A Girl's Life

A Story by Rachel Williams

Slowly she put the picture back on top of her dresser and turned to examine her room.  She'd spent the last hour putting things away in their place so that her mother would not have to clean it.

She looked at the two stuffed animals on her bed, souvenirs of her childhood, so recently ended.  For a moment she thought about running to her mother's arms and feeling the warmth and love that had soothed her throughout her 13 years.  But she knew those times had ended and that she had to be strong now for her family.

Silently she undressed, carefully folding her clothes and leaving them piled neatly on her dresser.  Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she opened a drawer and took out a simple white nightshirt.   The girl slid the covering over her body and walked to the bathroom.

She started the water and adjusted the temperature so that it would be comfortable.  As the tub filled the girl stood in front of the sink and brushed her teeth.  She washed her hands and face and pulled her hair back, fastening it behind her.

Turning towards the tub, she trembled and had to remind herself again that she was no longer a child.  She turned off the water and stepped into the tub, still wearing the nightshirt, as she remembered the moment when her childhood had ended. 

Lowering herself into the water she felt its warmth surround her as she remembered the hands pulling at her clothes, the cloth forced into her mouth to muffle her screams, and the pain and humiliation of what the delivery man had done to her three days ago.

She closed her eyes and fought hard to drive those images from her mind. 

She thought of her father who she loved dearly, and filled her mind with memories of being picked up and twirled around and around by him, giggling and seeing the love in his eyes.

She thought of her brother.   He had just graduated from college and was going to be married in three weeks.   They had not been close, but he had always looked out for her and she knew that he loved her, even if not as much as she loved him. 

Her thoughts turned to her mother, and she desperately wanted to be able to tell her what had happened and to cry in her arms as she had when she would scrape her knee as a child. 

But that couldn't be.   She couldn't tell anyone.  She couldn't stand the thought of the shame that she'd brought on her family.  She couldn't stand the thought of the pain that would forever be in her father's eyes.  She couldn't stand the knowledge that she would always be an embarassment and source of shame to those she loved the most.

She thought next of Suzanne, her cousin who had died earlier in the year.  Suzanne hadn't been strong for her family.  She too had been attacked and used sexually.  But she had told the police what happened, and now Suzanne's brother was in jail.  He'd been married only a month when he shot Suzanne and went to prison.

The girl thought of her own brother.  She didn't want him to miss his own wedding because he was in jail.   She thought of her father and could not stand the image of him behind bars.   She knew she could not let that happen to either of them.  She knew what had to be done.

She reached out of the tub for the knife she had placed beside it.  She held the flat blade against her lips and felt its coolness.  She had already prayed, but she closed her eyes and turned her thoughts to her God and prayed for his forgiveness and understanding. 

She also prayed for the strength to do what she knew she must for the sake of her family. She prayed that their shame would be brief.  With a trembling hand she made the first cuts. 

The pain was sharp and deep but it was also soothing.  The pain released her shame, and as it flowed into the tub she closed her eyes, and pictured the faces of her family.  Now neither her father or brother would have to go to prison. She hoped they would understand how much she loved them. 

She would miss them all so much.

Copyright © 1999 Rachel Williams

From TIME Magazine
January 18, 1999

Sirhan, a 35-year-old murderer, is cheerful and relaxed and happy to tell his story. He's especially proud to describe the efficiency with which he shot his young sister Suzanne in the head four times last March. "She came to the house at 8:15," he relates, "and by 8:20 she was dead." Three days before, the 16-year-old girl had reported to police that she had been raped. "She committed a mistake, even if it was against her will," says Sirhan. "Anyway, it's better to have one person die than to have the whole family die from shame."

His is not a logic rare in the Arab world. For centuries, men of the region have engaged in "honor killing," the intrafamily slaughter of allegedly errant females. Women have endured the custom, while legal establishments have tolerated or even condoned it.

Honor killing has its roots in the crude Arabic expression "a man's honor lies between the legs of a woman." For Arab women, virginity before marriage and fidelity afterward are considered musts. Men are expected to control their female relatives. If a woman strays, it is widely thought, the dignity of the men can be restored only by killing her. In Jordan the 25 or so cases of honor killing documented every year constitute a quarter of all homicides.

The slightest sniff of scandal can be a death warrant. The director of Jordan's National Institute of Forensic Medicine, Dr. Mu'men Hadidi, says that in 80% of the cases in which he conducts a hymenal exam, which is routine in Jordan when a girl has gone missing, the same girl will be returned to him soon after as a corpse, even if she proved to be a virgin. "Once the story is out in the community," says Asma Khader, a lawyer and feminist, "they have to kill."

As is common in the Arab world, the law in Jordan winks at honor killers. If a man catches his wife or a close female relative in the act of adultery and kills her, he is exempt from punishment. If the situation only suggests illicit sex, he's entitled to a reduced sentence. In such cases, jail terms range from a few months to a few years. Sirhan served six months.

Author's Note

In some parts of the world, if you're a girl and someone rapes you you have to worry that your father or brothers will kill you because you're an embarassment to your family.

Life for girls in America is so much better.  We only have to worry that our fathers or brothers will rape us.   Most of the time they let us live.  Not that you really want to after it happens.

Rachel
January 24, 1999