Bitter Almonds

by Lilas Taha

  Omar stood by Waleed’s side, tense and apprehensive, his eyes on arriving passengers. Resisting the need to tap his foot, he turned to Waleed. ‘You sure everything is set?’

  ‘Relax, man. I worked everything out. The family will receive us.’

  ‘They dropped their claim? They know it’s for the best, right?’

  Waleed nodded. ‘I spelled everything out. They want this over with. They weren’t asking for legal trouble, anyway.’

  Omar spotted Shareef clearing customs and stayed rooted in his spot, waiting for him to come closer. A border control security officer, one of Omar’s acquaintances, escorted pale-faced Shareef through the crowd. The officer made a show of handing Shareef over to First Lieutenant Omar Bakry. Omar nodded acknowledgment to his friend, keeping a straight face. Connections in the right places came in handy in situations like these.

  Waleed clasped Shareef’s hand. ‘Welcome home.’

  Shareef dropped his bag by his feet. ‘What’s going on? Why am I being escorted like a criminal?’

  ‘You would have been dragged to prison had Omar not intervened on your behalf,’ Waleed explained.

  Omar was impressed. Waleed threw up the lie without flinching. He never imagined Shareef’s pale face could become more ghostly. It did.

  ‘Prison? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Sameera’s father drew a court order reporting your name to border control for not paying her dowry.’ Omar stretched the deception as long as he could, the first step in his plan achieved. Shareef was scared shitless.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Shareef thrust his chin in Omar’s face. ‘You let me come here to get arrested?’

  Omar didn’t flinch. ‘But you aren’t arrested, are you? You’re coming home with us to see your mother.’

  ‘How . . . how is she?’

  ‘Better. You brought money to cover the hospital stay like we discussed?’

  Shareef patted the chest pocket of his jacket. ‘Exact amount.’

  Nodding, Omar turned on his heels. ‘Let’s go then.’

  Getting into the passenger seat of a taxi, Omar whispered the destination to the driver. During the first thirty minutes of the drive, Shareef asked about Mama Subhia’s condition, directing all his questions to Waleed. Once they entered the city, he asked, ‘Where are we going? This isn’t the way home. You said Mother was out of the hospital.’

  Omar gritted his teeth at the blatant avoidance of his presence. ‘We’re making a quick stop first.’

  The taxi went down a street. Shareef bolted forward, gripping the back of Omar’s seat. ‘This is Sameera’s neighborhood.’

  ‘Right.’ Omar motioned for the driver to stop.

  ‘Wait. What are we doing here?’

  Waleed shoved Shareef out of the car. ‘We’re here so you can make things right with Sameera’s family. You will pay her dowry and be a man.’

  ‘I have to pay the hospital bill.’

  Omar grabbed Shareef’s arm and dragged him onward. ‘You have to do this if you don’t want your mother to visit you in prison.’

  Stumbling and cursing, Shareef tried to resist. ‘But the medical bills . . .’

  ‘Mama Subhia didn’t go to the hospital. No bills.’

  ‘You tricked me, you bastard?’

  Omar tightened his hold. ‘Had to.’

  Waleed grabbed Shareef’s other arm. ‘Omar saved your ass. You owe him your freedom. So just play along now. You walk in there, ask Sameera’s father for forgiveness, hand over the money, and walk out.’

  They reached the door. Omar let go of Shareef and rang the doorbell. ‘You will have your life back. And spare your mother a lot of heartache.’

  The door opened. Omar slid behind Shareef. Step two accomplished.

  Walking into Mama Subhia’s house an hour later, Omar left the front door open, Waleed and Shareef behind him on the stairs. He called Mama Subhia out of the kitchen and sat her on the sofa. Holding her wrists, he took his time kissing her forehead to check her pulse without her noticing. Satisfied she was relaxed enough, he pulled back. ‘I have a surprise for you. Someone is here to see you.’

  Her hands flew to her hair, patting her tight bun in place. ‘Who?’

  Shareef walked in and stopped a couple of steps inside. Mama Subhia’s hands froze on top of her head. Waleed nudged Shareef from behind. Dropping his chin to his chest, Shareef shuffled forward until he stood before his mother.

  Omar watched the expression on her face shift from eyes-widening surprise, to jaw-dropping disbelief, to brow-furrowing undeniable anger, until it settled in a warm expression, emanating hurt, censure and forgiveness all at once.

  He looked away, jealous of the intimate moment. No one but a mother was capable of producing that instinctive look in one heartbeat. He headed to the door, passed Waleed and threw him a satisfied nod. Step three accomplished.

  Later that evening, Omar picked up a tray of kanafeh dessert from the best sweetshop in town and headed to Mama Subhia’s place. Having stayed away the rest of the day to give the family a chance to reunite with their son without his animosity toward Shareef hanging over their heads, he didn’t know how Nadia’s encounter with Shareef had gone.

  Taking a deep breath, he balanced the wrapped tray on one palm and knocked on the door. Fatimah and Waleed should be there by now. At least he would have their support.

  Huda let him in, her face more sour than usual. She took his load to the kitchen. Everyone gathered in the living room. Everyone except Nadia. Waleed stood, giving him a warm greeting. Shareef remained seated, lounging further in his chair and glaring at him.

  Omar kissed Mama Subhia’s head as usual and took a seat by her side. He connected eyes with Fatimah. She motioned with her chin toward the girls’ room. His sister understood him well, letting him know Nadia hid. Out of shyness or was she avoiding Shareef’s presence? He tilted his head in Mama Subhia’s direction, raising his eyebrows. Fatimah nodded twice, giving him the signal she had informed Mama Subhia of the specific reason behind his visit tonight. Not wanting to waste one more minute on superficial pleasantries and small talk, he cleared his throat. ‘I’m here tonight to ask for Nadia’s hand.’

  Shareef raised one eyebrow.

  Omar looked him in the eye. ‘Nadia and I have talked. With the approval of Mama Subhia, we are ready to settle down.’

  Before Shareef could utter a sound, Mama Subhia put her hand over her upper lip, wobbled her tongue, and launched into a long, loud zaghroota. Fatimah followed suit, and then Huda, as if the women were competing to produce the highest joyful screech. Fatimah ran to get Nadia.

  Red-faced and smiling, Nadia received the women’s hugs and kisses. Her younger sisters sang something rhyming and silly. She wore a soft blue dress with white frilly lace around its collar and sleeves. Her dark hair cascaded to her shoulders in neat layers and contrasted with the white lace. She didn’t just look beautiful and soft, she radiated with feminine appeal. Omar had to check his breathing.

  Waleed struck his shoulder. ‘Finally.’

  Shareef rose to his feet. ‘So you all worked it out, huh? And what am I? A chair’s leg? A decoration?’

  ‘Your job is waiting for you, son.’ Mama Subhia patted his chest. ‘A duty toward your sister when it is time to give Omar her hand.’

  ‘You expect me to give my sister to a man of doubtful origins?’

  Omar jumped to his feet and roared, ‘How dare you?’

  ‘I met people in Kuwait.’ Shareef’s voice rose. ‘Other Palestinian refugees who frequented the British clinic in our village.’ He thrust his chin forward. ‘Told me interesting things about your father. Your real father.’

  Omar grabbed fistfuls of Shareef’s shirt. ‘My father died working his land before I was born. What the hell are you talking about?’

  Waleed tried to pull him back. Omar wouldn’t budge. Fatimah said something but he registered none of it. He shook Shareef. ‘Speak, damn you.’

  ‘Ever won
der why that . . . that old woman in the neighborhood called you the Englishman?’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Mama Subhia’s voice vibrated throughout the house. She laid a hand on Omar’s shoulder, bringing him back from the dark pit he was thrown into. ‘Let him go.’

  He released Shareef and took a couple of steps back, the muscles in his arms aching from lack of release. He kept his fists balled.

  ‘You just can’t see anyone happy, can you?’ Mama Subhia advanced on Shareef. ‘I don’t know where I went wrong with you, son. Seeing you sink this low breaks my heart.’

  Shareef pointed his hand in Omar’s direction. ‘You never explained why he looks so different from Fatimah. You let him grow up with your children, and you knew all along who he was. What he is.’

  ‘What am I, Shareef?’ Omar’s voice rumbled out like a bear’s growl.

  Shareef squared his shoulders. ‘The English doctor’s bastard.’

  He lunged for Shareef, moving on pure instinct, a predator aiming for his prey.

  Mama Subhia stepped in his path. She slapped Shareef hard. ‘Shut your mouth.’ Her chest heaved up and down with her words. She teetered left and right and sank toward the floor.

  Omar caught her under the arms before she hit the floor. Waleed helped him lift her to the sofa. Shareef shrank in the background. Huda and Nadia rushed to tend her.

  Omar squatted by Mama Subhia’s head, his energy and reasoning draining fast, like a squeezed wound oozing bile and blood. Shareef’s words throbbed in his ears. A bastard? He sought his sister.

  Fatimah clung to the arms of her chair, her face like a lemon. She shook her head and mouthed, ‘Not true.’

  Water splashed on his hands when Nadia sprinkled Mama Subhia’s face. He rose and leaned his back to the wall, giving her more room. Did Fatimah see doubt in his eyes? Despite looking so different from her, he had never considered the circumstances of his birth. In the back of his mind, he often saw himself as an outsider, and he had reasoned the thought away for being an orphan. But an illegitimate child of an English doctor? Where did Shareef come up with this information? There was no smoke where there was no fire. And that old woman who gave him his nickname as a boy, how come he never checked to find out why?

  Someone tugged at his hands. The younger girls clung to him, crying. He wrapped his arms around them. ‘Don’t worry. Your mother will be all right.’

  His words penetrated Mama Subhia’s mental break, and she came to. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’ She held on to Huda’s hands and tried to get up. ‘Help me to my room. I don’t want to see his face.’

  Shareef strutted to the door. ‘I will leave.’

  Nadia sprang ahead, beating him to the door. She turned the lock and rested her back to it. ‘You are not going anywhere.’ She glared at her brother, eyes clear and intense, dark hair framing her determined face. ‘I don’t care what Omar is, or what name he uses, or who his father was. I don’t care if he was a gorilla or an alien from outer space. I love him. I was in love with him before I understood what love meant.’ She pushed away from the door and moved to stand a step facing Shareef. ‘You will not leave this house before I am married to Omar.’ She jabbed his chest with her index finger. ‘You are going to make it happen. Tonight.’

  Shareef swatted her finger aside. ‘The stars above are closer to you, Nadia.’

  ‘I am trying to hold on to the last thread between us for Mama’s sake.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I don’t need you. I am old enough to get married without you.’

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair. ‘You defy your brother?’

  Omar was on Shareef before he could twist his grip. He held Shareef’s neck from behind in the crook of his arm, trapping his throat in an iron-clad hold. ‘Let go.’

  Shareef freed Nadia’s hair and flailed his arms to no use.

  Waleed tried to intervene. ‘This is not the way to solve anything.’

  ‘When did you ever act like my brother, Shareef?’ Nadia screamed. ‘You were never there for me or for anyone in this family. Always watching out for yourself. Just because we don’t say anything to your face doesn’t mean we are blind.’ Rubbing her scalp, she scrunched her hair and in the process added a disheveled look to her fierce stance.

  Omar had never seen her look more beautiful. He released Shareef with a shove and faced Mama Subhia. ‘Is there any truth to what he is saying?’

  Mama Subhia clasped his face in her palms. ‘I knew your parents well. Your father’s mother was from Jenin. Do you hear me? She had red hair and pale skin with red freckles. We didn’t have time to take family portraits from your father’s house when we fled.’

  Omar swallowed with difficulty. ‘You never mentioned my grandmother before.’

  ‘I didn’t see a need to.’ She dropped her hands. ‘I thought we made you feel like you were one of us.’

  He kissed her hand and touched it to his forehead. ‘You did.’

  ‘When we made it across the border with the other refugees, I wanted to register you and Fatimah under our family name, as our children. But Mustafa would not have it. He insisted you were the single male survivor of the Bakry family.’ Mama Subhia held his shoulders with both hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘Mustafa said you had the responsibility of carrying on your father’s family name. Do you think he would have said that if he had any doubt about your origin?’

  ‘You know what I can’t figure out?’ Huda’s tone came out surprisingly, calm and mellow.

  Everyone turned toward her.

  ‘I have been tending to the women of this community since forever. And they are refugees like us, many from surrounding villages.’ She squinted at her brother. ‘Not one of them mentioned anything about that English doctor you are talking about. And you, in particular, know how women love to gossip. How do you explain that?’

  Shareef shifted from foot to foot. ‘How should I know? Maybe . . . maybe they spared your feelings, they wouldn’t say it to your face.’ He darted his eyes to his mother. ‘Or maybe they . . . they respected Mother too much for taking him in.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I have a better explanation.’ Huda’s voice hardened, making the sharp switch more frightening. It matched her dead stare. ‘You made it all up.’

  Shareef’s face crumbled. ‘There was a British clinic, wasn’t there? I mean, just because women didn’t—’

  ‘Stop lying,’ Huda shot back. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Mother always favored Omar over me.’

  ‘How old are you? Nine? Mama would never favor anyone over her own son. It’s against nature. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘She kicked me out of this house!’ Shareef yelled, spit flying out of his mouth. ‘For him!’

  ‘She did it for Nadia’s sake, not Omar’s.’ Huda’s tone chilled the entire room. ‘You should be kissing Mother’s feet right now for allowing you back after what you did.’

  ‘That was Sameera’s fault.’ His voice lost its defiant edge. ‘She tricked me.’

  Huda crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Did Sameera trick you into cutting ties with us? Did she trick you into screaming at your mother? You know Omar shouldered the burden of this family alone. And one more thing, brother, Omar never raised his voice in Mama’s presence. Not once.’

  ‘Stop this.’ Mama Subhia approached Shareef, giving him that mixed look Omar saw in her eyes before. ‘You will do what is expected of you now, son. We will leave what happened behind us and never talk about it again.’

  Shareef opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to change his mind.

  Mama Subhia turned to address Waleed. ‘Go to the mosque and bring the sheikh and a couple of witnesses. We will seal this marriage before God tonight, and do the civil registration in the morning. The wedding will be the last Thursday of this month. Almost three weeks from today.’

  36

  Nadia lifted the hem of her wedding dress and took the first step into her new home with her right foot, inviting
good luck. She could barely stand, her legs wobbling like rice pudding. The mad rush to get everything ready for the wedding in such a short time had taken its toll. Her feet hurt and she contemplated taking off her shoes, but wouldn’t that seem undignified?

  Omar closed the front door behind them, undid his tie and opened the collar of his white shirt. ‘I thought the evening would never end.’

  ‘You did well with the band. Everyone seemed to enjoy their music.’

  ‘Good. Wish they had wrapped it up a little earlier, though.’ He draped his suit jacket on the back of the lone chair in the living room. With Omar’s tight budget and Fatimah’s modest contribution, they were able to buy a decent bedroom set and the necessary kitchen appliances. The rest of the apartment remained nearly empty.

  Nadia headed to the bedroom. A couple of pins holding her veil in place had dug like nails in her scalp throughout the wedding ceremony, and she had resisted the need to pull them out as long as she could. She could take the pain no longer, tugging on the veil to loosen the pins. Her heavy locks spilled from their elaborate hairdo, but the stubborn pins didn’t budge. Why were her fingers shaking like that?

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ Omar reached out to unpin her veil. His warm breath brushed her face, and his cedar wood-laced cologne invited a flood of memories. The shaking spread to her entire body. What was happening?

  Dropping the veil to the floor, he combed his fingers through her hair until the locks came undone. His breathing deepened, his smile vanished, and a strange expression clouded his face.

  The pulsing pressure in her head dissipated with blood rushing to the sore spots. Must be why the room started spinning. Dear God, let her not be the kind of silly girl who fainted on her wedding night. She placed her palms on his chest. ‘Hold me.’

  He wrapped his arms around her, tentative and lax at first, then his muscles tightened and his palms spread flat on her back. ‘God, you are trembling like a leaf. Are you cold?’

  She buried her face under his chin. His quickening heart rate pulsed in the vein touching her cheek. She moved her head from side to side to indicate her answer, brushing against his skin, marveling at his increasing warmth.