There was fire in his gaze

It was a moonless balmy summer midnight in the dual carriageway of Petra Street, on the eastern outskirts of the city. That relatively new artery linked the new fashionably commercial hub with the university of Science and Technology. This wide thoroughfare had quickly become a favoured promenading place for the dwellers of the ever expanding nearby blocks of flats of the middle classes.
Farouq, a portly man of forty four, nervously parked his unfamiliar new red Audi amongst a row of vehicles for the first time. Undecided, for a long while he sat behind the wheel of his car watching an assortment of men of varying ages and social stratum promenading.
For a long time he had been aware of those nightly summer months gatherings of a band of the more vociferous gay community. It was when had developed into evening battles with those who disapproved of their existence that kept discreet Farouq and many men like him away.
Most nights those likeminded individuals came together not just to hang out but primarily to support one another in a harsh world, refusing to acknowledge their very reality. It was not just psychologically vital for those brave men to meet and be themselves but to publicly proclaim their tenuous existence. They joked, lisped, spoke loud and gave each other comical names.
Under the calm beauty of the bejewelled upturned lapis lazuli bowl of heaven that company of men let their hands and arms freely gesture and gesticulate. They were not what you might expect of a put upon gay men, shy and softly spoken. In fact they were the opposite, a relatively noisy bunch of male friends and acquaintances some of whom only knew one another by sight.
Like the rest of the promenaders of Irbed, this circle of homosexuals also used to come out in the cool of the early evenings. They stood out from the throng as a clique. Their obvious disinterest in the people around them was quite clear. Those men were set apart from the regular folks who chose to ignore them.
The gays crowded close together mindful of any troubles that might be visited upon them by some disapproving bigot. Those pleasurable cool starlit summer nights of the Arab world always gave the populace of the Mediterranean a relief from the day’s sweltering heat. In the early part of the night, en masse the gathering places were normally crowded with people seeking to refresh themselves after the oppressive heat of the long summer days.
After a blistering day to escape the incarcerating spaces of their flats, their inhabitants came out in the early evenings to socialise and cruise the wide open vistas of the countryside to take in the breeze. Throughout the summer months whole families picnicked in the surrounding countryside.
Many brought out with them food, televisions, radios, chairs, carpets and cushions to relax and breathe in the cool night Zephyr. The families relaxed as they softly chitchatted, smoking the Hubble-bubbles, whiling away the early hours of the nights to rejuvenate for the toil of the morrow.
At such assembly points the seekers of open skies were not only families but there were many unattached young men promenading on foot or cruising in cars, listening to loud popular Arabic songs. The singular aim of such young men was the hope of attracting the attention or merely the exchanging of a fleeting glance with some random young woman from amongst the giggling clusters of young females whose eyes were also espying the same.
The group of homosexuals, like everybody else, used to come out at the same time as everybody else to be under the same bejewelled open sapphire skies. They minded their own business, doing harm to no one.
Initially nobody objected or even took notice of their presence. But, all of a sudden, an undignified finish abruptly put an end to this friendly situation. A group of fanatic of not only Muslim men but also Christians, both young and old, took it upon themselves to drive the brazing gay men back into their closets.
Suffering the overwhelming tragedy of wrathfully beseeched Iraq, the nineteen nineties saw a sudden increase in the numbers of religious zealots and Arab nationalists both Christians and Muslims. But the rise was especially large amongst young Muslim men. They accused the rest of the Arab populations of cowardice and collaborations with the West, their declared nemeses.
Those intolerant holy avengers took it upon themselves, as true believers, to cleanse the city off the filth of the god defying homosexuals. They were indicted of encouraging the socialising of men and women in the open.
Those hypocrites totally failed in their attempt to dislodge the gays who gave as much verbal abuse as was meted out at them. As the verbal exchanges rose in tempo and lewdness, the ubiquitous mobile telephones dialled the police number. The calls were the same, reporting rowdy fights taking place in Petra Street. With blaring noise and flashing lights several police vehicles duly arrived.
Doing nothing illegal, the police found themselves having to protect the loathsome queers. However, the homosexuals showed tremendous courage and stood their grounds, exhibiting no fear of being exposed to their macho clansmen.
Having no success in purging the determined homosexuals from Petra Street, the self-righteous muggers began to throw stones to drive out the ‘disgusting abomination’ from their midst. When the battle of stones throwing reached its peak, from the midst of the thwarted self-satisfied religious men sounds of pistol shots were heard.
Under the protection of the police for a week the homosexual men, now supported by a group of brave gay women, nightly continued to meet as usual, making their presence felt, battling with their intransigent foes. The news of the fights spread throughout the district, making the nightly battles between the gays and the Islamists the evenings’ main amusement. People who had never visited the Petra Street before began driving there just to watch this curiosity.
Some of the homosexuals (particular those who were married like Farouq) were fearful of being unwillingly outed as homosexuals to their families, and quietly removed themselves from such exchanges. When the leaders of the gays were forcefully informed by the police officer that they could not continue wasting so much time and effort protecting a bunch of queers, some wise older men from within the gay group proposed that they should meet after midnight because by then the families and the largest portion of the cruising crowds would by then had gone home.
No longer provided with a police protection and to avoid being laid into, it was agreed that these midnight gatherings were better arranged on mobile telephones on the night of meeting to attract little attention.
At twenty four years of age Ayman was able to conceal his feminine behaviour and neurotic state but not his mental and emotional confusions about his homosexuality and his much frowned upon timid unmanly odd idiosyncrasies. Yet on that night Farouq parked in |Petra Street, it was Ayman whom he singled out of the crowd of younger men.
Farouq was almost immediately attracted to noisy Ayman who was shamelessly and unconsciously exhibiting his feminine traits amongst his likeminded close friends. The moment Farouq saw him he fancied him and made a point of attracting the young man’s attention.
After the savage way his old boyfriend Omia was murdered by his own clansmen seventeen years before, for a long time Farouq had been terrified that the same fate would befall him. Out of survival and self-preservation, he initiated the subject of his marriage with his parents. Although taken by surprise they were pleased. To stress his manliness without a whimper he complied with the social canons and married the girl his parents had found and advised him that she would make a suitable wife.
However, despite his unrequited love, great sadness and grief for the death of Omia, the call of life was strong within young Farouq’s bosom that, as the years passed, he often thanked Allah for not being implicated in having a sexual relation with late Omia.
As the blazing rumours that ensued in the wake of the savage killing of Omia had abated, Farouq furtively began a discrete search for one night stands. Although he met several young men, he quickly realised replacing Omia was going to be very hard and probably a futile effort.
When the uproarious scandal and the unsubstantiated gossips that were associated with the untimely death of his first lover had faded out of the collective memory of the people of Irbed, heartbroken Farouq bought a bunch of flowers and under the black cloak of darkness visited the grave of his true and everlasting love.
Even more telling of Farouq’s mental devastation at his loss, after the passage of three years at the cruel butchery of Omia, Farouq gathered enough strength and restarted visiting the bereaved family of his dead lover .
From the start of their devastating loss, the inconsolable parents of Omia understood the reasons that kept Farouq away from visiting them and thought him a spineless character. Although he did not show himself at their front door, he had frequently telephoned them to ask about their health and if they needed any help. They politely appreciated his concerns and sought no favours from him.
One year after the demise of Omia, Farouq got married. Nine months later he had his first son and by the end of the third year another baby was on his way. Feeling safe in his new role as a husband and a father, one evening, three years after the demise of Omia, Farouq found himself on an impromptu call at Omia’s parents who were somewhat pleased to see him. When finally the death of Omia came into their conversations, the three loudly wept and shed bitter tears of sorrow over the untimely death of such a luminary young man.
Like every Arab man, Farouq was aware that the citizens of Irbed knew that he and Omia had a sexual relation. But since it was obvious who was the active partner or the man, Farouq was not criticized nor did they think it was so strange that an unmarried man was having sex with such an effeminate male. After all Farouq was acting like any hot blooded man would act with a woman.
Rumours were always circulating about other young unmarried men who were using boys and effeminate men as a man would do a woman to satiate their libidinousness.
It was assumed that such abnormal behaviour would immediately stop when the man became married and had no need of such effeminate men to fornicate with. In the male ruled Arab society active men were tolerated but passive men were despised for demeaning themselves to take the role of a woman. Of course this is a macho Arab male slight upon the weaker female.

II
The torment of the tragic death of Omia was always as fresh on Farouq’s mind as if he had just heard the news. During the aftermath of Omia’s demise and the exchanges of accusations in-between the clansmen the parents of Farouq were petrified that everything would blow up into a scandal engulfing them for a very long time.
On the other hand terror-stricken Farouq kept low lest somebody pointed at them and said, ‘What about Farouq?’
When the finger of accusation totally failed to point in his direction, he could not believe how extraordinarily lucky he was avoiding the ire and wrath of his own clansmen. The fact that most people were aware that it was Farouq who had been in a sexual relationship with Omia was somehow glossed over as unmarried man‘s folly. Those who were in the know thought Farouq was using Omia as a woman and that this would inevitably stop when Farouq had a wife of his own. There was no place for love amongst the clansmen.
Few months later, when his mother told her downhearted son that she had found him a suitable bride, Farouq acquiesced as if the matter did not concern him. Although he had always thought he would one day get married, for the sad man the timing had been wrong. He was so drained of life by his loss, he did not even question his mother nor did he enquire who was the girl.
At twenty eight years old Farouq was married. But through all the years that followed his severely wounded heart never healed nor did he cease grieving and pining for Omia. Not even the birth of his children gave Farouq any solace. He silently sorrowed for his dead lover.
Of course, over the past seventeen years Farouq had the odd passing sexual encounters but he never felt that emotional attachment with anyone of those men; they were just ships passing in the night. It was this bruising memory of Omia that kept Farouq from earnestly searching for someone who might take the place of his first love.
Now that his parents had passed away and he and his older brother had not been on speaking terms for years, there was no one left to stop Farouq from doing whatever he yearned for in the silence of his soul. At forty four years of age Farouq was one of Irbed’s most respected and successful businessmen and far more wealthier than his estranged older and only brother.
Although in no way similar to unique Omia, Ayman unknowingly helped Farouq to come to terms with his loss. Now that he had Ayman, Farouq was again contented with his life. He even revelled in their far apart late night dates which were normally at some out-of-town secluded places.
Even his wife felt the welcomed change to the better in Farouq’s mood. When at home Farouq used to be a narked taciturn man. He rarely made fuss of his two sons or indulged in their games. In fact Farouq’s family used to prefer him when he was not at home. The only child he made fuss of was his late arriving daughter. He called Nadwa, after his mother, Farouq bought Nadwa toys and dolls and spoiled her like a princess.
To avoid Darkolil, when Farouq and Ayman arranged a date they sought the darkness of some desolate country road. These assignations were far apart and were dependent upon the moods of Ayman. Every now and then they took advantage of the hospitality of their friend Nader who was at the time living alone in Amman. Farouq regularly convinced Ayman that they should spend a night in midweek with Nader to enjoy a night together.
When their friends recommended the delights of Thailand to them, Farouq did not hesitate long and he and Ayman holidayed in Bangkok three times over the four years they had been together.
In his stern voice which he normally used to mean no argument was expected, Farouq informed his wife, ‘I am going on a business trip. I am not sure how long it will last.’
Aware of her husband’s querulous temper if she had defied him, she would say, not interested in his destination, ‘Take care and look after yourself.’
In order not to antagonise his boss, Abu Sammy, Ayman insisted that they took a holiday in the middle of the month when work was usually lax at the ‘Crystal Slipper’ where he was working as a shoe sales assistant.
He would say to Farouq, ‘I am sure Abu Sammy will let me have a week off work. I have no intention of being on the wrong side of him. I like my job too much and I want to keep it.’
The shop proprietor was relaxed about the idea and said, ‘If you do not enjoy yourself whilst you are young when will you! Go and make the most of it before it is too late. Soon you will get married and your time will be no longer your own. Do not forget to get me a present.’
When Ayman told his parents, ‘I am going on holiday to Thailand with my mates. They did not object.
But when they were alone, Ayman’s father sarcastically told his wife, ‘We know which mates he is talking about! That group of good for nothing queer men. It is time we got him married. Fatimah’s father will not keep her waiting forever.’
In a hoarse voice the wife replied as if challenging her husband, ‘It is time you and his brothers did something to force him to marry before your clansmen gang on him or worse!’
Abu Ayman looked long and deep into his wife’s wrinkled face and hallucinating for a second, ‘What has become of her beautify? God! She is getting on. I hate growing old.’
Once he had recovered from his short delirium, Abu Ayman’s eyes looked vacantly faraway as he melancholically spoke, ‘We have always given Ayman more of our time than all of his siblings put together. He is like a punishment from God. You are right as a family we must do something to straighten him? It is time he marries his cousin, Fatimah. We have made the poor girl wait long enough.’
On the outside Farouq’s wife was happy and content in her domestic situation. Even though before she was married to him, Farouq’s wife was aware of the rumours that had briefly linked her proposing man to that of late Omia. But on what she considered the good advice of her shrewd mother whose only interest was wedding her daughter to a well-off husband, Farouq’s wife never came near the subject of Omia. She found her husband a good man. He never restricted her movements nor did he force her to wear a certain type of dress.
Farouq was sympathetic to his wife and always treated her well and was generous with his money. As a typical Arab wife, she never wanted more than that.
His wife’s obvious homeliness and loyalty made Farouq value her. The couple had two boys and several years later had a girl. Farouq’s wife was twenty years old and was a first year undergraduate in the Yarmouk university when she got engaged. Before she got married she dropped out of the university.
From a very young age Farouq had an eye for the soft girly boys. This was an inner fulfilling need of its own right. Even as a young boy he over and over again scoured the depth of his soul, trying to find answers or reasons for this controlling obsession.
In despair he would angrily roar at himself, ‘What is this unholy need that makes me attracted to a sissy boy like Omia?’
His blind chase for such individuals culminated in finding Omia, a boy who had fire in his clear gaze. He was a schoolmate, a grade below Farouq. It was actually not so much as if they found each other but Farouq wholeheartedly believed that they were divinely made to bump into one another on a cool winter morning at the school assembly.
A bright and a quiet intelligent boy, Omia was rather overtly camp and not shy in shouting out his opinion about any topic that seemed important to him at that stage of his life. He was totally out and was making no effort at concealing whom he was, a boy who preferred to play with dolls and keep the company of girls.
Being always the top of his class, Omia attracted boys who wanted to learn from him. His celebrity status as a gifted student gave him a lot of confidence and bravery.
Omia’s father jovially commented, ‘Where do you find the time to make so many friends, Omia?’
With a big smile across his face Omia said, ‘I am not sure, father. I have never invited them, they just appear.’
But above all else Omia was self-assured due to the solid support given to him by his family, especially that of his father. Omia’s strength of personality instilled in him an inner valour. In verbal arguments with reproving boys, he dug up much more abusive language than was dished out at him. With the solid physical support of Farouq, Omia feared no one in the schoolyard. An only boy, from the start, Omia appreciated the friendship afforded to him by Farouq and the pair became indulgent boyfriends.
Not perceptibly feminine nor very straight in his mannerisms Omia was a vivacious and handsome young lad. He actually revelled under the protection of his year older and stronger blocky friend, Farouq. Despite his despondent family’s reservation, Farouq discreetly followed wherever Omia went around the schoolyard and the busy city centre. The pair often walked hand in hand which is fairly common amongst close Arab male friends.
However, as undergraduates people started noticing the differences between the two young men’s behaviours and personalities; Farouq quiet and reserved but devoted to the widely read Omia who was not only exceptionally intelligent and intellectual but loud and brassy and had a sharp wit.
The university students rightly guessed that Omia and Farouq had an ongoing sexual dimension to their friendship.
A few students often contemptuously commented, ‘There goes Omia and his husband.’
Farouq graduated with a degree in history and immediately worked with his father and older brother in the import-export of wood and other building materials in the fast expanding Arab world.
Having settled well into his job and quickly mastered its various sides, Farouq’s parents and in particular his obdurate older brother vehemently voiced their rejection of Omia, cautioning Farouq from the vile consequences of being seen in the midst of Omia’s entourage.
Soon after the early tragic death of Omia, Farouq was warned again and again to toe the line and get married else they would pass him over to their clansmen to see their way with him. Against his own sensibility, Farouq chose the easy option out of his predicament. Within a year of Omia’s demise, Farouq got married to the woman his mother picked for him. After marriage, he put all his energies into his work as a way of coping with his new thorny circumstances.
Noticing how prosperous her brother-in-law and how comfortably his family lived, Farouq’s sister-in-law became jealous and envious, accusing Farouq of dishonesty and that he was siphoning money from the business.
She angrily told her husband, ‘Just how else could they buy such an expensive flat and furnish it so luxuriously while we are still living in an old neighbourhood.’
The fact that her husband was miserly and banked away his money was not known to her. Rather than exposing his meanness to his wife, Farouq’s brother accused him of stealing money from the business. After a bitter fight with his firstborn, the father saw no way but to bend to the demands of his older son. The father gave his firstborn his full share in the family business. The brother started his own company in a different part of the city.
Meanwhile Farouq and his father prospered whilst the elder son had a hard time establishing a list of clienteles. According to Farouq’s father their success was wholly due to the mannerly sale skills of Farouq, his good second son.

III
Things came to a head when liberal thinking Abu Omia had rather foolishly challenged the sheikh of his clan, ‘You a believing man. Well, this is the way Allah made my son. If you want to defy His Will let some really learned theologian give you a fatwa to murder me instead.’
The news of this challenge went far and wide in Irbed’s clansmen’s gathering places that Omia’s kith and ken for a while were embarrassed to show their red faces in public.
Existentialist Abu Omia and his wife totally believed that their son was behaving in the way that was natural to him. He accepted that Allah alone can judge such deviant behaviour if indeed it were unnatural.
Abu Omia had an intuitive feeling that on the sly most of his clansmen and indeed many of the young men were also jealous of the scholarly success of his son who consecutively obtained a Master and PhD degrees in philosophy and was in the final year of a second PhD in pure mathematics. All his tutors were recommending him for a post in their various departments.
During the uproar that was going on between her husband and their eldest son, Umm Farouq screeched to be heard by the men bullying Farouq, ‘Tongues are wagging about you and Omia, Farouq. You must stop seeing him. Do you want people to think you are a queer? If this infamy sticks to you, you will be thrashed by the clan and no father will consent to wed you his daughter.’
Having sincerely believed that someday he would get married like all other young men of his generation, Farouq was stunned by the unexpected vehemence of the warring that he could not think what to say in the defence of himself.
Farouq was further perturbed when his older brother forewarned him, ‘Your association with such an effeminate man reflects badly not only on our family but on the collective name of our clansmen. If you do not forthwith stop your friendship with Omia, father and I will beat him out of your system until you are black and blue.’
Alarmed by the new ferocity his family was threatening him with, Farouq tried to defend himself, ‘What for and why are you unnecessarily using such disgusting language? Omia and I are just schoolmates. Anyway I hardly see him these days. His is busy with his PhD and I am with my business.’
Farouq was thunderstruck when his father ferociously shouted at his face, ‘Those late night drives into the countryside must cease forthwith or I will confiscate your car and leave you to the malice of our clansmen. Be sure I will join them when they begin to beat you to teach you how to be a man.’
His older brother was hardhearted, ‘If our warning and thrashing go in vain then our clansmen will takeover and belt you good and hard. Be sure their outrage will not be phoney. They might kill you and neither I nor father will be able to defend you against the aspersion you are bringing upon our clan’s good reputation.’
With his head bowed down and feeling guilty as charged, Farouq sat silent and crestfallen before his close family. He was doubly shocked that people knew of what he had always thought were clandestine night drives with Omia.
In his head Farouq was thinking ‘Are there any secrets in this small-minded city.’
From there on Farouq was thinking what he should immediately do to get out of this thick predicament and quickly appease his family and clan.
Farouq’s angry family gave him no choice or solace in the matter. They vehemently and aggressively accused him in his manhood and he could find nothing to deflect himself against their blatant accusations. For weeks afterward in his heart of hearts, Farouq tried to fathom the traits that characterised an Arab man. Although he was fully convinced that he was a homosexual, his soul-searching was long and hard. Eventually he thought to be an Arab man was to marry yet he was aware that he could never be a true husband nor a faithful one to whatever woman became his wife.
This conclusion troubled him as he realised the real victim in this male solution would be his wife to be.
On the other hand, Omia’s father and mother who were both cultured liberals intellectuals and existentialists Arab nationalists firmly stood by their son and his odd traits.
On several occasions in the mathafa Abu Omia was cornered and taunted by the calling of his son Omia “a queer”. He realised that things had gone beyond the no return point when he was harshly spoken to by his clan’s sheikh.
The self-virtuous cliquey chief embarked upon a long menacing use of force, closing his rhetoric, ‘Omia must stop behaving like a harlot in public, bringing shame upon the maleness and honour of our clansmen.’
However, Abu Omia was as firm in his views and he simply said, ‘I take you as a true believer of the true faith of Islam. My son behaves as Allah created him. If you wish to flout His creation you will commit by your own conviction a grave sin.’
But this was not good enough for the chieftain and elders of the clan who were devout traditionalists. The sheikh sought the advice of two of his closest elders. In total secrecy the three put their heads together and agreed to the use of force. But Omia never visited the mathafa, the gathering place of the kinsmen. They concurred to employ one of the more loyal bright young men as a decoy to lead Omia into the mathafa. The three men were in one mind that ambitious and eager young Murad was the ideal snare.
Two years older than Omia. Murad without going into great details immediately agreed to carry out his loathsome task.
None of the four conspirators chose to mention the possible fatal repercussion of their plot. Working in secret for the good of the clan was a good enough reason.
Accompanied by his father, Omia had visited his clan’s mathafa twice before and that was when he was in his late teens. He did not like the imperious way he was talked to by the sheikh. In fact Omia thought his clansmen were dull scandal mongering people and he had nothing in common with them. It was not until very friendly and tactful Murad led him to meet his relatives nearly ten years later.
Given the sheikh’s previous hostility towards him Omia was ill at ease as he entered the mathafa’s compound in the company of Murad. He was dumfounded by the pleasant way he was met by the formerly hostile sheikh. In the sight of his clansmen, the sheikh singled Omia out and shook his hand warmly. All who were present were taken aback by the uncharacteristic reception he was giving to the well known effeminate queer Omia. This warm response made Omia feel at ease. Gradually but surely deceitful Murad cunningly managed to lead Omia there on several other occasions.
Assuming that the clan had accepted their son as Allah had created him, Abu Omia and Umm Omia were very happy that Murad befriended their son. They encouraged this surprising outcome especially that Farouq had absented himself, claiming to be, busy with his endeavours.
It took Murad nearly six months to make Omia trust his clansmen who once had been adamant that he should change and behave as a true macho clansman before they would allow him in their midst.
Well before Murad appeared at their front door, the parents of Omia were noticing a gradual shift in their son’s mannerisms. He almost stopped giggling and waving his hands as he spoke. Even his once high voice had perceptibly become deeper.

V
In the afternoon of a cold winter midday in the middle of March, the sheikh unusually telephoned Murad at his place of work. After he had quickly done away with the usual pleasantries, in a deep serious solemn voice intended to make Murad take notice, the sheikh told his protégé, ‘Murad tonight is the night. I want you to bring Omia to the mathafa. You better bring him sometime after the Isha prayer has finished. Most men by then would have left.’
Totally aware of the significance of the sheikh’s order, callous Murad reply was simple, ‘Do not worry, Omia and I will be where you want us and when you want us.’
Confident in his man, the sheikh emphasised his words saying, ‘Be jovial with him lest he suspects something.’
Murad replied, ‘Do not worry yourself, I do know what to do.’
The sheikh ended his call abruptly. Murad immediately rang Omia on his mobile and sounding cheerful he deceitfully told him, ‘We have not met for several days, Omia? What do you think if we meet for a coffee, this evening?’
Omia, who was busy working hard on his pure mathematics PhD dissertation, said, ‘Sorry Murad, but I am so very busy tonight. Can we leave it for another day?’
But Murad would not have it. Making himself sound disappointed, he told Omia, ‘Give yourself a few hours off work, man. It will all be still here tomorrow. Where are you at home or at university?’
With all the attention Murad had given him over the past six months, Omia reasonably assumed that Murad fancied him but he did not have enough courage to say so.
With this simple inference on his mind, Omia sheepishly said, ‘I am at university.’
Rather pleased with the location so he would not have to call upon Omia‘s home and be seen by his parents, Murad pointedly asked, ‘Is your car still with the mechanic?’
Omia simply said, ‘Yes, it should be ready tomorrow.’
Doubly pleased with the satisfying answer, Murad voicelessly told himself, ‘Excellent.’ Then said, ‘No problem. I will wait for you in my car outside the northern gate at seven. There is something important I want to talk to you about.’
Murad’s last statement was a barefaced lie but it was enough to delude Omia.
Although, the rain clouds lifted and moved southward, leaving behind a clear blue sky, it seemed to Omia that it has gotten dark earlier that afternoon. The weather forecast on the radio spoke of a cold subzero temperature. But Omia had many things pertaining to his research on his mind he was soon preoccupied with his work.
At the exact time, Murad drove past the Yarmouk University’s northern gate and as he expected he found Omia waiting for him, wearing his smart thick deep blue overcoat. A blue and red woollen scarf was wrapped around his head and neck and his ubiquitous heavy big brown leather bag hanged down from his right shoulder.
After a short discussion the two agreed to go to their usual café. But the unheated large open space was cold and nearly empty. Murad kept the topic of conversation normal and ceaselessly talked about the omnipresent Arab politics.
Murad appeared so much more tense than usual to the perceptive eye of Omia. To ease Murad’s obvious tension, he put on his lips a little heartening smile but firmly held his tongue. He appreciated that it must be very hard for Murad to come up with the right words to speak of his deep seated love for him. Omia did not fancy Murad at all. In fact he felt a mysterious inner revulsion for the man and had no sexual desire on his newfound friend. Omia went along with his follower to make Farouq jealous.
On the other hand Murad felt disgusted by the mere existence of homosexual Omia and had often urged his sheikh to hurry up his plan.
Seeing how Murad obsessively looked at his wristwatch during their time in the cafe made Omia think that it was another sign of his anxiety on how to come up with right words.
Soundlessly Omia reflected, ‘It must be extraordinarily difficult for him to come up and tell me he was a homosexual and that he loved me.’
But he maintained his silence.
It was nearly eight thirty when Murad suddenly changed the subject of his tittle-tattle and said, rubbing his hands together, ‘Do you find it is cold here? I am freezing. I bet it is warmer in the mathafa. Shall we finish our coffees and head there. By now, I expect most people must have gone home. We will have the place to ourselves and we can talk freely.’
Still thinking Murad had not found the courage nor the right words to express what was really on his mind, Omia immediately agreed.
Instead of driving straight to their clan’s mathafa, Murad thought, ‘It is still early I better waste some time driving around the nearly empty streets’
It was almost nine thirty when heartless Murad led trusting Omia alive for the last time into the more or less empty mathafa.
The two young men had apparently become such good friends that some of their clansmen were shocked and tongues wagged about the true sexuality of Murad. Others were not so sure about this hypothesis and sensibly thought that the clan could do with somebody in the class of Omia who was heading for a bright future. Most of his clansmen thought that he would become a valuable asset for the reputation of their clan and guessed that the sheikh was behind it all.
It was quite common to hear one of the clansmen telling another, ‘Not in a thousand year would I have guessed that Murad was a deviant.’
The sheik once had forcefully defended Murad’s honour against the innuendos of scandalmongers.
The sheikh angrily told the men, ‘Murad has the good of our clan on his mind. Men like brilliant young Omia do not grow on trees. It is predicted that he will be headhunted by foreign countries for his excellent brain.’
That night Omia was warmly welcomed by the chieftain and his two close elders. Murad made sure that Omia had a good seat amongst a jolly group of younger bachelor men and he immediately became the centre of their conversation.
By ten o’clock all the young men had left, leaving Omia seated on his own. Every time he rose to go home, saying, ‘It is really getting late and I have a lot of work to do.’
Murad repeatedly told Omia as if he had been scorned, ‘Where do you thing you are going, Omia? I promised to give you a lift home and I will. Could you just wait a few minutes longer. We will leave together. Besides where will you find a taxi in a night like this.’
Murad was busy talking to the sheikh and the two elders who were in cahoots with them. The four men were seemingly in an animated quiet conversation, watching oblivious Omia like hawks.
For the fourth time Omia accepted Murad’s offer as a better option than looking for a taxi at that cold night.
Whilst Murad kept busy with the three older men, he did not forget to praise and flatter Omia with kind words for his patience. The sheikh suddenly got up and left the mathafa, seeking its keys from the Egyptian caretaker, Slama. The sheikh found him tidying the kitchen up.
Without greeting him, in a sharp bidding voice the sheikh told Slama, ‘Give me the keys to the mathafa and the compound and you can go home now, I still have business to attend to. I will let you have the keys tomorrow.’
Understanding that the sheikh’s words allowed no arguing, Slama did as he was bid.
The sheikh quietly sealed the mathafa off from the outside world and turned all of the courtyard’s lights off then went into the mathafa to find Murad sitting with Omia and the two elders engrossed in some serious discussion. The sheikh locked the mathafa door and joined them.
At a certain signal which had been agreed upon beforehand between the sheikh, Murad and the two elders, the three older men leapt at Omia to make a man of him. The three men unceremoniously maliciously picked placid Omia and threw him on the floor.
At once Murad jumped to his feet and ahead of them made bare a part of the ceramic floor off its winter carpets coverings exposing the drain. Omia was so confused and dumbfounded that he could not utter a sound. The sheikh and the two elders dragged Omia to the bare tiles. The sheikh, the two elders and now joined by Murad viciously began to kick Omia. The four men took it in turns to lash out and beat the confused young man who instinctively curled upon himself in the foetal position to protect his head and the vital parts of his body.
The bloodied passive man lying on the floor under their boots finally found his voice and called for mercy from his clansmen. But there was not any compassionate sentiment left in the hearts of those four men who were normally virtuous. That was a heinous crime committed by his four kinsmen who were present in the mathafa upon a defenceless individual.
The clan elders never intended to kill Omia but merely to teach him a harsh lesson and make an example of him to any relative who might have such abhorrently ‘deviant’ tendencies. They wanted them kept concealed and to be always terrified of being exposed.
It was hard to imagine when you consider the evening of that night when the mathafa was priming with animated young and old men none of whom were privy to the plans of their sheikh and elders plotting in secret for the sake of the good of the clan and its all important name amongst other clans.
Those conspirators were all eager to partake in the flogging of gentle Omia to prove themselves hardy males that none of them was innocent. If the chieftain was certain of anything that night he was sure that all the men chosen were going to involve themselves in the thrashing of the despised young man once he was thrown on the floor. Their feet kicked the peaceful and docile Omia until he took his last breath most probably of a massive heart attack due to the devastating trauma.
When Omia had ceased whining and crying for mercy, the men kicking him thought he had lost consciousness. The sheikh gave order that they must halt what they were doing. After their black deed had been done they were so full of hatred and revulsion of Omia that they hawked and spat on the yet unbeknown to them corpse.
When the commotion had died down, and the killers got their breaths and composures back and settled down, the sheikh noticed that Omia was not breathing but he said nothing. As the minutes ticked away and their victim remained motionless the rest of the men slowly began to realise that Omia was actually dead and not merely unconscious.
In the stunned silence that had engulfed the mathafa for several minutes, the sheikh finally picked himself up and examined the lifeless body. He was taken aback by the sordid fact that they had just murdered Omia.
When the sheikh took his seat back he spoke in a hushed shaky voice, ‘The wretched man is dead. We did not mean to kill him did we?’
The news interrupted the silent men and they suddenly felt dirty and disgusted with themselves. None was expecting that such usually harsh beating would turn into a deadly punishment on a vulnerable man.
Some finally were unable to hold their tongues. One of the elders pointed to the others and said as though he was exonerating himself, ‘Look at your clothes. You are splattered with Omia’s blood. Look at your shoes. O Allah! What will cleanse us now! How can we prostrate before Allah. I am a killer, a murderer!’
Murad who seemed to be the most blasé amongst them said, ‘Do you know if there is enough soap and water in the toilets to clean up? I wonder if Slama keeps washing-up liquid in the kitchen. I expect the water in kitchen tank is frozen.’
Looking bewilderedly at his shoes the sheikh echoed Murad, ‘Does any one know if Slama keeps shoe polish in the kitchen?’
But the same elder who first broke the grim silence said, his voice crackling with guilt, ‘You think soap and water will cleanse you? We are killers. No amount of soap and water will ever cleanse us. We have committed the greatest sin.’
As if not aware of the blood on them, the three older men were shocked by the fact that they had been party to a foul murder.
The same elder muttered as if in delirium, ‘It is all our doing. We thought we were so self-righteous. Look what we have committed? A terrible crime on a trusting man! We are doomed to Hell.’
The two elders got to the toilets first to wash the splash of blood off their faces and heavy winter clothes.
The one who had been silent said. ‘Our deed this night is vile. It is bound to become public. One of us will talk.’
That night no man’s winter layers were clean of the blood of Omia. During all that time Murad remained silent. By the time the men got their act together and began to think clearly, it was well past midnight. The flow of blood in their shattered nerves had more or less began to flow in some sort of normality.
The sheikh, the leader of the men, began to think clear. ‘It is time we thought of a plan of action.’ He pondered.
In a clear voice he told his men, ‘Now the deed has been done. We ought to put our heads together and think seriously. We have to decide on a plan we all agree to it to get rid of the dead body.’
He was interrupted in mid sentence by Murad who interjected, ‘We have to hatch a plan to bury the corpse in a place where he could not be found. The body has stopped bleeding. We first need to wash the blood off the floor before it dries. We must leave no traces of what has happened here this night. It is not a time to apportion blame. It is a time of action.’
To his three traumatized accomplices Murad sounded blasé but right.
The sheikh looked at his protégé for a few seconds then commented to himself, ‘I have been raising a monster. I do not think he feels any guilt what so ever.’
The shamefaced sheikh said in disappointment to Murad, ‘You wash the blood into the drain then mop the floor.’
Being the youngest Murad saw nothing wrong with sheikh’s order and immediately jumped to do his job.
As if an afterthought he looked at his elders and said, ‘I need one of you to help me move away the body from the blood.’
Having cleansed themselves and the floor as good as they could, finally the four men hatched a plan. It was not an original strategy but one used by all such killers to conceal the body of the slain. They then got up to implement it. The four men rather abusively handled the body of Omia as if he were guilty of dying on them when they only wanted to teach him a lesson.
The killers wrapped the corpse and the brown shoulder bag in black plastic dustbin sacks they found in the mathafa’s kitchen. They shoddily tied the dead man with an electric wire the sheikh had brought from the boot of his car. Finally the men unceremoniously carried the bundle to the sheikh’s Mercedes car and insolently dumped it in its commodious boot.

VI
Under the cover of darkness of a bitterly cold frosty night and at five minutes intervals keeping their headlights switched off, three cars slowly and carefully left the mathafa’s compound. In turn when the cars entered the broad Palestine street, the headlights were switched back on as they headed westward out of the city towards the Jordan valley.
Having finally found a secluded place in the steep craggy Wadi Elgafer, silently, as if fearful the bracing wind might hear them, with bare blooded hands the four men hastily began removing the frozen soil and harp rubbles which cut and bruised their hand. But they were so frantic in their endeavour that they felt nothing except the terror of being caught. They somehow managed to dig a hole deep enough to conceal the body of Omia in. When they came to fold to push it into the cavity, they found rigor mortis had set in and the corpse was one solid block. The four men, and especially Murad, became irate as if dead Omia had somehow made himself rigid to incontinence them.
Coming stuck the three older men felt helpless and were beside themselves with worries as what to do next to hide their crime.
As if he had given up, the sheikh morbidly said, ‘It is nearly dawn, now. There is nothing we can do to get rid of the corpse. In death Omia has beaten us.’
The three men were about to give up when they saw Murad carry a huge stone above his head and drop down with all of his strength on the dead man’s body. They all heard the bones cracked as it was shattered inside the thick winter trousers. They waited to see what Murad would do next. He quickly felt where the stone had fallen and was able to fold the body over and enfolded it inside the black plastic sheets then wrap it with the electric wire..
The old men were both incredulous by the audacity of mutilating the corpse but also relieved that it became easier to push it into the hole they had dug. They rushed to the side of Murad and helped him carry the mutilated corpse. Working with renewed vigour the four callously shoved the black plastic sheets enfolding the corpse and the brown bag holding Omia’s work into the hole. In haste they shoddily filled the opening with stones and muddy soil.
It was nearly four in the morning when the three cars, at intervals returned back to Irbed, where each headed to its destination as though nothing bad had happened.
Ever since the mysterious disappearance of Omia, his parents were beside themselves with fear and worry for his safety and whereabouts. They franticly searched in every possible place they thought their son as a gay man might have frequented but all proved useless. They called on all of his friends, including Farouq, and asked if they knew anything good or bad about the cause of their son’s disappearance but they received no joy from anyone.
After four days of Omia’s vanishing, Abu Omia and Umm Omia seriously began to expect foul play. Sixty year old Umm Omia bitterly argued with her husband, ‘He was last seen in the mathafa. I believe the sheikh and his cronies have hurt my baby and put out the fire in my baby’s clear gaze. They killed him in jealous furry over the wretched reputation of their ridiculous mathafa.’
Sixty four year old Abu Omia who had also come to the same conclusion but kept it to himself, tried to calm his wife.
In a quiet comforting voice he said, ‘I cannot imagine the sheikh would go so low. Yes, the mathafa and the name of the clan are the most important things to him. But honestly I cannot imagine him murdering anybody in the pursuit of the clan‘s name.’
But Umm Omia contradicted him, ‘Such men would do worse to protect what they consider the good reputation of their clan. Tribalism is a religion to them. They would do worse for its sake. They will waive God’s laws in favour of tribal traditions.’
With this inference always upper on their minds, the parents of Omia had all the time feared that their son was in mortal danger from such dogmatic men. For several days they placed expensive advertisements of smiling pictures of Omia in all the dailies. But all their searches proved futile.
The police was just as mystified by the sudden vanishing of the man and after a week they washed their hands off the puzzling disappearance. Of course, like all who knew Omia, the police were also aware that he was a homosexual. This legally was not a crime but a social impediment. Like the rest of their countrymen, the policemen abhorred homosexuality and thought it a most evil sin.
The chief of police told the grieving father, ‘He is a grown man and we cannot waste anymore of our time and resources. But rest assured that we will keep the case open. If we know of anything new pertaining to the case we will immediately let you know.’
Abu Omia and Umm Omia declared astonishment that no one knew anything as to the whereabouts of their only son. Inconsolable with grief they began to think the whole world was against them. Not even the presence of Ominia, their only daughter and her three ever cheerful small children who had travelled from Kark to be beside her parents, sweetened the bitterness they felt nor tempted them back into the joys of the living.
Their friends with whom they shared the same ideals never left their side, outshining Abu Omia’s clansmen in their cold concern. Outwardly showing all the usual signs of grief and bewilderment, the impenitent clan’s sheikh and elders declared Omia dead and prepared the mathafa to receive the male consolers.
But Abu Omia refused to accept that his son was dead and refused to join his clansmen, accusing them of being relieved for the disappearance of Omia whose existence had shamed them.
The grieving father put public notices on local radio stations and newspapers declaring, ‘The parents of Omia will receive visitors in their own house. All is welcome.’

VII
It was nearly two months after his horrible death that sudden reports reached the police that a pack of stray dogs or Hyenas had dug up the partially festering body of a young man. At once everyone assumed that it was the body of Omia who, since vanishing, had been the talk of Irbed.
It was a group of fellahin from the nearby village of Qum who discovered the gruesome sight whilst they were ploughing their fields for the summer produce. They straightaway conveyed the news to the police. It was the content of the intact brown shoulder case that left no doubt that the corpse was that of Omia.
When Murad heard that he heated himself for being so stupid for not taking the bag with him to destroy it at his own continence.
Now that it became clear that Omia had been murdered, the public finger of accusation directly pointed at his clansmen. Faced with such annoying news, the chief told his clansmen to act as one and be prepared to withstand the false accusations of Abu Omia.
One of the elders badly suffered bangs of conscious but he remained numb lest he had to face justice. He knew if he were questioned he could not keep quiet and would reveal all he knew. The sheikh noticed wretched demeanour of his friend and made sure he kept him close by him and told Murad to watch over him. As usual Murad professionally carried his orders.
Immediately after the discovery of the corpse, pleading innocence the sheikh, his cronies of elders and clansmen telephoned their many well connected relatives and friends in the capital to lean upon Irbed’s chief of police to stop treating him and his clansmen as suspects. The sheikh was aware that any serious scrutiny of the evidence would directly lead to him or his men.
With his superiors’ voices fresh in his head, in false virtuousness the police chief, the sheikh, the elders and other clansmen gathered in a big procession and called upon Abu Omia to convey their condolences.
Confident in his belief that his clansmen had collectively murdered his son, Abu Omia closed his door in their faces, refusing to meet them,
Outraged by their false show of grief, he shouted at them, ‘You all along knew about the horrific murder and mutilation of my son. There is no doubt about it, now. It must have happened inside your unholy mathafa and in your midst.’
As it was the custom, after the burial the elders opened the mathafa for the three days to receive the condolences of men; but none came.
Knowing the ways of the clans, Abu Omia who guessed how exactly his son had died and who carried out his murder, refused to go to the mathafa as befit the austere occasion. Instead he opened his salon to receive the male condolences whilst Umm Omia and Ominia accepted the female condolences in the sitting room. For the whole three exhausting days it seemed everybody in the country called on the inconsolable parents to offer their commiserations.
Whilst the clansmen wholeheartedly exhibited solidarity with their snubbed sheikh, they also wished to hush up the whole shameful incident. But Abu Omia was not silenced and he publicly accused his whole clan mentioned in particular the sheikh as the killer. Once the habitual three days funeral rights had been observed, on the fourth day of Omia’s burial, his father, mother and sister called upon the chief of police and accused their clan’s sheikh of the sole responsibility for the murder of their son.
With the voices of his superiors in the capital ringing in his ears, in solemn voice the chief of police coldly informed the confounded family, ‘I entirely understand the dire pain and sadness you must be going through. The police need solid proof to act upon. There are no real new evidence that we can go on. I cannot continue with the investigation any further. You say your clansmen collectively killed Omia, I need to know the man who actually delivered the fatal blow to arrest and a list of the names of the witnesses who saw him doing it.’
But the whole country heard of the terrible crime of talented Omia and the unusual gossip that was associated with it and worked out the details for themselves. Many sided with the bereaved Abu Omia.
The elder who had participated in the fatal beating of Omia felt angry with himself for descending so savagely low. Seeking an atonement, with Abu Omia this guilty elder went to the police and named the men who were present in the mathafa that bleak night.
Culpable Murad who was discreetly shadowing the pair, immediately rang his sheikh who instantly rang his clansmen and friends in the capital.
With the loss of his post loudly buzzing in his ears if disobeyed his superiors, the chief of police insisted, ‘I am very grateful for your statement, sir. But I need hard evidence that points to the true killer who gave the fatal blow. It is impossible to accuse all the clansmen of the same murder. I need to know who actually gave the deathly blow.’
Now having no restraints to hold him back from naming names, Abu Omia shouted at the chief of police, ‘What more evidence you need. This man is giving you the names of the men guilty of slaying my son. Are you going to act?’
The chief of police angrily shouted at Abu Omia, ‘What do you want me to do? Put in prison all your clansmen. If you do not already know it, that is over a thousand men. They could all say they were in the mathafa that night but which one of them did actually kill Omia. Best you give alms on behalf your son’s soul. Read the Qur’an and bequeath your good deeds to your son’s spirit.’
Having heard this direct from the chief of police, the grieving father knew that no one would be punished for the murder of his on. The chief of police followed orders and no one was charged with the murder of Omia. In the annals of the police, the death of Omia remained an unsolved crime.
Three years later when the wagging tongues found some other meaty story to chew on, Farouq carried a bouquet of flowers and called at the parents of Omia who were, until the death of their son, his best friends. As a boy. Farouq spent many a happy evening there. He frequently stayed over and slept with Omia, playing and studying.
Sorrowfully Abu Omia and his wife received Farouq and the three sat together weeping and babbling their fond memories for Omia. Ever since it was a rarity if Farouq did not see them. And as the grief-stricken parents grew older, it was Farouq who saw to all their needs, took them to the doctor and regularly drove them round the city the countryside.
Later when he met Ayman and became close boys, Farouq cheerfully introduced him to Abu Omia and Umm Omia who were ever so pleased that Farouq had found someone to love. As time passed by, Ayman found a refuge in the company of the old couple. Like Farouq, he also began to feel responsible for the safety and wellbeing of Omia‘s parents..
All through the years no one had ever mentioned that the real reason behind the murder of Omia by his clansmen was his effeminacy and homosexuality. It did not seem to matter. Omia’s ingenious and luminosity lived on in the collective memories of his many friends and tutors.