready to 'deal with' those thugs for her. What had he called her, 'one of ours.' It had felt good to hear that - especially after what Mr Hassan had said. Asma bit her bottom lip gently. It was dangerous for a woman to be possessed by Tony, she was glad that he had said 'ours' and not 'mine.' Being one of Tony's women would mean...

"Excuse me - my husband bought this for me and it is the wrong shade. Men never have any sense about such things do they? It's still sealed so can I exchange it for the one that I use?"

Asma realised with a momentary shock that the lady customer was talking to her and quickly snapped back into her professional mode. Dealing with the issue as she dealt with thousands of others. However, she still felt the heat of her previous thoughts, still knew the effect that they had on her. She still knew just what a threat Tony was to a good married wife. No - that was unfair. He did not threaten he tempted and that, she knew, could be even more dangerous.

***

It had taken a couple of weeks to get their schedules together but after the incident with Mr Hassan Asma had been very worried about Ashraf. She had phoned her son and he had seemed his usual cheerful self. His bright voice had reassured her, made her feel so much better. However, it was not the same as seeing him.

Her husband was working again and so she went alone to the concrete campus of the university. She looked around her at the young men and women going to and fro. It made her feel good. They were all making their lives as her Ashraf was. He had made her and Afsar proud with how well he was doing. He was top of his class and would surely get an excellent placement. Then he would be a success like his elder sister. Asma's heart swelled a little inside her. It was what every mother wanted, what every parent wanted. She could bear everything else if that was the price she had to pay.

"Ammi," he said with an open smile that did her heart good. She felt his arms come round her in a gentle hug. He was almost six-feet tall but Ashraf was lightly-built like his father and a gentle soul. His face had, all praise to the All-Merciful, taken the best features of his parents and combined them to fine effect. He had his mother's eyes - deep and brown, soulful and sensitive. He had his father's regular handsome features. To Asma her son looked more like a poet or musician than an engineer but her son had probably made the best financial choice and he was doing splendidly well at University.

She was so very pleased to find him looking so happy. She half suspected that he would break the news to her about his finally having found a girlfriend but she waited in vain for that one. For him, unlike his sister, arranged marriage might be a blessing! It was difficult to understand for Asma. He was a handsome young man with a good soul and a winning charm so why did he not have young women crowding around him. She knew that, as his mother, she was a little biased but not that much!

After they had spent a very lovely hour and a half having lunch and walking round the campus she decided to speak about Mr Hassan. Not directly, she did not wish to alarm Ashraf, but she needed to put her mind at rest before she returned home. Mr Hassan had mentioned his grandson.

"Do you see anything of Faheem?" She tried to sound as casual as possible.

It was momentary but she was his mother and she noticed it. The slight flicker of strain and upset across her son's face.

"No, no, I don't see anything of Faheem. We run with different crowds and I don't think his family want much to do with us anyway. Even if they did I don't forgive them for the way they have treated you."

"His grandfather is a proud stern man - Faheem isn't like him though." She was still fishing for scraps of information but her son's face took on a strong expression.

"He's just like him and in with the Imam here too. Just like at the mosque. We are supposed to be a community but they just look for ways to think themselves better than others. I don't need that and I won't have that."

Hs normally gentle eyes blazed with anger but not anger directed at her. She wondered what this was all about. She feared that she knew.

"Is it about us, your father and myself. Have we brought shame upon you." She felt like hanging her head.

Ashraf's hands came and folded around hers. "No - never. I'm proud and grateful of you both - never ever doubt that. Faheem and his sort don't need that - they have other axes to grind and if they hadn't they would just make some. With me..."

His words stopped sharp. She glanced up and saw his mouth was carefully shut. Whatever he had been going to say he did not want to now.

"But you are OK?" She felt bad for having raised the subject. She knew her son would tell her anything she needed to know, when he was ready. Had he perhaps got a non-Muslim girlfriend. That would explain a lot but then why would necessarily there be a problem. Could she not convert - would that not be the greatest of blessings? She felt that she should ask him but then thought better of it In time he would tell her.

"Of course - why would I care about Faheem and his lot. They are just there for the perks. We have our own Maulana - he teaches the real way of the All-Merciful."

Then her son changed the subject and she was happy to let him do so. For those minutes she had seen the frustration and annoyance in his face. Not against her for asking, rather against Faheem for... Well she didn't really know what. She had to be content that her son would tell her when he was ready. He seemed to be doing well enough without the approval of such as Faheem. To her the latter had always seemed an arrogant, self-opinionated, foolish young man who traded off his grand-father's status and his father's wealth.

***

"Did you see them again - did they harass you again." Her husband's voice rose in pitch as it always seemed to when he was excited or annoyed.

"No - Tony has dealt with them."

She answered instinctively, wanting him to know that all was now well. She remembered how happy and relieved she had been when Tony had told her. He had not made a big deal of it or boasted about it. Instead he had merely walked by her desk and said, "Those three shouldn't be a problem no more." Then he had winked and strolled back in the direction of his office.

She didn't ask what he meant or how he had done it. Part of her hoped that he had dished out some summary justice to the young thugs. Perhaps he and his policeman friend had sorted it out. She didn't need to know the details any more than she doubted for a moment that what he had said was true. Any more than she immediately relised that she had made a mistake in telling Afsar.

His face had seemed to crumple into a mask of abject misery. He sat in silence for a few moments and then spoke. "I am your husband. It should be I that acts as your protector. It should be I that puts food on the table and a roof over your head. I know that I have failed you. I know that you could do so much better. I just wish that I could be enough of a man to have dealt with this for you and not that... Tony."

She heard his misery in every word, his contempt for himself. She tried to make it better. "You do not understand. Ton... Mr Turner knows so many people and he is so unlike you, so big and..." she stopped too late and almost wished she could cut her own tongue out.

"I know," he said completing her sentance, "so big and strong and powerful. I had an early day last week and went to sit outside your store. I saw him. I could not know his name but I know that it could only have been him I know that he is everything that I am not, I know that he only proves how I have failed you."

She took her husband in her arms and kissed him She tried to persuade him that he was all that she could ever want or need, that he was her husband.

"But he desires you?"

"Yes."

"Also you find him attractive - do not lie."

She didn't want to lie - she wanted him to understand. "Yes - yes, he is very attractive. But he is not my husband and all I want is my husband." She kissed his forehead and tried to make all well for him. She cooked him his favourite meal and later when they went to bed she reached for him and asked him to make love to her.

It had never happened before. He was hardly a machine in such things but her husband had always been a perfectly adequate lover. At least she assumed that he was. But on this night, despite all of her coaxing, he refused to rise, remaining limp and useless in her hand.

"You deserve so much better. You deserve a strong man and not a weak failure like me," was all he would say and as she kissed him, trying to let him know that all would be well, she tasted the salt on his cheeks.

***

At work Tony continued to see his women. It was hard to keep count but it seemed that at any one time Tony had at least five women at his beck-and-call. They would visit him in his office or he would leave with them when his day's work was done. All were white and all wore wedding rings. She had heard his men joking about it - how Tony preferred married women because he didn't want to be 'tied down.' Such things disturbed Asma. It could not be right to behave so but she also knew that apparently each of the women's husbands were well aware of their activities. Once she had found that to be true to a startling degree. Purely through chance - as she had walked past the break area,

It had been the Scottish woman, Tash. She had come to the store one day and Asma had immediately seen the difference in her. Her own memories and instincts meant that she equally instantly knew the reason. It was still very early but she was undoubtedly expecting a child.

Tony had come out to meet her. "Damn but you look amazing - I'm thinking that it suits you."

Tash had made a disgusted face. "Not most mornings it doesn't. I'm hoping that wears off soon. At least I always feel OK by midday. But..." her face took on its naughty little smile, "you think I look good despite this."

"You look good always but you look especially good BECAUSE of this." His big hand gently cradled her belly. How does your husband feel about it - he think it's his?"

Tash giggled. "He knows better than that. Didn't he try for long enough when we first married? When I told him I was coming off the pill he understood. It just surprised him that it happened so soon. It didn't surprise me."

Tony's face broke into a delighted grin. "Oh yeah. Why's that?"

"Because you're a real man. You fuck so much better than him that it only stands to reason."

"You tell him that?"

"He knows that and if he forgets then this reminds him." She tapped her small pale hand onto the large Black one still gently holding her small baby-bump.