Parts of Desire

Ravenna933 edited this story, but she also made some suggestions that were crucial to the plot development in this chapter. The previous chapter's conclusion made a natural endpoint of that branch of the story. I have never written a multi-chapter story arc before, and I wasn't sure where to go next after that. She helped me find a way out of the cul-de-sac I'd written myself into, and for that, I owe her a great debt of gratitude.

*****

For the first time in Arabia, I rose with the sunrise, not just because of the sound of the call of prayer alarm on two cell phones going off in stereo beside me, but also because of the fact that we were in the desert, sleeping in the back of a Toyota Land Cruiser, surrounded by windows. The girls sleeping next to me both groaned, stirring as the three of us came to consciousness together. I glanced at my watch -- just after 6 AM -- then grabbed a nearby bottle of water in the cupholder and had a swig. I passed it to Rania, who drank and passed it to Khadija.

"Good morning all", I said groggily.

"Ugh. I need to pee." Khadija said, sitting up. She looked around. "Coast is still clear."

She popped open the door and squatted down beside the car, disappearing from view.

"How are you?" I asked Rania.

"Mmmm..." she smiled sleepily at me. "I got to make love to my incredible boyfriend under the stars last night, and then wake up next to him this morning. I'm terrific. How are you?"

"I'm having the best week of my life", I answered truthfully. I kissed her.

Khadija reappeared. "OK, breakfast, prayers, and then we should get a move on. We have a long day ahead of us."

"Do we?"

"We have a six-hour drive today", Rania answered. "Normally we like to keep you in the dark as much as we can, but you should know that there's a lot to do today and we're on a bit of a deadline."

"What's the deadline?" I asked.

"We should have no problem meeting it, and we have a stop partway through the drive", she answered. "But we can't afford to dilly-dally."

"Mysterious as ever", I commented.

"We love you too", Rania winked.

The girls and I dressed together in the back of the car, nudity no longer being a big deal for any of us, then I munched on a leftover pita, rolled the sleeping bags and reset the back seat. Once we were all ready, I started the engine, and eased back towards Bidiyah, following the directions on Rania's GPS.

"Say goodbye to the sand desert, Ryan", she said as we were about to descend the hill to the flatlands outside of town. "We won't be seeing it again."

"I'll never forget", I said truthfully. "It was the most spectacular place I've ever been, and I'll cherish the most wonderful memories from there."

We exited the desert by the same track, passing the Bedouin tents and camel enclosures, then eventually down the hill into Bidiyah again. We stopped at the same garage to get our tires reinflated, then drove to a mosque nearby. It was now past prayer time and the place was empty.

"We need to pray", Khadija said. "But the mosque is also good to wash up. We won't have much access to showers today, and part of Islamic prayer is the ritual cleaning. All mosques have basic cleaning facilities. You can hit the men's changerooms and wash your face, feet and hands if you like."

"I thought only the Grand Mosque was open to non-Muslims", I said tentatively.

"It is, but you're not going to the prayer halls, you're just using the facilities here", Rania answered. "You shouldn't have any problems, but we'll vouch for you if you get into trouble."

I ducked into the deserted change room, with a foot bath and sinks and lots of shoe racks in a small room otherwise indistinguishable from any pool changeroom I'd been to. I quickly relieved myself and washed up, getting the grime and sand of the desert off my face, hands and feet, if not the rest of my body, and applied deodorant and brushed my teeth. Feeling refreshed, I headed to the café next door and bought three cups of coffee, then sat back in the car, waiting. The girls eventually reappeared, both looking as refreshed as I felt.

After prayers, we said goodbye to Bidiyah and headed back out on the highway, travelling west again. The land was flat, arid, hard-packed ground -- still desert, but not a trace of sand in sight. Occasional houses dotted the landscape, and herds of camels were everywhere. Yesterday I'd been excited to see them, but they were already becoming old hat. The rising sun behind us illuminated and cast everything in a brilliant light, and Arabia, once again, looked beautiful.

As soon as we were out on the highway, Rania turned to me. "Ryan, we are trying to include you in every conversation we have this trip, but I just lost my virginity last night, and I really need to girl talk with my best friend about it. I hope you understand if we need to talk in Arabic for a while."

"Of course", I answered. "I'd like to talk with you later about it, but I get that you have to talk to your friends too. Don't worry about me."

The next half hour or so passed with an animated, occasionally giggly, occasionally serious conversation going on around me that I could understand none of. I let the girls talk, watched the road, and enjoyed seeing the changing light reflecting off the Hajar Mountains, just to the right of the vehicle, constantly changing, one jagged peak after another. Herds of camels kept whizzing by on the desert flatlands, and the scenery was so otherworldly to me, still, that I genuinely was able to mostly ignore the indecipherable conversation about my sexual prowess taking place around me.

At long last, the conversation lulled, and I looked over at Rania, resplendent in the passenger seat. She looked beautiful to me, face lit up in the early morning light, smile plastered on her face that hadn't disappeared since last night. I realized that she wasn't wearing any makeup, the first time I could remember seeing her venturing out into the world without it. I checked Khadija out in the mirror, and noticed she wasn't wearing it either.

"It's not like I care specifically, but I don't remember seeing you two in public without makeup", I began.

"There was nowhere to apply it apart from the mosque, which we weren't willing to do", Khadija answered. "Because of politics."

"Politics?"

"The Qur'an says that women should not wear 'adornment' in front of men who are not

mahram

and are not her husband

",

Khadija explained. "

Mahram

means a man who is legally unmarriageable to that woman, that is, close blood relatives. In other words, we are only able to beautify ourselves to men who are our husbands, or who are blood-related. But of course, the definition of 'adornment' is open to interpretation. Most conservatives, unsurprisingly, think that we should appear as frumpy and unsexual in public as possible. But makeup has become a feminist issue in Arabia, because we believe that it is not up to the women to make sure the men aren't so attracted to us that they perform

haram

acts. We should be able to wear makeup if we want to, to look good because it makes us feel beautiful, not just for the sake of men."

"I agree with you in principle," I said. "There is a similar feminist issue in the west about the clothes women wear and whether they should have any bearing on whether she was 'asking for it' if she is sexually assaulted. It's ludicrous that any woman should be perceived as asking to be raped for wearing lipstick and a low-cut top, but there are people even in Canada who don't agree with me on that. Our cultures aren't necessarily as dissimilar as it might seem."

"So, we wear makeup for ourselves", Rania added. "If the men can't control themselves, it's not women's fault. Wearing it is a political statement, that we are feminists and we believe in women's equality."

"I'm not arguing", I continued, "but I'm confused why you still wear the headscarves and

abeyas

if you believe as you do about makeup."

"Because, Ryan", Khadija smiled, "one must protest with what one can get away with."

"I could have taken them off in Canada", Rania added. "Khadija would have."

"I would have for sure", Khadija agreed. "I wear them here because without them I could be in serious trouble at worst, or at best, heavily judged by the people around me."

"But for me", Rania continued, "they are a symbol of my faith in Allah, and I choose to display myself in that fashion. I admit to having had a bit of a crisis of faith in Canada about my dress when I became close to you, and I had to try to figure out what I really believed and what was indoctrination. I re-examined everything I believed in those last few weeks in Canada. But I concluded that this was still important to me. The line in the Qur'an about makeup is ambiguous; the line about covering one's private parts is direct and clear. I do not wear the veil; I show my face, but that is convenience as much as anything else. It's very hard to eat or go about one's business with the veil on. But I cover my hair and body because I believe the Qur'an orders me to do so, not just because it is expected of me by custom."

"Rania and I have had many, many conversations about this issue", Khadija continued. "We both agree that we wish to abide by the tenets of our faith, and also to cast out as many of the regressive cultural traditions of our forefathers as possible. We want to be good Muslims, but liberal, modern, progressive ones. Islam is not synonymous with the conservative culture many people follow in Arabia, and we believe there is a line that can safely be drawn between one and the other. But we disagree with each other, occasionally, about where that line is drawn. I believe that it is possible to be a believer and a good Muslim in a more western fashion, in a sense where men and women are equal and what is in your heart that matters, as long as you also observe the five pillars of the faith as the Prophet dictated. Rania believes that some of our other traditions have value and are worth hanging onto."

"That sounds like the battles in the churches in the west, between traditionalist and modern, conservative and liberal, dogma and interpretation", I said.

"All religions have those battles", Khadija agreed. "It's just Islam that gets such bad press in the west."

All Muslim women around the world wear head coverings", Rania added. "In Indonesia and Malaysia, women wear the headscarf with low-cut tops and tight jeans. It's an important symbol of the faith, and deep down I like wearing it, even though I complain sometimes about it."

Having gotten an early start, it was just before 9 AM when we approached the outskirts of what appeared to be another city, that of Nizwa. The girls indicated we didn't have a lot of time, but they directed me to pull into town anyway. Prior to 1970, Nizwa had been the capital of the Sultanate of Oman, the separate, dual kingdom from the Sultanate of Muscat, and it was still a cultural capital, the spiritual home to a lot of Omani art and music and food. The town was set in an oasis surrounded by mountains, with leafy palms growing wild everywhere the eye could see. Unlike most of Oman so far, Nizwa was relatively green, and the colour was a shock to my eye as we entered, after days of brown sand and rock and blue sky and ocean.

"There are other green places in the desert apart from oases", Khadija said. "In the south of Oman, in Dhofar province, they get summer rains called

khareef

every day off the Indian Ocean, and the mountains in that area bloom with greenery. A lot of Arabian people take summer holidays there to escape the heat -- the sea air means it is rarely above 30 degrees there in summer at a time when it's well over 40 everywhere else."

"That sounds amazing, actually", I said. "Are we going there?"

"Unfortunately not", Khadija said wistfully. "It's a ten-hour drive from here across empty desert, and it's also not

khareef

season anyway."

We eventually pulled into the centre of town, where the city of Nizwa was dominated by a seventeenth century fort, built to repel Portuguese invaders. The fort was surrounded by an ancient-looking open-air Arabian souq -- unlike the dark, indoor Muscat souq, this one was bright and airy in the early morning sunshine. We wandered for a few minutes, and I bought a whole bunch of incredibly cheap spices to use in my cooking at home -- cardamom, saffron, dried chiles -- as the girls also bought souvenirs for their families.

After what felt like too short a visit, the girls were getting anxious to get moving again, and so reluctantly we departed Nizwa.

"If we had another day", Rania said, "there are a lot of interesting things in this area to see. Misfat Al Abreyeen is an ancient mountain village, Wadi Ghul is also called the Grand Canyon of the Middle East, there's an abandoned village called Al Hamra that is over a thousand years old you can walk through, there's also a huge cave complex called Al Hoota nearby, and Wadi al Abyad is apparently a great combination of off-roading and scenery. We originally had this trip booked for one too many days and had to lose one, and unfortunately, this was the one. But someday you'll have to come back with us." She smiled.

We carried on, back to the highway, and the girls directed me to head back towards Muscat. We drove on, making small talk, listening to foreign-sounding Arabic pop music on the radio that I could almost pretend to like. On the outskirts of Muscat, I was ordered to get on the expressway heading west, and we drove on, past the airport and a few other familiar sights, and eventually onto the flat coastal plain again, this time moving north and west away from the city. We stopped for lunch somewhere at a roadside café, where the girls still would give me no information where we were heading apart from that we were still on schedule. Eventually, as the afternoon progressed, we passed through the city of Sohar, an industrial city known historically as the birthplace of Sindbad the Sailor from the

Arabian Nights,

and currently as Oman's major seaport. Sohar was also the last of Oman's big northern cities, and we breezed by without a stop or a second thought.

Finally, having driven the six hours I'd been promised and rapidly approaching the UAE border, I was directed to pull off into a tiny town called Shinas, then ordered to make my way through town to the water, and finally down a ramp and into the staging area of a ferry terminal. An enormous cataman towered overhead, clearly readying to take on vehicle traffic.

"A ferry?" I was suddenly alarmed. "Are we going to Iran?"

"Not quite", Khadija said. "Oman is a discontinuous country. We're going to Khasab. It's part of Oman, though separated from the rest of the country by the UAE. You can't drive there without passing through Fujairah, which could pose problems for your visa, so we're instead taking the ferry north to Musandam."

"What's Musandam?"

"The Musandam Peninsula separates the Gulf of Oman from the Persian Gulf. It's only 40 km to Iran from there, and judging by pictures, it looks like the most beautiful place we've ever seen. It's one giant fjord, all mountains and inlets. Khadija's brother has been camping there, and ever since we saw his pictures we've wanted to go." Rania looked excited.

Just then a buzzer sounded, and reflective vest-wearing seamen started directing the assembled cars onto the catamaran, which apparently was also called the

Shinas.

I drove, following the car in front, onto the ferry, parking in lockstep with the rest of the traffic. Judging by the cars crammed in, we were nearly full.

Once we'd exited and gone up on deck, Khadija took a book with her and sat down in the café. Rania and I went outside, into the mid-afternoon sunlight, the town of Shinas and ever-present mountains visible on the horizon. Then there were three sharp blasts from the ship's whistle, and we were at sea. It was a bright, breezy day, and as we left the shelter of the harbour, the chop started to pick up as the big catamaran negotiated the rolling sea.

Rania turned to me as Shinas faded astern. "Ryan, I might regret this next week when you've gone back to Canada, but I could really use some time to myself. I've spent the last several days without a moment alone -- you at least have hotel rooms to yourself, but I'm sharing, and I need to take some time to myself to recharge. I'm going to go sit inside. Come find me if you're bored, but otherwise I think we could all use a little time apart."

I moved into kiss her goodbye, before catching myself, stopping short. Our eyes met with a hint of sadness at the circumstances, before she disappeared into the ship's interior.

As I stared out at the whitecap-dotted ocean and the brown mountains of Arabia on the horizon, I realized that I hadn't taken any time to reflect to myself on what had happened so far. We had been living in a honeymoon state of mind for the past five days, with no problems, not even mild testiness after endless hours in the car together under a cloud of sexual frustration. It had gone about as perfectly as anyone could have expected.

Khadija was fun, outgoing, a blast to be around, sexually forward and unashamed. I'd always been attracted to women who were unafraid and unapologetic about their sexuality, and I was having a great time playing around with her. But it still felt weird, somehow, to have come all the way to meet up with a woman I'd fallen in love with, and have everything still going great, but also to be fooling around on the side with someone else.

Rania had always looked to me for guidance on what was normal, not just sexually, but also culturally since the first days that we were roommates. Our roles, naturally, had reversed since coming to her part of the world, with me the one navigating a strange culture. But even though I'd taken on the role of tourist here, the girls were still sexually inexperienced, and it occurred to me that they hadn't really been asking me for any guidance so far this trip. I hadn't even really talked to Rania about the fact we'd finally had sex the night before, and I made a mental note to have that conversation with her at some point when we were alone. I really found I missed the pillow talk time with her.

As I turned that over in my mind, I also started thinking, again, about Rania's non-existent fiancé. Yes, I'd forgiven her on the spot, on day 1, when I found out that he had never existed. But I started thinking about all the times that she could have told me the truth and hadn't. I'd spent over a year trying to reconcile my growing feelings for her with the fact that she was taken, and really gotten nowhere. And it was true that we hadn't been able to talk openly by email, but we had Skyped since she'd moved back home, and had she really not been able to say even a word in over a year?

Anger started rising inside of me as I remembered all the times we'd not spoken about it, and all the heartache-filled nights I'd lain awake questioning Rania's motives. I hadn't realized I'd been repressing my feelings, but I swallowed hard as I felt a wave of emotion roll through me. I sat down on a deck chair as I tried to process feeling hurt and betrayed. On day 1 I'd been so happy to see Rania again that I could have forgiven just about anything. But the shock apparently hadn't gone away, and it consumed me now as I sat, thinking.

I'd leapt into this trip to Oman with no real forethought of what would happen next. I realized that I had been so taken in by the idea of seeing Rania again that I didn't stop to think about what would happen when the trip ended. In a few days, I'd be back at Muscat Airport for the short flight to Dubai and then the unbelievably long one to Toronto, and then what? What, really, did the future hold for us? She would go back to Saudi Arabia, and I still couldn't go visit her, and she couldn't come visit me. That would be the end.