Only Allah

Only Allah

She cornered me at the water dispenser. I waited, uneasily sipped my water.
“Well done on that risky move, I’d have never pulled it off.”
I smiled, watching the bubbles in the blue container.
“I sure could use some advice...”
I dropped my plastic cup in the bin, nodded.
“So what do you say...“
She trailed off as Mr. Fowler strolled down the corridor towards us. Her eyes narrowed. Suddenly her arms were around me and I winced as she squealed.
“Oh, you absolute jewel! So how about Friday?”
She babbled on in this new, trilling voice and he gave us a casual grin as he passed. She released me and trailed him to his office, cooing. I stood and watched the water swirl, then I straightened my Hijab and headed to my cubicle.

I should have got out then. I knew what would happen. Her name is Amber. She’s a woman I work with; she wears a tiny skirt and is often found purring at Mr. Fowler. This all began when he congratulated me on that ‘business move’. If he had merely written me a note... and now this woman has me. And she is taking me out for girls’ night and ‘advice’.
“Let’s buy you a pretty coloured scarf for tonight! After work?”
The lights of the city are doubled and magnified; they glisten on the moisture of the road. Colours blur, leaving gaps of black and alleys. I watch the taxi driver adjust the rear view mirror, to focus on the shiny material stretched across her gleaming skin. She doesn’t notice, though she probably wouldn’t care. She is watching the blur outside, heldhgh stiff and away from me. She sniffs and rubs her arms, holding her visible ribcage in place. I cannot speak, and she will not.

I don’t like these malls, the stares, the people... the shops with the white sterile lights. My brain goes flat beneath them. She drags me through rows and rows of scraps of material, scraps she calls clothes. The moment we pass someone she clings to me, laughs at jokes I never made. As we pass behind a tall rack she stops, grabs some sparkling cloth, and looks at me with a calculating eye. She doesn’t speak, just tows me to the change rooms and shoves me into a cupboard full of mirrors.
“Try this on.”
I look at the sparkle, and shake my head. Her eyes harden and she reaches for my Hijab. I step back into the corner, lean away from her, but she has me trapped. She grabs the cloth and pulls, tearing the pins from my hair. It hurts, but I say nothing. She tries to put the scarf on, leaving out curls of dark hair. She doesn’t understand this disrespect, doesn’t realise the immensity of this insult. And still, I say nothing. She stands behind me and analyses, then nods. As she checks her own reflection, spreading skin coloured cream on her face like butter, I tuck away the curls and pin the scarf on properly. She does not look at me again. We make our way back through the store, she looks at my modest clothing, chooses discrete colours and ugly dresses. I shake my head and indicate my covered arms and legs. She seems frustrated, but knows this will work to her advantage. With my scarf, and her shinning lycra, we check out. She rummages through my purse after paying. I don’t know what she’s looking for.

A new taxi driver adjusts a new mirror, once to my head and face, curious I suppose, and then to her and the new shine that seems to enlarge her breasts. She does not seem to feel the performance necessary in front of the driver. I suppose he is somewhat my equal. I can speak to this man. He is closer to me than a plastic woman.
“Excuse me, could you please turn the heater on?”
“You cold, miss?” the question is directed at Amber, who lifts her chin and ignores him. She sends an uneasy glare my way and he flicks on the heaters.

The restaurant is humming. Pretty figurines sit at tables, drink wine and laugh pleasantly. I hesitate; the orange glow repels me. I see Mr. Fowler, laughing at a crowded table in the corner.
“Oh, Andrew! You never told me you were coming out tonight, what a lovely surprise.”
I grit my teeth; her sugary tone sets me on edge. He looks up and smiles, nodding at me, hidden behind her. As she wades through the people and tables she swings her hips and flicks her hair. By now I’m sure he can smell her stringent perfume. We reach the table and a waiter appears with two more chairs. Amber slots her chair next to Mr. Fowler and perches upon it, a light in her eyes. He reaches for his wine glass and I see his gold wedding band glimmer. Her eyes flick in the same direction, they are tense behind her gleaming smile. Then she looks up again and her face flares with fake delight. Mr. Fowler looks my way and pours me a glass of wine. I smile stiffly and shake my head. Amber takes it from him and tips back a mouthful with a laugh. She sends me a smile and I look down to my hands, fisted in my lap.

Another taxi driver glances over his shoulder at her, she’s glowing with the buzz of wine and her hand rests on Mr. Fowler’s leg. He brushes it off with ease, and nods to her ceaseless chatter. I hold myself against the door, breathing through my mouth; the air in the cab is laden with smoke, wine and perfume.
“Are you having fun, Maya, sweety? This is so much fun, isn’t it?”
I watch the lights of the city, and she babbles on.

She has me, tucked into her shiny curves. I’m just a piece of curtain in comparison.
“This is my friend, Maya. She’s a real gem, Bill”
‘Bill the Bouncer’, looks us over, impassive. I stare at my feet and ignore her bones stuck into my side.
“You’ll have to take that scarf off. No headgear.”
I don’t want this.
“C’mon sweety, let’s take that off and show your pretty hair,” she wheedles.
“Miss, either you leave your friend here, or you both leave”
I don’t know what she will do.
“Maya, darling, you never come out with the girls. Just this once?”
She has that whimpering voice again and the ‘girls’ are looking impatient. She begins an attack of sugary endearments and I close my eyes, let it wash through me. A few words wedge in my mind “Best of friends... cultural differences... no one even thought of 9/11 when you started”
I feel my body stiffen, and open my eyes. I feel my blood surge, in anger at this woman. I will not be like her. I inhale. Lā ilaha illal-Lāh, Lā ilaha illal-Lāh, Lā ilaha illal-Lāh. There is no God but Allah...
I feel my resolve trickle away and Mr. Fowler steps forward, “Are you okay? Amber, leave her be. That business trip next week will have a few parties, Maya, maybe you’d better reconsider. This conference is important. Our client is American.”
I stiffen and feel the weight of responsibility tug at my scarf.
“Conference? But, Andrew, I just love parties!”
“We aren’t going for the parties, Amber. But maybe you could do the presentation in her place...”
I lift my hands to my head, feeling for the pins. I hear Amber’s intake of breath as my hair slides down my shoulders. In Amber’s victory, we are equal in defeat. With satisfaction heavy in my chest, I watch the red scarf float to the ground and pulse with the rhythmic lights.