Asma's Eyes Are Opened Ch. 03

"How he feel about it. He gonna be trouble." Tony's voice seemed unconcerned - his Jamaican accent just a little more prominent in contrast to Tash's upper-class Edinburgh lilt.

"He knew I wanted a family. He couldn't provide it and he positively encouraged me when my friend talked about me going to see you. He should have understood that with a man like you then sooner or later... It just happened to be sooner. Anyway he understands his place in these things. He is excited to be the provider for me and our new family. Once I might have stopped all of this if he had told me, even if he had just asked me. Not now - we've gone far beyond that point and he knows it and accepts it."

Tony gave a pleased little laugh. "I know he said it but you can't never quite be sure till that test comes up positive. You giving him some pity-pussy?"

Tash solemnly shook her head. "Oh no - not in my condition." Then that impish little grin was back and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I've got a couple of hours. Are you about done here?"

"Gimme five minutes - Everton can handle things round here no problem. You can have a seat in my office till we go."

The pair left and Asma shook her head. What sort of a man was this woman's husband. To so readily accept his position. To stand back and allow Tony, a Black man, to have sex with his wife and to make a baby with her? How could a man so accept, almost celebrate, his inferiority to another man. How could he almost hand her over to another man like that.

Then she remembered Afsar and his misery. Perhaps it was better that a man accepted such things than that he destroyed himself bemoaning it. She shook her head a little - trying to force such thoughts far from her consciousness.

***

"Say your required prayers and also beseech the All-Merciful for his mercy and wisdom. We are fortunate indeed to have his words from on high." Syed Abdul laid his gnarled old hand reverently on his leather-bound copy of the Quran. "His message of peace and justice. For every believer to read and for every believer to heed."

The old man's voice had held a hint of its vibrancy in his youth. The rejuvenating effects of his faith. It was invigorating but also very temporary since Syed was a very old man indeed. He gave a long exhalation of breath. "The All-Merciful cares for us and guides us. Does he not say, 'Do not go near adultery, It is truly a shameful deed and an evil way.' An evil that leads to other evils - deceit, betrayal, violence. A man tempts a married woman. A woman betrays her husband's trust. Adultery of the flesh but also adultery of the eye and adultery of the mind." His old lined face was stern for a moment as he looked at Asma.

She said nothing. She knew that she did not have to. Syed had known her since the first week that she had come to this country. He knew her better than anyone, certainly now he knew her better than her relations back in Hyderabad. Only her children were closer to her - and Afsar of course. Her guilt compounded on itself as she realised how late she had thought of her husband.

His gnarled hand reached out and touched hers with improbable gentleness, a paternal gesture. "My child is it not a mystery? These temptations and the make-up of our own souls. Did the All-Merciful make us like this so he could test us? Perhaps, perhaps, but I have never been able to believe that. The Quran is clear. There are the seven great unforgivable sins - but only seven. In His wisdom he knows that we make mistakes, that we can be weak. It is men that have tried to make it ten great sins or twenty or thirty or forty or one hundred! Are they not putting themselves on an equal with the Almighty and is that not, most certainly, one of the great sins?" He stooped and shook his head again.

"The All-Merciful gave us rules to keep us happy and safe. Adultery, in all forms, destroys the family. Creates bitterness and violence between husband and wife. The Quran, as ever, is just and wise in prohibiting it."

"But what if a husband..." She couldn't finish the sentance - it was shaming for any wife or husband.

"If he does not care?" Syed pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Some fools believe that a wife is the slave of her husband. Where there are children in the house that is one thing. If there are none, or no longer, then I would ask if that marriage still really exists. If a husband would betray his wife or give his wife away then they should first cancel the contract between them. You understand?"

She understood - but she also recoiled from such an idea. She loved Afsar after all. What would people think? It was impossible. She would have to be strong and retain her self-control.

***

"We can't fucking shift it Tony."

Everton's voice was annoyed, his frustration evident. He thought about aiming a vicious kick at the package but relented. A few broken toes wouldn't help the situation.

It was heavy but it was small and the fork-lift was O/C courtesy of Istvan running it into the wall. It hadn't been the Hungarian's fault - the gears had malfunctioned - but it was a right royal pain in the ass.

Four of them stood round the package and tried to lift it again. However, there really wasn't enough room. They couldn't get their strength under it.

"It's useless," said Everton.

"Something is," smiled Tony as he took off his jacket

"You haven't felt the fucking thing."

"Don't need to. It's been loaded and brought here on a truck. I need it over there and so its going over there."

Everton just shrugged. Istvan and Craig looked sceptical to the max. Jerzy, the biggest guy there, almost sniggered.

Tony sauntered to the back of the yard and brought out an old hand barrow. He wheeled it up to the package.

Everton had that look on his face. You know the one. 'Now why didn't I think of that?'

Tony wasn't done. He signalled the others to step back. Then he reached down and grasped the package and lifted it. He picked it up - the strain visible on his face. He stood for a few seconds, ensuring his balance and grip, then carefully placed it on the barrow. The old wood creaked ominously but it held. Tony gasped for air and then stood straight again. "Wheel it into place Istvan and take it careful OK."

"If something needs to happen then you get it done. You don't accept defeat - you can always find a way." He was speaking to Everton.

"And if it was a few pounds heavier so you couldn't lift it?"

"Then I'd have got you to help." Tony's smile was broad. "After that I'd have took off the packaging. After that I'd have seem what weight could be took off. But I wanted that fucker moved and so it was gonna get moved. Just a question of how. That's how I roll when I really want something."

Only for the second half of the sentance did Tony's gaze move off Everton. The others hadn't noticed that beautiful curvy Asian piece watching them but he had. He was looking straight at Asma as he finished his pronouncement. He saw her eyes widen a little, her tongue dart out to moisten her lips and then saw her look down just before she dashed away.

That was why he'd lifted that damned thing himself. Just occassionally you sent a message to the crew that you were the best man there. This time it hadn't just been a message to the crew. Tony allowed himself a little smile of satisfaction as he put his jacket back on. Just as well he hadn't pulled something because he had a hot new date after work. Belinda was a redhead, nice little body on her too. He found himself again thinking about Asma, about how her clothes just suggested at how fine she was. There was something to be said for that - but only up to a point. He was really going to enjoy it when he got to unwrap that particular little treat for himself. But that was for another day. Tonight he'd be giving all his attention to Belinda. Give them what they needed and make sure they couldn't wait to come back. That was Tony's philosophy and it had always served him and his ladies well.

***

Asma held her hand over her mouth. She didn't want to betray herself. Her fingers moved fast. The time for teasing herself had passed. She knew that her feeling, her desires, had been building in her for so long. She could not deny that or deny herself any longer. It had been a long time since she had explored her own sexual being. With marriage such things had seemed taboo, the known sin magnified. Why would you need to do such things when your husband was there? Why would you ever have sexual feelings about anyone but your husband?

'Do not approach unlawful sexual intercourse. Indeed, it is an immoral and evil way.'

She knew the words of the Holy writings but she also instinctively tried to shut them out of her consciousness. It was sinful but then what she was doing now was also sinful. Imagining Tony was there, imagining that he was taking her, his big Black cock pushing home into her. Each image in her mind accompanied and accentuated by the movements of her fingers. She knew how wrong it was. She knew this was adultery by the mind and adultery by the hand. She knew she was doing wrong and yet she could not resist.

She could not resist and she did not want to resist. It felt so good. She could almost feel the heat of his body, his presence as he made her another of his women. As good as it had ever been with Afsar - back when Afsar had been fitter and more interested in pleasing her. Perhaps even better than that? Perhaps - but how would she know how that would feel? The demand surged through her every fibre - she had to know and she knew how she could find out. One word, one gesture. Tony would not hesitate. It made her feel good and proud and beautiful that she KNEW that Tony would not hesitate. He would take her back into his office and he would FUCK her. Tomorrow, tomorrow, she would do it.

Asma's hand clamped harder over her mouth, stifling her moan of passion and desire. She felt the surging warmth of her sexual excitement peak and then begin to subside. Slowly she took her hand away and gasped in the cool air. It seemed to cool her over-heated self but perhaps that was just her imagination. She still savoured the feelings of her orgasm. She hadn't felt like that for... how long?

She instantly felt foolish. She was behaving like a teenager - like someone who knew nothing of the world. She was a mother of three children, a long-married wife. She was disgracing herself and for what? The image of Tony flashed into her brain, his confident smile on his face. She was recovering herself - she didn't want to think what she was thinking now.

'For him. For what he can show me and teach me about myself.'

Asma stood up quickly, felt a little dizziness at the sudden movement. Her equilibrium was gone, her safe predictable old life had gone. She had hoped to ease the pressure of her temptation but it had not worked. It had felt good and she knew that she wanted more. She knew that she would want more until she did what her body demanded of her.

One word, one gesture - that was all it would take. He was watching for it - confident that it would come.

Bt it was wrong - so wrong - and she knew it was wrong. She knew the holy words well enough.

'And women of purity are for men of purity and men of purity are for women of purity.'

How could she even imagine doing such a thing - betraying the 'ummah' in so blatant a way? Why could such betrayal feel so good, promise such fulfilment?

She wanted to drive all of these thoughts out of her mind. However, she knew that she was not strong enough. Such things were supposed to be the temptations of the deceiver but she knew, in her soul, that these were nothing external. They came from inside her, deep inside her, at the very core of her being. That was the thing that really frightened her the most.

***

Afsar looked at her. His eyes seemed hooded, trying to hide his feelings from her. However, she had seen the sadness there when he hadn't known that she was watching him. He went to work, he ate, he slept. His life had devolved into that and she felt so sorry for him. Whether it had been due to his own fault or not he seemed broken. How could she think of betraying him? It was a terrible thing and yet she knew that she would think of it again and that the guilt would only follow on behind, perhaps far behind.

But he was her husband! She moved across to him and gently stroked his hair. He looked at her and his expression just seemed piteous. She kissed him but he did not respond, did not return her affection.

"Please..." he said, "please..." Then he broke away and went into his study.

***

The blow fell a few days later. Ironically Asma had been shaken out of her erotic fantasies by her concern for her husband. He might not be an exciting man but, whatever mistakes he might have made, he was a fundamentally good man and she cared for him. She knew that he was suffering and she wanted to help him. However, he would not communicate with her. When she tried to raise the issue he would just retreat into that study of his. She had waited by the door and listened but she could hear nothing. No movement, no activity, not even any snoring. What did he do in there? Whatever it was it did not seem to help. When he finally emerged he seemed as miserable and as distant as when he had gone in.

So her mind had been on her husband as she went to work and he still dominated her thoughts as she returned. She had to visit the supermarket on the way back and it was there that it happened.

There was still a small kiosk near the entrance that sold the day's newspapers. Each had a large picture on the front page to draw potential readers' attention. Asma never bought a newspaper and walked by them but somehow it had registered. She walked on a couple of steps and then realised what she had just seen.

She took two steps back and then looked at the papers. There was a selection of pictures. A glamorous awards evening, a politician pointing his finger and giving a speech, the image of refugees on a boat under a stern headline warning about 'invasion.' None of them interested her. There was the same picture on two of the newspapers, the 'I' and the 'Guardian'. She had never read them but she knew that they were often denounced for their decadence and immorality at the mosque. These editions certainly would be. The headlines were different but complementary. 'Out and proud' and 'Pride in the sun.' Both above a picture of two young men kissing by one of the fountains of Trafalgar Square.

She had never approved of such things but that was not what shocked her. One of the young men held a small rainbow flag and both wore glitter making patterns on the brown skin of their faces. Those faces didn't only display the glitter but also shone with happiness, vitality and belonging. She could see instantly why the newspapers had used that picture - used that image to present their view of the world. Two handsome young men kissing in an accepting and joyous crowd.

She would have pursed her lips and walked on until now. She didn't like to think of such things. However, she stood and stared at the pictures. Even then, under the maelstrom of feelings and thoughts crashing round in her brain, she unconsciously noted that one of the young men was just that little bit more handsome than the other.

But then she would have said that. She was, after all, his mother.

***

The phone rang and rang and rang. She counted the number of rings until there came the inevitable click and then her son-in-law's voice announcing that she could leave a voicemail. She had done so the first few times - before she had understood.

Samreen, her daughter, had married into a very religious family. They had looked very askance at Asma and her family since the problems with her husband and the company finances. Now, after this, they had certainly demanded that Samreen cut herself off from her family. Perhaps they didn't have to demand it. Samreen, after all, did not have their views imposed on her. She shared them, perhaps held them more even more strongly. On marriage she had joined her new family and that would now be her only one. A family that did not wish to be associated with Asma's own, with its rumours of financial impropriety and now its proof of immorality.

Her whole upbringing and tradition told her that they were right. She certainly could understand their desire to protect their reputations and standing. However, it was hard. A mother could not have favourites and yet what mother did not? Ashraf had been her delight, her joy, her son. How could she cast him aside - how could she lose another of her children.

Perhaps not only one, perhaps also the third. She had rung her other daughter Rubina first. The response had been, in a way, typical of her - a very strong-willed and modern young woman

"I saw it and I couldn't believe he'd let that happen. Having himself photographed like that. What an idiot!"

Rubina's voice didn't sound shocked or outraged. It merely sounded frustrated and slightly annoyed. The tone she had always adopted when her beloved younger brother had done something slightly foolish.

"But... but... aren't you shocked. Your brother is a... is a...!" She couldn't bring herself to finish that sentance.

"He's an idiot and he's also gay. To be honest mum - no. I've kind of known about this for a year or two. You know Ashraf - he could never keep a secret from everybody. He was hardly going to tell Samreen was he."

'Or me,' thought Asma miserably. She vocalised her pain at the realisation. "Why did he not tell me - why did he not tell his mother! We can help him."

Rubina's voice was now calm and level. "He doesn't need help mum. He's happy being who he is. That's why he had to tell someone. Not out of misery but because he was full of joy about it. Why didn't he tell you first? Think about what your reaction would have been. He was going to tell you himself but he was waiting for the right moment. Now the little fool has got himself all over the front pages and the internet. Oh Ashraf..."

There was a noise on the end of the phone. It took Asma a moment to process the fact that her daughter was laughing. Not delighted laughter but rather the laughter of an elder sibling that her younger brother could have done something SO stupid.

"How can you laugh." Asma's voice was stern. "Think of how sinful this is - it breaks God's law."

"You think I don't know my Quran. You think I wasn't brought up well." Rubina's voice was also purged of all humour now. "You think I haven't thought about all this. I know another passage that certain people don't like to quote. 'People should not judge each other, that is for Allah.' How many people ignore or downright break that one? You think I don't get plenty of 'good Muslims' creaming themselves at the prospect of condemning me for anything or everything or just for breathing. Ashraf needs your support and not your condemnation. If he's seen that newspaper can you guess how he's feeling? Have you rung him?."

She had not. Asma was relieved that she had not. She still did not feel ready. "But what about Mr Hassan..."

Her daughter cut her off. "That old fraud! What about HIS precious sons. You know the one that is a banker - that spends his days arranging loans at rates of interest. Does the Koran say anything about that? Or what about the married one who is currently cheating on his wife with his PA. How about that? Or do sins only deserve condemnation when we aren't ourselves tempted to commit them?"

Asma had not expected this. She felt sand-bagged. She quickly ended the call and though they had spoken again since then there was now what had once seemed impossible, an unspoken wall between herself and Rubina.

***

It was hard. Hard indeed. She felt that she had lost one daughter and she felt unable to communicate with her son, unable even to trust herself to try. She was left only with Afsar and Rubina. The latter wanted her to rebuild a relationship with her son but Asma did not feel ready for that. The former, her husband, had taken this as just another of the seemingly unending series of blows that life had delivered to him. His response had been typical.