by Lilas Taha
He found peace among the tenacity of freedom fighters and the unbound enthusiasm of warriors. Staying aloof, he formed no ties to any of the divisions in the camp, and by refusing monetary compensation from the Palestine Liberation Organization, he remained independent of political affiliations. Keeping his true identity a secret, he gained no friends and carved a revered presence by staying a mystery. The man who recruited him in Damascus never showed up in camp. No one knew the Englishman’s real name, and Omar dug deep into the trenches of obscurity, burying his deprivation under layers of practiced hardness.
On the twenty-first of March, men talked about taking a break to celebrate Mother’s Day with their families. He stayed put with his men and kept vigilant. Intelligence reports from Jordanian army officials warned of troop movements on the Israeli side of the border. He remained on edge.
Early morning, Israeli defense forces launched an attack on their camp. The Englishman was ready, his fellow fighters were ready, and the Arab world woke to a different war equation this time. Palestinian fidaiyeen, supported by the Jordanian army, repelled the attack and defeated the Israelis, captured armored vehicles, and inflicted heavy losses.
Victory, how sweet the taste.
Dignity, how valuable the gain.
Winning the Battle of Al Karameh became the Englishman’s identifier, an essential lever in the complexity of warfare. He had made his mark. He had made an impact. He mattered.
When the dust settled, Omar packed his duffle bag. One of his fellow commanders stormed into his tent. ‘I don’t understand why you are leaving. The men need you. Look at what you’ve done in three months. Think of what you can accomplish if you stay.’
‘I have commitments.’
‘Your commitment should be to the Palestinian cause. We are stronger now. This is a historic chance for us. It will never happen again.’
‘I came to fight the Israelis. My mission is done.’
‘We all made sacrifices. Left our families and careers to take up arms. This is where we belong.’ The commander jabbed Omar’s chest with his index finger. ‘This is where the Englishman belongs.’
He sidestepped the commander and walked out of the tent. ‘I paid my dues and now I’m going home.’
He had to return. If he didn’t report to the Syrian army, he would be branded a deserter and would have to stay on the run. How would he see Nadia then? There were chains pulling on him, chains as strong as patriotic causes. Chains of the love he couldn’t bury deep enough, shoot out of his system, burn to ashes, or blow to smithereens. Nadia was his cause, pure and simple. No one could shame him for it. He belonged in her world. Engaged to his best friend, married to a king, he didn’t care. And he was the Englishman, the triumphant hero who would return home, his head held high this time. Would she take notice?
Closing the door to Marwan’s car, Nadia dumped her stack of books on the back seat. ‘Where are the girls?’
‘I thought I’d come get you first. Give us few minutes alone before we pick them up from school.’
‘What for?’
‘The girls are always around. Your sisters, mine. I feel like we’re babysitters every time we’re together.’
‘Chaperones, or have you forgotten how cruel people are?’
‘I would be happy with an adult chaperone, someone who gives us space every now and then.’ He stuck his index finger in the air. ‘And I don’t mean Huda. She scares me.’
‘Well, I’m sorry my brother bailed on me and Omar is not around. I don’t have eligible chaperones other than the girls.’
Marwan blew a long breath. ‘People won’t talk about you like that, anymore.’ He held her hand and brought it up to his lips. ‘It’s over.’
She snatched her hand away. ‘We can’t just sit here alone in the car for everyone to see.’
‘You’re being paranoid.’
‘Please drive.’
‘Fine.’ He jerked the car into traffic.
‘I have three exams to study for, and an essay due on Tuesday. You will have to excuse me this weekend.’
‘I get it.’
‘Get what?’
‘I understand, Nadia. You don’t want me to visit today. You could just say that, you know. Say it clear and simple.’ He changed gears with the same intensity his voice carried. ‘Don’t come over, or I don’t want to see you, or I would rather be alone. However you want to phrase it. Just be straight about it, will you? Don’t use excuses.’
‘I’m telling you why I can’t afford to waste a weekend.’
‘That’s how you see it? Wasting time—when you’re with me?’ His voice dropped, and she had learned over the past months, that was how Marwan showed his anger. He became subdued until he found a way to diffuse the situation. At times, she wished he would lash out instead.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to soothe him. ‘Don’t read too much into this, please. You agreed to be supportive.’
‘I have been, don’t you think? But I didn’t realize you would rather be with your books so much instead of me.’
‘Of course, you wouldn’t understand how important this is.’
‘Why? Because I didn’t get to finish school? Is that it? I’m too ignorant to comprehend?’
‘That is not what I meant.’ She couldn’t help yelling and felt ashamed for losing control. ‘You’re a man, an established merchant. You have everything set for you. You don’t need more.’ She placed her hand on her chest. ‘I do. I need the security of a university degree.’
‘Security? You don’t feel your future is secure with me?’
She dropped her hands in her lap. ‘You’re getting it all wrong.’
‘That’s Omar’s influence, I know it.’ He screeched the car to a stop in front of the girls’ school. ‘Let me tell you something. I do understand. I understand you made a promise to Omar to pursue your studies. But you also made a promise to me. I am not that selfish to ask you to choose between me and your diploma.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘I would like to feel I am your future, and not an obstacle in the way. I need more.’ He ran his index finger along her jaw line. ‘I miss the way you used to look at me.’
Salma and Farah ran to the car, Marwan’s sisters right behind them. Grateful for the interruption, Nadia greeted them with more enthusiasm than usual. She threw Marwan an apologetic smile, faking it. He was right. She wasn’t the same infatuated girl she used to be, dreamy and naive. She was a calculating woman now, a careful one. A woman who didn’t have the safe haven of a father, or a sensible brother to lean on. And Omar was gone, forced away by Shareef’s slander. Would Omar still have her back when he returned?
Omar was right. She was not ready for this. He had nudged her before the problem happened, had pushed her to think about a future independent of a man in her life. He had understood she needed more than what Marwan offered. She fingered the silver wings on her chest. When would Omar come back?
Marwan drove, the girls babbled in the back seat, and she drifted away. Why couldn’t Marwan understand her point? She hated having to spell things out as if he were a foreigner, an outsider. No matter how hard she tried, her earlier childish infatuation wasn’t maturing into a deeper connection with this noble man. He had earned her respect and admiration, for certain. But she had transformed into an emotional miser in his company, holding something back, something dear and special, raw and honest, defining the kind of woman she wanted to be. How could she explain that?
She glanced at Marwan, his profile rigid and tense. She could be submissive if she wanted. Have him come over this weekend, go along for the rest of the day, and then stay up all night studying. That would pacify him, wouldn’t it? But why should she? It wouldn’t be her, not her at all. Would he even pick up on it? Realize she wasn’t genuine?
Omar would. In a heartbeat.
Once he arrived in Damascus, Omar reported to his command post and found he had two days to take his new station in Homs, a three-hour bus ride
north of Damascus. Nothing he could do about that. He would have to settle for seeing Nadia and the family once a month on a weekend break. His next stop was Marwan’s store, to make sure Marwan didn’t tell anyone where he was. He intended for the meeting to be brief, to get his story straight before he saw everyone, and not give in to the yearning in his core for news of Nadia.
As soon as he walked in, Marwan pulled him into a bear hug, mumbling a prayer in his ear. ‘You’re safe.’ Marwan pulled back, assessing him with his eyes. ‘You all right? No injuries?’
Omar worked hard on controlling his emotions. He didn’t anticipate this warm concern, and he had no idea why he expected anything less from his best friend. ‘I’m fine.’
Marwan closed the store and guided Omar to his desk area. ‘You did it. You redeemed our dignity. You, the fidaiyeen, and the Jordanians.’ Slapping him on the shoulder, Marwan’s unreserved laugh reverberated through the store. ‘My God, you guys did it.’
Omar shook his head. ‘I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even there.’
‘Of course. But this is me you’re talking to. Details?’
‘I’m sure you heard the news reports. That’s enough to know. To be frank, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.’ He rubbed his neck. ‘It’s all screwed up now. Tensions between Arafat and King Husain.’
‘Didn’t I tell you? The Jordanians will not accept a growing Palestinian army on their land.’
‘I didn’t train the fidaiyeen in that camp to turn their weapons on fellow Jordanians.’ Omar slammed his fist on the desk. ‘Those are good men, real fighters, caught in the middle of a skewed power struggle between leaders.’
‘President Nasser has been trying his best to resolve the situation between King Husain and Arafat. Our defense minister is not willing to involve the Syrians in this shameful conflict.’ Marwan removed newspapers from the desk drawer and spread them out. ‘Assad is at odds with the politicians since the defeat of the Six-Day War. They are trying to hold him accountable, but Assad has held them at bay so far.’ Marwan snapped his head up. ‘Did you report here yet? Please tell me you will not have to be involved in this mess.’
‘I’m not in active combat. Assigned to provide training in Homs.’
‘Try to ask for a transfer to Damascus as soon as you can.’ Marwan handed him a glass of water. ‘The good news is that you’re back. You’re healthy. And you have a job.’ Marwan’s face brightened with a huge smile. ‘And Nadia and I are to be married.’
30
One year later, 1969
When Omar arrived in Homs, he searched for a rental place away from the garrison. He was in charge of basic training but had the freedom to leave camp when shifts allowed, and he enjoyed normal life in the city. The furnished room atop Um George’s house provided enough privacy with its separate entrance, and it fit within his small budget. Most of his paycheck went to Mama Subhia. Shareef never sent money from Kuwait and Omar was left with very little to manage his needs. Yet, he didn’t need much.
Like a sponge floating in a bucket of water, his affordable room absorbed noise from downstairs and forced on him lives he had no desire to be part of; he over-heard private conversations between Um George and her six sons, discovering secrets worse than his own. His landlady prepared a meal for her sons and their families every Sunday, and she always insisted he join them. He obliged a couple of times out of respect, but he had no place intruding on the tight family, and he stayed in the barracks whatever Sundays he could manage.
Throughout the year, he skipped his monthly breaks, needing the physical distance to keep Nadia out of his thoughts. His efforts accomplished nothing more than making Fatimah angry, and eventually he had to go to Damascus when he had leave.
On his first visit he showed up at her place unannounced. Fatimah hung onto his neck for what seemed like forever and dragged him inside, crying and laughing at the same time.
‘Forgive me, but you need to watch what you eat.’ He bounced his nephew on his knees. ‘You have grown a bit . . . wider.’
Setting a fruit tray on the table in front of him, she straightened with difficulty. ‘That’s because I’m five months pregnant.’
He shot to his feet, holding his nephew firm in his arms. ‘Not again?’
‘People usually say congratulations, Omar.’
He took her hand and eased her down on the sofa. ‘Sorry. I’m worried about you. Isn’t it too soon?’
‘Two years is a good span between children. This is perfect timing. Sit down, relax. Everything is going to work out for the best.’
Omar took back his seat. Relax? Did she forget the agony of her first delivery? Was she intent on keeping him worried?
Fatimah peeled oranges. ‘Shareef left for Kuwait right after his graduation.’
‘That was the plan.’ He didn’t want to talk about Shareef, and he cared nothing about where he was. His nephew found his watch fascinating, and he let him pound on it with his chubby fingers.
‘Yes, but he didn’t take Sameera with him.’
‘It takes time to get her papers ready for a visa. I’m sure Shareef is working on it.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’ Fatimah took back her son from his lap and handed him a peeled orange. ‘Shareef divorced her.’
Choking on a slice of orange, juice dripped down his chin. ‘When?’
‘Right before he left, apparently. She received her divorce papers from court two weeks after he was gone.’ Fatimah carried her son to the playpen in the corner. ‘Her brothers tried to reason with Waleed, thinking he had a say over Shareef to take her back before the divorce was final.’
‘What did Shareef say?’
‘He told Waleed not to call him again.’ Fatimah returned to her seat. ‘Shareef didn’t pay her dowry.’
Omar held back a curse. ‘If her family pursues this legally, he’ll be arrested the instant he tries to come back.’
‘Waleed asked her brothers to give us time to work things out. I don’t know what he has in mind.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’ Damn Shareef. Let him get arrested and rot in prison. Why were they talking about him? Nadia, what news of Nadia? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.
‘I can’t help but feel sorry for Sameera. She deserved to be punished for trying to ruin Nadia’s life. But what Shareef did was wrong.’
‘She brought it on. And the divorce is legal.’
‘Yes, but still wrong. A woman should have a say, not get discarded like that without her knowing.’
‘What makes you think she didn’t know?’
Fatimah shrugged. ‘Shareef is too selfish. I think he didn’t want to bother with a wife in his new life in Kuwait. I doubt he did it to avenge Nadia’s honor.’
Omar chose an apple from the tray and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Speaking of Nadia, how is she?’
‘I’m worried about her. I know Marwan is your best friend, but please try to keep an open mind.’
Keeping a cool facade was almost impossible. To avoid looking at his sister and letting her see the hunger in his eyes, he examined the apple in his hand. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I will let her tell you, but I think something is off. Marwan is very traditional, you know?’
‘And that’s a problem?’
‘Small things matter, Omar.’
‘Like what?’
‘Marwan insists on driving Nadia to and from her classes every day, like she is a child going to school, not a university student. And he wants to know where she is at all times.’ Fatimah plucked a handful of grapes off a vine and dropped them onto his plate. ‘We never had to ask Uncle Mustafa for permission to go to the market, or to go out with our friends. Not like that, you know? It’s difficult for Nadia to accept Marwan’s controlling ways.’ She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I doubt Nadia will say anything to you about it.’ She glanced at her child playing in his pen, making sure he didn’t hear her. ‘Nadia tries
her best not to be alone with Marwan. You know what that means?’
His insides twisting like a laundered shirt about to hang on the wire to dry, he shook his head. ‘I know my friend. Marwan would never try anything indecent.’
Fatimah sat back, a triumphant smile on her face. ‘Exactly.’
‘You lost me.’
‘I can’t believe I’m having to explain this to you. Look, if a woman is truly drawn to her man, she will create the chance for him to try something. Do you follow me?’
He sprang to his feet, angry heat surging to his face. ‘They’re only engaged. You’re not encouraging her to do something disgraceful?’
‘Nothing like that. Oh, you poor fellows. You have no idea what women are like.’ Fatimah gazed at him with the warmth of a loving mother. ‘Small things matter, remember that. A woman likes to know how desirable she is.’ She took his hand, pulling him down to his seat. ‘How could Marwan say or do anything to show his feelings if they are surrounded by children all the time? Nadia drags the girls with her whenever they go out, and she insists he brings his sisters every time he comes over. And that boy, his cousin’s son? He’s attached to Marwan’s hip.’
‘People talk. Nadia is being careful.’
‘Too careful. I asked her. She wouldn’t allow him to even hold her hand, lay his arm across her shoulders, or get close enough to whisper in her ear, or . . . or anything.’ Tilting her head to one side, Fatimah squinted. ‘Little things you fellows try to sneak in. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about?’
Omar stared at his sister, not believing he was having this conversation. ‘I wouldn’t—’
‘I won’t say more. I’m sure you understand where I’m going with this.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Nadia knows what she’s doing.’
‘She asked Marwan to visit Thursday evenings only, so she could study during the week. She isn’t eager for his visits.’ Fatimah shook her head. ‘She is not drawn to him, I’m telling you. Not the way a woman is to her soon-to-be husband. Something is not right with them.’ Fatimah patted his knee. ‘This engagement will not last. Mark my word.’