Three Daughters: A Novel

by Consuelo Saah Baehr

  “His name’s James.”

  “Oh, boy! He’s a foreigner. That will definitely give your father that heart attack. Is he crazy about you, this James?” Her tone was cold but Nijmeh was too upset to notice.

  “I don’t know,” said Nijmeh. “I only know I’m crazy about him. Delal, you mustn’t mention this to your mother or anyone. If my father found out, it would be awful.”

  “I’ll say! That would be the end of James.”

  “Don’t say that,” Nijmeh hissed. “That would not be the end of James. It might be the end of me, but it wouldn’t be the end of James.”

  “Why are you confiding in me?” asked Delal. “How do you know you can trust me?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, what’s it going to be? The horses?” Delal’s voice deepened dramatically. “Or danger?”

  “Danger,” whispered Nijmeh. “I guess you’ve convinced me.”

  “Good. Remember, you only live once.”

  Once she knew what Nijmeh was up to, Delal could think of little else. Her skin changed temperature and she could feel her blood running along. There was a sense of outrage at being left behind. In her imagination she found the man of her dreams over and over. Someone handsome and distant and involved in important work. Perhaps she would work alongside him. Her body was all ready for love. She had read in a book about a heroine who ached to be kissed and had thought, Yes! That’s it, exactly. She ached to be kissed, too.

  That Nijmeh already had a man drove her crazy. Her words went round and round: It isn’t only the film. I want to meet someone. Delal got the idea of spying on them (only for a moment did it make her squirm) and getting a look at the man who loved Nijmeh. It was important to see exactly what Nijmeh had found for herself, otherwise the idea was horribly threatening. People went to museums to see intimate paintings and that wasn’t considered voyeuristic. So why was it wrong to sneak into the Bijou to see her cousin with James?

  They were in the last row. His arm was around her back and they were looking at each other, not at the screen. He was tall, and in the dimness it seemed he was older, too. A real man. Accidentally the light from the screen lit them and she saw his hand around Nijmeh’s upper arm. He was stroking her skin gently at first and then—oh, my—much more insistently. She could feel that masculine finger on her own skin and it made her feel hot and then cold, as if all the hair on her body were standing on end while a breeze blew through it. Did others evaluate her the way she was evaluating James? Did they secretly laugh at her for being cheerful? Did they think she was trying too hard? Did they feel sorry for her?

  When the two walked out, Delal watched James’s face and knew instantly what kind of man he was. Good at sports. Good at most things. She recognized that unworried look of someone who made eyes light up when he appeared. Confident and full of vitality, he made his way through the crowd as if he deserved to go first. He was dressed in just the kind of clothes that appealed to Delal—rough, tweedy, and expensive. He was what she would have dreamed of for herself and that realization made her bitter. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, but he was oblivious to her. Resentment left her limp. She felt that Nijmeh, by having someone, was ruining her own chances of finding someone as nice.

  “Mother—” It was after dinner and Julia was reading in the study. “What would you say if I told you Nijmeh is sneaking around meeting a man? A foreign man.”

  Julia closed the book around her finger. “Delal, what are you talking about?”

  “I asked my question first. What would you say if she was?”

  “I’d say it would break her father’s heart.” Julia’s voice was circumspect.

  “Why would it break his heart? I mean, as opposed to making him angry?”

  “Samir has raised Nijmeh to take over his role in the community. She’s his spiritual heir, his personal production. If she were to be taken away by a man who wasn’t right—especially a foreigner—I don’t want to think about what would happen.”

  “Well, she is.”

  “She is what?”

  “Sneaking around and meeting a foreign man.”

  “Delal, are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’ve seen them. They go to the movies and neck.”

  “Oh, no!” Julia rose.

  “Oh, yes. Not that I blame her. He’s very cute. But if your brother wants Nijmeh to stay a virgin, you’d better tell him she’s on the way to crossing over the bridge.” Delal sighed and then grinned. “Poor Samir. All that work for nothing.”

  “The father is Charles Saad,” said Nadia. She looked pale and stunned. The news that her daughter was deeply involved with a man made her panic. She couldn’t shake the idea that Nijmeh had inherited weakness of character from those other parents. Some sexual mania. If she were compelled by forces beyond her, she couldn’t obey. Nadia hadn’t wanted to think of the other parents, but now making life decisions for Nijmeh frightened her. Perhaps they should let her alone to do as she wanted. That was the least they could do. Oh, God, why was remorse coming now at this late date? It was different for Samir. For him, it was the simple need to protect his flesh and blood. “They have the Weber Electric.”

  “I know what they have,” he said impatiently. “Every time a phonograph is sold, or a record or a radio or a toaster or any appliance, he gets a cut.”

  Within a few days of his sister’s call, Samir found out what he had to about James Sheridan Saad and his parents. He had no strong feelings about the mother. But the father! The father was a dandy who had lost his own father during the cholera epidemic at the onset of the war. He wore cravats or whatever you call those things that Englishmen stuff into their shirtfronts to herald the idea that they are at their leisure. He smoked little dark-brown cigarettes inserted into a long holder that he used to punctuate his sentences. He had adopted the worst traits of British aristocracy and leached out his own nationality. An opportunist without roots. The sort of man Samir detested.

  The mother was the daughter of an upper-class Whig who had left his seat in Parliament to become managing director of Weber Electrics, a large diversified appliance company. Lavinia Saad was elegant, well intentioned, and superficial. Her one daring act had been to marry the dashing Méditerrané she had met during a summer visit to Cape Cod. He had appeared in perfect white suits and wore his thick hair slicked back. The sun had turned his skin to gold. He’d had a new business degree, flashing dark eyes, and a devastating accent.

  “You’re not mad because he has a successful business?” Nadia knew it had nothing to do with business. It was the English blood. Was he still bothered by her involvement with Victor?

  “Of course not, but I hate the fact that he stays here simply to make money. If he could make a better living elsewhere, he’d leave forever.”

  “Are you sure that’s the way it is?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. He’s the kind of man who loves to be loved by other nationalities. They spend half the year in Europe with her family. They have no ties to Jerusalem other than his lucrative business.”

  “The young man is going to law school in Edinburgh. Perhaps it’ll die a natural death.”

  “No,” he said. “This is serious. Nijmeh’s not a glib, superficial girl. If she’s involved with this man, she’s given him her whole heart.”

  That Friday afternoon, he went to bring his daughter home for the weekend. He waited for her in the parlor and when she saw his eyes, she knew he had found out. Oh, God! Her mouth went dry, her eyes burned, and her heart doubled its speed. Her body was preparing for defense.

  “What’s wrong?” The stiff formal room made her whisper.

  “I came to give you a ride home.”

  “Oh?” She had been so eager to see James that her father’s presence, while it made her fearful, also made her resentful. “I can’t go home with you. I was planning to stay until the last mi
nute to do some work. You should have given me some warning. What a shame, you’ve wasted a trip.” Her manner was strained and formal and she could see his surprise and hurt.

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Wait?” He continued to stare at her. “Why are you looking at me? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing at all,” he said. “You’re a beautiful young woman and I’m startled at how quickly you grew up.”

  “Quickly?” she squealed. “Not quickly at all. Delal grew up quickly. I took forever.”

  “But now it’s done.” He couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice. “You’re a woman.”

  “Baba, don’t wait. Please.”

  “Of course I’ll wait.” He became diabolically calm. “I want to take you home myself.”

  “There’s something wrong. I know it.” Her voice was shrill.

  “What could be wrong?” he said stiffly, and she saw his mouth tighten. “You tell me.”

  She couldn’t tell him anything. “I’ll get my things.”

  They had dinner without mentioning James. She felt as if she could reach and grab the air and it would crackle from the tension, but her father carried on a conversation. He spoke about Charles de Gaulle as the only hope of France and he said that Eisenhower was exactly what America needed. He said that a friend of his had ordered a television set for them and it would come in a day or two. Before bed they sat like three stones listening to the radio. The parlor of the sheik’s house had a vaulted ceiling and terrazzo floors that made the broadcast sound ominous. The announcer said John Foster Dulles had visited Jerusalem on his way to Amman. He had stopped at the Mandelbaum Gate for barely twenty minutes, distracted and unapproachable. The Arabs who had expected a sincere and fruitful diplomatic exchange were bitterly disappointed, said the announcer.

  The next morning Samir asked Nijmeh to accompany him to the farm. He had two horses saddled and they rode together around all of the acreage and out into the wilderness. He was silent. The desert had a curious effect on him, especially at this time of year when the first flowers were bringing the cracked earth to life. He couldn’t help but compare his predictable routine with the precarious days he had known as a youth with Marwan, and it made him introspective. Fledgling bustards chirped in the low grass. Soon the entire area would glow with green and the scent of the flowers would perfume the air. He saw that Nijmeh, too, was moved. As they reached the crest of the hill, a pack of wild gazelles came toward them at full speed, then dashed to their left without breaking rank and zigzagged wildly to the right. Their pacemaker was a white buck so dazzling that momentarily father and daughter were transfixed.

  “He’s so beautiful,” she said. “It makes me sad to see him.”

  “Why sad?”

  “A hunter will pick him off in the next day or two.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “His life is at its peak. He’s so perfect. His legs, his head, his eyes are perfectly made. It’s such a waste. I don’t understand that part of it at all. Why does he have to die?” Her eyes were full.

  “If he dies now with one swift crack to the heart, it’s better than being mauled to death by a wild animal when he’s too old to run.”

  “Baba . . .” The beauty of the scene made her feel bereft, as if James were already a memory. But that was frightening. Everything she saw made her think of him. She wanted him to see the buck and experience this perfect morning. The urgency to see him clouded reason and made her reckless. Her father must already know all there was to know. No doubt he had already traced James’s family back a few years. There was no need to pretend. “I love him,” she said. At that moment she was sure her father would give in. “You’re not going to take me away from him, are you?”

  “You were never his.”

  “But I am! I am! He makes me happy. And free.”

  Samir moved closer. She was the treasure of his heart. Nothing suited her beautiful face more than the wide-brimmed hat. The shadow it made emphasized all the strong planes of her face—the peaks above her mouth, the deep cleft. He shifted position on the horse and flexed one hand, suddenly tired and frightened. Her face appeared sensual. Those wide eyes that had looked at him with faith for so many years were wary. His imagination went in wild directions, presenting a vivid picture of a failed life—his own failed life if he lost her.

  “You’ll marry the right man and it won’t be the son of an opportunist.” His voice became hard and dull. Other fathers had panicked at the idea of turning their daughters over to another man, but Nijmeh was his only link to the future. “All this belongs to you; all of it is in your hands,” he warned. “Your place is here with someone who has the same roots and the same commitment.”

  “If you only knew him, you’d feel differently. He’s so sure of himself and he has the power to make you feel sure, too.”

  “I don’t doubt it. If you love him, he must have great charm, but charm isn’t enough.”

  “You make him sound shallow,” she said bitterly. Echoing precisely what James had said, she added, “You don’t have to slaughter lambs and fight off wolves to be a substantial person. Your definition of goodness is so narrow.”

  Samir looked stung. Even though he knew that wasn’t what he’d taught her, the accusation had the power to hurt. She seemed possessed. If she thought she was in love, it was an idea foisted on an unknowing, vulnerable girl. He struggled to keep anger out of his voice. “I have no definition of goodness,” he said simply. “I only have a job to do. And that is to instill in any child of mine a powerful love of the land. If I don’t do that and other men like me don’t do it, who will care for our past? Who will bring all our traditions into the future? It would be tragic if there was nothing left.”

  She saw a look of sadness and vulnerability in her father’s face and she was torn between the strong desire to console him and the equally strong pull not to capitulate. Her tenderness toward him made her angry and frightened, as if it were proof that she was too weak spirited. “I wouldn’t turn my back on those things. If James thought they were important to me, he wouldn’t interfere. He wants me to be happy.” Her voice was too high and thin. Her happiness sounded like a frivolous goal. “Please let him come and meet you,” she added in desperation.

  “I would feel dishonest in giving you false hope.” It was strange. If he closed his eyes, he could forget what had happened and see her future as it should have been.

  “Then how can you say you love me?” she shouted. “You’re no better than a dictator. It has to be all on your terms.” The words flew out. She felt such uncontrollable rage that she thought her heart would stop or explode.

  “Not a dictator,” he said gently. “Just a father who has lived long enough to see the pitfalls of short-term delirium. This is your first crush. There’ll be others. You’ll see.”

  His smugness made her gag. “You think I’m an idiot who’s being swept off her feet by the first man who pays attention to her? That’s not true. I could have encouraged a lot of boys who were interested, but I chose him. You don’t want to think that I have any sense because that would ruin your neat theories. But I have. I have good sense and I’ve chosen the best possible man to love. This time, Baba, you’re wrong!”

  The possibility that there was a kernel of truth in what she said made something burst in Samir. “Don’t you dare raise your voice to me. You’re not wise enough to make the best choice, no matter what you think.”

  If she had something to smash, she would have smashed it. Her heart was pounding so hard it made her tremble. Horrible despot! She hated him. All she could do was hurl words at him. “You can’t make marry anyone. You can tie me up or lock me in a room, but you can’t make me do anything!” She gave him one more hard look. “Even if I wanted to obey you, I can’t,” she said with spite. “I love him too much. I can’t give him up.” She was looking forward to making him angrier, but
he remained silent. She turned the horse around and rode away, imagining he would gallop after her and hold her back physically, but when she turned to look, he hadn’t moved at all.

  “I’ve spoken to my parents,” James said quietly. He had come by the school, shown himself to Madame Boulanger, and, miraculously, she had allowed them to leave together.

  “Really?” It had not occurred to her that his parents had anything to do with it. “And?”

  “They were surprised. They didn’t know what to say. I guess they’d always assumed I’d marry someone”—his voice became sarcastic—“from the vast pool of international beauties.”

  “Oh?” There was hurt in her voice.

  “Hey . . .” He put his hand under her chin. “I didn’t say I had planned to do that. I merely said that’s what they thought would happen. If you want to know the truth, I don’t think they thought much about it at all. And anyway, I don’t see what you’re so put off about. You’re not going to get rid of me, Nijmeh.” He grinned, put his hands behind his head, and sat back, as if preparing for a long, embattled stay.

  “Oh, James.” She was all over him with kisses. Then she curled up against his chest and put her arms around him and cried softly against his shirt.

  “Why so sad?”

  “Nothing’s going to be easy.”

  “Certainly it is. It might be hard here, but has it ever occurred to you that this isn’t the whole world?”

  “It’s been my whole world.” She was thinking that he should have been a little less carefree.

  “Maybe it can stop being your whole world. There are other ways to live.” He said this with a tone of slight superiority that made her think he had wanted to say it before.

  “I love it here.”

  “You’ve been told you love it.”

  “That’s not true.” She knew it was true, but she also loved it. “Can you say this isn’t beautiful?” They were facing east to the dark hills of Moab.