A Moment of Silence: Midnight III (The Midnight Series Book 3) (37 page)

“
Sukoshi
,” she said softly, meaning “a little.”

“Akemi, why do you have my babies hanging upside down?”

“
Nani
?” she said, meaning, “What?”

“Akemi, do you love me?”

“
Mechya
,” she said, meaning “a lot.” I lay down beneath her, breaking her pose on purpose. She tried to ignore me and hold it. I saw her concealing her smile. But when I raised my lips to her nipples and sucked them, the good feeling caused her scorpion curve to unravel, and she was then lying flat on my chest.

“Were you busy? Did I interrupt you?” I kissed her. “Are you hot?” I began pouring the water from the pitcher over her body, which was already moist from her workout. She rolled off, laughing, but lay on her back so I could wet her breasts and belly. I poured the rest on her and moved the moisture around with my hand, massaging her. I put honey from the dish on her nipples. She put one finger on her nipple, swiped up the honey, and pushed her hand inside her panties, rubbing the honey on her clitoris. She wanted me to lick her there.

I was brick, my joint was doing its own pose. I was pulling down her panties and using them to rope her over. She was on top; I was thrusting her from the bottom. She raised up and threw her head back, but her hips were still swiveling and I was still pushing in her. We changed positions. Face-to-face, we were sitting and fucking. She moaned. I pushed my finger in her mouth, the one with the honey on it. She sucked it, a sensuous, quieter sound, as we bounced in the room next door to Umma. When she came, she did a lobster grip, hugging me tight as she could, scratching up my back and purring in my ear while I was sucking her neck.

She was sitting on my shoulders now, her pretty feet each pressed against one of my thighs, her purple Picasso nail design glowing in her lovely purple light. She leaned forward, her long
black hair flowing in my face. She began speaking to me, softly and slowly, as though in conversation. Not in Japanese, but in Korean, the beautiful musical language that was itself like a moaning. I was listening to every word, understanding none but knowing this was some sweet talk she was saying. I flipped her over with one arm, caught and held her with the other.

“Let’s eat,” I told her. She smiled, still wanted me to eat her. I gave her a caramel instead, my answer to her sweet talk and her sweets cravings.

Our mouths tugged over one piece of sushi. We were laughing and spilling rice on the wooden floor, where it was already wet and slippery.

Last thing I saw, a view from her bedroom floor, was her exotic fish, beautiful designs that Allah created. Already glowing and swimming in the lighted water, her purple light made them look more amazing. I remembered buying her that huge tank and walking from place to place as she said no to hundreds of fish and would find just one here and one there, and another eventually, until she had the most beautiful collection of living sea creatures. Everything Akemi did looked beautiful, and that was very sexy to me.

Before dawn, my eyes opened. Akemi and I had fallen asleep on the floor. She still held my balls in her hand as she slept. It had been like that with each night that we shared. I would awaken with her body glued to mine or with her holding my balls like she suspected that I would somehow disappear. I would never leave her. She has me for life, and that’s peace.

Showering, I was thinking of her, my first wife. Loving her, over the many months of our less-than-one-year, new marriage, it is actually her who disappears. Because she does not speak English or Arabic, she sometimes slips away through those silences and no one can blame her, especially not me. When Chiasa and I were half an hour late meeting her at the Ghazzalis’, she was already gone when we arrived. Akemi has a way of sending a shock wave through me with her disappearances, enough to keep me focused on her and
to keep her heavy on my mind. I’m never worried about her wanting or choosing anyone over me. She wouldn’t ever. But she disappears through her silence and slips into her art. Her art is a magnet that draws every careful eye that recognizes the magnitude of her beauty, talent, and expressions. She is a diamond, my diamond. So of course, she is always in danger. So I guard her. Protection from a husband, father, or brother is a necessary thing. She has that in me. What she doesn’t have yet is faith. She sleeps through the prayers and doesn’t pray when she’s awake. There is no sign of her worshipping anyone . . . but me. To be without spiritual protection is a highly vulnerable and lonely position, no matter how much your man stands beside you. Only Allah can be everywhere at the same time. Still, there is no compulsion in Islam. I don’t force her. My prayer is that she will come along naturally on her own schedule, using her own feeling, thoughts, and will. I am one hundred percent certain, however, that she desires our children to be the same as me. They will be born Muslim, and will certainly be raised into the faith,
Insha’Allah
.

Dressed, I checked Umma before going downstairs to make prayer. She was not in her bedroom. Naja was not in her bedroom, either. Downstairs, Chiasa was not in her bedroom. I jumped into my kicks and pulled the front door open. It was unlocked, so I knew they went through the door. As soon as I stepped out, I saw Umma sitting on our front steps. She greeted me with a silent smile. I gave her a puzzled look. She pointed to the right. I looked. Chiasa and Naja were jogging in the dark, headed up the block towards our house. “Come on! Don’t stop! Don’t slow down! You can do it!” Chiasa was looking back, cheering Naja on to catch up to her.

“
Ohio gozaimas
!” Chiasa called out, waving and running towards Umma and me. Naja finally caught up and was standing there, huffing and puffing, her little brown face covered with sweat. “Drop down!” Chiasa said.

“The grass is wet,” Naja complained.

“It’s just dew,” Chiasa said. “It won’t hurt you. We’re gonna
stretch!” Naja slumped into the grass. Chiasa led her into some stretches. Umma looked up at me. I looked at my second wife. All I could do was smile.

“
Salaam
,” Naja said, brushing by Umma and me. “She’s crazy!” she muttered about Chiasa as she went back into the house. Umma followed her in.

“Are you next?” Chiasa asked, her eyes sparkling and her smile bright. “I can go for much more. Come on, catch me!” She ran off. I chased her. She wasn’t jogging no more. She dashed like lightning around the whole block twice. On her third attempt, I sped up and passed her, then spun around and snatched her up and spun her around some more, her heart pounding. “You’re making me dizzy. That’s so unfair!” she said, laughing and falling. I grabbed her arm and pinned her against a tree.

*  *  *

When it was time for Naja to leave out for her school bus, Chiasa said, “I’ll take her. I am going to school with her today anyway. We’ll go together.” As they walked out the door, Naja gave me a look. I didn’t sympathize with her. I thought she should be grateful to have an amazing sister-in-law like Chiasa. Besides, she was getting to leave with my woman, who I was planning to take out with me for the day. Chiasa looked back and gave me her look. I gave her mine. Her eyes thanked me. She was always thanking me, as though I was doing her some favor.

“She gave Naja cucumber juice for breakfast,” Umma said, smiling. “But she did pack her a lunch.” Umma was leaning against the kitchen counter. I was just listening. “Maybe I’ll go out exercising with them tomorrow morning,” she said, stunning me. “Your second wife told Naja, ‘Your
hijab
is not a prison or an excuse. Go out and live life!’ ” Umma recounted. “When Naja translated Chiasa’s words to me, I felt something in my soul. You chose quite a powerful one. Her love for you is immense. And she is simply heavenly.”

*  *  *

When Chiasa and I were up against the tree earlier, seconds before sunrise, she asked me, “Do you know what the secret is to understanding girls?”

“Can any man say that he does?” I asked her.

“In a girl’s heart there is a desire for adventure. If she doesn’t get it, she creates it. But of course there is a difference between adventure and mischief. Bored girls create mischief . . . because they are not experiencing adventure, and they don’t know how to get it started. Some of the most evil, most jealous, and rudest girls in Tokyo were the bored ones. Those girls loved chaos, just sat around gossiping, lying, and commenting on the other girls who were actually living out their adventures.

“I want to make friends with Naja. I want to help her to discover who she is and what she really likes and wants to pursue. I want to help her to get her adventure started.”

*  *  *

At the break of a pink dawn, standing beneath an ancient gingko biloba tree whose branches each pointed towards the sky and whose leaves dangled like beautiful emerald jewels, my second wife also told me, ‘You and I have to keep our love a secret.’ ” I laughed some, but I was listening. I was thinking,
Is she saying that because the tree is in front of our house and Akemi or Umma or Naja could see us through any front-facing window, standing pressed against one another
?

“How can our love be a secret when I married you in a mosque in the presence of the Imam and the witnesses?” I asked her. “And both of our families already know it. And my first wife, she agreed to it and made it possible. Where’s the secret in that?” I asked her.

“I mean,” she said, “the secret is in the amount of our love, in the intensity of our love, and especially the expression of our love.” She sounded sincere. Yet, I still wasn’t clear where she was headed with it.

“It’s funny—no, it’s peculiar. Have you noticed that when two people love each other a lot, it makes the people around them feel bad on the inside?” she asked me. I never thought about it. Figured these were some feminine thoughts she was having.

“Almost everyone, because when a man and a woman love deeply, it seems others feel locked out of that love. And even if the others are people who the man and woman also love, they still feel cheated. Each person wants the same amount of love, it seems, even when their roles are different. Like Naja—she’s your little sister, but because of the intensity of our love, she somehow feels locked out. Even my family, Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clem and their sons, who I really do love, seemed a bit irritated by the love that you and I share openly,” she said, and then I could see her point clearly.

“Sometimes, I feel Umma’s feelings . . .” Chiasa continued. I sat down at the roots of the tree, always alert when hearing my Umi mentioned by anyone, even her.

“She is a beautiful mother and she’s young. Because I am a woman, I’m sometimes wondering if Umma feels lonely on the inside. Sometimes I don’t want to laugh too much or let myself go when you are loving me. Like when I want to shout out in joy. But I restrain myself because I think Umma might hear. She
must
miss that feeling so much that your father must have given her. It’s impossible not to miss that feeling once you have felt it even once,” she said.

“I know all of this is a little strange sounding,” she said softly. “And I just want you to think about it, but don’t worry. I already know how we can solve this problem. First, we have to have a ‘secret love,’ like how the Japanese people conceal their feelings and even manage their facial expressions and gestures and body language.” She was looking down towards me. I was looking up towards her.

“Next, we have to spread our love around more . . .”

“What? Spread our love around?” I cut her off. “You want us to hide it and spread it around?” I repeated to show her that maybe
she was just having one of those emotional, confusion days that women have. She laughed.

“No! I mean yes! We hide ours and we spread more love around to the ones who we love. The ones who feel that you and I, or you or I, are not loving them enough. Get it?” she asked me, smiling.

“I see,” I said.

“Then, when you and I are alone, I mean alone alone, really just you and I, that’s when you’ll feel me burst and explode and shout.” She jumped up in the air like a cheerleader. Then she dropped down beside where I sat and leaned on me. I leaned on her too.

“So what are we doing now?” I asked her. “Are we hiding it, or are we spreading it around?” I hugged her. She liked it. She threw her leg over mine.

“I know it’s really hard to hide all of these feelings, isn’t it? But I want everyone around us to be as happy as we are, and to feel loved enough and comfortable. And . . . if I can conceal all of this love that I have for you, and improve the love between us and each of our family members, that would be a really good thing, Riyoshi,” she said passionately.

“Don’t hide too much,” I told her. “Or else this hunter will do anything to track you down and drag out whatever you’ve been hiding that belongs to me.” I touched her face. She leaped on me and we fell down, lying on the roots of the tree. We kissed.

“You’re making it hard on me,” she said.

“You’re making it hard for me too.” I smiled.

*  *  *

In the evening as Chiasa cleaned the kitchen and Naja helped, I overheard them.

“Are you planning to go to summer school with me every day?” Naja asked her.

“Why not? My college will not begin until September,” Chiasa replied.

“Yes, but what for? Why are you following me around?” Naja asked.

“Because I’m your sister, and we should at least understand one another.”

“Understand what?” Naja asked.

“Understand who you are, Naja, and who I am as well.”

“You’re my brother’s second wife.” Naja said it like it was an insult.

“We already know that, but each woman has an identity of her own. I have my own identity and my own reasons. Maybe if you knew my reasons, you might understand me and then we could love each other more,” Chiasa pleaded.

“Love! I guess we better start off with ‘like,’ that’s probably better,” Naja said.

“Okay, ‘like.’ That’s just fine,” Chiasa said softly. “Let’s start off with the onions that you asked me about?”

“Yes. Eating them like that makes your breath smell,” Naja said.