Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020), стр. 19

30

Mia had just finished a class at Melbourne University and was walking across the South Lawn when she first saw him.

It was one of those beautiful early spring days, warm but not too warm, filled with the promise of the summer to come. The students were making the most of the pleasant weather after a dreary winter, shedding layers of clothing and reveling in the sun’s rays.

He was walking toward her with a group of friends. She had seen him before but not paid him much attention. He was just another guy on campus, but that day was different. He locked eyes with her as he passed and smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. For some reason, she could think of nothing else for the rest of that day and the next.

They met again a couple of days later, and this time, he spoke to her. His name was Naeem, a second-generation Lebanese Australian, and he made her laugh. They began to see each other regularly. He was happy, full of life, and made her feel special.

His parents had fled North Lebanon in the eighties, making a home in the North Melbourne suburb of Darebin. Naeem had been born there, and not once did he seem any different from the other Australian boys she knew. He played footy with his mates, enjoyed going to the pub at the weekend, and surfed in the summer. It was only later he changed. She didn’t notice at first, but by then, it was too late—she was head over heels in love with him and worshiped the ground he walked on.

It started with another student, a boy in one of his classes. He was also Middle Eastern, she never did learn from where exactly, but he convinced Naeem to join him at the mosque in Preston. Naeem stopped going to the pub, started commenting on what she was wearing, and seemed to be increasingly angry with the world.

Their time alone together was spent with him talking about the beauty of Islam, the wisdom in the holy Quran, the benefits of life as a Muslim, and she soaked it in. She wore a headscarf when they were together, and he taught her how to pray—anything to spend time with him. He told her he would call her Mahfuza, which meant ‘protected’ in Arabic, and he would always be around to protect her. She loved the idea, but it remained a secret between the two of them. She’d never had a boyfriend before, and the thought of losing him terrified her.

Then one day, he announced he was going to Turkey, and he wanted her to go with him. She was thrilled, she’d never been overseas before. In fact, she had only been out of the state once, when her parents had taken her to Sydney for a long weekend.

Naeem arranged everything—the visas, tickets, and the itinerary—all she had to do was convince her parents. They weren’t sure at first, but she eventually persuaded them, promising she would keep in constant touch. And she did, excited calls every day about the wonders she had seen—the Hagia Sophia, the Grand Bazaar, the mighty Bosphorus teeming with river traffic. It was exotic, noisy, colorful. She had loved it, never imagining such a magical place existed.

Then he convinced her into crossing into Syria. The romance began to wane that day, and every day since, until now, there was nothing left. Syria wasn’t the paradise he had promised. It was all a lie—he had tricked her. The light had gone from her life... until Malak was born.

Mia looked down at her daughter, Malak, her little angel. She smiled and touched her daughter’s cheek with her fingertips. Looking up, she realized the other women were still waiting for her answer.

Why had she come? Why did she marry him? Why was she still with him? Despite her unhappiness, she still didn’t think he was as bad as the other men, the fighters. Coarse, brutal men, who thought women were sub-human; in fact, thought any non-believer was sub-human. No, he wasn’t like them, but he wasn’t the same Naeem she fell in love with. She missed that Naeem, the happy-go-lucky boy with the dazzling smile.

Mia looked at the woman who had questioned her and pointed to her heart.

“Love.” She shook her head sadly. “I did it for love.”

31

The women talked among themselves, occasionally shooting glances in her direction. She couldn’t understand a word they said in a language she’d never heard before. Only one woman appeared to speak English as they had all looked to her for a translation.

Mia studied their faces and their clothes, trying to put a label on them as if knowing who they were would restore some order in her life. They were of varying ages, from mid-teens to middle-aged, and they shared similar features as if all from the same ethnic group. Their clothing was a rag-tag assortment of sweaters, cardigans, and long skirts. Unusually, not one wore a hijab or abaya, only covering their hair with a simple headscarf.

Malak licked her lips, having finished the small pieces of olive, then for the first time in days, called out.

“Mama.”

Mia smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her on the forehead as the women stopped talking and stared. One lady, perhaps the oldest in the group, slid forward and held out her hands. Mia looked down at Malak again, not sure, then slowly passed