by Lilas Taha
Farah shook her head; soft black strands covered her eyes. ‘You’re not a child like us. You’re sixteen.’
Straightening, Nadia examined her profile in the mirror again. Her sister was right, she sure didn’t look like a child in this outfit.
Collective coughs penetrated the quiet atmosphere, followed by the clatter of dishes.
Nadia jumped to her feet.
‘What happened?’ Farah followed. ‘Why is Mama apologizing?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nadia approached the closed door. Should she go outside to see? Maybe they needed help. She turned to the girls. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.
Everyone was standing. Mama coughed non-stop, Um Waleed by her side patting her back. Fatimah held a glass of water, her face ashen and white. Huda was bent down, collecting pieces of broken coffee cups by Um Waleed’s feet. The men shuffled from side to side, staring at each other, seeming confused or lost at what to do. Omar had his back to Nadia.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mama managed between coughs. ‘The first sip must have gone down the wrong way.’ She looked at Um Waleed’s dress. ‘Did I spill coffee on you?’
Brushing the front of her plain gray dress, Um Waleed smiled. ‘Spilled coffee is a good omen.’
Huda straightened. She headed to the kitchen, passing Nadia. Huda sauntered, her back straight, sandals clicking on the tiled floor, lips parting in a strange sideway smile.
Nadia froze in her spot.
Omar turned, following Huda with his eyes.
A cartoon character popped into Nadia’s head, an angry worrier with steam blowing out of his ears. Omar’s menacing look confirmed Nadia’s suspicion. Whatever bad thing had happened was Huda’s fault, and Omar knew it.
‘We are in need of fresh coffee,’ Mama addressed Fatimah. ‘I’m afraid I spilled Um Waleed’s cup in my coughing fit. Be a dear and help Huda.’
Fatimah collected the remaining untouched coffee cups and hurried to the kitchen.
Nadia followed. ‘What happened?’
Huda stood by the stove, arms crossed on her chest, that strange smile stamped in place. ‘Fatimah made a mistake. The salt canister is right next to the sugar one.’
Fatimah filled the coffee kettle with water and set it on the stove, her movements twitchy, lacking finesse. ‘It’s a good thing Mama Subhia took a sip before Um Waleed did,’ she mumbled under her breath.
Huda opened the cabinet door above her head and brought down another set of coffee cups. ‘Yes, that was a good thing.’ Sarcasm laced every word.
Nadia grabbed Huda’s arm and swung her around. ‘How could you?’
Huda pulled her arm out of Nadia’s grip, throwing her off balance. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
Mama entered the kitchen. ‘You had better pray Um Waleed didn’t pick up on what just happened.’ She shook a finger in Huda’s face. ‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. I want you to go in there and excuse yourself. Stay with the little ones in the bedroom. Nadia will help Fatimah with the dessert service.’
Huda opened her mouth to say something.
Mama shook her head in silent warning. She stepped to the side of the doorway, directing Huda with a nod of her head to proceed in front of her out of the kitchen.
Nadia approached Fatimah and draped her arms around her waist. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
Fatimah wiped tears. ‘We will see.’ She stirred cardamom-fragrant coffee into the boiling water, watched it foam to the surface a couple of times, and turned off the stove.
Nadia pulled back and arranged the new coffee cups on the tray. ‘Left or right? I can never tell which way the handles are supposed to be turned.’
Fatimah approached with the kettle in hand. ‘Your left. The guests should be able to hold the handles with their right hands.’
‘Why did you let Huda brew the coffee in the first place? Aren’t you the one who’s expected to do it?’
‘I asked her to pour the coffee after I made it,’ Fatimah sighed. ‘She must have added the salt when I turned to fill the water glass.’
Nadia leaned closer, stealing a look at the door. ‘Omar knows Huda is responsible.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do. He will make her pay for this. Wait and see.’
‘No, he mustn’t. And you will not talk to him about this foolishness. It’s between us girls. Promise me.’
Nadia heaved a long sigh. ‘You’re too kind.’
‘I’m just trying to put myself in Huda’s shoes. This is very difficult for her. She’s the oldest.’ Fatimah held the tray. ‘Let’s get this evening over with. We’re about to serve the kanafeh experts what they will only find lacking. More things for Um Waleed to criticize.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re from Nablus. Famous for their unparalleled kanafeh. And what do we decide to serve them?’
‘Store-bought kanafeh.’
‘Not from one of the best dessert stores, either. Mama Subhia is beside herself. Now prepare the plates and follow me in ten minutes, please.’ Heading out the kitchen, Fatimah turned and added in a hushed voice, ‘Make sure you keep your shoulders hunched a little, maybe cross your arms over your chest. That shirt is too tight for you.’
The dessert service passed without incident. Um Waleed was gracious enough to take one bite of her serving, make a half-hearted comment on how good it tasted, and set it down for the rest of the evening. Waleed devoured his piece while conversing with Fatimah by his side. Nadia balanced herself on the arm of Mama’s chair, opting to keep her arms crossed rather than eating her dessert.
Toward the end of the visit, Um Waleed asked Fatimah, ‘Do you welcome my son’s courting?’
Fatimah lowered her head, clasped her hands in her lap and kept quiet. Seconds passed in silence. Everyone stared at Fatimah, her face turning bright red.
‘Silence is a sign of approval,’ Mama said.
‘Shall we read the Fatiha?’ Waleed’s voice was reserved, but his enthusiasm to seal his proposal with a verse of the Qur’an showed clearly enough.
Expecting her father to respond, Nadia was surprised to see him staring at Omar instead. Poor Omar, he was beyond uncomfortable, the creases between his eyebrows turning white with his scowl. He hated being the center of this official business. Balancing his body at the edge of his chair, he looked ready to bolt out of the room. He cleared his throat.
Fatimah flashed him a glimpse and then returned her gaze to the floor.
Omar nodded. ‘Very well then.’
Everyone put their hands together, flipped their palms upward, recited the Fatiha in unison, and wiped their faces with their palms.
Mama told Waleed he would be welcomed in the house every Thursday evening to spend time with Fatimah. Should they decide to go out, Waleed would have to coordinate with her brother and Shareef to be chaperoned.
Nadia thought the whole process unnecessary, even absurd. Fatimah and Waleed could always meet in his place when she went there to work, his mother a proper chaperone just as it had been so far. Nadia brought this up after everyone had left.
‘It’s important for people to see the couple with a member of Fatimah’s family in public to indicate the official status of Waleed,’ Mama explained. ‘Should there be another young man thinking of approaching Fatimah, he would know to hold back and wait.’
10
Omar was in no mood to learn more about cultural traditions. His mind was racing and he wanted to confront Huda about her involvement in the theatrical performance of Mama Subhia. However, seeing Fatimah’s face glow with happiness caused him to reconsider. He wouldn’t do anything to dampen her mood.
‘Girls’ business,’ Nadia whispered in his ear as soon as the front door closed after the guests left. He didn’t have to ask her. Nadia knew what was on his mind when their eyes met across the room. He bit his tongue to keep quiet, avoiding Huda by es
caping to the roof.
To distract himself and relieve the angry energy pulsing inside, Omar paced the open space, dirty tiles under his feet and dark skies above his head. The physical examination at the military academy would take place next month. His friends who had signed up before him told him the exam was extensive and grueling. But he was in good shape. He would pass. He had to. Soon, he would have a place to stay, some income, modest though it may be, and a career once he graduated in two years. Not bad for a Palestinian refugee orphan boy. Not bad at all.
Fatimah would accept reality, once he gathered the courage to tell her. And he would. As soon as he passed the exam, his papers stamped. Since his food and lodging would be covered in the academy, he would be able to send Fatimah most of his cadet allowance. It was best to give his sister another source of income in case things didn’t go well with Waleed and she had to stop working. But if what he saw on Fatimah’s face tonight was any indication, Waleed had already entered her heart.
Uncle Mustafa would worry Shareef might also join the academy, following him as usual. If he did, Shareef would no doubt fail the physical exam and go to the university as planned. Now that he had some leverage with Waleed, he should ask him to help Shareef find a part-time job, perhaps at his uncle’s press. If things worked out right, Uncle Mustafa would have his son under his roof and additional income.
Mama Subhia would encourage him with his plans, being the most practical in the family, understanding his reasons for taking that step. Huda would pack his bag the instant she heard the news. The little ones would hardly miss him, Farah confiscating his bed to separate from Salma. And Nadia?
What about Nadia?
Omar slowed his pace. He approached the railing and sat in his usual spot. What of sweet precious Nadia? His friends told him cadets got a break for one day every three months. Could she handle not having him around for that long? Could she manage school without his help? Nadia had come a long way: smart, observant, kind and . . . beautiful. If he hadn’t been distracted by his anger earlier, he would have told her she looked nice tonight. Very, very nice. Freed of its usual braids, her dark hair reached the small of her back. Her tea and milk skin glowed, contrasted by her fitted yellow blouse.
What the hell? Where was his mind going?
He massaged his neck. School. He was thinking of Nadia’s schooling. Shareef would be of no help, his attitude toward his sister one of tolerance, nothing more. Maybe he would step in and take charge in his absence? Become more attentive and helpful? Not likely. Shareef never showed interest in Nadia’s schoolwork unless it involved Sameera.
How could he warn Nadia about Sameera? Nadia’s innocence prevented her from seeing her friend’s true colors. He should tell her not to spend too much time with the loose girl. He wouldn’t have to explain why. Nadia wouldn’t argue, trusting him. She always did. He damned himself for not letting her know she looked beautiful before he left the house. A clueless girl like Nadia should be reminded of her beauty, getting used to hearing it at home so she wouldn’t be swept away by the first rake who said it. What was the chance of that happening?
His hands balled into fists. He relaxed his fingers and ran them through his hair. Shareef must pay attention, damn it. The way he carried on with Sameera. He had four sisters. Didn’t he know whatever he did to someone else’s sister would come back and bite him? A good number of fights in the neighborhood revolved around that concept. Always a spectator, never getting his hands dirty, Shareef hadn’t learned that lesson. Every guy in the neighborhood knew Omar had no official standing as Nadia’s brother, but they respected him, keeping a watchful eye on her. When a fool from another neighborhood had dared to follow Nadia on her way home from school, neighborhood boys had alerted him—not Shareef—to silence the vulgar boy. After that fight, the rest of the riffraff kept their distance. Once he was gone, who would watch out for Nadia?
Heaving a long sigh, he closed his eyes. Two years. A long time to be away from the family. Too long to be away from precious Nadia. She would be eighteen when he graduated. Who would tell her she was beautiful then?
His eyes flew open. What in God’s name was wrong with him? Why was he thinking of Nadia in that twisted way? They weren’t related by blood. Nadia was not his sister or half-sister. But like Fatimah, he grew up thinking of her as such. What was happening to him? Why now all of a sudden? What kind of pervert was he? He jumped to his feet and headed downstairs. God help him, he had a sick mind. He deserved to be thrown under a tank or something, the way his thoughts strayed. He had better pass that exam.
A month passed. Omar spent his days training in the streets. He improvised techniques with the help of his friend, Marwan. Most nights, he stayed wide awake, burying his head under his pillow, trying to ignore the fact that Nadia shared Fatimah’s bed on the other side of the makeshift curtain divider. Every sigh, turn, or rustle of sheets tapped his senses, causing him to recite President Nasser’s many speeches to himself. Speeches he had committed to memory. When that failed to distract him, he recited every verse of the Qur’an he knew by heart, the doors of hell squeaking open to swallow him.
One Friday afternoon, as soon as the men returned from communal prayer at the mosque, Omar told everyone he had been accepted at the military academy, passing the qualifying exam. Nothing went as he had imagined. Fatimah had a fit. He had never seen her behave that way before, yelling and screaming at him, accusing him of not considering her feelings, of throwing away a future she had worked so hard to plan.
Uncle Mustafa chided Fatimah for dismissing Omar’s strong patriotic drive. He patted Omar’s back, sat him down, and asked details about when he had to report, what kind of training he would be enrolled in, and what he would need to get started. Shareef claimed his father wouldn’t permit him to join, so he wouldn’t even try. Mama Subhia looked disappointed. She shook her head and withdrew into her room. The little girls cried and asked why he had to leave. They begged him to stay. Huda, the single person behaving as predicted, shot a sinister smile and walked out.
Nadia came up to him and slid her arm in his. ‘Let’s talk.’
Omar withdrew his arm the minute they left the apartment. She proceeded ahead, leading the way to the roof, but he suggested they take a walk instead. Once they hit the street, he directed her to the open square where he had once taken Fatimah. They walked in silence, passing closed shops and empty streets.
Nadia broke the silence. ‘How long have you been planning this?’
‘A while. Everything happened fast, though.’
‘How long, Omar?’ she insisted.
‘About a month.’
‘Since Waleed’s first visit?’
‘A few days before.’
Nadia stopped, tilted her head sideways. ‘Is this why you’ve been acting so strange lately? Spending a lot of time at the mosque and keeping to yourself when you’re home?’
Omar remained quiet. What could he say? He was disgusted with himself. It seemed the harder he tried not to think of Nadia, the more his sick mind took him there. A mental image of Nadia’s shapely body tortured him, mixing shame to its allure and painful repulsion at the same time. Like a thief hearing sirens in the distance, his heart skipped a beat every time he heard her voice or saw her heading his way. He had done his best to avoid her over the past month, and he had sunk deeper into misery. He couldn’t even confide in Marwan, his one true friend. What possible words could he use to describe his fixation? He couldn’t wait for the torturous academy exam, welcomed it. His noble reason for joining the military turned into a perverted drive taking hold of him. He couldn’t escape it, prayed hard to be rid of it. Really hard.
‘I would have kept your secret.’ Nadia touched with her delicate fingers the patch of skin that showed from her open collar.
Omar followed her fingers with his eyes. He would go to hell, no question about it.
‘Besides, how come they accepted your application without Father’s approval? Shareef said he couldn’
t do it by himself.’
Taking a deep breath, he touched her elbow and nudged her to resume walking. ‘I’m not like Shareef.’
‘If anything, you’re younger.’
‘Shareef is an only son. He is excused from military service unless his father signs him off.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The military will not take the only boy in a family. It’s the law. But an orphan is a ward of the custodian court. All I needed to join was a signed paper from a judge. It was easy. The government encourages us orphans to join.’
Nadia stopped again. She laid a hand on his chest the way she always did to get his attention. ‘You have a family. We are your family.’
Omar stepped back. ‘I’m not your brother,’ he blurted out.
‘Stop this silliness. You know we all consider you one of us.’
Heat crept up his neck, his heart thumping fast, his ears ringing. He shook his head. ‘Legally, I’m not.’
‘So what? Some judge allows you to throw yourself away like that and you think no one’s going to care?’
‘Throw myself away? Joining the army is a duty for me, a step toward liberating Palestine.’ He tried to control flaring anger and toned down his voice. ‘And army officials don’t care as long as I’m legally signed. I’m just a number in their files.’
Nadia stepped closer. The heel of her shoe caught between pavement bricks and she lost her balance, falling onto him. ‘I care.’
Omar steadied her, wrapping his arms around her waist. And then he released her, as if he held pieces of glowing coal, almost shoving her in the process. He took big strides to pass her, hiding his flaming face. ‘It’s final. There’s no going back,’ he called out over his shoulder.
She caught up with him, a hand raised to her head, checking the ribbon holding her braid. ‘When do you have to go?’
‘They give us fifteen days to get things in order.’
‘What are you going to do after you’re done?’
‘I’ll be an officer. A good position to be in.’ He pointed at her feet. ‘Be careful. You’re going to trip again.’