Page 87 of Rescuing You

“Even after all of this? Seeing where I come from, you still⁠—?”

“None of that changes who you are.”

“Even though I never do what you say and argue with all your plans?”

“Even then.”

She didn’t know everything about him. But she knew he was kind and gentle. She knew he was heroic and strong and brave. She knew he loved God and was devoted to Him. She could trust him, even if all the things he’d told her weren’t true.

“Speaking of your father,” Michael said.

Not that they had been, but she didn’t say so.

“You said he hit your mother in front of an audience. Did he do things like that when others weren’t around?”

“Only when there was an audience. He was more patient when it was just us. He had a temper, but also sometimes, I think he was putting on a show to gain or retain the respect of men. Don’t misunderstand. Baba did expect obedience, and if we didn’t obey, there were consequences. But he rarely struck us unless someone was watching. It was as if he had to prove something. Last week, he was very angry, but he didn’t strike me, only refused to feed me.”

“Only? As if that’s nothing?”

“There are no bruises. It could have been worse.”

Michael’s jaw clenched.

In the year she’d known this man, she’d come to recognize his facial expressions, but this deep anger, contained but not hidden, as if he were fighting very hard to rein it in—she’d never seen that in Munich. Now, he worked his jaw, mastering his emotions. When the anger dissipated, he continued in an even voice.

“It’s interesting that your father doesn’t feel”—Michael seemed to grope for a word, finally settling on—“secure in his own skin, as if he has to be something he isn’t. Did you get that sense from him?”

She hadn’t seen it that way when she was a child, but in retrospect, Michael’s assessment seemed true. “It is like he is one person but pretends to be another. He wishes to be a loving husband and father—and a harsh one, when others are looking.” She remembered the man she’d once adored. “It is like his job. Baba worked for the government, and he was successful under Saddam Hussein. I was only a little girl, but I thought Baba liked and respected our leader. When the Americans came and Saddam was deposed, we celebrated like everyone else. And then Baba worked for the new government, and he was successful there too. He was happy to put Jasmine and me in the international school, proud that we could speak English and were friends with powerful people.

“But his brother hated Americans, and when he stayed with us, he and Baba would talk for hours about the evil imperialists and how to get them out of the country. Baba would agree with everything. The next day, he would go to work and smile and do his job, mingling with Americans and Europeans and other foreigners. It was like he lived on both sides.”

“A fence-sitter,” Michael said.

She considered the odd phrase. “What is that, fence-sitter?”

“Oh, just… You know, somebody who doesn’t want to commit to one side or the other, so he sits on the fence in between.”

“It feels shameful to say, but that is Baba, I think.”

“It may be his shame, Leila, but it’s not yours. You are definitely not the fence-sitting type.”

She smiled at the compliment, wishing there wasn’t a console between them, wishing she could cuddle up beside him. Maybe she didn’t know Michael’s real job, but she knew him. She knew who he was.

“I heard a story about a guy like that.” Michael’s words rumbled, low and soothing. “When he was young, the Lord invited him into His family. But Satan came, too, and told him he’d be happier on his side. The man considered both arguments carefully and decided, after much thought, to choose neither. ‘I don’t need God or Satan to live a good life,’ he said. ‘I’ll make myself happy and do what I want.’”

Leila had met many such people, those who pretended it didn’t matter what they believed. Those who only believed in themselves. Many talked the talk of religion, but it was only talk.

“He lived his life balancing on the fence,” Michael said, “never falling to one side or the other. And he was right—he had a good life. He had children and grandchildren. He was prosperous and successful.

“On his deathbed, he congratulated himself for his cleverness, believing he’d outwitted both the devil and God. But when he closed his eyes for the last time, expecting an eternity of peace, he was surprised to find Satan waiting for him, a sinister smile on his face. ‘You belong to me now.’

“The man argued. ‘No, I never chose you. I stayed on the fence.’

“‘Ah,’ Satan said. ‘You don’t understand. I own the fence.’”

Michael’s story ended on that note, the fictional man slipping into eternity apart from God.

That would be Baba’s future if he didn’t repent. And, knowing what she did about her father, he never would. Because of him, Mama had probably never considered Christ either.