Asma's Eyes Are Opened Ch. 03

'I have let you down - I could not even produce a son who was a real man.'

Asma had hidden her anger at that as best as she could. Why did everything ALWAYS have to be about him? How could he think of his son like that? As she had been thinking about him...

She felt shame at herself. Had she failed as a mother? Was she failing as a mother now? Was not her husband supposed to be the rock around which the family was built? She desperately needed to talk to someone - but who? Her parents were dead, her brother distant in more than just geographical terms. Her husband's business failure had cut them off from his family. She loved and trusted her teacher, Syed Abdul, but how could she go to him with something like this?

Finally, of course, it became too much. She broke down and wept bitter hopeless tears at her counter in the store. Found that once she had begun she could not stop, sobbing out an expression of her misery in a stream of salt-laden tears. Her supervisor, Ellie, had always been a good friend and had come and taken her away. Back into the rest room where Asma had finally felt defeated enough to tell it all and not to care who heard.

Ellie was a good woman and she had listened and she had tried to help. But Ellie was not a Believer, she was not of the Ummah. How could she know how Asma felt?

"You trust this Syed?"

His deep voice shocked her. She had been so wrapped up in her own words that she hadn't noticed him come into the rest room. That was saying something - Tony Turner was a hard man to ignore, even harder to fail to notice.

Now she turned her red-rimmed eyes to him - looked at him fully as she had not dared to do for months now. "Yes, he is a good man."

Tony moved forward until his face was just a few inches from hers, his wonderfully deep brown eyes meeting her own.

"Then you go talk to him - you trust him with this. You can't carry it alone and your friends aren't going to let you. You understand that?"

***

As long as she had known him, which was many years, Syed Abdul had always had his little smile. He would listen to you as you spoke, nodding sometimes but always with that little smile on his lips. He had it now as she spoke and as she felt the tears threaten to come again. However, before they could, her spiritual adviser held up one old leathery hand.

"'Allah is infallible and has made us all different'. Who am I to say that he was wrong? Who am I to place myself on a par with the All-Merciful? Am I, heaven forbid, to judge him? That truely would be the worst of sins. You are a Hyderabadi like me - you know my tradition, our tradition. Perhaps you think that I gave up much for it?" Syed raised a bushy white eyebrow as he looked at her, that ever-present little smile still there.

She knew that Syed was a Sufi, like many Hyderabadis. He had been among the earliest of their faith here, established as an Imam over his small flock. Then their numbers had increased and the offer had come of funding, funding for full-time clergy and new buildings. However, the offer came with conditions - of course it did. The donors had their own orthodoxy, believed it to be the only orthodoxy. Any Imam would have to toe the line or be replaced.

Which was why there was a splendid mosque but Syed held his study groups and prayers out of this slightly-shabby house. His little flock a gathering of those who were either wary of the mosque's leaders or rejected by them.

"Are we not expressions of the All-Merciful, of His love and Being? Does he create us to damn ourselves? For we all sin - there are just gradations of our guilt, of our need for the mercy of divine providence. We must follow the Pillars of our Faith and we must avoid the Great Sins. This is Islam, submission to Him. He took warring tribes and chaos, blood feuds over women and robbery, the foolishness and violence bred of intoxication, he took all of these and with his blessed Prophet, peace be upon him, made a great people and a great empire."

Syed seemed to sit up a little straighter, his normally gentle eyes flashed fiercely for a second with pride. Then he smiled, seemingly mocking his own response to his words. "But we are just people, all requiring of His mercy. For centuries we added to His laws and refined them and broke them. Even the greatest among us. We interpreted His words and then denounced anyone for interpreting them. As many would certainly denounce me."

He shrugged. "The All-Merciful knows what is in our hearts, for He is also there. If we listen to His voice and understand His teachings then we try to keep our sins small and easily forgiven, sins that harm no-one, that cause no discord. It is why the betrayal of a spouse is so much worse than mere fornication." He looked at Asma meaningfully and then held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You cannot keep all your family together. Perhaps you should help and support those that most are in need of help and support. The All-Merciful brings us back into His fold when we are ready and in His own way. That is my belief. I do not expect you to share it but it is what the years have taught me."

Syed let out a long breath and then seemed almost to shrink into himself. Asma could not help herself and she took his old gnarled hand in hers. She moved forward and pressed her forehead to his hand. He had shown her the way forward.

***

It was hardly the work of Providence but it was certainly remarkable. Why was it that Afsar chose that course of action? Why was it that her husband chose that very day? She had prepared their meal and they had eaten. He had been quiet, withdrawn, deep in consideration. Only after she had cleaned up had he coughed and cleared his throat and nervously come to his point. When she tried to interrupt him he had just forged on, forcing out his words, insisting on finishing his point.

"My wife I know that I have failed you - failed you in every way that a husband can. I know that I am an iron ball on a chain attached to you, dragging you and our family down. I know that I have forfeited any right to your love or respect. I know that our marriage is a prison and I know that my love for you means that I must release you. I must repudiate you. You may leave or I can go - it is for you to choose. I cannot again be a husband to you - enjoying what I have not earned."

He looked up at her and for the first time in many months she saw something other than defeat in his eyes. How long had he been considering this? How long had he feared to say it? She realised with a shock how liberating he had found his ability to finally do so. It was foolishness of course. Happily he would certainly reconsider in the four months prescribed for such matters.

She took his hand. "There is no need for either of us to go. I would not wish you to. I respect you and love you too much. You should think of all these things before you make any decision."

She saw gratitude and relief in his face, he after all had nowhere to go, but she also saw disbelief. His confidence in himself had been shattered by blow after blow and it could not so easily be repaired. He finally stirred and went into their bedroom. He emerged with some bedding and took it into his little study. The meaning was clear.

***

What could a woman do? Asma was a mature mother of three, no flighty teenager, but she was still a woman. What was she to do when her husband studiously ignored her attempts at affection, when he gently but firmly declined to be involved in any form of intimacy. When he refused to share their marital bed. She had thought that Afsar was overwrought and that he would come round. However, as the weeks passed it became clear that he was determined. That, when the four months were up, he would want their divorce to become final.

The realisation came to her and its implications. She went to work each day - she sometimes caught Tony watching her. He had never seen any reason to hide his interest in her. She knew that, whatever the foolishness of her husband, Tony was in no doubt of her desirability. He was waiting for her signal - confident that one day it would come. She told no-one about Afsar and gave Tony no indication of interest. She was a wife and would be loyal to her husband. But now there was that caveat that had crept into her mind. 'So long as he is my husband.'

Four months can seem an age or to fly by. Exactly four months after their talk Asma once again found herself at the table with Afsar.

"I release you," said Afsar with determination, "I repudiate you but I want to know that there is no ill-will. I do so for you and hope that you will free me too from my guilt and my failure."

She knew what he meant. She paused and reached into her purse. She withdrew a single pound coin and pushed it across to him. He almost snatched it up, his expression full of joy and relief. As if a great weight of responsibility had been lifted from him.

It was agreed. They were parents to their children and they lived in the same house but they were no longer man and wife. They would be friends but his responsibilities to her and his claims over her were at an end.

***

It felt so strange. After so many years. Her rings had really not weighed so much and yet she could feel their absence. On the way into work that Monday she had wondered if people would notice, especially if one person would notice.

Tony never crowded her - there had been an unspoken understanding between them. He wanted her but she was not available. To act on his desires, without his approval, would have broken his code. Not to think about the store's HR policies - which Tony generally didn't seem to!

Asma smiled to herself thinking about that. Tony was a rogue but a charming and a handsome rogue. The morning had been busy - many customers and hardly a chance to catch her breath. She had hardly realised that she had a moment's pause before he was there. He casually sat on the edge of her counter and reached out a hand. She let that hand reach hers and let Tony casually run one of his darker fingers over hers. Over one of her fingers in particular.

She felt the breath catch in her throat as she heard that deep silky voice. "Something missing?" He paused a perfectly judged moment. "This what I've been waiting for?"

She kept her voice calm and careful. "My husband and I are divorced. Did you think it meant something else?" She felt very brave as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"Does it?" There was a gleam in his eyes - the sign of a man who knew that he had won. It was now just for her to acknowledge it - what they had both known for long time.

He had called her bluff and she felt such joy at knowing it. "Yes," she said in a clear and firm voice. "We both know what it means."

"Damn girl but you made me wait - made me wait way longer than I ever have before. If you didn't work here we could go out the back but.." He smiled as he saw her eyes widen a little. He knew that the idea scared her but he also knew that if he asked her then she would go with him. he saw Asma's eyes dart around her, taking in their surroundings. Ellie was watching and a couple of the other girls too. Well some had been down this same path and others wished they had. They knew what this little conversation was about and this pretty little Muslim woman knew too. It was time.

"I'll pick you up at seven. OK?"

She nodded and then smiled.

***

Asma owned some more Western clothes and had had thought about wearing them for her date. However, she chose not to. She had a very fine Hyderabadi outfit bought for weddings but they were seldom ever invited to such occassions any more. It was perfect and she knew that Tony would very much appreciate it. As she prepared herself she giggled at the idea. It was so exciting, so rejuvenating. She carefully applied her make-up and her jewellery ensuring that she looked at her best, at her finest. In the mirror she was pleased by the result. Not a blushing young virginal bride but a desirable woman. She thrilled at the idea - only Tony had made her think of herself in that way in a long time. She owed him for that. She giggled again as she realised that he would certainly be collecting on that debt tonight. She didn't bother to contemplate whether this would be a one-off thing or the start of something more. That didn't seem to matter. What mattered was tonight.

She was ready with five minutes to spare and waited nervously. Afsar came and stood behind her so she could see him in the mirror. He looked at her, a combination of pride and sadness in his eyes. She saw his face and for the first time felt a twinge of guilt.

Perhaps her ex-husband saw it. He moved close to her. "You look amazing Asma, so very beautiful. Enjoy yourself tonight." With that he kissed her hair and then left the room. At that moment the door-bell rang.

***

She had feared that he would take her to a pub. She knew that was his normal meeting-place with his women. However, he instead took her to a small Indian restaurant. She thought that was brave of him but soon realised that he had judged it perfectly. He declined the suggestion of Cobra beer which made her feel more comfortable. The food, even to her practised palate, was excellent South Indian cuisine.

Tony had allowed her to order for them both. He had been appreciative of her choice and, what joy, throughout their meal he had seemed to be unable to take his eyes off her. She knew his were not the only eyes on her. They were an unusual couple. Tony was dressed well but very much in the Western style. She wore her colourful kurti tunic and tight churidar showing the curve of her legs. Vibrant colours that made her feel alive. She had opted for a modern dupatta, a light colourful silk scarf that covered her shoulders and her hair. This was not for haya, the modesty expected of a Muslim woman and demanded of a Muslim wife, this was for herself. She felt comfortable dressed so and she delighted that her suspicion about Tony was right. He valued her 'difference' from his other women, a 'specialness' made blatant by her dress. This evening was not just another evening with just another woman. This evening was special for him as well as for her.

She knew that. His eyes told her. The way they seemed to devour her quite as enthusiastically as he polished off their meal.

"It's been real good," he finally said. "You want to be taken home or to my place."

She appreciated the gesture. However, it was quite ridiculous. They both knew what they wanted from this. "Don't you dare take me home," she purred, letting her dark eyes flash at him.

He smiled a broad smile, took her hand and led her out of the restaurant. It was decided now. The drive to his home seemed interminable but perhaps took only ten minutes. Tony casually chatted but she didn't feel able to join in. She was nervous. It had been a long time and she feared that she would disappoint him.

His home was a flat in a well-maintained terraced house. It was small but neat and comfortable. She drank it all in, tried to notice everything. The pictures, the ornaments, the vibe - it all told her more about this man that had courted her for so long.

Finally he took her in his arms and he kissed her. Not with fierce overwhelming passion but with careful measured gentleness. She felt very small in his arms, arm that were so much stronger that her poor ex-husband's, and she appreciated his care

Tony pulled back while holding both of her hands. Again those knowing worldly dark eyes seemed to scrutinise every part of her. "Damn but you look fine in that kit. Suits you, sets off that beautiful skin of yours. Vibrant and lively and beautiful just like the woman you've been hiding from me for so long. I've been real enjoying looking at you in that outfit all evening but now I need to see you out of it."

Asma knew her heart was beating impossibly fast. She hesitated - unsure of what to do.

"My people like to dance and I know your people do too. Show me..." He moved to a chair and took a seat before leaning over to press a switch.

Music filed the room - vibrant and ecstatic. Asma smiled, again appreciating the gesture. He had found some music for her and it was indeed from Hyderabad. Marfa might not have been her choice but she remembered how as a young girl she had danced to it with her friends. This dance would be very different and for an audience of one.

She began to move her body and to make motions with her arms and fingers. She allowed the rhythmn of the percussion to enter her and to dictate her movements as she moved faster and with more fluidity. The blood pumped through her veins and she felt the exhilaration of it. Tony was smiling and tapping his hand on the arm of his seat. She paused to carefully take her dupatta from her head and her shoulders. She leaned down to place it at Tony's feet. Then it was back to the dance but now with her long hair freed to swirl around her as she accelerated her movements. She felt so alive and so free. The music settled one more and this time she eased down her colourful churidar to again place them at Tony's feet.

He grinned and reached out for her brown naked legs but she skipped just a little out of reach and wagged a playful finger at him. Soon the dance would end and then she knew that he would take control - just as she wanted him to. First she danced once more, making complex patterns with her dancing fingers and swaying her hips. Finally her hands found the bottom of her kurti and in one easy movement pulled it up and over her head.

Her kurti joined her other clothing at his feet. She had already kicked off her shoes as she began her dance. Now she was naked save for her bra and panties. She paused again and he stood. He beckoned with his finger and finally, after so long, she went to him. Their lips met and she tasted his mouth, felt the warmth of his skin. His tongue pressed against her lips and she allowed him admittance. Her own met his and they made a new more intimate dance of greeting.

His hands had not been idle. With a practised movement her bra was unhooked and she felt it fall to the ground. No fumbling around by Tony but then, as she knew, he had enjoyed a lot of practise in such things. Fingers pushed under the waist-band of her panties and explored. She knew what he would find and his pleasure proved her right.

"I knew that under all them clothes you had just what a man wants. Just the right curves in just the right places and a tight little cunt all warm and wet and needing to be fucked."

She knew his obscenity was judged and deliberate. He wasn't playing games and he wanted to be sure she wasn't too.

"It's yours now." Her voice was quiet but determined, her eyes locked on his and then their mouths met again in an urgent kiss.

The decision had been made, the die cast and the Rubicon crossed long before. When she had gone with him to the meal she had already broken the haya, the modesty, that she had always felt the responsibility of a good Muslim woman. The people at the mosque would already have felt her a loose woman, a slut, a whore.

Her heat raced, she felt the hot blood surging through her body, her tongue danced the dance of desire with this Black man. She had thought about going with him for so long, she had wanted to do so for almost as long. Now here, in his arms she felt freed, liberated. Was it a sin? Most certainly. Did she regret it? Certainly not. The time for hesitation and doubt was long gone. She was here, a beautiful and desirable woman, with a man who knew what such a woman needed. Who could give her what she so desired.

His skin was dark - dark as they often represented Iblis, the tempter. But he was no devil, no apparition. She felt the warmth and strength of his body, the hard muscles of his arms. He dropped his head and his mouth found her exposed right breast. She felt the gentle suction of his mouth and then gasped as that questing teasing tongue found her already hard nipple. It had been so long - so long since a man had wanted her like this and had been man enough to prove it.