by Etaf Rum
Isra nodded and looked away. She feared what she might say if she spoke. It was the first time Khaled had ever reminded her of Yacob—loud, overpowering, furious with her—and she felt herself involuntarily shrinking away whenever she glanced up to find him still studying her in the rearview mirror. She looked away again, panicking. If Khaled was this angry, what would Adam do to her when he saw her?
Isra faced the window the rest of the ride home. Every now and then, she looked up to find Fareeda staring absently out the passenger window. Isra wondered what she was thinking. Fareeda had never once in the past seven years defended her. What did it mean? Did Fareeda understand her after all? Did she love her, even? Her own mother had never stood up for her despite the many times Yacob had beaten Isra in her presence.
Isra felt a tide of helplessness spread through her as she thought of her life. She hadn’t asked for much. Why couldn’t she get it? She must have done something to deserve her miserable fate, only she didn’t know what, so she didn’t know how to fix it. She wished God would tell her what to do. But in the silence of the car she asked God, and He said nothing.
Fareeda
Winter 2008
I’ll stand here all night if I have to,” Deya told Fareeda in the kitchen. “I won’t leave until you tell me what happened.” She moved closer. “If you refuse, I’ll never speak to you again. I’ll take my sisters and leave, and you’ll never see us again.”
“No.” Fareeda reached out to touch her, but Deya stepped away. “Please.”
“Then tell me the truth. All of it.”
“It’s the jinn,” she croaked. “It’s the jinn from my daughters.”
Whatever answer Deya had been expecting, it was clearly not this. She stared at Fareeda with confusion in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s what possessed Adam and Isra. That’s what’s been haunting this family all these years. The jinn from my daughters.”
“What daughters?”
She told Deya all of it: how her belly had swelled soon after her marriage to Khaled, how hopeful he had been at the gift of new life, the possibility of a new beginning in such a desperate time. Only Fareeda hadn’t given him the son he had dreamed of, the young man who would help him find food and water, who would help him cope with the burden of their family’s loss, who would carry on the family’s name. She had given him balwas instead—not one but two. She had known, even before seeing the mournful look on his face, that he would be disappointed. She hadn’t blamed him. The shame of her gender was engraved on her bones.
Deya sat down. “What happened to them?”
“They died.” The words felt heavy on Fareeda’s tongue. They had remained unspoken for so long.
“How?” It was clear she was still angry, but her tone had softened slightly.
“Khaled’s mother made me feed them formula. She said breastfeeding would stop me from getting pregnant, and we needed a son. But there were shortages of food and medicine. One day I ran out of formula, so I stole a cup of goat’s milk from our neighbor’s tent and fed them and . . .”
“I don’t see how this has anything to do with my parents being possessed,” Deya said.
How could she make her see? Fareeda sucked back tears. It had everything to do with Adam and Isra. Her daughters had been punishing her all these years for what she had done. When Isra gave birth to daughter after daughter, when Adam came home, eyes glazed, Fareeda could feel her firstborn daughters in the air, could almost hear their cries.
“Say something!” Deya said. “What do your daughters have to do with my parents?”
“Because I killed them. I didn’t know! I promise you, I didn’t know! I was so young—I had no idea—but it doesn’t matter. It was my fault. I killed them, and they’ve been haunting me ever since.”
Deya stared at her, her face twisted, unreadable. Fareeda knew her granddaughter could never understand how shame could grow and morph and swallow someone until she had no choice but to pass it along so that she wasn’t forced to bear it alone. She searched for the right words now, but there were none that could explain it. Deep down she knew what she had done—that she had pushed everyone away, that all she could do now was wait for the day when God would snatch her off this earth. She hoped it would be quick. What was the point of living, really, when you were like her—a fist of loneliness clenched around an empty heart?
Fareeda closed her eyes and breathed. Something inside her shifted, as if her whole life she had been looking in the wrong direction, not seeing the precise moment that turned everything upside down. She saw the chain of shame passed from one woman to the next so clearly now, saw her place in the cycle so vividly. She sighed. It was cruel, this life. But a woman could only do so much.
Deya
Winter 2008
The next morning Deya left her sisters at the corner of Seventy-Second Street and walked past them to the subway station, head bowed to avoid meeting their eyes. Her hands were sweating, and she wiped them on her jilbab. She pictured fleetingly how composed she had been the night before, when she’d told her sisters that they should run away, that she had a plan. She had smiled as she painted the future for them, a forced hope in her eyes.
But then they had done the unexpected. They had refused to leave. Nora said running away was a bad idea, that it wouldn’t bring back their parents, that it would only isolate them more. Layla had agreed, adding that they’d been sheltered their entire lives, and would never be able to survive on their own. They had no money. They had nowhere to go. Amal only nodded as the other two spoke, her eyes large and teary. They were sorry, they told her. But they were too afraid. Deya had said she was afraid, too. The difference was, she was also afraid of staying.
“I need to leave home,” Deya told Sarah when they’d settled in their usual spot. “Could I stay with you?”
“What about everything we’ve talked about? I don’t think running away is the answer.”
“But you ran away. And look at you now. Besides, I thought you said you wanted me to make my own choices. Well, this is my choice.”
Sarah sighed. “I lost my virginity and was afraid for my life. The circumstances were completely different. But you—you’ve done nothing wrong.” Deya could tell she was holding back tears. “If you go, you’ll lose your sisters. Maybe if I had stayed, Isra would still be here.”
“Don’t say that! Mama’s death had nothing to do with you. It was only his fault. His and Teta’s. Besides, what would’ve happened to you if you’d stayed? You would’ve been married off, probably have five or six kids by now. And that’s what’ll happen to me if I don’t leave. I have to go.”
“No! You have to try harder to fight for what you want.”
“Teta will never let me—”
“Listen to me.” Sarah cut her off. “You want to go to college, make your own choices, fine. Do that. You don’t want to get married? Then don’t. Put your foot down—refuse. Have the courage to speak up for yourself. Leaving your family is not the answer. Running away is cowardly, and you’d regret it for the rest of your life. What if you never see your sisters again? Never see their children? Is that what you want? Living your life as an outcast? You can do this the right way, Deya. You don’t have to lose your family.”
Sarah didn’t understand, thought Deya. She had forgotten what it was like. Deya couldn’t fight for anything in Fareeda’s house. She had a better chance of sawing off her own leg. “Then I’ll just get married,” she said. “Leave the house and start over.”
“That’s not a reason to get married. You know that.”
“Tell me then, what am I supposed to do? Tell me! I came here thinking you would help me leave them. But all you’ve done is scare me more.” She turned to go. “I thought you wanted to help me.”
“I do!” Sarah grabbed her hand. “I’m only telling you what I wish someone had told me—that running away is not the answer.”
“Then what is?”
“Only you
know that. You have to shove your fears and worries aside and listen to that clear voice in your head.”
“But there are conflicting voices in my head. How am I supposed to know which one to listen to?”
“You’ll know,” Sarah said. “Find something you love, something that calms you, and do that for a while. Your answer will come. You will just know. As for Fareeda, at least try. What have you got to lose?”
Deya gave her a hard look and then stood, turned, and walked out the door. Couldn’t Sarah see by now that Deya knew nothing? Even after learning the truth about her parents, she still knew nothing. She couldn’t be trusted to figure things out on her own. All the thinking she had ever done was for nothing, or she would’ve realized that her mother hadn’t just died, that she had been murdered. She felt a jolt of shame inside. A violent stab of foolishness. All these years she had thought Isra abandoned them. She had been so sure, and she had been wrong, terribly wrong. How could she trust herself now?
Fareeda
Spring 1997
By March of 1997, the London planes lining Seventy-Second Street were starting to bud, yellow dandelions scattered along the sidewalk beside them. In a couple of months Sarah would graduate from high school. The passing of time brought a panic to Fareeda that no amount of food was able to bury. She spent her mornings propped on the kitchen table, phone in hand, mumbling to Umm Ahmed about her daughter’s misfortune, that no suitors had proposed to marry her. But at least the idea that Sarah was cursed no longer gripped her. Over the winter she had taken Sarah to visit a jinn sheikh on Eighty-Sixth Street. Fareeda, who had once been afraid to walk to Umm Ahmed’s house, crossing entire blocks for her daughter’s sake. This is what motherhood is all about, she thought. Not sitting around smiling, but doing everything you can for your child. Inside a darkened room, the jinn sheikh had recited an incantation over Sarah to see if she was cursed. He had turned to Fareeda and pronounced that there were no traces of evil spirits on the girl.
In the kitchen, Fareeda sat across from Isra and Nadine, who were stuffing grape leaves. “I just don’t understand it,” she said into the receiver as she cracked the shell of a pistachio nut open with one hand. “Sarah is slim, with fair skin and soft hair. She knows how to cook, clean, iron, sew. I mean, for goodness sake, she’s the only girl in a family of men. She’s practically been trained for wifedom her entire life!”
She shook her head, stuffing the pistachio into her mouth. She wished Isra and Nadine would stop staring at her. She couldn’t stand to be around either of them. Isra, who had made a fool of them by running out in the middle of the night, and Nadine, who was only now pregnant with her second child. It was about damn time. Ameer needed a brother. She wondered when Isra would get pregnant again, but quickly dismissed the thought. Fareeda couldn’t bear the heartache of another girl right now, staying up all night wondering if God was punishing her through Isra.
In fact, Fareeda was doubly glad Isra wasn’t pregnant; she could barely handle the four children she had. Fareeda noticed how Isra looked at her girls, a flatness in her eyes, as though they were sucking the life from her. The last thing Fareeda needed was to worry about her running away again, as though she hadn’t heard anything Fareeda had said about covering her shame.
Something came to Fareeda then, a puzzle piece snapping into place. Her eyes shot to the door. She cut off Umm Ahmed, slammed the phone down, and rushed outside. She lowered herself onto the front stoop, pulling her nightgown over her knees as she did so. A hint of sunlight flickered on her legs, making them yellower than usual. She fingered the edge of her nightgown, pulling it lower still. Behind her Isra and Nadine called her name, softly at first but then with more force, but she refused to look at them. No. She would sit there until Sarah came home from school, until she figured out what was wrong. If her daughter wasn’t cursed, then why hadn’t any of the suitors proposed marriage? What had her daughter done?
The sky darkened and rain started to fall, beating against Fareeda’s face. She didn’t get up, didn’t move. All she could think of was Sarah. Her daughter must have done something to have ruined her reputation. But what? And how? She came home straight from school every day, she had never once left the house alone. So what could she have possibly done? She heard Isra and Nadine approaching again.
“I’m staying right here,” she said when Nadine touched her shoulder. “Right here until Sarah comes home.” She turned to stare them down. Nadine squinted at her, but Isra’s eyes skirted to one side. Fareeda couldn’t tell whether it was one of her stupid expressions or if she knew something Fareeda didn’t. It was possible. With all the time they spent together, Isra could’ve picked up on something. Sarah could’ve even told her. Right there under her nose all this time.
“Isra,” she said, lifting herself up. “Has Sarah told you something? Something that might explain why none of her suitors have proposed?”
Isra stared back at her with round eyes. “No. She hasn’t told me anything.” She said each word as though they pained her on the way out. Fareeda studied Isra’s face, the trembling lip, the meek expression. The face of a child. Clearly she knew nothing. She wondered how Adam must feel, coming home to that face every night. It was no wonder he came in reeking of sharaab. Despite her disapproval, she couldn’t blame him, had even covered up for him once when Khaled had found a can of Budweiser in the trash outside. She sighed and sat back down to wait for her daughter.
By the time the school bus finally let Sarah off at the corner, the sky had mostly cleared. Fareeda rose to meet her.
“What are you up to?” Fareeda began as Sarah approached the house.
Sarah dropped her backpack to the ground, took another step toward her. “What are you talking about?”
“All the girls in your class have had marriage proposals,” Fareeda said, waving her hands. “All but you!” Sarah took a step back, stealing a glance at Isra. “It doesn’t make sense. Umm Fadi is turning down suitors for her daughter left and right. Umm Ali’s daughter is already engaged, and she’s hideous. Even Hannah is married!”
Sarah opened her mouth but said nothing. Fareeda moved closer. “You must be up to something,” she said, her index finger almost touching Sarah’s forehead. “All these suitors, and not one has come back. Tell me! What have you done?”
“Nothing, Mama!” Sarah said. “I haven’t done anything.”
“You expect me to believe that? Walek, look at you! Men should be lined up at my door. Mothers should be calling me day and night begging for you! But they take one look at you and never return. What are you doing behind my back?” Sarah gave no answer but there was defiance in her eyes. “I asked you a question. Answer me!”
“I already told you. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You have the nerve to give me an attitude? Unbelievable!” Fareeda reached out and struck Sarah full in the face with the flat of her palm. The force of her blow caused the girl to step back, cupping her cheek in her hand.
“Come here!” Fareeda reached out, grabbed Sarah’s hair, and pulled it hard. “This is what I get for not beating you more often! I must have raised a sharmouta! That’s why no one will come near us! That’s why I still have an eighteen-year-old girl sitting in my face!” She pulled on her hair again, harder this time, jerked her head toward the ground.
“Fareeda!” Isra cried out, grabbing her arm. Nadine started to do the same, but Fareeda pushed them off.
“Don’t you dare interfere! Get away!” She tightened her fist around Sarah’s hair and dragged her through the front door. Inside she shoved the girl onto the hallway floor. “I’ll show you what you get for disobeying me!”
Sarah said nothing, her cheeks flushed red, her eyes two wells of fury. Her silence infuriated Fareeda most of all. How dare her daughter disobey her like this, how dare she defy her, after all Fareeda had done for her, for all of them? All she had given up, day after day until there was nothing left of her but a sack of bones. And they still blamed her in t
he end.
She took off her slipper and slammed it against Sarah’s body, over and over, her jaw clenching each time the slipper struck her daughter’s skin. It wasn’t fair! Sarah tried to crawl away, but Fareeda stooped down and seized her, pushing her into the ground with all her might. The next thing she knew, her hands were clutched around Sarah’s throat, all ten fingers digging in as if kneading a chunk of dough.
“STOP!” Isra’s voice cut through Fareeda’s rage. What was she doing? She let go. The feeling she had now, like the jinn had entered her, would not shake. She stared at her hands for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m doing all this for you.” Sarah was shaking her head, rubbing tears from her eyes. “You think I’m a monster, but I know things about this life you can’t imagine. I could sit around and play house with you, making jokes and spinning fairy tales, but it would all be lies. I’m choosing to teach you about the world instead. To want what you can’t have in this life is the greatest pain of all.”
Sarah stared at the floor. A moaning sound came from her lips, but she said nothing. Fareeda swallowed, studying the runner beneath her feet. Her eyes followed the fabric, its embroidered lines spinning in and out of each other, again and again. She felt as though her life was bound by the same pattern. She couldn’t breathe.
“Just go,” Fareeda muttered, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to look at you right now. Go.”
Isra
Spring 1997
On a humid Saturday afternoon, Isra and Sarah stuffed eggplants on the kitchen table. Fareeda sat across from them, phone pressed to her ear. Isra wondered if this was one of her renewed attempts to find Sarah a suitor. If it was, Sarah seemed unconcerned. Her full attention was on the eggplant before her as she carefully stuffed it with rice and minced meat. It occurred to Isra that despite the many threats Fareeda had made to Sarah since her beating, nothing she’d said had elicited even the slightest appearance of fear from her daughter.