by Sarah Monzon
But there had been the sacred echo. My reading of Esther and feeling the stirring within my soul. Then Yara coming minutes after repeating almost the same thing. That hadn’t been a coincidence, had it?
My thoughts and fears echoed in my mind like the yelling deep inside a cave. Beating against the walls and tossed back at me with ricocheting speed until I thought I’d grow mad with it.
Be still.
A command I’d heard often, but this time coming at me in the voice of my friend, Rachel. She’d talked me into going spelunking with a group my sophomore year of college. I hadn’t been prepared for the tight spaces we’d had to shimmy through on our bellies. Nor the large cavern hidden deep within the limestone mountain. Our group of ten had filled that space with our voices, our echoes making us sound three times our size. But then Rachel had told everyone to be still, and we’d all turned off our headlamps. The silence and peace had seeped into my pores along with the damp cave air.
I tried to clear my mind and grasp that peace now. It was there. Elusive. Just beyond the noise. If I could still myself, maybe my feet could stand firm on the foundation on which I’d made my decision, not this shifting sand that threatened to topple me.
I am called to work for God among the Bedouin.
Karim is a good man.
God won’t abandon me.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, my spine straightening with the pressure that compressed my lungs.
It’s my wedding day.
Time to get out of bed and prepare.
I swung my feet to the side of my pallet and strapped sandals on my feet. Rising, I straightened my sleeping area and peeked over at Mom’s prostrate form. She smiled at me with a hint of sadness, which I answered with a forced tilt of my lips.
“Can I bring you some breakfast? A piece of fruit perhaps?”
She shook her head. “Your father already brought me something before he left this morning.”
I nodded, my stomach not ready to receive anything itself. I used the cold water left in the basin to splash over my face and arms and peeked at the leather flap hanging at our tent’s entrance. When would the women arrive to begin preparations?
Traditionally, Bedouin weddings lasted five days at the most, two at the least. My wedding to Karim would take place in one day. In a way, I was thankful for the lack of length. While eyebrows might rise at the unconventionality of it, I wasn’t sure my nerves could handle something more drawn out. Everyone understood the urgency however, at least in that the clan had decided more than a week ago to pack up and move. The fact Karim wished to forgo a year engagement was still the topic of many conversations.
I closed my eyes, imagining the activity in the center of our community right now. The first events of the Bedouin wedding ceremony, the al khouta and the al akhd. Karim, along with his male relatives and friends, would meet with my father for the official proposal. Being offered coffee to drink, Karim would not lift the cup to his lips until my father said yes, after which the negotiations of the marriage agreement would commence. Karim would pay my father a dowry, perhaps money, jewelry, or animals. Funny. I should have asked him what he’d planned to offer. It did kind of make a girl nauseated to think her worth boiled down to a few trinkets or livestock.
I touched the chain around my neck made of gold coins centuries old. I’d been surprised when Karim had presented it to me two days ago. My mother’s ribs were still recovering, so Karim’s mother, Yara, and I piled into the Toyota to head to the city, when he’d tapped on the vehicle’s window. I’d clutched the wheel for leverage and pumped the handle to lower the glass. Resting his arm on the opening of the door, he’d pulled the necklace from his sleeve and handed it to me with a smile.
Gifts from the betrothed? Normal. But this? I followed the dents within the metal. This was not only a family heirloom but a piece so full of history and culture that it belonged in a museum.
I remembered looking into his eyes, trying to decipher some hidden message in the gift. Why a piece so irreplaceable instead of a simple ring? Knowing Karim, the number of layers he wrapped himself in, significance lay here. Even the approving click of his mother’s tongue had confirmed it.
The leather flap opened, and morning light filtered through shadows in the tent. Yara entered first, her grin as wide as the Sahara. Other women, all friends, tailed her, with Karim’s mother entering last, draped across her arms, my wedding gown.
I ached to see it. As tradition, she insisted on providing not only the cloth but sewing it herself as well. I’d tried to protest, arguing that there wasn’t time to create a gown from scratch. That had been our main purpose for the trip to town—to purchase a wedding ensemble already made. But she’d dug in her heels, pushed me off in the direction of the market to collect staples such as flour and sugar. Things we’d need for our journey that the desert wouldn’t provide for us.
When I’d joined her later, she had a brown paper-wrapped bundle hugged to her chest. Refused me a glimpse or to even carry the burden for her.
Now she stood before me, eyes bright though dark bags hung beneath them as testament to the hours spent on the dress which should have been spent sleeping. She stepped forward, the rest of the women making a semicircle around us. Excitement thrilled on the air as if a tangible thing, and I breathed it in, filling my lungs with the deliciousness of expectation.
Without a word, she held the package out to me with both hands. I accepted it and pulled at the tied string. Brown paper unfolded, revealing material as white and light as a cloud. Unhinged, my jaw dropped, and I looked up to find the matriarch that I’d slightly feared most my life smirking at me. Bedouin wedding dresses were usually a variety of colors, with red being a focal shade. But white…
She took another step toward me and fingered my uncovered hair, bringing a large chunk to drape over my shoulder. “When a Bedouin weds, they join not two people but two families.” She patted my hair again, her eyes glistening in a telling way. “For you and my son, we join two worlds.”
I swallowed, touched by her words and thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”
She gave a small nod and took half a step back. “You and Karim, you are not two halves that make a whole. Already you are both complete.” Her direct gaze pierced. “Never forget who you are.”
Who I was. An American. An outsider. But how she’d said it didn’t make that fact something that should be despised or shunned. While hospitable, there were still lines drawn between us and them. Lines I could never cross because of my birth, culture, and religion.
And yet I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt as accepted as I did then. My differences displayed and yet embraced. In her estimation, I’d been lined up with all the other women of her acquaintance and I hadn’t been found wanting.
Looking to the cloth in my hands, I twisted my wrists and let the material flow to the ground, revealing the gown in all its glory. A simple A-line, the cut and stitching had a distinctive Western flare while still maintaining modesty. Flowing chiffon skirt tampered to a trim waist that had been embellished by a broad belt. The top and arms looked to be a little more formfitting than the everyday abaya.
Oohs and ahhs emitted from the women around us, and soon I was flocked by eager hands to help me into the gown. It fit perfectly, and I felt more like a bride than I ever dreamed I could have.
Yara removed a small wooden bowl from a bag and poured in some powder. Next she added a liquid, and from the citrus smell that hung on the air between us, I knew it to be lemon juice. She mixed the henna into a paste and filled cones with it. One woman took my hands and washed them, glancing up at me every so often with a coy smile. Soon both my hands and feet were clean. I became a canvas to these women, my hands and feet receiving the red dye in intricate designs of dots, swirls, lines, and flowers. We took breaks, drank coffee, laughed and teased. Hours passed, and then Yara looked up from her post at my right hand, sweat trailing down her temple, her smile bright.
“Beautiful.”
I looked down at all their handiwork. “Yes, it is. Thank you.”
She glanced down at my hands, then looked up again with a wink. “That too.” With a clap of her hands, she rose. “Let’s go ladies. Time to see how much the sheikh will pay us for decorating his woman.”
They left the tent with giggles and twitters, women with years to their lives acting as carefree as their school-aged children. I laughed at their antics. It felt good to let the weight of the past week roll away.
I strained my ears to hear the teasing, wished I could be among the revelry, catch a glimpse of my friend-soon-to-be-husband. Was he suffering from second thoughts? At any moment would he come to his senses and call the whole thing off?
Did I want him to?
Shouts and laughter, both male and female, reached me, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. The ritual of al aadaa was all in good fun, and I wondered if Karim would give in to the ladies’ playful demands for payment or let the verbal sparring continue before making a show of relinquishing a few pieces of coin.
Yara burst through the leather flap, her cheeks glowing. Like ducklings the other women filtered in.
“You should have heard him, Hannah.” Yara grinned.
“What did he say?”
“At first, he refused any payment at all,” one of the other ladies chimed in. “As if all our hard work was worth nothing.”
“That wasn’t it at all,” Yara countered.
“So did he pay, or didn’t he?” I asked.
Yara’s brow quirked. “At first, no. He said you were perfect and beautiful all on your own and needed no decoration to be such.”
My breath hitched. He did? With my hair and eyes, I knew he thought me unique, but beautiful?
“Romantic, no?”
I nodded, still processing. “Then what?”
She tilted her hand and coins spilled out.
My eyes widened. “All that?”
“He said you were worth more than all his possessions but that we’d have to settle for the money he had in his purse.”
My gaze jumped to hers. “He gave it all?”
She nodded. “All.”
I looked back to the pile of money lying on the colorful floor rug. One or two in jest, yes. But what did he mean by giving it all?
Yara reached forward and squeezed my hand. “We must finish getting you ready for him.”
Yara’s sister knelt before me and applied thick black kohl around my eyes. She tilted my head and dusted my neck, cheeks, and ears with saffron. Gathering my hair at the back of my head, she began to fold and weave it.
“Leave it down.” Karim’s mother spoke for the first time since presenting me with my dress.
I could feel the sister’s hands hesitate. Could almost read her thoughts. It wasn’t their way. Then strand by strand my hair fell to my back. It seemed I wasn’t the only one aware of Karim’s fascination with my blond hair. His reference of it as gold before he called me a treasure would be evidence enough. His audacity to stroke it that night in the cave undeniable proof. My heart tripped a beat as my skin tingled in memory.
A light head scarf was placed over my hair, then secured with a circlet and veil made of more round gold coins. The face of a Bedouin bride must not be seen during the ceremony, and this veil of joined metal concealed my nose, mouth, and chin.
A stirring sounded behind me, and I turned toward it. Mom rose from her pallet. My heart clenched at the sight of her. For her weakness and injury, yes, but more so from guilt. She had lain silent for so long that morning that I’d nearly forgotten her presence altogether.
She limped toward me, her eyes shining. I reached out my hands toward her, and she grasped them.
“Oh, my little girl.” She traced the height of my cheekbone, which jutted out from above the veil. “You are a beautiful bride.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to apologize, but I did. Maybe because I knew in some way I was disappointing them. That the dreams they’d held for me would now no longer be realized.
“Don’t apologize. Not to me. Not on your wedding day.”
She pressed on the back of my head, and I lowered it to accept her kiss on my crown, a single tear escaping and sliding down under the veil and collecting on my chin.
“Come.” My soon-to-be mother-in-law stood at the entrance of our tent, holding the leather flap back, her hand extended toward us. It was time to join the rest of the ladies in the massive women’s tent erected for special occasions.
I curled my arm around my mother’s waist and supported her weight. For the rest of the day she would be by my side. I wasn’t sure I could bolster the courage otherwise.
Chapter 11
Karim
Darkness blanketed the night sky, the celebration in full swing. Crackling from the fires could barely be heard over the deep voices of all the men gathered in the men’s tent. All day I’d cast furtive glances toward the other side of the encampment, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Hannah. Nothing. Though I knew my chances were pretty much zero to begin with. Men and women celebrated separately, and that included the bride and groom.
Samlil sat to my right, Ethan to my left. Both had been uncharacteristically quiet most the day, brooding and stewing. Or perhaps I was only projecting that? Either way, they had not been ideal, happy companions. I’d had to receive the congratulatory smiles and well wishes from those who were not as close to my heart.
The musicians started another tune on the violin-like rahaba and the dalouka drum. Men clapped and stomped in unison, their bodies moving in a centuries-old traditional dance. Along the perimeter of the tent, servers held large platters of food. Rice, lentils, meat, bread, fruits, vegetables. All the favorites were being placed on the runner on the floor. At the end, the massive main wedding dish—a whole stuffed camel. Or rather a camel stuffed with a number of lambs, stuffed with almost two dozen chickens that had been stuffed full of fish. The last twenty-four hours had been permeated with the smell of the dish roasting until the camel meat glistened brown and tender.
With a flick of my fingers, I summoned one of the men to me. He bent at the waist until his ear hovered near my lips. “I gave specific instructions to the cooks as to my bride’s main course. Please see that those instructions are followed.”
He inclined his head and then straightened, walking out of the airy tent without walls and toward the cooking fires.
I leaned forward and used a bit of bread to scoop up a bite of savory lentils. Ethan’s hand joined me in the platter.
“What was that?” he asked.
I waved off his question. “Nothing really. Your daughter has a distinct dislike for camel meat. There should be a nice roasted chicken being delivered to her now instead.”
Approval lit his eyes. “It seems you are well acquainted with my daughter’s preferences.”
Samlil snorted beside me, offended by the observation. As if an outsider, a missionary no less, was beneath the sheikh’s time and consideration. How my friend could so easily forget the time the three of us had shared growing up, I did not know. However, Ethan’s statement could cause trouble if he concluded I’d acted in any untoward manner to his kin. “A good leader notices the people under his care.”
Ethan’s brow rose. “So you know the favorite and least favorite dishes of everyone here?”
Pinned like a rodent under the sharp talons of a hunting falcon. I squirmed, needing to find a way to redirect the conversation without bringing to memory Hannah’s embarrassment over losing her stomach the last time she’d tasted camel.
Ethan patted my knee and leaned closer. “No need to worry on my account. If anything, this eases a bit of my worries.”
I didn’t like that he worried about my union with Hannah at all. It called to question my character. Not a good feeling. But what could I do? Uncertainty weighed on most of the minds of the men celebrating, though their wariness lay in the choice of the bride, not the
groom.
Mahabat walked from the far side of the tent. His position as head shepherd afforded him a measure of power within the clan. Since this celebration was in my honor and my duty was that of groom, I’d appointed him as overseer.
He folded himself beside Samlil and dipped a piece of bread into a platter of hummus. “It is time for the nikah,” he said around a mouthful of seasoned garbanzo beans.
I nodded and stood, Ethan rising beside me. He would act as Hannah’s representative, although I was tempted as sheikh to demand Hannah represent herself in this matter. Though everyone was having a good time, the unspoken questions and accusations hung heavy on the air. My equilibrium spun with them. If I could lay my eyes on her, perhaps all would return to focus.
A table stood in the middle of the tent, the legal contract of my marriage to Hannah on it. Mahabat walked to the table and picked up a piece of paper, reading in a loud voice the meher. The musicians stilled their instruments, and the scraping of hands in food dishes quieted as well.
“Karim Al-Amir, upon his marriage to Hannah Pratt, does vow his protection and honor. The symbol of which he bestows to her now.”
I fished the ring I had purchased out of my belt and handed it to Ethan. The sapphire sparkled in the light of the night. Lanterns, fire, moon. Each glinted off an edge of the deep-blue gem. Diamonds were more traditional for the Western culture. Perhaps even what Hannah had expected all her life. But a piece of Hannah had always been mine, and I didn’t associate her with the overrated, colorless stone. She brought life, the blue of the water my people spend their whole lives searching for. That was the treasure I’d always hold dear.
Ethan’s fingers folded over his palm as he accepted the ring on Hannah’s behalf. I must have had a question in my expression, my small measure of doubt that she’d appreciate my gift written on my face, because Ethan gave me a small smile and a nod.
Approving murmurs swept through the tent, and I let those affirmations reinforce my resolve as Mahabat continued to read the next section—the lifetime deferment.