Fatma tolerated Kamilah because in Saudi Arabia she too lived in luxury again, reminded of what it was like to come from a respected family of means. She let herself accede to her grandfather’s invitation to stay because he made it easy for her to manage the inconvenience that carrying a new life imposed on her body. And she began, as before, to grow attached to the creature that kicked and lurched inside her and whose foot or bottom she could see moving beneath her skin. Once again she enjoyed a sense of productivity and purpose. “Come home. Your visa will expire,” Daniel told her each time he called. But Grandfather had connections; no one bothered her, not even Daniel, who after a while resigned himself to her time away.
When Riyadh’s spring temperatures reached unbearable heights, Fatma went with Grandfather and Kamilah to Grand-father’s summer home in the mountain resort city of Taif. She never had to go to doctors’ appointments; Grandfather had doctors come to her. He gave her a tape player so she could listen to the music that was forbidden in public. She ate well, slept long hours, and swam in Grandfather’s pool. She accepted the way Grandfather and his servants doted on her, unaware that they were waiting to see the sex of the child that would emerge from her womb, plotting all the while, just like her Uncle Ahmad had plotted against the Somali people, to rob her.
She named her son Hussein, because it meant “little beauty.” The very day he was born, Grandfather informed her that Hussein would remain in his home and be raised by his faithful Kamilah, who was now past her childbearing years. Fatma threw herself on her grandfather’s mercy and pleaded with him to let her keep Hussein. He was not her firstborn, she argued; the promise had died with her twins. But the days of getting her way with her grandfather were over. Hussein would be raised in Saudi Arabia.
“Then I too will stay here,” she told Grandfather, who warned her that her Christian husband was not welcome in his Muslim home. “I will stay here without him,” she cried.
“Fatma, you do not seem to understand. This was your mother’s wish. This was the agreement. We will not dishonor your mother.”
His frail voice nearly broke with emotion as he spoke, and she could see that her mother, so like him, had been his favorite among all his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, and that he had been no less obsessed with her than Fatma’s father had been. It was her mother’s spirit that Grandfather longed to hold on to, and the child she had lost on her way to visit him. Fatma had merely served as her mother’s surrogate, and now Hussein would be that child for her grandfather, that spirit. Foolish Fatma! She had sought to deceive, only to be deceived herself. She tried her old trick of fleeing, to no avail. There was always a servant with a watchful eye in the garden where she fed and rocked Hussein or in the nursery where she kept vigil over his sleep. At night servants guarded the doors. Just as Grandfather had imprisoned her father, she was now his victim.
She had come to Saudi Arabia with a spiteful broken heart; she left with a shattered one. Grandfather allowed her one month with her son, but one hour would have been kinder. She was escorted to the airport in Riyadh and put on a plane with a one-way ticket that Grandfather gave her. She also carried his .22-caliber pistol, which she had managed to steal, and determination to return one day and claim her son.
Hostess with the Mostess
After Hussein’s birth, Fatma and Daniel’s marriage was never the same. Daniel said he was sorry and that he hadn’t impregnated her without her consent. “Sometimes these things just happen,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. Now they were finally free to have children of their own, he pointed out, trying to console her. “Nasikitika!” he whispered each night when she turned away from him. “I’m sorry.”
She refused to go out of the house, staying in her bathrobe all day and mostly sleeping. The lack of exercise added extra pounds to the weight she had gained from her lavish lifestyle in Saudi Arabia. She stopped praying. Some nights she jumped out of bed, screaming that the house was on fire.
“Get baby! Get baby!”
“Hussein is not here. He’s safe,” Daniel would say, wrapping his arms around her, but she wriggled out of his embrace and threw punches at him, until she found herself back on the bed, sobbing for hours.
To Fatma’s surprise Walter Kornmeyer called Uncle Oliver and asked him to help retrieve his grandson – their grandson. But Oliver retorted that Walter had liked the ways of Fatma’s people only when it had suited him, and that he and Fatma should have known that like himself, they were people of their word. Walter Kornmeyer called her family barbarians.
Although Daniel begged her to, Fatma would not go for counseling. The notion of talking to a complete American stranger about what had happened was impossible. Daniel took it upon himself to procure antidepressants, but she refused them, swearing that he was trying to poison her. He began to secretly stir the drugs into the fruit punch she liked, and he prayed she would become thirsty. That is how, after several months, she began to come out of her misery, until one morning she emerged from the bedroom, dressed and wearing makeup, and announced that she was ready to go back to work. She needed to get away from Daniel. While he may not have intentionally gotten her pregnant, nevertheless he had. She had lost another baby, and he had done nothing about it; even his father had made some effort to have Hussein returned. She understood the Kornmeyers’ contempt for her for hiding the pregnancy from Daniel; well, she had only contempt for their son. Betrayal is the thief of trust.
*
Gemtek was not hiring so Daniel set up an interview for Fatma with a different electronics firm that made circuit boards for airplanes. “Getting back to work will do you good,” he agreed. The personnel manager asked her what languages she spoke, other than halting English.
“Swahili.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And Arabic and Somali.”
He bent over his desk and murmured so as not to let his colleagues overhear. “You know, International Airways is always looking for women like you. Attendants who can speak several languages, especially African ones and Arabic, are hard to come by. They don’t pay as much as some airlines, but flying for free isn’t so bad.”
Talking fast into the receiver, as though he’d discovered a diamond mine, he called International Airways. He even filled out an application for her. The next day a car came to 135 Poplar Street and took her to JFK, where she began her training. The money was more than adequate. Even Daniel, who was struggling to make ends meet with the artifacts business, became optimistic.
*
Twelve women made up the group: three Japanese, three Germans, two Americans, two Brits, one Kuwaiti, and Fatma. International Airways put them up at the airport hotel during their three-week training period. They took them shopping in Manhattan, measured them for uniforms – navy blue dresses that fit snugly around their behinds and tailored matching jackets – and entertained them with four-course meals that began with cocktails, continued with wine, and ended with nightcaps. Groomed as special hostesses who would be catering to an elite clientele, they were taught the difference between Cabernet and Shiraz, between cognac and brandy; how to mix drinks like screwdrivers and bloody marys; how to serve liquor straight up or on the rocks. They needed to know what kinds of drinks men of certain ethnicities might want, in case the men were too inebriated when they boarded the plane to place their orders. Until now, she had always refused alcohol, since it was against her religion. Her father’s secret liquor cabinet had been a source of great contention between him and her mother. Alcohol was no stranger to some of the other trainees, however, who drank until their speech slurred and their bodies slumped over those of the male employees who escorted them. For a few, like Fatma, their long-stemmed glasses were nearly as full at the end of their meals as they were at the beginning. Eventually the prodding of their male hosts and the desire to fit in meant the sips became more frequent, and the liquor started going down more easily. Fatma found that champagne and vodka took away her self-consciousness and loosened her tong
ue considerably, advancing her English by light years.
She never resumed praying. The other hostesses and she were always together, and their religions didn’t seem to demand such devotions. She wanted to fit in; she was tired of sticking out like a giraffe in America.
On the last night of her training she called Auntie to let her know she was getting on with her life and that despite the pain inflicted by Auntie’s promise to Fatma’s mother, Fatma still loved her.
“I have a job with an airline,” Fatma told her. “I’ll be making big money, traveling to Milan and England. I’ll come to see you soon.”
“Be careful, binti,” Auntie said. “You know these businessmen.” Fatma indeed knew businesspeople; she had grown up with Uncle Oliver and Grandfather and her mother, hadn’t she? And she intended to find a businessman just like them – a Saudi, with connections.
*
They flew to London, then Frankfurt, and sometimes Rome: four of them in one corner of first class, four in another corner, and four in the middle. Every fifteen minutes they checked on passengers. “How are you doing? Would you like another drink? Do you need an extra pillow? Would you like to lie down?” “Only if you lie with me,” was a common reply. Most of the women soon learned to laugh the invitations off. A few women, like herself, had come from restrictive cultures and they turned into utterly different people during their shifts away from home. They were the ones who responded to the men’s requests with “When we land,” and who always kept their promise.
Fatma became the first to unlock the hotel room’s liquor cabinet at each new destination, realizing that she shared her father’s appetite for its contents. Alcohol lightened the heartache she had carried away from Saudi Arabia and even helped her mend fences with her in-laws. Walter Kornmeyer found one aspect of her new job – the tag sales – very much in his own interest.
Before landing, the hostesses needed to clear out all the duty-free liquor on the plane so the cabin could be restocked before the next flight. A bottle of vodka went for two dollars, a case for twenty. Fatma worked six or seven days a month, and Walter had her flying schedule memorized. Less than an hour after she arrived back home, he would pay her and Daniel a visit.
“Tax man is here,” Daniel would announce, hearing his father’s knock at the door.
“Any Dewar’s today, Fatma dear? Fournier loves Dewar’s.” Walter looked around in anticipation of the carton.
“Dewar’s and Seagram’s,” she’d say.
“Come for dinner sometime. Your mother would like to see you, Daniel.”
“Just me?”
“Both of you, of course. You know I meant that, Daniel.” “No, I didn’t actually. But you can still buy the booze.”
Walter had found a new way to win people’s hearts. He handed salesmen and deliver ymen these bottles in return for shipments of perfectly ripe bananas and crisp greens, and for keeping Fine Foods supplied with harder-to-come-by commodities like star fruit and persimmons, coconuts and horned melons, that his competitors could not find. Fine Foods prospered, and Fournier, who was also presented with a case from time to time, rewarded Walter handsomely, with a pay raise and more importantly, with respect. Walter gave bottles to department managers and cashiers on their birthdays and a case on special occasions such as engagements and births. Thus International Airways benefited both Walter Kornmeyer and Fatma in the same way – it made them friends. When she found a Saudi diplomat who was fond of drinking and who asked her to keep him company, she answered, “When we land.”
She met him that evening in the London hotel whose name he had scribbled on a cocktail napkin, sitting with his jacket off, tie undone, bearded and fat, swishing ice chips around in a glass of scotch. Excusing herself, she went into the bathroom, where she kicked off her navy blue stacked-heel shoes, unknotted the red and blue neck scarf the hostesses wore, and stripped down to her black lacy underwear. It wasn’t as hard as she’d imagined it would be, as long as she thought about Hussein. She took a miniature bottle of scotch out of her purse and doused her entire body with it, as she had once seen a woman do in a movie Daniel had taken her to. Sitting on his lap, she told him about Hussein, while he fondled her breasts. She undid his zipper. She had barely touched him, when he squirted like a fountain, then asked – more out of embarrassment than consideration – what he could do for her.
The Saudi was a man with connections. Alas, so was her grandfather. When she landed at Kennedy at the end of her week’s shift, she was called into Human Resources and informed that she had made her last trip to Europe. From now on she would be flying only to Miami and Jamaica twice a month.
*
Elsa Martinez had known about Fatma’s attempt to return to Gemtek. Fatma supposed that Elsa had always felt guilty about shooting solder into her eye, and that’s why she began to call Fatma from time to time. Daniel referred to Elsa as the “shitload of trouble,” but Fatma cared less than ever about what Daniel thought.
Elsa told Fatma she had a friend in desperate need of help. Would Fatma please take a package to the friend’s auntie in Kingston? One evening while Daniel was at the artifacts store Elsa came to Fatma’s door and delivered a small gift-wrapped package and a sign that read Malik to display in the airport in Kingston. Elsa knew that hostesses were not searched at customs.
“You doin’ a good deed, chica. Dios te bendiga.”
When Fatma landed in Kingston, a young Jamaican man approached her, saying he was Elsa’s friend’s cousin. He thanked her for her trouble and asked how long she was staying. The following morning, as she prepared to board her return flight, he brought her a different gift-wrapped package in a shopping bag, a gift from his mother to Elsa’s friend. “To Angel. Love Auntie,” the tag read. Elsa met Fatma at Kennedy and hurriedly ushered her into the ladies’ room. She disappeared into a stall. Fatma could hear her ripping the package open; wads of crumpled newspaper fell to the floor.
“You done a good thing, chica,” she announced when she emerged. “Te juro. I won’t ask again.” Handing Fatma a small red change purse, she told her: “Let’s say it’s what I couldn’t give you when I ruined your eye. A gift from my friend for your trouble. To the hostess with the mostess.” She cackled, revealing a large gap between her yellowed upper front teeth. Fatma didn’t open the purse until she was home, locked in her bathroom. Her good deed had earned her a thousand dollars, which she kept secret from Daniel. The satisfaction of having got away with something far outweighed the illegality of the transaction.
Soon afterward Fatma was saved from deciding whether or not to do Elsa’s friend any more favors when International Airways filed for bankruptcy and folded. She tried other airlines, but new standards for stewardesses had been imposed: in order to reach the overhead compartments they now had to be five feet five without heels. Fatma was five-two.
She dreaded going back to life as she had known it with Daniel and the Kornmeyers, a life without status and the opportunity to be away for days at a time. Poor Daniel. He had taken a child from Africa and planted her alongside him, hoping that as she matured their two cultures might intertwine and they could grow strong together and produce a family. How he had longed for her to feel comfortable in this country of his.
She had grown up. And now the once ghastly America that he had yearned for her to desire – the America that offered freedom for women – finally appealed to her. She wanted, like Miss Greene, to take control of her life, to break free the way Elsa and the other hostesses had and experiment with the temptations all around her. She would find her own way back to Hussein; listening to others had only brought her heartache. She would punish her mother for her death, which had removed any possibility of their making up for the years wasted between them and which had saddled her with the ultimate promise. She, Daniel, Grandfather, Uncle Oliver, even Auntie had taken turns chiseling at her heart until it had crumbled and like dust blown away, leaving her empty and guiltless and free to hurt everyone who had taken part in destroying
it.
III
Iblis
Auntie’s maid Lisha used to tell Fatma that angels were made of light and that God could see what was inside them. But man was made of clay that hid his lust and violence, and his muddled brain led to dishonesty and stupidity.
All the days and nights Fatma amused herself in Lisha’s room, Lisha talked about Iblis, the fallen angel of God, and how he had refused to bow to Adam, the first man, because he thought that Adam was inferior. She said that Iblis’s rebelliousness and disobedience caused him to be cast out of heaven. “You see, Fatma, my little sweetheart, God gave Iblis three qualities missing in other angels: pride, desire, and doubt, and those are what led to his downfall. Pride caused him to desire more than others did. Believing that his own ideas were as valid as God’s led Iblis to doubt God’s intentions. Iblis roams the earth today in search of people who question God’s commandments. He murmurs seductive words in their ears and makes them go astray. Iblis is the devil.”
Sometimes It Snows In America Page 7