by Lilas Taha
‘I assume you have a plan?’ Huda tapped her shoe. ‘Getting Shareef to do the right thing by the girl is half the battle. There are Mother and Father to break the news to. I’m not sure how they will take it.’ She looked Omar in the eye. ‘We are talking about their son.’
There it was. The dagger mouth Huda had always sported in his face. She had it hidden under that cooperative attitude from the start. He took a deep breath. Let it pass, he told himself. Get back on the rope.
‘I’m willing to talk to Uncle Mustafa in the morning. Try to convince him to at least write their marriage contract until Shareef graduates.’ Omar paused, raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless you want to take on that task?’
Huda shook her head. ‘I can’t talk about . . . such matters with my father.’
‘That’s what I thought. Your role is with Sa . . . the girl’s family. Her father and brothers are in the dark so far.’
‘How do you know that?’
Omar flipped his palms open. ‘Shareef is still alive, isn’t he? And the girl is not harmed?’
‘Only the oldest sister-in-law knows. She confided in Marwan’s sister, Rihab, asking her to talk to me.’ Huda narrowed her eyes. ‘Marwan is the one who told you, right?’
Omar nodded.
‘I thought so when I saw you two talking at the wedding.’
‘You’re good friends with his sister? Can you ask her for a big favor?’
Huda turned her head to the side, hiding her face from Omar’s view. ‘I can arrange for everything through the women. The girl’s mother will do whatever she can to get her husband to accept Shareef when he proposes.’ She faced Omar again. ‘I don’t have to ask for favors. Once my name is mentioned, the mother will know the truth and she will comply.’
Power. The word jumped into Omar’s head. Huda’s occupation as a midwife gave her power over families. It wasn’t just her dry personality that kept people at a distance. It was the secrets she held. Did she know his secret? A chill went through his body.
‘I can discreetly sell a few of my things and take up new clients in other neighborhoods,’ she continued. ‘Make sure you let Father know a modest dowry can be secured. If things work out right, the girl’s mother will help from her end.’ Huda smoothed her dress over her knees. ‘No matter what you think of Shareef, he has good qualities going for him.’ She held up one hand and started ticking off one finger at a time. ‘A promising future once he gets his diploma, an easy-going nature, a good family behind him, a teacher for a brother-in-law.’ She stopped at the last finger.
Omar touched it. ‘And a sensible older sister.’
Huda stared back, lowering her hand. ‘Do you think you can pull it off before you have to leave tomorrow?’
‘Not enough time. I’ll talk to Uncle Mustafa, set the wheels in motion. Shareef has to arrange for the formal visit as soon as possible.’
‘Eid is next week. Maybe Shareef can work something out right after the holiday.’
‘You’ll let Mama Subhia know?’
Huda took a deep breath. ‘Yes, but after Eid is over. Let her enjoy it.’
Relieved by the somewhat amicable encounter, Omar relaxed his shoulders. ‘Better to leave the others out of it.’
‘You mean Nadia?’ Huda’s voice again took on a sharp edge, adding more of a questioning tone underneath.
Tension returned to Omar’s muscles. He clenched his jaw. Was she testing the waters?
‘I don’t want Fatimah to be compromised with her husband if word reaches them,’ he explained. ‘I don’t want Waleed to think less of Shareef.’
‘And Nadia?’ Huda repeated.
‘Is too young and innocent to face this about her friend, soon to be her sister-in-law.’
‘Sixteen is not too young.’ Huda rose to her feet. ‘Your concern about us is very touching.’ On the threshold, she turned to look down at him. ‘For someone who is not our actual brother.’
Huda’s words were meant as a slap to his face, Omar was sure of it. Did she know they had the opposite effect? That they stoked the simmering cinders in his chest, igniting a raging fire? What more validation did his tortured soul need? He was not Nadia’s brother.
15
Marwan left the busy market mosque and stopped at a bakery to pick up lunch. He carried steaming hot sfeeha into his store and called his employees over to take their break. The smell of onions and pomegranate syrup wafted as soon as he spread stacks of the flat meat pies on a table in the storage room along with a pail of yogurt. He closed the door behind him and took his place at the front to man the store.
Normally he would give his workers a two-hour break, but it was the last day before they closed for Eid and Souk Elhamedieh was overcrowded with people looking for good deals to purchase last-minute gifts. The day’s sales would top the entire month’s revenue. Marwan welcomed eager shoppers and prepared to deal with bargaining women who tried his patience with their stubbornness. His merchandise of men and women’s clothing stood out among his competitors because of its superior quality, and he knew women’s eyes caught the distinction. They haggled anyway.
Needing a break mid-afternoon, he left his main assistant in charge and leaned onto the front doors to catch a breath of air. Schools had let out and the streets were filled with young girls in uniforms of gray skirts and white blouses. Young men trailed not far behind, throwing compliments to gain attention—a dance he witnessed every day around this time. The guys’ efforts went unnoticed most days, however on rare occasions a girl would cast a quick look back, duck into one of the narrow side alleys, and a young man would break away from his herd to follow her. Sometimes, when traffic slowed into his store, Marwan would watch from a distance and challenge himself to spot the girl who would make that move. His success at guessing improved from year to year. Certain types of girls threw crumbs, and guys picked them up with painful predictability. Almost every young man he knew played that silly game. Never him, no matter how carefree he yearned to be.
A group of four girls coming down the alley caught his eye. Three girls flirted with their followers using not so subtle gestures, raising their voices with encouraging laughs, taking turns to whisper to each other, and lingering for too long by store fronts without going inside. The fourth girl walked a step ahead, clearly trying to separate herself from her friends. She clutched books to her chest and kept her eyes to the ground. Hair pulled tight into a ponytail exposed healthy natural beauty and her unsmiling face stood in contrast to her companions’ painted lips and color-smudged eyes.
Nadia stood out, not just because of her raw, untainted beauty, but because of her modest and reserved behavior. Vibrant young energy simmered under the surface of that controlled posture. She turned the heads of older men, knowledgeable men who recognized a jewel when they saw one. And she paid no one the slightest attention, not the fools trailing her flashy friends, nor the admiring men she passed. Watching out for her from a distance during Omar’s absence, Marwan doubted she knew he existed.
One of the girls caught up with Nadia and brought her lips to her ear. Nadia shook her head and picked up her pace. Marwan pulled himself to full height. Nadia approached. She seemed unaware of him standing a couple of steps before her. The other girl grabbed her elbow and forced her to stop.
‘One last thing,’ the girl said and dashed into his shop. ‘I need a sweater.’
Marwan stepped back so she wouldn’t brush against him. The others hurried after their friend. Nadia remained on the sidewalk. She met his gaze and her cheeks flamed.
‘Salam, Nadia. Do you remember me?’
She brought her books down and nodded. ‘Omar’s friend.’
He threw a threatening look at the bunch of guys several steps behind and waved his hand toward the store. ‘Will you come in?’
‘Only for a few minutes.’ She went inside and addressed her friends. ‘It’s getting late. You promised you were done shopping.’
The girls kept Marwan’s assistant hopping b
etween racks to bring clothing down from high shelves and spread them on the counters. They made so much noise and commotion that other women left the store mumbling. Marwan gritted his teeth.
Nadia remained close to the entrance. A girl with blood-red lips draped a fuchsia sweater over Nadia’s shoulder. ‘See? This shade of pink goes quite well with your complexion.’
‘It’s lovely.’ Not letting go of her books, Nadia slid the sweater off and pushed it into her friend’s hands. ‘Better on you.’
‘I know you can’t afford it. I can lend you money. You must get it. You haven’t bought anything for Eid yet.’
Nadia’s blush deepened and the tips of her fingers turned white around the books she held. ‘I’m not a little girl. I don’t need something new for the holiday.’
‘I will buy it, then.’ Her friend spread the sweater over her chest and looked at herself in the mirror. ‘It does look better on me. My skin tone is rosier than yours.’
Marwan cleared his throat and approached the antagonizing, rude young woman. ‘I’m afraid you have to find something else. This is the last piece and it’s already sold.’ He took the sweater from her hands and passed it to his assistant. ‘You left this out by mistake.’
Without hesitation, the assistant folded the sweater, tucked it on a back rack and apologized. Red Lips joined her friends further into the store to look for an alternative.
Marwan approached Nadia. ‘Is Omar coming home for Eid?’
‘He called yesterday and said he wasn’t granted a break.’ She knotted her eyebrows. ‘Can you believe that? It’s Eid! Everyone takes a vacation.’
‘The academy has its own schedule. They can’t let everyone go home at once.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets when he caught the others staring at them. ‘Does your family need anything?’
‘No, thank you.’ She passed him. ‘I have to get home. Are you girls done?’
The one with smudged eyelids pulled on Nadia’s arm. ‘Do you know him?’
He stepped closer and answered before Nadia could say anything. ‘I’m friends with her brother. And for that, you all get a good discount.’
The girls snatched scarves, blouses, and cardigans off hangers and piled them on the counters with enthusiasm, as if competing in a race. They giggled and babbled about patterns, trendy colors and styles, making more noise. Nadia hung in the background, her hands occupied with her books. She met Marwan’s gaze and quickly looked away. Her self-composed smile lit up his entire store.
Nadia walked into the house and took off her shoes, her feet in need of a hot soaking. The smell of freshly baked sweets filled the living room. She went into the kitchen. Mama was sitting on the floor with Salma and Farah. Oven trays filled with date-stuffed cookies were spread around them.
Mama lifted her head, sweat glistening on her neck. ‘Finally, you’re here. Quick, come clean the kitchen. Your sisters made a big mess.’
‘If I had known you were going to bake ma’moul all afternoon, I would not have gone with my friends to Souk Elhamedieh.’
‘Huda was helping and then she rushed out for work, mumbling something about a new client not from around here. I expect she will be late tonight. Did you have a good time?’
‘It was crazy crowded.’ Nadia changed out of her uniform and sent her sisters to play at the neighbors’. She got to work, ignoring her aching feet. Mama baked the last batch of ma’moul and went to wash, leaving her to clean greasy trays and flour-covered counters. She was about to sweep the floor when the doorbell rang.
A young boy stood before her, bundles of brown paper in his hands. ‘Delivery from Omar Bakry.’
‘Wait here.’ Nadia dashed to the kitchen, wrapped a handful of cookies in a clean towel and returned to the boy. She took his load and handed him coins with the dessert. ‘Thank you.’
Mama came out of her room, showered and dressed in a clean dress. ‘Who was it?’
‘Omar sent gifts, Mama. Can you believe it? He couldn’t come, but didn’t forget to send Eid gifts.’ Nadia unwrapped the top bundle. ‘Look at these shirts.’
Mama held a shirt in each hand. ‘Perfect for your father and Shareef.’
Nadia opened the rest of the packages one by one. ‘This blouse fits Huda, I think. Dresses for Salma and Farah. And this scarf must be for you.’ She opened the last gift. Her hands shook as she pulled out a fuchsia sweater. She dropped on a chair, her heart doing somersaults behind her ribs.
Mama fingered the items. ‘How do you think Omar managed this?’
Nadia blinked. ‘It’s possible he asked his friend Marwan Barady to send them.’
‘Omar must have been saving for a while. He thinks of everything, that boy.’ Mama tried the scarf around her shoulders. ‘If Marwan picked them out, he has good taste.’
Nadia buried her flaming face in the fine sweater. ‘Yes, Mama. He does.’
16
At the academy, Omar received word from Uncle Mustafa that Shareef’s marriage contract was scheduled for the following day. Bringing Uncle Mustafa around to the idea hadn’t been that difficult. The man knew his son’s shortcomings, and though outraged by Shareef’s callous misconduct, he didn’t seem surprised. Omar didn’t know how Mama Subhia took the news, however, having left right after his private talk with Uncle Mustafa.
There was no way Omar could ask for a day break. The reason wouldn’t convince his superiors to give him an exception. The political climate was tense, and it reflected off every officer’s grim face. Israeli raids across the West Bank, aerial clashes over Syrian territory, and threats to thwart Nasser’s power had added to the tension, bringing the possibility of war closer to certainty. Everyone held their breath in anticipation. Omar was living on a different plain than the one Shareef occupied. His was filled with political analysis and patriotic discussions. War loomed and darkened his skies. Shareef’s plain was anchored in normalcy. Marriage opened doors to life’s natural cycle. Omar could not have felt more removed if he tried. Immersed in grueling training, he had to tell himself things would go as planned and waited to receive a reassuring phone call from Huda. When he was summoned into his supervising officers’ quarters that Thursday afternoon, he was surprised to see Waleed waiting for him, permission for an emergency leave in his hands.
‘What’s going on?’ Omar asked as soon as they left the academy.
‘A disaster.’ Waleed walked fast, ushering Omar into a taxi. ‘Shareef didn’t show up as planned this morning. All the men waited, even the notary clerk. But he is nowhere to be found.’
‘The goddamn coward,’ Omar exploded.
‘I thought you might know where to look for him, who his friends are?’ Waleed scratched his head. ‘I told your superior officer that Uncle Mustafa’s health was bad and that he was asking for you.’ Waleed shook his head. ‘I wasn’t lying.’
‘Have you taken him to a doctor?’
‘He’s bed-ridden, Omar. I brought the doctor to him. It’s bad.’
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Omar braced himself. ‘What did the doctor say?’
‘His heart gave way when Shareef didn’t show up.’
‘A mule. A goddamn mule.’ Omar spit out the curse, ignoring the driver’s disapproving scowl.
‘I had to leave to come get you. Your next-door neighbor stayed in case they needed anything.’ Waleed glanced at the taxi driver and lowered his voice. ‘That’s not all. Sameera’s brothers are searching for Shareef. You know what that means?’
Omar ran a hand over his cropped hair. ‘It means we better find him before they do.’
‘I can take a guess at the reason behind their outrage, something other than the . . . public humiliation?’
Omar nodded.
‘You should have told me. I’m family now.’
‘A matter like that, the fewer people involved, the better.’ Omar didn’t hide his frustration. ‘Besides, I didn’t want Fatimah to know.’
‘Well, the whole neighborhood knows now.’
; Omar took in a sharp breath. ‘The girl? She all right?’
Waleed threw his hands in the air. ‘God only knows. I’m still hoping we can salvage the situation if we find him soon and come up with a valid excuse.’
‘Like he was hit by a bus?’
‘Something like that. But it has to look convincing.’
Omar slammed a fist into his hand. ‘Oh, it will be convincing, for sure. Once I lay my hands on the dumb ass.’
Waleed’s eyes scanned the street outside his window. ‘Where should we start?’ His tone shifted, became business-like.
‘Come to think of it, let them find him. The shithead deserves what’s coming to him.’
‘I would agree with you if it wouldn’t kill his father. Now, stop reacting and start thinking.’
‘Goddamn it!’ Omar shouted. ‘We are on the verge of war and the egotistic rake is running after his whims.’ He scooted forward and touched the driver’s shoulder, directing him home. He turned to Waleed. ‘You should be by Uncle Mustafa’s side. They need you there. I will look for Shareef. I think I know where to find him.’
‘And when you do?’
I’ll hand him over to Sameera’s brothers, Omar wanted to say. ‘Something will come to me.’ He prayed for this to be true.
Trying the couple of places Omar had in mind where Shareef usually hung around turned out to be a waste of time. He searched anywhere he could think of, starting with the main hospitals and police stations to ease his mind and clear his conscience. He then checked the library at Shareef’s precious university campus, the mosques he seldom frequented, the secluded place on top of Qassyoon Mountain, even a few seedy cafés. No one had seen him. In some places, Omar was told three men also stopped by asking for Shareef.
Omar needed help. He headed to Marwan’s place, hoping he would know who Shareef’s new friends from the university were, and that at least one of them could have an idea where he was hiding. Besides, Marwan had a car, and Omar had run out of bus fare money.