Wasted Salt

by Sarah Houssayni

  Zahra wondered who “Mark” was and how he spoke with such certainty about God. She hoped Sandy and her husband would not be separated, especially now that she had another kid on the way. Noor had told Zahra so many stories about married men who wined and dined her, promised her money, cars, and everything else she might need. According to Noor, most married American men cheat on their wives.

  “But you cannot trust American men Zahra.” Noor would intone. “They lie. The only man I would EVER marry is Hussein!”

  Zahra hoped that would be the case for Noor. She hated to talk about men and marriage. Her dream life was one with no colostomy to manage, and Nadim close by. She didn’t need to marry him, neither one of them was the marrying kind, but she could see them watching out for each other until their last day. Zahra didn’t tell Noor that she owed her life to Nadim, and that he was the only reason she wanted to stay alive. It was too complicated of a situation to explain.

  “You like the pictures?” Sandy interrupted Noor’s thoughts. “Want to see their baby albums? My kids looked exactly the same when they were newborns!”

  “No, thank you,” Zahra said.

  “I am so sorry, you must be exhausted.”

  “No it’s okay, I am just ready to go home,” Zahra declared. She hoped Beth would show up quickly to take her home. Sandy looked hurt, she got up and left the living room. A few minutes later, Sandy reappeared from the kitchen with two twenty-dollar bills and a glass of juice. She handed Zahra the money and told her she was looking forward to seeing her in the young adult church group on Sunday. Sandy then handed Zahra the glass of orange juice.

  “No, thank you. I am good,” Zahra said.

  “Please.” Sandy insisted. “It’s homemade. I made it just for you. It will get you your energy back.” Sandy planted herself in front of Zahra’s face and handed her the glass. Zahra took the glass, sipped and handed it back to Sandy who wouldn’t take the glass from her.

  “It’s for you! Drink it all!”

  Zahra drank the juice because she didn’t know what else to do with a Sandy planted in front of her gesturing for Zahra to drink. She sat on the sofa feeling her guts grumble on the sugary liquid she just sent its way. She saw Jelly Belly pull up to the driveway and Beth stepped out of it. She got up and walked to the door, she felt nauseous and achy. The little girl ran to the door and stopped short of opening it after she heard the doorbell. She was in her purple and silver bathing suit and her pink plastic sandals. Sandy nodded to the girl’s looks and the little girl screamed “yay” as she opened the door.

  “Well, look who it is! Is this Moriah-the-big-girl’s house?” Beth said. She bent and picked up the little girl, who held on to Beth’s neck.

  “This girl is baby Jesus’s neighbor!” Moriah said and pointed to Zahra.

  “Moriah!” screamed Sandy, with a flushed face.

  “That’s Zahra! She is my friend,” Beth’s voice was small and musical in echo of the little girl’s tone.

  “She will be saved! Jesus will save her!” The little girl looked at Zahra in hopes of confirmation.

  Zahra walked up to the door, she was hoping nobody could smell the bag that felt very full and was leaking on her skin. As soon as Zahra heard the beep noise signaling the car’s door unlocking, she opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat, sweating as Beth continued her conversation with Sandy in the driveway.

  Beth drove carefully and always kept her eyes on the road. It looked like she was talking to her steering wheel anytime she talked to someone in the car.

  “Soooooo?”

  “They are nice people.”

  “Moriah is so funny. Such a smart four-year-old! She just had a birthday; I got her those sandals she was wearing.”

  “Nice,” Zahra said. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, looking at the road was making her more nauseous. She thought about her plane ride, how she stayed calm and didn’t get into too much of a mess. She could do it again.

  When Beth stopped in front of Diane’s car, she wanted to talk about the coming Sunday, but Zahra felt a warm liquid touch her hands through the T-shirt. She ran out of the car and into the basement without being able to say another word to Beth. She felt sour juice in her mouth before she could get to the sink.

  She barely made it to the sink, but she had still splashed on her shirt. Zahra closed the toilet and sat on it. She smelled of vomit and stools. The colostomy bag had leaked onto the money pouch she carried around her hips.

  Zahra took the pouch off. The plastic wrap covering the hundred dollar bills was soaked. She wiped it down with a towel then got the money out. Only one bill was soiled. Zahra washed it and set it by the sink mirror. She took her clothes and her colostomy bag off and got in the shower. She stood under running hot water for a long time, crying and scrubbing her skin clean.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zahra stayed in bed the next day, she told Noor that she was sick and couldn’t get on the bus in the heat. There were five days left in Ramadan, then Eid followed. She would call Beirut from Noor’s phone and wish her mother Eid Mubarak. Zahra also planned on sending Mustafa and Nadim texts to let them know she was doing well and working on getting her own cell phone.

  Noor blamed Beth for Zahra’s sickness, she was skeptical about Beth’s friend as well.

  “The only reason they help you is to turn you into one of them!” Noor said.

  Zahra felt tired and defeated. She couldn’t care less about Beth and Sandy’s motives.

  “You will lose your place in heaven! The only way is our Nabi Mohammed Aleh Salam!” Noor threatened.

  Zahra didn’t worry about going to heaven as much as she wanted to get out of hell. She nodded at Noor’s self-pleased smiles. Noor made Zahra some tea that she set by her bed then left for her cleaning job of the day.

  Noor was gone all day. It was the day to clean Mrs. Jeha’s pristine house, particularly a pristine nursery that Mrs. Jeha had added to her mansion for the grandbaby that she was expecting any day now from China.

  Noor went on and on about Mrs. Jeha buying a Chinese baby for her daughter so the daughter would come back and live with her. Supposedly, the daughter who left her mother’s side to be with her lover in Lebanon wanted to have a child but couldn’t conceive, so she decided to adopt. She didn’t want to adopt any kind of baby though, according to Noor—Mrs. Jeha’s daughter was only interested in a Chinese baby.

  “I know you think one cannot buy babies, but I have news for you. You can buy a baby from any country and bring it here if you have enough money. That woman tried to buy a Chinese baby before for her daughter here in America, but the Chinese people took her money and kept the baby when she was born. Now, this time, she had someone go get the baby from China just so her spoiled ugly daughter can finally get her Chinese baby. As if there is a shortage of babies that need homes here!” Noor alleged—she seemed upset about this baby business.

  Zahra wondered why Noor cared and how she knew so many details about people’s lives. She knew better than to ask Noor, because she had tried to reason with Noor and her big stories before and got nowhere. Noor resented so many people for so many things; religious people were too strict and the liberal ones were too loose. She was glad that Noor seemed to love her and didn’t try to change her too much.

  Zahra stared at the yellow walls for hours. She looked at the book Nadim gave her, but didn’t have the heart to open it. It was not time yet. Noor’s bed had a hot pink cover on it, she had a nightstand with a blue lamp with star cutouts on the shade. When the lamp was on, Noor’s stars projected on the walls.

  Zahra kept the star lamp on all day. She spent hours looking at the ceiling and wondering what Hajji was doing at that moment. Lying in bed and staring around reminded her of the old woman who spent the past nine years of her life sitting and looking at whatever was in front of her.

  Zahra never asked Nadim questions about what was going on with Hajji. The little he told her was the little she knew. He said tha
t Hajji had a stroke, after which she was never the same. Nadim told Zahra that Hajji was not weak, but didn’t know to move unless someone moved her. She could see and hear but didn’t understand words the way people without a stroke could. Over the nine years that Zahra cared for Hajji, she became familiar with what Hajji needed and wanted. Words were not necessary between them. Zahra heard Hajji’s requests louder than she would have her words. She figured out that if she listened to the silence in the dim room, she could figure out exactly what Hajji was saying. It was hunger, thirst, fatigue, and sometimes boredom. A simple language for their simple existence.

  Back home, when Zahra went to visit her mother, Nadim cared for Hajji, Zahra would return to find him frustrated about Hajji. The old woman turned her face when Nadim tried to feed her. Even though he adored his mother, Nadim did not speak her language. Leaving Hajji was hard, but staying next to her was getting harder as the years went on.

  When Nadim told Zahra about the opportunity to immigrate to America, the first thing that came to Zahra’s mind was whether she could bear to leave Hajji. Nadim had spoken in front of Hajji about the travel, although Zahra wished he hadn’t.

  That night, when Zahra put Hajji in bed, she noticed that the old lady was crying quietly. Zahra held her hand and cried with her that night. The next morning, they went back to their routine, both pretending that they would have one another in that quiet house forever.

  When Zahra woke up later that afternoon, Noor was sitting at the foot of her bed quietly texting on her cell phone. Zahra saw the cell light reflecting on Noor’s face. She was sobbing quietly. Her mascara was smeared around her eyes. She looked beautiful even when she cried. Zahra had never seen her friend look so sad.

  “Hussein, ha yitgawiz!” Noor said.

  It was the first time Noor looked so broken, and so weak. Zahra got up and went to her friend. She held Noor tight while her friend shook and whimpered like a wounded animal.

  Zahra wished Mustafa were here to help say the right words. She didn’t know what to tell Noor about Hussein getting married, how to make it less painful. She stayed quiet, hoping Noor would tell her more about what was going on, how she found out. She hoped that Hussein was not serious about marrying someone else, but she worried that it would make it worse if she told Noor, so she stayed silent and held Noor in the dark quiet room.

  “How long have you loved him?” Zahra finally asked.

  “A really long time. He is the reason I wanted to have my surgery to become a real woman!” Noor said crying. She was looking at Zahra’s confused face with a contrite expression.

  Zahra understood at once why Noor was tall and had big hands, why she seemed to have men’s shoulders and strength, and why she never undressed in front of Zahra even though she didn’t have a colostomy bag to hide.

  In the dark room, sitting on the bed with her pretty gentle face and her sad eyes, Noor was more woman than any woman Zahra had ever met.

  “You were born a boy?” asked Zahra, quizzically.

  “Yes, but I was always really a girl. Even the men who had sex with me in Egypt knew that I was not a boy. I just had a zabr like a boy and testicles like a boy, but nothing is less of a boy than me!”

  “I agree, Noor.”

  Zahra patted her friend’s red hair and sat next to her as Noor cried all night long. She wondered if Mustafa would have realized sooner than she did that Noor was not born a woman. Mustafa had told Zahra about effeminate men who dress like women, and some of them who even wanted to be called women. He didn’t seem to have any judgment for them, only sympathy for their difficult lot.

  Mustafa had talked to Zahra a few times about the hardship of being a gay man in Lebanon. It was his way of making her feel less unfortunate about her colostomy.

  “At least nobody takes you to jail for having a colostomy,” he would say.

  “I live just on the outside of society just as much as you do!” she would reply.

  Noor’s lot was a whole other story. Zahra felt Noor’s heartbreak even as Noor fell asleep and stayed asleep until the morning. She sat next to her friend on the bed, and watched her in the light of the cutout stars.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The July heat reached a record high that week. No matter how torrid and exhausting the commutes got, Noor insisted they showed up to all the scheduled jobs. Zahra had to walk bare foot on burning pavement until she reached the bus one day after her plastic flip flops came apart. Noor blamed the poorly made Chinese one-dollar shoes, and promised Zahra to get her nicer ones.

  “The sidewalks are cleaner than some floors we have cleaned. Consider it one of those spa treatments where they treat you with hot rocks,” Noor said.

  That was the only instance that made Noor giggle that week. Noor had become quiet and solemn, she stopped listening to music and would only eat a couple of bites at dinner, but only after Zahra insisted. Noor’s brown eyes had dark circles, her honey skin seemed pale, and her face got thin. She eventually stopped checking her phone for texts from Hussein, who had not contacted her after he told her about his engagement.

  When the phone rang one afternoon, Zahra felt her throat tighten. She hoped Hussein was calling, but the screen flashed Anthony. Zahra wondered if Anthony found them more apartments to clean at the building. She was glad that Noor was away at the store and couldn’t be disappointed that the caller was not Hussein.

  When Noor called Anthony back he told her that a pricey art sculpture was missing from the apartment belonging to Mrs. Jeha’s daughter. He said that Mrs. Jeha couldn’t think of anyone else besides them that had been at the apartment and wanted the two women to return the sculpture. Jeha had also made a police report, and the detective on the case asked Anthony for Noor’s number.

  “You walked us out, remember? Why the hell would I steal her sculpture? Her daughter’s sculpture—same damn thing! What could I possibly want from her stupid sculpture?” Noor said after periods of silence where Anthony was probably explaining what was going on.

  Zahra felt her stomach tighten into a knot as she gathered what was happening from Noor’s responses. She couldn’t remember any sculpture, as hard as she tried to recreate that apartment in her mind.

  “What happened? Are we in trouble?” Zahra said when Noor hung up.

  “Why would we be in trouble? Anthony let us in and let us out,” Noor exclaimed. Her face was flushed red.

  “Tomorrow, I will call the detective. Don’t worry about it, her sculpture of khara. That stupid rich whore!”

  It was funny to hear Noor call Mrs. Jeha names and say that the missing sculpture was made of shit. It made Zahra smile but Noor was pensive and upset, she got out of the room and told Zahra not to wait for her to sleep, that she needed to make some phone calls to try to figure out exactly what was going on.

  “Are you going to call the detective now?” Zahra asked.

  “The detective is fast asleep, habibti, do you think he has nothing besides some rich bitch’s false claims to worry about?” Noor said.

  Zahra wondered who Noor was going to call, but knew not to ask. She knew that Noor would have to go outside to make the calls because Diane would tap on the ceiling hard if Noor got on the phone late at night.

  Zahra did not sleep well that night, and Noor did not seem to sleep at all. She came back to the room late and tossed in her bed all night. The next morning, Noor did call the detective, who requested the two girls come into the police station.

  “Yes, sir, we will be there by three at the latest. Yes, three at the latest. We have to go to our job, we would lose those jobs otherwise,” Noor said.

  Noor didn’t say a word about the detective all day or about Mrs. Jeha. Zahra felt alone in her worry, and was ready to go to the police station to get the feeling of anxiety and near panic in her throat over with. The house they cleaned that day was elegant and clean.

  “When you see the painted golden pictures of Jesus in their formal room, you know they are Orthodox Christians mostly,
and they all go to that big nice cathedral with huge gold-plated paintings. The richer they are, the nicer their icons get!” Noor said.

  “The Muslim ones sometimes have a sura from the Koran embroidered on silk and framed,” Noor added.

  “Many of the Muslims here, especially the ones who want to be friends with the Americans, will do everything to hide the fact that they are Muslim. They don’t pray, they don’t fast—they even drink alcohol and eat pork!” Noor said.

  Her spirit was coming back to her. Zahra couldn’t be happier to listen and nod to her friend’s recovering sarcasm after several days of silence. Zahra did not care what their customers believed in and how they showed it, the only difference between one religion and another to her was the randomness of being born into that faith. Zahra believed that humans were scared animals with flawed logic and a complex social system. Some of the people she cleaned for with Noor were kind. Most were distant and condescending. There were as many Muslim bad people to work for as there were Christian ones. Good people seemed to exist in all faiths, making Zahra believe that religion was neither necessary nor sufficient to make someone easier to work for.

  Zahra did not believe in any religion. It was a lot of story and make-believe—different stories and different saviors, but illogical all the same. She knew better than to discuss religion with Noor. Instead, she nodded as her friend outlined her personal worldview. She loved Noor and wanted her to get over Hussein, the rest was unimportant as to who really lifted the sun every morning and set it down every evening.

  Sami, Noor’s hairdresser friend, was the one who helped them get most of the nice houses they cleaned so far. He told Noor that rich Arab immigrants copied each other in every aspect, down to the maids. He asked Noor to make sure to not tell any of the rich housewives who else they were cleaning for, and what was going on in those houses.

  “Sometimes, I think that the only reason they want us to clean their houses is to find out what is going on at their friends’ houses! What dinner was, who called, who stopped by and when the next dinner party is!” Noor said.