The Almond Tree

by Michelle Cohen Corasanti

  This was the first home I could call my own, and I loved it – Nora’s eclectic taste, the pictures of her, my beautiful bride, the crafts and the glowing mood lamp.

  ***

  ‘We’re getting close,’ Nora said, bouncing a little and squeezing my hand. The taxi drove down block after block of manicured tree-lined streets with houses the size of castles. Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Rolls Royces were parked in the driveways. Finally, the driver turned into one. The iron gate opened and we proceeded along Nora’s family’s winding driveway.

  ‘I didn’t know you were so rich.’

  ‘It’s not important to me,’ Nora apologised. ‘My father inherited most of it. My parents use the house to host charity events.’ The topic clearly made her uncomfortable. ‘You wouldn’t believe the kinds of fundraisers they throw.’ The breach between our backgrounds widened. I was even more nervous than earlier.

  Nora rang the bell next to her mammoth front door.

  A man appeared. ‘Your mother is in the loggia,’ he said with a Spanish accent.

  Nora seemed compelled to explain away each revelation of their immense wealth. ‘My parents like to employ as many people as possible.’ Nora gestured to an African woman dressed in a bright red, yellow and orange kaftan who was arranging flowers. ‘All of them are heads of families.’

  Nora and I were in a thirty-five-foot-high rotunda gallery with a sweeping staircase. She led me down the wide hallway. Before we arrived at the loggia, whatever that was, we walked past a living room with an oversized fireplace, a dining room, a cherry-panelled library with a marble fireplace, and what Nora called the ‘preschool rooms’.

  My palms were sweaty.

  ‘All the workers bring their preschool children with them to work,’ Nora explained. Her parents hired three teachers. They had three rooms: babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. They provided them with three meals a day, clothing and beds for naptime.

  Outside, there was a pool surrounded by gardens.

  ‘Mom!’ Nora called. A woman, obviously her mother, was sitting on the terracotta patio under a yellow umbrella. Papers were scattered everywhere. Her mother put down her pen.

  ‘What a surprise!’ She stood up. ‘Is everything alright?’

  ‘Better than alright.’ Nora smiled. ‘This is Ichmad.’

  ‘Your Arabic teacher?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  Nora’s mother held out her hand. ‘So nice to meet you.’ She was dressed in a brightly coloured peasant blouse and skirt, which looked like the one Nora had bought in Ghana. Around her neck was a peace symbol. ‘Nora can’t say enough nice things about you.’

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ Nora bubbled, bouncing on her tiptoes.

  ‘He should be home any minute.’

  ‘I’ll wait for him.’ She grabbed my hand. Her mother tilted her head.

  ‘For what?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re married,’ Nora gushed. ‘I’m so happy. Aren’t you just so happy for me?’

  Nora’s mother stared at us for a second before she dropped back into her chair. ‘You’re what?’ She looked like she’d had a stroke. I had told Nora that we should tell her parents, but she had been convinced they’d be happy for us. She wanted to surprise them.

  Nora ran over and hugged her mother, but her mother didn’t hug back.

  Her father appeared and she rushed to throw her arms around him. ‘I’m married!’

  Her father looked over at me. Perhaps he assumed I was a servant, carrying Nora’s bags to the pool.

  ‘To whom?’ he asked.

  ‘Ichmad, of course.’ Nora did a little jump in the air. ‘We wanted to surprise you.’

  Nora’s parents looked at each other. Her mother looked ill.

  ‘What?’ Her father was almost shouting.

  ‘We love each other.’ Nora’s smile faded. ‘Aren’t you happy for us?’

  Her parents looked at each other again. ‘Could you excuse us for a moment?’ Nora’s father took her mother’s hand and led her into the house.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with them.’ Nora chewed on her nails and began to pace. She tried to hide her face from me, but I saw the tears. ‘This isn’t like them.’

  I looked at the swimming pool. How I wished she’d prepared them, as I had with mine. Nora seemed so worldly, but in many ways she was a naïve child. She couldn’t understand the depth of hatred – or the platitudes under which it hid. I put my arm around her shoulders.

  ***

  We all sat in the living room. Nora’s father set his glass of scotch on a coaster on the marble coffee table. ‘Did you have to get married?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ Nora said. She wasn’t at all giddy like she had been when we arrived.

  ‘When are you due?’ her mother asked. ‘You know you have options.’ Her father put his arm around her mother, protectively.

  ‘I’m not pregnant,’ Nora said.

  ‘Then why did you rush into this?’ Her father sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘You haven’t even finished school.’

  ‘We want to be together. We’re in love.’ Nora’s bluntness shocked me.

  ‘You could have lived together,’ her mother said. ‘Why did you get married?’

  My face immediately felt warm. ‘That is not my custom,’ I said. ‘I have great respect for your daughter.’

  ‘We can get it annulled.’ Nora’s father took a slug of his Scotch. ‘No one will ever have to know.’

  ‘Never!’ Nora stood up. ‘Let’s go, Ichmad.’ She took my hand, and we were heading for the door when she stopped and turned around. ‘You’re just hypocrites. Frauds,’ Nora said. ‘And to think, I actually believed in your commitment. You don’t like him because he’s Palestinian. Admit it.’

  Nora’s father held his palms up in surrender. ‘You’re right. It’s just too much.’

  ‘Don’t call me until you’re willing to accept him.’ We left their house.

  Months went by and her parents never called. They didn’t cut off Nora’s trust fund though, so she continued in school and still planned to go on her summer trip to Gaza after we were married in my village. We were still able to send my entire pay cheque home to my family.

  ‘I don’t need them at my wedding.’ Nora took her underwear drawer and emptied it into the suitcase.

  The phone rang and I picked it up. ‘Are you really going through with it?’ Abbas asked.

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Marrying the Jew?’ Anger gurgled in his voice.

  ‘She’s not like you think,’ I said. ‘She’s a human rights activist.’

  ‘Of course,’ Abbas said. ‘They all are. If you marry her, you’ll be dead to me.’

  ‘Meet her first,’ I said. ‘You’ll change your mind.’

  Nora motioned for me to hand her the phone, but I waved her away. She didn’t know how to handle Abbas.

  ‘Her or me,’ he said. ‘Don’t bring her here.’ There was a loud noise and then the phone went dead.

  I would talk with him tomorrow when we arrived.

  CHAPTER 39

  Four Uzi-bearing soldiers tracked Nora and me through their riflescopes.

  ‘You’re way too obvious,’ Nora said when we reached the tarmac.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ I whispered in her ear. Why did she draw attention to us? She could be so provocative, my impetuous wife. These were Israeli soldiers.

  We boarded the bus to the terminal with the other passengers. Two soldiers attached themselves to us. I could feel their breath on the back of my neck. Nora turned to them. ‘You really should stop smoking.’ She pretended to smile and turned back.

  What was she thinking? Nora they wouldn’t hurt, but they could lock me up indefinitely.

  The soldiers followed us inside and flanked us while we waited in line, then followed us to the passport booth.

  The uniformed man looked through our passports without making eye contact. On his desk was a small Israeli flag. He stared at my picture for too lon
g. On either side of us, Jewish people passed through. I was the only Palestinian on the flight.

  Nora turned to the soldiers. ‘We’ve chosen the slow line.’

  Three more soldiers appeared and motioned me towards them.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ I said to Nora.

  ‘I’ll go with you.’ She took a step towards me.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Miss,’ a soldier said.

  ‘I insist.’ Nora took my hand.

  We collected our bags and were taken to a side table. ‘Please open your bags,’ the soldier said. He took his time taking out each and every article: Nora’s underwear, her toothbrush, a box of condoms.

  She stared at the soldier without flinching. He took out my Atomic Physics magazine and flipped through the pages. ‘Are you planning on building a bomb?’

  ‘He’s doing his post doctorate in physics at MIT,’ Nora said, proudly.

  The soldier put the magazine back in my bag. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’ He pushed our bags towards us, across the table. Maybe I was the naïve one. I couldn’t believe the way Nora had provoked the soldier, and he never even reacted.

  Fadi drove us home in a junky little Nissan with plastic flowers taped to it. We passed electric wires, new developments, traffic, modern foreign cars, billboards of scantily clad women in bathing suits, signs in Hebrew and English, and military vehicles pushing through the traffic. Nora had to go to the toilet, so we stopped at a petrol station. As soon as she was out of earshot, Fadi leaned over to me. ‘Abbas is gone,’ he said.

  ‘Where’d he go?’

  ‘He left a note.’ Fadi handed me the paper.

  Ichmad,

  You’ve left me no choice. I’m leaving the country to help our people. Don’t try to look for me because we are no longer brothers. You’re dead to me.

  Abbas

  I heard the car door open and Nora got into the back seat. I felt like I’d been kicked in the face with steel-toed boots.

  Nora was chatty the whole way. Luckily Fadi answered her. I could barely concentrate.

  ‘That’s our village,’ he said.

  ‘Quite the hill.’ Nora leaned in and craned her head between the front bucket seats.

  ‘Most Arab villages are built on hills,’ he said.

  ‘Better views?’

  ‘Of the enemy.’ Fadi shrugged. ‘Many people have tried to conquer us – the Romans, the Turks, the British, to name a few – but in the end, we sent them all home.’ He pulled into our village and proceeded slowly up the road.

  Everything was the same: the clusters of mud-brick one-room houses, the dirt paths, the barefoot children playing in the streets, women washing their laundry on washboards in metal tubs, laundry hanging on lines, goats and chickens running around.

  ‘Each family builds its own house,’ Fadi said. ‘There’s a special mould we use to make the bricks.’

  Everywhere I looked I saw flies, poverty and crumbling homes. The stench of open sewage and donkey dung was more pungent than I remembered.

  As the car approached our house, Fadi blared the horn. People emerged from their homes to see us – everyone knew I was returning with my bride. Mama ran over crying. She hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, ‘You have to bring him back. Don’t marry her. He’ll never come back.’

  Nora still hadn’t got out of the car. She let me go to Nadia, who hugged me. ‘He’s gone,’ she whispered. Scattered behind Nadia were her husband, three children and seven stepchildren. I felt Nora grab my hand and I turned, forcing a smile.

  Baba looked content, sitting on the stone wall strumming his oud and belting out a welcome home song accompanied by Abu Sayyid on violin. The village dabkeh group, dressed in their matching black satin trousers and white satin blouses with red cummerbunds, stamped their feet and jumped in the air. Villagers gathered around the table of sweets, others danced.

  Dressed in a black robe with red geometric embroidery on the front panel, Mama had refused to look at Nora.

  ‘Mama? This is Nora.’

  Mama looked her directly in the eyes. ‘Can’t you find someone Jewish?’

  ‘That’s enough, Mama.’ I turned towards Nora and said in English, ‘She’s a bit blunt. Once she gets to know you things will change.’

  Nora smiled. ‘No harm done,’ she said.

  Baba finished his song, came over, hugged me and, without hesitation, also embraced Nora. ‘Welcome! Welcome, daughter. We’re so happy to have you in the family. The song we just played, I wrote for you and Ichmad.’

  Nadia’s children and stepchildren surrounded Nora. They hugged and kissed her checks and stroked her hair. Nora got down on her knees and gave them lollipops. She was laughing and smiling. I had a sick feeling in my gut.

  After the introductions were made and the greetings finished, Mama went inside.

  ‘Where’s Abbas?’ Nora said.

  ‘He’s not here right now,’ I said.

  Nora and I followed Nadia to the courtyard. The children held Nora’s hands and danced in a circle.

  ‘Attention! Attention! Honourable guests.’ Baba used his hands to make a megaphone. ‘You are all invited to my son Ichmad’s wedding on Friday. Please help me welcome his lovely fiancée Nora into our family and share in our joy.’ The women ululated and Nora smiled.

  Nora stayed in a room in my parents’ home and I slept at Uncle Kamal’s.

  ***

  After breakfast, Nora and I climbed up the almond tree that I had told her so much about. She wanted to look through the telescope I’d made long ago. She pointed it at Moshav Dan.

  ‘You guys are crammed into land caked in filth and grease,’ she said. ‘Carbonic acid is bubbling from your ground while the moshav has abundant fertile land, and they’ve surrounded you on three sides so that your village can’t expand. How many people are crammed in here?’

  ‘Over 10,000,’ I said.

  ‘How much land do you have left?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I swallowed.

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said.

  ‘About .02 of a square kilometre.’

  ‘They’re doing the same thing in the occupied territories,’ Nora said. ‘They’re confiscating the fertile land on the perimeter and building settlements on it that strangle the Arab villages.’

  Why did Abbas have to leave like that? If he’d only taken the time to meet Nora, he would have loved her.

  She pointed the telescope at the slaughterhouse. ‘Look at that black smoke blowing into your village. I’m covered in soot.’ She aimed the telescope at the cattle race. ‘Those poor animals. I can hear their cries from here.’

  ‘Why don’t we go inside?’ I said. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘After that huge breakfast you had?’ She moved the telescope in the direction of the West Bank.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead. ‘Please Nora, I’m really thirsty.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said without putting the telescope down. ‘There are soldiers everywhere. They have the people lined up at a checkpoint. Do they keep all the Palestinians in pens here?’

  Shots were fired in the camp and there was smoke.

  Nora immediately looked there with the telescope.

  ‘We’d better get down,’ I said. ‘People will be coming over to meet you.’

  I took the telescope from her and we climbed down.

  ***

  Family and friends flocked to the house. Nora was polite and respectful and liked by everyone. When she complimented Um Osammah on her necklace, she took it off and insisted Nora have it. Nadia’s brood drew Nora pictures, Baba painted a portrait of her and hung it on the wall, and Mama avoided her.

  ***

  ‘This is for you.’ Nora handed Mama a box.

  Mama took it and eyed it suspiciously. ‘What is this?’

  ‘A present for you,’ Nora said.

  I had no idea what it was. Mama opened it and pulled out a dress embroidered with gardens of geometric flowers. It looked so youthful
next to Mama, whose face was a tapestry of wrinkles. She held the dress out, staring as if her eyes couldn’t believe its beauty.

  ‘This is the pattern of my people,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘How did you find it?’

  ‘I described where you were from to a Palestinian seamstress I found, and she created this,’ Nora said. ‘I had it made especially for you.’

  Mama’s thank you was cold.

  Nora turned towards Baba. ‘And this is for you.’ Nora handed Baba a wrapped present.

  ‘Thank you, daughter.’ Baba smiled.

  It was an oversized art book in Arabic of the Masters – Monet, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Picasso. Baba carefully flipped through the pages then pulled the book close to his chest. ‘A thousand thanks,’ Baba said. ‘This is my most treasured book.’ He sat at the kitchen table and flipped through the pages, stopping at Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ to marvel at it.

  Mama came in carrying a wedding dress. ‘This is for you to wear. Don’t get it dirty because it’s only rented. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone you’re Jewish.’ It was a traditional wedding dress with several gold-embroidered layers, which were decorated and trimmed with an abundance of coins and jewellery.

  ***

  After morning prayer, Nadia and some other women, except Mama, congregated in the back of the house behind the almond tree to begin food preparations. Women gathered around large shallow circular pans chopping parsley, cutting tomatoes, making date, cheese and nut fillings. Nadia prepared the dough, mixing, kneading and working it into circles of about thirty-six centimetres in diameter; others hovered around the five small fire pits cooking rice and goat yogurt, and worked the outdoor oven. Wood and manure heated the metal plate on which the flat rocks were placed to bake the bread. Nora sat among them kneading dough.

  Under the almond tree were crates of tomatoes, cucumbers and oranges. Upon seeing me, the women began to ululate. Mama worked inside alone.

  In front of the house, Fadi and Hani carried a velour love-seat to the far end of the courtyard next to where the band was setting up. The rest of the area was left open for dancing, except for the perimeter where white sheets were laid on the ground to serve as tables. At the bottom of the hill men lined long wooden benches along the side of the road. With everyone hard at work, Baba and I left for the tea house to drink coffee and play backgammon. It would be the only time we’d be alone together before I became a married man.