Two From Isaac's House

by Normandie Fischer

  She fluffed the pillow behind her back, rested the paper on her writing folder, and aimed the pen at the top left corner. She dragged out a “D.”

  Dear Jason.

  Dear Jason what?

  Dear Jason, go away? Dear Jason, I found out things about you that I don’t like?

  No, he’d argue that one to death, and in the end, she’d feel as if it were all her fault. Okay.

  Dear Jason, I’ve fallen for someone else.

  Had she? Really?

  Be honest here.

  Well, yes. Probably. Maybe.

  So, tell Jason.

  That would be a blow. Especially if she said the someone “of interest” was a man she might never see again, but who still interested her more than Jason, to whom she’d been betrothed forever.

  That would go over really well.

  Dear Jason, I never knew what I wanted? I’ve been lying all these years? Pretending?

  No, she really had thought she loved him, probably because he was all she’d known. And now? Could she be certain this was different, after a few months and a few kisses? Did she really know Tony—or even know what love is?

  How could she?

  Okay, maybe she couldn’t be certain. Maybe nothing was ever certain. Nothing, except that she could never marry Jason and that what she felt for Tony, even if it wasn’t love, was still ten times more than she’d ever felt before.

  She caught herself clutching the pen in a death grip and uncurled her fingers. The right words hid. She couldn’t think of one nice, friendly, easy-on-the-feelings sentence. She should probably try to explain the metamorphosis from there to here. Give details.

  Finally, she just wrote that she couldn't marry him, she’d met someone else, and was very sorry.

  She signed the letter, “Love, Rina,” and then sat worrying. Was that inappropriate? But nothing else seemed to fit. And she did love Jason—or at least the Jason she’d believed in—just not that way.

  What a mess she’d made. In ignorance maybe, but still a mess.

  And where did she go from here?

  29

  BAHIR

  Bahir Rahmah fiddled with his worry beads and stared out over the nearly deserted compound. Achmed would return this evening. Troops were repositioning throughout Jordan to be ready for a move into Israel to coincide with renewed bombing by Hamas. It was beginning.

  Bahir rested his forehead on his hands and groaned as he thought of Tony. What a fool he had been, thrilled because Tony had said he would help the movement. He’d been so blind, but how could he have known?

  A knock startled him. “Aiwah?”

  “It’s me. Sami.”

  “Come in.” He sat up on the narrow bed and pointed his brother to a wooden chair nearby.

  “I need to talk to you,” Sami said.

  Bahir nodded, rubbed his hand along his jaw.

  Sami turned the chair around, straddled it, and leaned his arms on its straight back. “You look awful, maybe like I feel. I can’t stop thinking about Tony. How could he do it?”

  Bahir didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know,” he said finally, swallowing the lump that had threatened to choke him since the drive into the desert. “I really don’t know. I have thought and thought, and I come back to his being Jewish all along. I mean, even when we were kids.” He wiped his thumb and forefinger quickly across his eyes to stop the dampness he felt forming.

  “That’s the worst.”

  “It’s because he lied, not because he was a Jew. I don’t hate the Jews. I hate Israel, I hate a lot of Israelis, but not because they’re Jews.”

  “Because they stole our land. And killed our parents.”

  “Perhaps they did—”

  “Perhaps? What is this ‘perhaps’?”

  “I have found information that we may have been wrong.”

  “How? What?”

  “A man came through, from the camp in Lebanon.” Bahir looked away from his brother. “There was talk, a lot of it, some of the men bragging, telling of the things they’ve done for the cause. This one mentioned several things, bombs set. Bombs are his specialty, car bombs made to look like the Jews set them. He remembered one. I asked casually, no hint that it had affected me. Some pacifist professor, he said, an enemy of the cause. He didn’t remember if the wife had been with him, he thought, yes, someone else was in the car. He’d gotten much praise, but, of course, the media thought the Israelis had done it.”

  “Ya Elahi!” Sami clung to the back of the chair, his nails digging into the wood, his face drained of color. “One of our own. I cannot believe it.”

  “No, I couldn’t either, and so I have said nothing. But still, it may be true. He may have been the murderer of our parents.”

  “How did you keep your hands off his throat?”

  Bahir shrugged. “I could not know for sure. He didn’t know the name of the professor, and he couldn’t remember the year at this point, not with any certainty.”

  “And you joined Abu Sadiq because of their murder, because Achmed assured you Israelis had killed them.”

  “Also to help regain our homeland.” Bahir got up and walked around the room. “Once, the Jews, the Christians, and the Muslims lived together in peace. You have heard—”

  “Yes, how many times did Father tell us this before he died?”

  “He loved Tony. So did Omee.”

  “I miss her, you know? And Abu Bahir. Father.”

  “I, too. Our parents were good and always kind.” He looked squarely at his brother. “You know, Father had many Jewish friends in Lebanon, as I did in the States. I even dated one at school there.”

  “A Jew? You never told me.”

  “It didn’t last. Her parents were horrified. Besides, I was not, perhaps, much of a catch.”

  “She is the unfortunate one.”

  Bahir smiled at his brother’s quick defense. “And where would I be now if I had married?”

  “Still in America? That is an interesting thought, is it not? And I, too, perhaps.”

  “Would you have liked that, habibi?”

  Sami hesitated and then shook his head. “La, it is better this way, better that we try to win back our homes, make a place for our people.” He recrossed his arms over the chair back, rested his chin on them. “Was he really dead when you looked at him?”

  “Who? Tony?”

  “It looked like you only hit his shoulder.”

  Bahir looked out the window. “Aiwah, Tony is dead.”

  “And is Achmed angry at you, that you took Tony’s life?”

  “It will be all right. Do not worry yourself about Achmed.”

  “You did it to keep Achmed from torturing him, didn’t you?”

  When he didn’t answer, Sami said, “You remember the man, a year ago, I don’t remember his name.” His brother’s voice held hints of horror that made Bahir rest a hand on Sami’s shoulder. “All he’d done was embarrass Achmed. Talk too much, I think.”

  Bahir remembered. He remembered the screams.

  “I was given the body parts to carry into the desert as food for the jackals and vultures.”

  “Oh, habibi.”

  Sami shuddered. “I am glad for what you did.”

  “Friendship is worth something. Even at the end.”

  Bahir didn’t tell Sami that their father’s words had deflected his aim. Their father’s gentle voice filled with hurt, but also with understanding, had spoken to Bahir as if he instead of Tony stood in the place of punishment. Reminding him of the punishment he’d once deserved for stealing and losing a prized coin from his father’s collection.

  “My son, I do not want you ever to forget your name. It is a name I carry proudly, a name I try to remember when someone wounds me as you have done today. Your last name, our last name, Rahmah, means forgiveness. Bahir Rahmah, you are ‘dazzling forgiveness.’ Be quick to show the light of your name, my son. And be quick to forgive.”

  His light had dimmed these last years. Ho
w disappointed his father would be that he was here and that he’d brought his baby brother with him.

  30

  RINA

  She leaned against the windowsill as the last lights blinked off, leaving an unimpeded view of dark shadows and a three-quarter moon. Somewhere in the cloistered side of the convent, nuns lay curled on their horsehair mattresses or knelt to recite whatever prayers fit a midnight vigil. In houses ’round about, families hunkered down peacefully in their beds, and lovers snuggled into sleep. All of Perugia seemed to have quit for the night, save for a few restless souls.

  Back in bed, she closed her eyes and lay still, willing sleep, but before long she became aware of her cold feet, which didn’t warm with rubbing. How could they be cold when it was summer outside? She reached over the side of the bed and fumbled for socks.

  She sneezed twice. She must have stirred up dust with the socks. She sneezed again, and sniffling didn’t work. She needed a tissue, but the new pack was in her bag, and that was on the chair.

  Yanking off the covers, she stumbled over to the desk and rummaged through her purse on the chair. She found the sticky tape closing the pack, ripped it off, and blew hard. She took the pack with her back to bed.

  She was so tired and so wide-awake. Perhaps if she just pretended, just lay there, sleep could sneak up on her.

  She gave up as dawn approached. The cold terrazzo floor would warm by afternoon, but for now she kept the socks on and added running shoes instead of sandals after she lipped into her jeans and pulled on a sweatshirt.

  She’d never before walked Perugia’s streets at first light, but she liked being out in the empty town after she got beyond the closed streets of her neighborhood and into the piazza. She half jogged toward the end of the Corso Vannucci to the parapet from which she had an expansive view of the countryside. Mist hung everywhere below, fitting her dark and clouded thoughts.

  The town woke slowly. Only delivery trucks rounded the curves heading into town. The farmers’ market would be open this morning, but it held no interest. She walked slowly toward Santino’s, open early for morning coffee, and pushed at the heavy door. At the bar, she ordered a cappuccino and silently sipped, remembering too much, until being there began to feel masochistic.

  It was barely eight-thirty when she knocked on Mae’s door. In the kitchen, the boys had been eating bread and some kind of gooey-looking spread.

  “Hold on,” Mae said, wiping off the mess and waving Rina to one of the chairs. “I’ll get us some tea. There now, the water’s just at the boil.”

  “You’re ironing. Why don’t I fix the tea?”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here. You can keep me company while Acie’s closeted in the parlor with Nicco.”

  “Nicco’s here? Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m about to burst with curiosity.”

  Rina looked around for tea supplies.

  Mae nodded toward a low cupboard. “Down there, and the cups are in the one above. Okay, boys, Bertie, that’s enough. The both of you, go upstairs and don’t forget to brush your teeth.” She turned back to flick some water at the iron to test the heat. Instead of hissing, the drops trickled down the cooling surface. “That’s it, I’m tired of trying to make this old thing work. It always does this, quits right when I need it.” She folded the rest of the clothes, tucked away the board, and sat down, shifting the chair away from the table to accommodate her belly.

  Rina slid two cups onto the table, along with sugar, spoons, and the steeping teapot. Mae handed her a red and blue tea cozy to slip over the pot once they’d filled their cups.

  “This is just what I needed. Thanks.” Mae circled the cup with her hands. “Before Acie came, I never had much time just to sit, except when the boys were at nursery class in the mornings, and then there was always so much housework to do, shopping and everything. Now she takes them afternoons, and I can get off my swollen feet. Giorgio’s mother helps where she can, but she’s not young anymore.”

  “Acie says you’ve already decided it’s a girl. Did you have a sonogram?”

  “Just hoping. Calling her Gabriella feels right, though Giorgio enjoys the boys so much, I think he’s afraid of how he’d handle a girl. I’m not worried. Italian men are natural charmers.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “But I’m talking about the real charm, not this macho pappagallo thing. Men like Giorgio and Nicco.”

  “And not like Roberto.”

  “Exactly. Are you hungry?”

  “Thanks, no. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  Mae pulled a biscuit tin to the table, opened it, selected one for herself, and left the tin open. “Acie told me Tony’s gone.”

  “It seems so.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Did she also tell you she thinks he didn’t go willingly?”

  “Yes.” Mae rubbed her finger around the rim of her cup. “After I chided her about her health, she told me some of what’s been bothering her. I’ve been worried.”

  “That’s one reason I came this morning.”

  “Nightmares that may or may not be true? They scare me. They can’t be healthy.”

  “Has she been willing to see a doctor? The visions seem to be really messing her up. And the idea of Tony captured and perhaps killed has me so upset I can’t sleep.”

  Mae reached across the table. “I am sorry. I know you must be beside yourself. I told Acie more than once that she should see a doctor, maybe a therapist, but she has refused to. Last night, she almost agreed, she’s feeling that desperate.”

  “May I?” she asked, indicating her empty cup.

  “Of course.” Mae poured. “I just hope Nicco can convince her.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “I like him very much. Next to Giorgio, he’s the best of the lot.”

  “Do you think he’s serious about her?”

  Mae shrugged. “I hope so. He stops over almost every evening, plays with the boys, who adore him. He sometimes takes Acie out driving or for coffee, a few times to eat. Of course, Acie’s been smitten since the first, though she’s been pretty closed about her feelings, pretending they’ve only gone out as friends. I think she’s afraid, and it’s a bit tricky, all in the family. Still, Giorgio and I’ve both noticed how he watches her.”

  “I certainly saw it the night we went dancing. Seems strange, the way she’s willing to talk about everything but Nicco. I mean, she’s told me some, but less than I’d expect. Is she afraid he’s just playing around?”

  “Maybe. Or worries she’ll jinx it if she says too much. That would be in character.”

  “Well, I hope he loves her. That might help her past this whole dream thing, that and getting her to a doctor of some sort.” Rina slid her cup toward the center of the table and braced her chin on one palm. “I wish someone could get me past my own mess.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry.” Mae looked toward the doorway. “Here they come.”

  Acie almost skipped into the room. “Rina, hey. I didn’t hear you arrive.”

  Nicco grinned, and Rina didn’t imagine he was grinning because he was happy to see her.

  “So tell us,” Mae said.

  Acie looked at him. Nicco nodded.

  “Nicco came over this morning because he was worried about me. You, too, I know. Both of you. Well, you’ve had reason to be. Anyway, as you can see from the puffs that used to be my eyes, I let it all out, told him everything I could think of. Besides listening and telling me we’re going to see his grandmother this afternoon—Nicco seems to think she can help me—well, besides that, he asked me to marry him.”

  He slid his arm around her and blushed. Mae squealed and rose inelegantly to her feet to hug her sister. Rina squeezed in when Mae let go.

  Acie’s arms tightened for a moment. In a husky voice, she said, “Can you believe it? Me, with freckles, glasses, and right now not even presentable, gets a guy that looks like this one and is wonderful, too.”
Her whole face beamed.

  And when he said, “Hush. No more will you talk that way about yourself,” Rina joined his fan club.

  Mae clapped her hands decisively. “We need champagne. I’ll call Giorgio and tell him to bring some home. We’ll have it this evening. You come back, Rina, and drink a toast with us when he gets home.”

  “Of course, yes.”

  The back door banged shut, and Giorgio strode into the room. He leaned over to kiss his surprised wife before glancing around at his kitchen full of guests. “I see a lot of smiles in this room.” And then he seemed to notice Nicco’s arm around Acie. “Ah, ha. And this means?”

  “An engagement,” Mae said. “Isn’t it exciting. Nicco asked Acie to marry him!”

  “Auguri, congratulations.” Giorgio slapped his cousin’s shoulder and kissed Acie on both cheeks. “We must definitely celebrate.”

  “I thought you might bring champagne home tonight.” His wife turned to add more water to the kettle.

  “Certamente. But for now, I must speak of something unpleasant,” Giorgio said, his voice sobering. “The police came to the restaurant.”

  “The police? What did they want? Something about Nonno?” Mae asked, setting out a cup for him.

  “Yes, they’ve found the car, the gray Mercedes, abandoned outside Rome. It is the correct one, as they discovered from testing. There is some sort of evidence from a fender, I think. It was rented to one Ibrahim Hawaat, lately of the university here, now who knows where.” He patted the hand Mae placed on his arm. “He has probably gone back to wherever he came from. He was registered Syrian, but who can know? The police are watching his rooms, they’ve got men at the airport, the harbor, such places, but he hasn’t been seen.”

  Rina felt the color drain from her face as she and Acie exchanged a look.

  “You know something, you two?” Nicco asked.

  “We may. What did he look like?” Acie asked Giorgio. “This Ibrahim fellow.”

  “He was easy to describe, the police said, because of a scar on his face, a mustache.”