IN TWO BOATS

"Mommy, where are you going today", Shabana asked me when she heard me humming a song.

         "My darling Robert is coming this evening and we are dining together."

         "Am I going to accompany you?"

         "I am afraid not. I have arranged for a baby-sitter for you ... Barbara. She will come at six with her daughter Sandra who is also seven, the same age as you. You may play with her till eight, and then its time for bed."

         Shabana became quiet ... sort of sad. I knew she did not like me to go out. Twice before she had fallen sick and started vomiting, and I had to cancel my plans for the evening.

         "Girlie, finish your homework while I take a shower! If Barbara comes, open the door for her", I said, and went to the bathroom.

         I closed the door and stood in front of the full length mirror. I really loved the mirrors in American houses. I appreciated the landlords who had fit these mirrors in the bedrooms and bathrooms, because I enjoyed looking at my body.

         I loosened the hair-bun on my head and let the hair fall down my back. Then I took off my blouse and held my breasts in my palms. I could see my slightly darker nipples and ripe breasts through my thin brassiere. I touched my nipples with my finger-tips and a smile dawned upon my lips. "Whenever I touch your lips I feel as if I am caressing your nipples!", I remember Robert whispering that in my ears.

         When I was a young girl in Pakistan I was forbidden to touch my breasts and fondle them. I was also unfamiliar with my body for many years. Robert's way of caressing sent waves of new sensations through my being. Actually it was Robert who had really introduced me to my own body.

         I removed my thin brassiere and hung it on the peg. "Why did they make me wear those hard, almost cardboard-like brassieres in my youth?" I wondered, and thought about the heroines in Indian films who have artificial-looking cones in their stiff brassieres. In America, women like the natural shape of their bosoms; besides, a brassiere's function was to lend support to the breasts, not deform them.

         Then I studied my stomach, navel, legs and feet. Their complexion still retained the freshness of my youth. How glad I was that I had separated from Perwaiz after eight years of marriage. In the grip of matrimony my youth had started to decline rapidly. Once again I took a full view of my five foot seven inch frame in the mirror. Perwaiz was shorter than I. Perhaps that was the reason he tried so hard to always give me commands in order to suppress my personality. But I was also a rustic lass from the Punjab! How could he dwarf me? I had a heart pulsating with youthful emotions. I might have put up with that if I were in Pakistan, but here in America it made no sense. Here women are equal to men, and they have as many civil rights as men. What had my mother gained by spending her whole life with my father. She had merely aged quickly and expired long before her death. I am young, and not only do I want to live, but I want to live happily. "To be happy is every human being's basic right!", a friend of mine told me. What a pity that there are millions of women who are deprived of this right. But happiness is something each individual must find personally, and not just sit and wait for its descent. That is why when I had told Perwaiz that I was not satisfied with our marriage and wanted to seek happiness on my own, he had looked at me as if I had come from another planet. He had never imagined that I would leave him.

         "Why are you unhappy?" he had asked me.

         "When we make love, you roll over and fall asleep as soon as it's over. I get no pleasure from it, and I haven't had an orgasm for ages."

         He stared at me with wide eyes. He was finding it difficult to believe that I could talk to him like that.

         "How will you take care of yourself?" He tried to change the topic.

         "Nature provides sustenance even to worms in the stones. After all, my parents supported me till I graduated from the university. I will get a job - my arms, my legs and my mind still function!"

         "What will we do with our daughter Shabana?"

         "Do with her? She will live with me; you may fetch her whenever you feel like it."

         Perwaiz still believed that I was pulling his leg.

         When he came home one day I was packing the suitcase.

         "What's going on?" he asked me, astonished.

         "I have found a nice two-bedroom flat in the eastern part of the town. It's about twenty miles from here, and it takes only half an hour by subway. Shabana will attend a near-by school."

         "And what will happen to me?" Desperation cast its shadow on Perwaiz's face.

         "I don't know. You are not a invalid. You will have to look after yourself. I've found a job in a store over there."

         Perwaiz went into shock. A few of my friends helped me secure a loan and find a job.

         I am a Punjabi. If I had not shown him that I can stand on my own two feet, I would no longer be able to live with myself. The same Perwaiz who had always played the big, strong role, now spent months in his apartment alone. He fed himself poorly and whenever he came to see Shabana he appeared depressed. He had probably thought that I would feel pity for him, but I had made a firm decision, and once a decision is reached it must be carried out to the bitter end.

         The first few months on my own were spent paying off my debts and in the decoration of the flat.

         When I started the shower the water was cold. Steam rose from the hot water tap when I turned it on. I began rubbing my body vigorously with soap. "How great it is to shower with Robert!", I recalled. The very thought brought a wave of excitement to my being.

         I shampooed my hair. I had bought "Head and Shoulders" shampoo only yesterday, because Robert liked it so much.

         Ashok was the supervisor of the department in which I worked. He was from India. I didn't care about his origin. He was handsome and intelligent, and treated me nicely. We had tea together several times and we even dined together on occasion. Until then, I had never slept with anyone but my husband. The thought of sleeping with a stranger added an extra beat to my heart.

         Then one day I brought Ashok home with me. It was almost ten in the evening. Shabana was fast asleep. Once we had sent the baby-sitter home, Ashok and I listened to music for a while, and then I took him to my bedroom.

         Every muscle in my body felt charged. His lips were thick but delicious.

         The next morning I made the introductions. "This is my daughter Shabana and this is uncle Ashok." Shabana ran to her room and started to weep. Ashok left soon afterward and never returned. Perhaps he was embarrassed. Shabana vomited the whole day.

         After a few weeks had passed I found a better job in another store and I transferred there. Later on I heard that Ashok told many Indians that he had slept with me. I was very hurt and angry, but I kept quiet.

         The owner of the new store was an American. He liked me, and would buy flowers and small gifts for me. I responded to him with friendly smiles, without giving him too much. As time went on, I thought about having a relationship with him. After all, I was a free woman, and he appeared to be a decent fellow. I had never been intimate with a white man and now was my chance. What was the harm in it? I started showing interest in Walter. Then one evening he was my guest. He came to dinner and left the next morning after breakfast. That day, I also introduced my daughter to my guest.

         "This is Shabana, and this is uncle Walter?" On that occasion she neither ran to her room nor cried; she just sat there silently.

         Afterwards when I talked to her she was furious.

         "Mother, why do you call him my uncle? He is not related to me either through you or daddy."

         "We work in the same place."

         "But why did he stay here overnight?"

         "He is my friend. Your boy and girl friends come here to spend the weekends."

         Shabana went to the kitchen in a foul mood. She vomited that day as well.

         In those days my baby-sitter used to be a poor Pakistani woman. She had no one and I had given her the job because I felt pity for her, however, she was unfaithful. She spread gossip about me among a score of people telling them that Walter had spent the night with me and so I dismissed her.

         My friendship with Walter did not last very long. I learned later that he had sexual encounters with a number of women in our department. When I bid him farewell he did not protest. I was angry that he had put my name on his list of victims, but what could have I done? He was definitely better than Ashok because he did not try to soil my name in the community.

         Deep within me, hatred for my community was building. These people didn't want to see a woman happy under any circumstances, and they tried to trample her on every occasion.

         Then one evening I attended a wedding; many Indian and Pakistani dignitaries were also invited. I was standing in a corner holding a glass of wine when I heard some whispers among other women.

         "Look at Fauzia. She drinks alcohol!"

         "She also has a bad character."

         "She abandoned that poor Perwaiz."

         "I wonder how many men she beds with?"

         "Ashok has also enjoyed her charm!"

         "She brings home whites from her job!"

         "She is an adulteress!"

         I could no longer restrain myself and joined the gathering.

         "Why are you talking behind my back. Talk to me directly. I am a free woman and do as I please. I had not even met Perwaiz when I married him; nor had any one asked my opinion of the marriage. No one protested then. He was a stranger. As far as I'm concerned, sleeping with a stranger is fornication, while going to bed with a man of my own choice is not."

         It was as if lightning had struck.                                                      They could never have imagined that I would challenge them so openly.

         As chance would have it, Ashok passed by.

         "Ashok, come here." I called him in front of everyone. He approached us timidly. "Don't you have any honour? I respected you. I thought you were a sincere person. I invited you to my home; and I don't invite everyone there. I also introduced you to my daughter, and a dishonourable person like you bad-mouthed me. What were you looking for? A simpleton of nineteen years? The moment you met a thirty-year old woman, you lost your head. Have you also lost your masculinity?"

         Ashok was totally shaken. "Fauzia, please forgive me, I made a grave mistake" he said.

         "I'll forgive you this time but don't ever treat a woman in the same manner again. When will you men learn to respect women?"

         All the women were astounded. Even I was shocked at my bravery.

         I rinsed the shampoo from hair and applied the conditioner. How pleasant it was when Robert ran his fingers through my hair!

         After that encounter I shortened the number of times I met with Pakistanis and Indians. My American friends gave me much of the company; especially Barbara, who was also single and a member of my fitness club. She told me that most men only sought sexual pleasure. "If you want a decent fellow you ought to wait!" she had advised me. Then she introduced me to Robert, who she knew quite well.

         "Robert is my friend. He's a sincere man. He is also my cousin. If he were not my first cousin I would have dated him myself!"

         "But I have another problem."

         "What's that?"

         "My daughter!"

         "I too have a daughter. Her name is Sandra. In the beginning she used to be very upset and would get a queasy stomach, but now she has become accustomed to our situation."

         One day I talked to Perwaiz. He was angry. Shabana told him about her meeting with Robert.

         "Who is this uncle Robert?" he asked in a sarcastic manner.

         "Who are you to ask! I am not your wife any longer. I am a free bird. My job, my home and my friends are my concern!"

         "I am concerned about Shabana."

         "I am as worried about her as you are. I care for her as much as I can. Separation is difficult for children and it takes times for them to accept it. Once she grasps the situation she won't be as perplexed to see an `aunty' with you or an `uncle' with me.

         Perwaiz calmed down. He was spellbound when he saw my courage. He was likely under the impression that I would defend my position apprehensively.

         When I came out of the bathroom, Barbara and Sandra had already arrived.

         Shabana sat there looking sad and miserable. By that time she had already vomited once. When I went to the bedroom to change my clothes Barbara followed me and said, "Today is your acid test. If you cancel your date today then that would mean in the future your daughter will be deciding your life for you."

         Tears filled my eyes. It was easy to come clean with Ashok and Perwaiz but very difficult not to bend before my daughter.

         I asked Shabana to sit with me. I cleaned her face with a towel and then phoned Robert. "Hello Robert! My daughter is not feeling well. Instead of picking me up at seven, please proceed directly to the restaurant; I shall meet you there at seven thirty. Is it okay with you? Bye!"

         Shabana looked grave, while Barbara was smiling. For a while I played with Shabana and Sandra, then made them some orange juice and gave Barbara a rum and Cola.

         Shabana recovered, and started playing with Sandra. After half an hour I winked at Barbara and left my home. In the car I

looked at my lips, they were red.