BURQA BURGER

By William M. Balsamo

Fatima walked five steps behind her husband. In the sweltering heat of the noonday sun which could fry and egg in the shade she silently followed in his footsteps. They had been married for five years and were welded into a wedlock which followed the traditional mores of Mid-Eastern society. He was the breadwinner and master of the house and she was one of his wives. Ali Abdul Mohammed Bin Aziz Ibn Mahfuz walked proudly in front of Fatima and led here to the newly-opened shopping mall on Mosque Square. Better known to his friends simply as Ali he had carved a career for himself in the business of trade. He imported and exported whatever he could from foreign markets around the world and sat comfortably in the lap of luxury. He wore today, as he usually wore, his traditional dress. His immaculate white robe starched almost into cardboard draped over his hefty corpulent body and hid his extended belly which in the West would have been referred to as a “spare tire,” a “bay window,” a “beer gut.” Being a true Muslim he refrained from alcohol so he could not blame his weight on the consumption of beer. Rather his one weakness was for American junk food; the greasy fries, the family-sized milkshakes and the triple-decker burgers with tomato, lettuce, cheese and thick patties of beef.

On his head he wore the turban head-scarf, an oversized handkerchief which was kept in place by a black headband, a sort of rope which bound his forehead and kept the sweat from dripping into his eyes.

Fatima also was draped in her traditional dress. She wore what looked to be a burqa but was somewhat modified. From a distance she looked like a pre-Vatican II catholic nun. But up close she was indeed a modest Muslim who draped herself in such a way that her true beauty could be appreciated only by her husband. The black garment and headpiece covered every bit of flesh from head to toe. In front of her face was a black veil which covered her features so that all which remained to be seen were her jet-black eyes. They were eyes which were as mysterious as a cats. They penetrated the passerby and spoke of their own silence. They were dark and liquid and expressionless.

Ali crossed the square and entered the air-conditioned freshness of the mall. Fatima followed. The onrush of cold air came as a welcomed salvation, a frozen breeze across a desert oasis. The air was more than cool and refreshing, it was cold and frigid. They felt as though they had gone into a walk-in freezer rather than a newly opened shopping mall.

There was the smell of newness in the mall and why shouldn’t there be? Today was the grand opening. The rugs had the smell of freshness and the walls had the fragrance of half-dried paint. Everything was shining, clean and bright. The glass on doors and display windows were free of fingerprints and the benches bore no scratches.

Ali had promised Fatima (as he did his other three wives) that he would take them all to the shopping mall to buy perfume for their hair and gold for their fingers. Since Fatima was his first and favorite wife she had the privilege of going on opening day. (The others would have their chance later in the week.)

Together Ali and Fatima gazed briefly at the displays in the window. On the first floor there was a jewelry store which was well-stocked with gold earrings and bracelets of varying quality. Fatima looked at them. Delight showed in her eyes. She knew some of them would be hers before the day had gone its course. She also passed a perfume shop with aromas of the exotic bazaars of the East. These perfumes were made to order and blended especially for each new customer. How much nicer it was to have the fragrance of perfume than the smell of ivory soap after a bath.

These were things which could wait. The stores would be opened until 9 p.m. Now, other things came first. They were both hungry. Neither Ali nor Fatima had eaten since breakfast.

“Are you hungry, Fatima?” Ali said. Fatima knew very well by his statement that he really meant that he was hungry.

From under her veil came a soft, well-trained whisper. “Yes, I am.”

From the sound of her voice it was very difficult to guess Fatima’s age. From her appearance almost impossible for anything could lie beneath the burqa. Some people in Western cultures have condemned the burqa as a cruel hardship for women of a new century. It has been derided as dehumanizing and cruel. Feminists from Akron, Ohio to Anchorage, Alaska have unjustly decried the burqa as a garment of suppression and captivity. “Burn the burqa!” come the feminist battle cry for liberation. Yet, for those who know better and who live within the culture of Islam the burqa is quite sexy and a woman’s best weapon for seduction. A woman who is beautiful is made more mysterious, a woman who is pretty is made more charming, a woman who is plain is made more passable and a woman who is ugly is forgiven a multitude of sins.

The burqa also disguises a woman’s age. How many women panic at the first sight of a wrinkle or a mole? A Western woman runs to the dermatologist to remove freckles, treat oily skin or fix the size of a protruding nose. Yet, the use of a simple black veil spares a Muslim woman the sin of vanity and the unnecessary cost incurred by running to doctors to alter her appearance. All the money saved in dermatology can be used to purchase the finest perfumes from the Orient and enough gold to adorn the limbs and appendages of the human anatomy.

“Where shall we stop?” Ali asked Fatima.

Like a well-trained, house-broken member of a harem she softly muttered, “You decide.”

To Fatima’s delight Ali stopped in front of McDonald’s. She loved the Big McArab Burger which had recently been introduced to the menu. At home her servants prepared nothing but humus, shish kebobs, couscous and falafel with pita bread. She hated Arab cuisine but as a dutiful wife and in homage to here traditions she subscribed to such meals because Ali liked them and her children needed to be reared in the culture of their ancestors. Yet, deep within her heart and behind her veil she yearned for this foreign import from across the Atlantic. She sometimes fantasized herself ripping off her veil in public and laughing hysterically while biting into a Big Mac and letting the juices drip down the sides of her mouth putting deep dark stains on her damned veil. After eating the last morsel she dreamed of showing the “thumbs up” sign with her right hand for the entire world to see while waving the middle finger of her left hand for them to be shocked. Naughty Fatima! But, it was only a dream and one without substance providing she never confided it to anyone, not even her husband nor her best friend and never to Ali’s other wives.

She especially wanted to try a McArab Burger, the latest addition to a sinful menu. It had the aroma of a shish kebob and was made with only the finest halal beef. The beef was clinically massacred according to Islamic ritual giving it the perfect taste acceptable to the Muslim palate; a compromise of cultures.

“Let’s have a double order of McArab Burgers, French fries and two jumbo chocolate milkshakes” Ali ordered.

The Filipino clerk adorned in her colorful McDonald’s uniform wore a cheerful smile and noisily chewed a wad of gum. She was a foreign worker brought into the country on a forged working visa and hired exclusively for the service industry.

“Yes, sir” Maria the McDonald’s clerk said repeating his order, “Two McArab Burgers with freedom fries and chocolate milkshakes.”

The order was processed within seconds and within minutes the order was placed neatly on a tray for Ali to take to one of the tables for consumption.

Fatima sat at a table and Ali placed her McArab Burger in front of her. She sat there with her wide eyes penetrating the meat of the burger, the French fries and the milkshake on the side.

Ali paid no attention to her but devoured his meal like a famished dog who had been starved by a cruel master for weeks, but in truth his morning breakfast of beans and gruel was quite substantial and would have lasted him the whole day.

Fatima was in a dilemma. All eyes in the food court were upon her, or at least she thought. She wanted to take this burger with the same abandon as her husband but could not. Her veil stood as an obstacle between her and full enjoyment. Yet, if she tore it off, she might be stoned to death according to law, rules and custom.

Slowly from beneath her burqa a hand appeared like that of a turtle’s head emerging from its protective shell. The hand was quite beautiful, thin and long. The hand was one which had never dried a dish, nor peeled a potato or washed a grape. It was a hand unaccustomed to labor thanks to her servants. Each finger of the hand was bejeweled and adorned with gold rings, diamond rings and rings set with precious stones. The wrist of such a hand was encircled with bracelets; gold bracelets, bracelets inlaid with mother of pearl. The only labor this hand knew was to carry the weight of such jewels and accessories. The most distinguished feature of this hand was the nails. They were more than nails. They were weapons. These nails were ten centimeters long and perfectly manicured. They were thick and strong. God only knew what else they were used for until she demonstrated their current utility.

Fatima stabbed the burger with her nails and slowly, ever so slowly she used the index finger as a knife to cut through the burger. She cut small portions, bite-sized small enough to be enjoyed in one swallow. With her thumb nail she held the portion securely and secretly passed it beneath her veil and into her mouth. One could only guess at the pleasure she enjoyed as her eyes gave no hint of delight but stared emotionlessly forwards giving scant indication that she had satisfied one of her passions.

She cut another piece and then a third and slowly yet laboriously she brought the hamburger under the veil and into her mouth for pleasure and nourishment. The veil proved to be a handicap and an obstacle but not a total impediment to satisfy her passion for a McArab Burger. When the last morsel had been consumed her gaze relaxed and the stare became satisfied; the ritual perfected and the fantasy fulfilled.

There was a moment of silence and a feeling of senses satisfied. Ali having long since finished his burger and fries looked at Fatima with mild contentment and burped his mutual consent of approval.