The Jewish Neighbor (2 page)

Layal
turned to face Umayma and smiled. Her big blue eyes were innocent and
forgiving. She was the only person in the house who treated Umayma with
respect, and in turn Umayma had grown fond of the girl, despite her father and
grandparents. Syria was overflowing with orphans and Umayma was all too
familiar with the magnitude of fear a child experiences when they lose a
parent. Maybe because she was three and had no idea of
Umayma’s
humble place in the family, but whenever Layal was alone with her, Umayma could
almost forget the complete rut she had gotten herself in.

There
was always an unspoken awkwardness when she dropped Layal to school in the
morning, and today was no different. Other parents must have assumed she was
just the new nanny, and avoided any meaningful interaction with her. She walked
past a few well-to-do mothers of some Arab persuasion who were prone to go
particularly out of their way to ignore her, rather than embrace her as one of
her own. When she had first heard their Arabic chatter, she had tried to engage
with them, but they just looked the other way.

Even
Layal’s
young teachers who should have been trained not to
judge, always seemed to regard Umayma with some sort of pity. 
Poor
little peasant girl from the Middle East
.
Umayma’s
command of the language was excellent, but the teachers and staff still spoke
to her in slow, clearly enunciated words as if she was slow on the uptake. And
they never entrusted her with critical information regarding
Layal’s
progress, health and behavior. They always sent it
to
Kamal
in written form, suggesting they too were in
the know about
Umayma’s
microbial position in the
household.

§

Kamal
was taking his parents to the doctor to get their
annual physical today, and Umayma had done all the necessary shopping a few
days ago. This was one of those rare occasions when she had most of the day to
herself.

Fizroy
Park was ten minutes away and this early in the
morning it would be empty. Sometimes a few young mothers and their children would
be loitering in the playground, but for the most part they kept to themselves
and didn’t gawk at her black headscarf as if she was an extraterrestrial. Often
when the playground was empty, she would sit on the big swing and rock her
misery away as she reflected on happier times. These stolen moments when she
could reconnect to her past allowed her to momentarily escape the oppressive
purgatory she was trapped in.

An
older woman with a dog was sauntering through the park when Umayma arrived. She
bit her lips and perhaps attempted to smile at Umayma but it came across more
like a frown. Even with her limited interaction with other people, Umayma was
able to infer some general perceptions of the British psyche. Most of them
seemed caged in impermeable capsules that filtered out or greatly reduced any
attempt on their part to be warm or personable. But for Umayma this was a
blessing. People here kept to themselves and no one ever pried with malicious
intent. Back home human warmth was abundant like the sun, but it also came with
a total invasion of personal space and privacy, like harmful, cancerous rays.
She appreciated the ability to walk in public harboring dark secrets without a
nosy neighbor trying to force her open.

When
the woman with the dog had disappeared to a mere dot, Umayma scanned the park
and the playground until she was certain both were empty. She sat on the swing
and shot her legs in the air to gain momentum. Almost instantly her body became
one with the swing as together they drew imaginary arcs in the air.

The
sky above was muddled with dark clouds and the threat of rain. Frosty wind
caressed her face and caused her eyes to tear. And it didn’t take long for
those weather-induced teardrops to usher in a genuine fit of desperate crying.
She hated her life. She despised herself. But most of all she loathed the
injustice of her predicament.
If only I was born rich.
Umayma didn’t
want to waste these precious solitary moments doing something she did every day
in bed. So she forced herself to focus on anything else to bring a smile to her
face. Like that one dollar bill in her purse.

Thunder
erupted and it stunned her. She remembered stories of people being struck by
lighting and dying. If only she was that lucky.

Voices
coming from behind and across the park snapped Umayma out of her reverie. She
tilted her head and saw the figures of two men moving slowly but conversing a
lot louder and with more animation than what the English are usually prone to.
Their tone of voice reminded her of the drunken youths who sometimes crawl by
her house late on weekend nights as they emerged from nearby pubs.

Umayma
decelerated her swinging, and sat quietly waiting for the young men to pass her
by. Praying she’d remain invisible. She wasn't doing anything wrong, but the
sight of a grown foreign woman in a head scarf swinging alone could be
provocative for some. And Umayma hated confrontations. She stared at her
low-priced sneakers purchased at a supermarket and counted away the seconds,
hoping their voices would fade as they walked in the opposite direction. But as
they grazed forward on the grass, their rambling only grew louder until they
stopped abruptly. She had her back turned to them, but she sensed they couldn’t
have been more than a few feet away.

“Hey,
look at this,” one of them whispering to the other.
Umayma’s
shoulder’s tightened and her heart drummed a little faster. Her eyes blinked
rapidly and uncontrollably. Without thinking, she started to recite small,
protective verses from the Quran under her breath.

Their
feet shuffled closer as they circled around and came to stand in front of her.
She looked up to face them.

Two men in their mid-twenties.
One tall
and bulked with muscles, the other shorter and stout.
Both white as
white can be, wearing army fatigues and black boots, with shaved heads,
tattoos, body piercings, and ice-cold blue eyes.

“Excuse
me. May I ask you a question?” the big one said in a mock professorial tone
with steam coming out of his mouth.

Umayma
nodded.

“Do
you understand and read the English language, dear?” he said reverting now to
what she assumed was his normal cockney drawl.

Umayma
paused to think before she responded. “I was an English teacher in my country,”
she mumbled, projecting a nervous, desperate smile. She had worked hard to
eliminate her Arabic accent, but now under stress whatever pronunciation tricks
she had learned were all but forgotten.

“Jolly
well then. I suppose you must have seen all the graffiti near the tube stations
and on Archway. Do you happen to remember what most of them say?”

Umayma
shook her head.

They
took a few steps towards her until they were mere inches from her face.
Enough to hear the anger buzzing on their skin and smell the
alcohol fuming on their breaths.

“They
say ‘Go the fuck back to where you came from you fucking cunts’.”

The
other guy broke out in mad, hyena laughter then joined in slurred, drunken
stupor.

“Why
the
fuck
do you pajama mamas and your sand nigger men
like it here so much, anyway?” He had a sniffing tick when he spoke.

“Yeah,”
the taller guy continued. “What 
is
 the attraction here for
brownies? Pig meat everywhere.
Booze, Bitches and Jews.
Everything you hate. But you flock here like dirty camels bringing nothing to
the table but flies and
turds
. Bleeding us dry and
living on welfare. White man has to work double shifts to sponsor you maggots.”

Umayma
turned her face away.

“Maybe
sluts like this one here come for a taste of real men?” he said to his shorter
friend then turned to Umayma.
“
Innit
true,
duckie
?”

Umayma
could hear their voices, but her rumbling heart was far louder.

“What
do you think of me and this handsome bloke here?
On a scale
of one to ten?”

“Good,”
she said, immediately regretting her naivety to think that appeasing them would
in any way soften their hearts.

“Fancy
a taste of white cock for a change, then? You know—to get fucked by a real man
who doesn’t’ need to wear a suicide bomb and die like a filthy coward to prove
a fucking point?”

At
the corner of her eyes, she spotted the stout one unzip his trousers and yank
out his rather large, uncircumcised penis in the air. Then he dangled it with
his hands as he extended his tongue out. Like a deranged dance of a
cannibalistic tribe.

“Hey
Gavin?” the tall man asked his friend.

“What?”
He seemed annoyed to have his rhythmic penis play interrupted.

“Reckon
this piece of shit here is good enough to be one of the seventy-two virgins
waiting for her mate Osama?”

Umayma’s
body shivered. She gripped the chain of the swing
tighter but it was frozen and turned her knuckles a deathly shade of white.

“Can’t see why not.
She’s got well big tits, a round ass,
and a pouty mouth big enough to take both our cocks.”

“
Feck
off!
I’m not double dipping
with you.”

In a
swift move, the tall one pulled
Umayma’s
head scarf
off and grabbed her by the arm.

“Listen
up, sunshine, what say you we do this the easy way? Save yourself the drama of
screaming for help and all that palaver? Just take one for the team.” He
pointed to thick bushes in the back where Umayma had seen small boys being
taken by their moms to pee.

“Young
Gavin here and I are going to take slow and easy turns on your merry go round.
And if you so much as whimper—” He took out a hunting knife from his back
pocket and brandished it in her face.

Umayma
put her head down as he grabbed her arm and motioned for her to start walking
with them.
I am done for it.
As they shuffled to the bushes, she broke
out of his grip and bolted as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But
she didn’t go far. Gavin, who was a few steps behind, was prepared for her
flight and had extended his foot to trip her. She fell flat on her face and the
two men broke out in insane laughter at her expense.

Before
she could get up, the tall guy gripped her ankles and immobilized her. He
flipped her on her back and stuck her face with unexpected force. Far more
painful than anything
Kamal
had ever done to her. Her
head pulsated as she tasted blood dripping down the corner of her lips. He slid
his body up until he was lying on top of her with his knees pressing hard on
her arms. The pain almost expelled her soul out of her body.

“Now
you’ve done it!” he hissed. A flash of insanity travelled through his eyes.

He
undid her coat, lifted her dress to her chin and plunged his hand to grab her
breasts, tugging hard at her nipples. The smell of his morning breath laced
with strong liquor made her stomach heave. He wiggled down and tightened his
knee grip on her pelvis to liberate his hands. Then with precision that
suggested he had done this at least a few times before, he unbuckled his belt
and dropped his pants down. For a fraction of a second he released his tortuous
grip on her hips ever so slightly to create enough room for him to pull her
knickers off, which he placed on his face and inhaled with his eyes closed.

“Delicious…”
he whispered with his eyes still shut but his face looking up to the heavens.
“You may be a fucking Arab, but you sure smell fine down there, sister.”

Anger,
rather than fear, erupted in
Umayma’s
chest. Her wrath
was directed not at the two men who were about to take her. Every single fiber
of her body was writhing in its hatred of
Kamal
.
Whatever these two monsters were about to do to her, was no different from the
slow campaign
Kamal
was waging on her dignity and
sense of worth. These men were street dogs, this much was clear. This is what
they were born to do. 
But
Kamal
?
He was meant to be my husband.
My protector.

Umayma
accepted there was nothing in her power she could do to prevent what was about
to happen. There was no point in fighting. If she screamed or resisted they
would kill her. Not that there was any guarantee they wouldn’t end up cutting
her up anyway after they ravaged her.

Her
body stopped shuddering and she laid her head to one side and closed her eyes,
resigned to her fate.
It’s not like you hadn’t been raped before, Umayma
.
Bitter, but familiar tasting tears ran down her face and a torrent of
soul-bruising helplessness pummeled through her weak body.

The
man on top spread her legs wider, positioned the head of his penis at her
entrance, and then wiggled to improve his aim. Umayma saw the devil in his dead
eyes. As he pulled back ready to thrust in, she heard a voice coming from
across the park.