Bitter Almonds

by Lilas Taha

  His misery reached its peak when he made it home late at night, exhausted and falling apart. The signs of Nadia’s presence bombarded his senses. The shirt she had worn to bed lay folded on top of his blanket, the towel hung on a hook behind the bathroom door. If he closed his eyes, he could smell a hint of her sweet perfume. He had to open the window to be able to function, and thank God he had before Marwan showed up.

  He stirred a heaped spoonful of coffee and turned down the flame, using the mundane task of making Turkish coffee as an excuse to keep his back turned.

  ‘After all this time, she wanted me to let her be,’ Marwan mumbled. ‘Why didn’t she come out and say something, instead of going about it the way she did?’

  Omar killed the gas. ‘She didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your family.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to marry me. I don’t think she ever did.’

  The kettle shook in Omar’s hand. ‘Did she say why?’ His voice sounded like it belonged to a mischievous boy about to be caught red-handed.

  Marwan exhaled loudly. When he took too long to answer, Omar turned to meet Marwan’s piercing gaze. He was no coward. Time to face the storm.

  Marwan’s lips twisted as he ran his tongue over his teeth, clearly weighing what to say. ‘She didn’t have to.’

  Omar filled one cup to the rim, splashing coffee on the cup’s small saucer.

  ‘She changed, you know?’ Marwan’s voice rumbled low. ‘Not the naive girl anymore.’

  ‘She grew up.’ Omar abandoned the coffee service, sure his shaking hands would make a bigger mess before he reached the table. Could Marwan hear his drumming heart across the small room?

  ‘At my expense. I’m convinced someone else is in her heart.’

  Omar held his breath. ‘Who?’

  ‘She spared me the humiliation of telling me to my face. You have to give her that.’

  Exhaling in relief, he carried the coffee tray to the table.

  Marwan reached for a cup, ignoring the coffee dripping from the bottom. He took quick sips. ‘If anyone can find out, it would be you.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘You two are close enough. She . . . misses you.’ Marwan dug in the paper bag he carried, produced a book, and placed it on the table. ‘I think this belongs to you.’

  Omar slid the book to his side to check the title. Lacy ends of a blue and white ribbon dangled from one side. He withdrew his hand and studied his friend.

  ‘She did me a favor, you know?’ Marwan pushed the book further away from him. ‘With all the pressures I’m under from my uncle, I think this might be for the best, after all. I’ve become very fond of the widow’s son. He’s already like a son to me.’

  Omar tried to decode Marwan’s words. The man’s pride smashed to dust, he needed the charade of his uncle’s pressure to save face. Omar would not deprive him of that mask. He gave a curt nod, letting Marwan know he would play along. ‘You may be right.’

  Marwan rose to his feet. ‘Are we good here? You and me?’

  Shamed by his secret elation at this development and feeling guilty for subjecting his friend to this treachery, he stuck his hand out. ‘You’re like a brother to me. I don’t want this to come between us.’

  Marwan grasped his hand and stepped into a genuine hug. ‘Of course it will not.’

  Two months later, Omar had his first chance to take a weekend leave and go to Damascus. He didn’t phone ahead of time, and headed to an electronics store as soon as he stepped off the bus. He wanted to walk in carrying gifts, and he had just the right thing in mind for everyone. He had been saving for it for months.

  Balancing the big box between his arms, he climbed the stairs home and used the tip of his boot on the door. He had no idea who opened it at first since he could not see in front of him.

  ‘What is this?’ Huda asked.

  ‘Clear the table, will you?’ he huffed, the weight getting heavier by the second.

  He set the box down and straightened. The little girls ran and threw their arms around his waist. ‘You’re home.’

  He returned their embrace, soaking up their warmth and unabashed affection. How much he missed that. ‘Mama Subhia home?’

  ‘She went to escort Nadia back from her classes.’ Huda started stripping the wrapping on top of the box, and the girls let go of him to tear away the rest.

  ‘A television?’ Salma shrieked, hopping off the floor.

  ‘What do you mean, escort Nadia?’ He tried to concentrate over the girls’ jubilations.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ Huda raised her eyebrows; a controlled measure of interest kept her eyeing the box.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Mama doesn’t let Nadia go anywhere without her. She even tried to prevent her from attending classes, but Waleed and Fatimah talked her out of it.’

  ‘Why?’ The question slipped off his lips. He knew the answer, and he shouldn’t have asked.

  The girls pulled on his hand. ‘Turn it on so we can watch cartoons like the neighbors.’

  He tried to lift the television set out of the box but couldn’t. He ripped the carton apart, exciting the girls more, and headed to a corner in the living room. Lowering the heavy equipment to the floor, his back and leg muscles hurt. When he straightened, Huda grabbed his arm. ‘Mama doesn’t trust Nadia anymore,’ she whispered. ‘You took too long to come. You better fix things now.’

  It took close to an hour to get a shady signal through the long antenna atop the big box and make the necessary adjustments. The girls fiddled with the knobs when he wasn’t looking.

  Mama Subhia and Nadia walked in. The volume was at full blast, and he stopped mid-sentence yelling at the girls to quit fooling around. Mama Subhia hurried to take him in her arms. When she pulled back he kissed her hand and touched it to his forehead, overcome by the emotions tightening his throat. He didn’t expect her to welcome him so heartedly. Nadia extended her hand like a stranger, avoiding eye contact. The object lodged in his throat grew bigger, and he pretended to check something on the back of the television box to hide his disappointment. A frenzy of gasps and laughter filled the room when a broadcaster’s black and white face filled the screen.

  ‘How could you afford this?’ Trepidation colored Mama Subhia’s voice. ‘Please tell me you didn’t borrow money.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I saved enough.’

  ‘How? You must not have enough left to go by after you send us your salary.’ Mama Subhia ran her eyes over him from head to toe a couple of times. ‘You’ve lost weight. You’re not taking care of yourself.’

  Kissing her head, he tried to reassure her. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘His room is too small.’ Nadia bit her lower lip as soon as she uttered the words, regretting the impulse.

  Mama Subhia squared her shoulders and drew in a long inhale, indicating she was running out of patience. He had seen that stance before, when she used to deal with Shareef’s foolishness. He didn’t know what to do or say.

  Huda shoved the younger girls ahead of her into the kitchen. ‘Help me get the meal ready.’

  Mama Subhia grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the sofa beside her. ‘Time to put dots on the letters.’ She motioned for Nadia to take the opposite seat.

  Omar relaxed his facial muscles to disguise his growing anxiety. She wanted to do this now? When no one else was around to back him up? Should he ask about Fatimah and Waleed? He glanced at Nadia, her eyes glued to the floor, her face full of an expression he couldn’t understand. She took off her jacket. Her dress had a low square neckline, revealing smooth skin below the collarbone. Too much skin. If she bent forward, the top of her chest was sure to show. She went to campus in this dress?

  ‘You heard from Marwan?’ Mama Subhia asked.

  ‘He came over the day he . . . finalized things here. It’s my understanding his family commitments became too much.’ He swallowed, hoping Mama Subhia would pick up on his attempt to save Nadia’s face in front of him.
Playing this game was exhausting.

  Mama Subhia narrowed her eyes then nodded. ‘We understood that much. We . . . wish him well. He left on very good terms. You must know that.’

  ‘Marwan is a decent man.’ He cleared his throat, moving onward. ‘I wanted to come home sooner but I couldn’t.’

  Mama Subhia patted his knee. ‘I know. Did things change much for you after the coup?’

  ‘I may end up back in Damascus soon.’

  Nadia snapped her eyes off the floor to strike his a fraction of a second. It was enough to charge him with hope. She was not as passive as she seemed.

  ‘That’s great news. I need you here.’ Mama Subhia put a hand on her chest. ‘My health can’t take any more trouble. No word from Shareef since he left, the girls are growing up, demanding more attention, and Nadia . . .’ She closed her eyes and shook her head in a dramatic show of frustration. ‘Nadia is not making things easy, given the circumstances.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Shareef. I have the address of the school where he teaches in Kuwait. I know how to get in touch with him.’

  ‘I’m not worried about him.’ Her voice sank, exposing her lie.

  God help him, he was going to make Mama Subhia cry. Of course she was worried about her son. Taking her other hand, he patted it. ‘Shareef needed time to evaluate things. That’s how he has always been, taking his time to act. I think he plans to visit during spring break.’

  Mama Subhia’s eyes lit up. ‘He can’t just forget about us like that. Right?’

  He searched for a way to put her mind at ease without further embellishing his fabrication. ‘Of course not. I’ll contact him.’

  ‘I want him to bear responsibility.’

  ‘Have I fallen short in providing for you and the girls?’ He couldn’t prevent indignation from seeping into his tone.

  Mama Subhia’s face reddened. ‘You need to plan for a family of your own.’

  ‘You are my family. Or have things changed?’

  ‘Of course not, habibi. I’m talking about you getting married. Having children.’

  ‘When the time is right.’

  Nadia jumped to her feet. ‘Mama, I need to talk to Omar.’ She tugged at his hand. ‘In private please.’

  He had to stand up. Had he stayed seated, Nadia would have remained bent forward and spilled out of her dress right in front of his eyes. Damn!

  ‘I don’t know what to do with her anymore.’ Mama Subhia tilted her head toward the front door. ‘Go to Fatimah’s place. Talk things over and help me out here, Omar.’

  He snatched Nadia’s jacket and followed her out the door. He would talk things over, all right. First things first. He must convince her never to wear this dress again.

  Nadia walked side by side with Omar toward Fatimah’s apartment. She pulled her jacket tighter and thought of a hundred ways to break the silence, but ended up keeping her mouth shut. He had not said a single word to her since he arrived, talking with Mama as if she weren’t there. Now, he matched her quick steps, seeming unwilling to engage her in dialogue. If he didn’t care to find out how she had been, she could hold her tongue. He didn’t even look at her, keeping his hands in his jacket pockets while he walked.

  Fatimah opened her door before they reached it and threw her arms around Omar’s neck. ‘Mama Subhia called. I can’t believe you’re home and you didn’t call me.’

  Omar laughed, a loud hearty laugh. It sounded like a nervous laugh to Nadia, without due cause and taking too long to fade. So he was not as calm and distant as he seemed.

  ‘Come, come.’ Fatimah pulled on Nadia’s hand and walked them both into her living room. ‘I’m feeding the children. I’ll join you as soon as I can.’ She took their jackets and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Nadia imagined Fatimah on the other side, her ear to the door. She might get bored waiting. From the way things were going, Omar was bent on giving her a hard time, remaining mute. He took a seat and clasped his hands under his chin. Smoothing the back of her dress, she chose the sofa to his right and crossed her legs, waiting for him to start talking.

  Noises drifted in from the busy street outside and interrupted the silence. A car honked a number of times, a vendor’s voice called to stock up on diesel fuel for the winter, a couple of men’s voices rose in argument, and she sat there, withstanding Omar’s quiet stare.

  ‘I like your dress.’ His voice seemed to come out of his chest, not his lips.

  ‘Fatimah made it, like one of the dresses the actress Sua’ad Husni wore in The Lost Love. Did you see the film?’

  Omar arched his eyebrows. An incredulous look swept over his face. ‘Didn’t have a chance.’

  Why had she asked that? He must think her silly and immature. Of course he hadn’t seen the film, stuck in his army camp. She adjusted the folds of her skirt, determined to keep the conversation going. ‘I didn’t see it, either. Fatimah went with Waleed and I watched the children. It was her way of saying thank you.’

  ‘I wish you would never wear that dress again.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Not to campus, not on the street, and not in the presence of any man.’

  Her mouth fell open. If she were anything like that actress, she would respond with a seductive laugh, flicker long eyelashes or something. Instead, she crossed her arms to show her displeasure at his meddling in her choice of clothes. Big mistake. Her bosom lifted over her crossed arms, and she felt cold air on exposed skin where she normally wouldn’t. It was enough to send Omar to his feet, giving her his back and mumbling a curse.

  Flustered, she pulled her neckline as high as she could. ‘Is that all you have to say to me, Omar? That my dress is inappropriate?’

  He slumped his shoulders with an audible exhale, as if she had thrown a rock at him. ‘I know it must have been difficult when you faced Marwan, having Huda and Mama Subhia on your back. I wish I had been here for you.’

  ‘You are here now.’

  ‘You told Mama Subhia you wanted to talk to me.’ He turned to stare down at her. ‘So talk.’

  Holding his stare, she felt sideways for a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. ‘Are you still friends with Marwan?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And is he . . . well enough with the way things are now?’

  ‘No man is well when he is rejected like that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just . . . I expected . . . I wanted . . . to . . . to . . .’ God help her, she couldn’t find the right words.

  He ran a hand through his cropped hair. ‘What, Nadia? What do you want?’

  ‘I graduate next year.’

  ‘I know. You want me to try to convince Mama Subhia to let you go to classes on your own again?’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘The way things are going is impractical to say the least.’

  She drummed her fingers over the pillow. Did he think that was why she had mentioned it? She was free of Marwan, almost done with her studies and ready for the next step. A couple of months’ break before another engagement would not be considered too soon by social standards. ‘Is it true you might transfer to Damascus?’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  She could tell he was on edge, his feet planted slightly apart, one leg shaking. What held him back? If he truly loved her like Huda and Fatimah said, why would he not come out and tell her? Marwan spoke about his feelings with ease, to the point she became irritated sometimes. The situation was reversed now. She could not let Omar know her desire to be his. It was the man’s job to do the pursuing, the asking. ‘When would you move?’

  He dropped back on the chair. ‘Not sure. They tell me to go, and I am gone the next day. I have no control. Why?’

  She almost screamed in frustration. Why couldn’t he catch on to what she was trying to say? Her words couldn’t have been any clearer. ‘Mama is restricting my movement to punish me for sneaking out of town. If you move to Damascus, I won’t need to do that.’ She swallowed, losing her
courage to explain further. ‘Problem solved.’

  Several seconds passed. Her heart beating fast, she had to break eye contact and found invisible threads to pick off the pillow.

  Omar leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and joined his fingers. ‘If I’m to transfer here, it would be as an attorney understudy in the military court until I earn my diploma. I will get a raise. You know what that means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can get a decent place. An apartment.’

  Breathless, Nadia tried to follow his thread of thought. What was he trying to say? She touched the back of his hand. ‘Or you can come home.’

  He rubbed his thumb over hers. ‘It wouldn’t be right. Not after all that happened.’

  ‘Will you find a place close?’

  ‘Close to campus.’ He unlocked his fingers to grasp her hand. ‘A short walk between your classes.’

  What was going on here? He was not suggesting she visit him alone in his apartment on a regular basis. She withdrew her hand.

  He leaned closer. ‘Mama Subhia will probably not—’

  The door opened and Omar’s oldest nephew ran into his arms. Fatimah followed, carrying her youngest and taking Omar’s full attention.

  Nadia blinked, trying to shake the thought in her head. If he thought it improper to move back to her house, how could he expect her to go to his? He didn’t speak of marriage, or an engagement. Watching him relax with his sister and the children astounded her. Did he think she was on board with this arrangement? No, not Omar. That was not the kind of man he was. She must have missed something.

  She remained preoccupied by that thought through the rest of the day, unable to seek clarifications from Omar. The entire family went back to her house to celebrate Omar’s visit with food and to watch television. He spent the night at his sister’s place, and left the following morning without stopping by.