Bitter Almonds (11 page)

Nadia remained close to the entrance. A girl with blood-red lips draped a fuchsia sweater over Nadia's shoulder. ‘See? This shade of pink goes quite well with your complexion.'

‘It's lovely.' Not letting go of her books, Nadia slid the sweater off and pushed it into her friend's hands. ‘Better on you.'

‘I know you can't afford it. I can lend you money. You must get it. You haven't bought anything for Eid yet.'

Nadia's blush deepened and the tips of her fingers turned white around the books she held. ‘I'm not a little girl. I don't need something new for the holiday.'

‘I will buy it, then.' Her friend spread the sweater over her chest and looked at herself in the mirror. ‘It does look better on me. My skin tone is rosier than yours.'

Marwan cleared his throat and approached the antagonizing, rude young woman. ‘I'm afraid you have to find something else. This is the last piece and it's already sold.' He took the sweater from her hands and passed it to his assistant. ‘You left this out by mistake.'

Without hesitation, the assistant folded the sweater, tucked it on a back rack and apologized. Red Lips joined her friends further into the store to look for an alternative.

Marwan approached Nadia. ‘Is Omar coming home for Eid?'

‘He called yesterday and said he wasn't granted a break.' She knotted her eyebrows. ‘Can you believe that? It's Eid! Everyone takes a vacation.'

‘The academy has its own schedule. They can't let everyone go home at once.' He shoved his hands in his pockets when he caught the others staring at them. ‘Does your family need anything?'

‘No, thank you.' She passed him. ‘I have to get home. Are you girls done?'

The one with smudged eyelids pulled on Nadia's arm. ‘Do you know him?'

He stepped closer and answered before Nadia could say anything. ‘I'm friends with her brother. And for that, you all get a good discount.'

The girls snatched scarves, blouses, and cardigans off hangers and piled them on the counters with enthusiasm, as if competing in a race. They giggled and babbled about patterns, trendy colors and styles, making more noise. Nadia hung in the background, her hands occupied with her books. She met Marwan's gaze and quickly looked away. Her self-composed smile lit up his entire store.

Nadia walked into the house and took off her shoes, her feet in need of a hot soaking. The smell of freshly baked sweets filled the living room. She went into the kitchen. Mama was sitting on the floor with Salma and Farah. Oven trays filled with date-stuffed cookies were spread around them.

Mama lifted her head, sweat glistening on her neck. ‘Finally, you're here. Quick, come clean the kitchen. Your sisters made a big mess.'

‘If I had known you were going to bake
ma'moul
all afternoon, I would not have gone with my friends to Souk Elhamedieh.'

‘Huda was helping and then she rushed out for work, mumbling something about a new client not from around here. I expect she will be late tonight. Did you have a good time?'

‘It was crazy crowded.' Nadia changed out of her uniform and sent her sisters to play at the neighbors'. She got to work, ignoring her aching
feet. Mama baked the last batch of
ma'moul
and went to wash, leaving her to clean greasy trays and flour-covered counters. She was about to sweep the floor when the doorbell rang.

A young boy stood before her, bundles of brown paper in his hands. ‘Delivery from Omar Bakry.'

‘Wait here.' Nadia dashed to the kitchen, wrapped a handful of cookies in a clean towel and returned to the boy. She took his load and handed him coins with the dessert. ‘Thank you.'

Mama came out of her room, showered and dressed in a clean dress. ‘Who was it?'

‘Omar sent gifts, Mama. Can you believe it? He couldn't come, but didn't forget to send Eid gifts.' Nadia unwrapped the top bundle. ‘Look at these shirts.'

Mama held a shirt in each hand. ‘Perfect for your father and Shareef.'

Nadia opened the rest of the packages one by one. ‘This blouse fits Huda, I think. Dresses for Salma and Farah. And this scarf must be for you.' She opened the last gift. Her hands shook as she pulled out a fuchsia sweater. She dropped on a chair, her heart doing somersaults behind her ribs.

Mama fingered the items. ‘How do you think Omar managed this?'

Nadia blinked. ‘It's possible he asked his friend Marwan Barady to send them.'

‘Omar must have been saving for a while. He thinks of everything, that boy.' Mama tried the scarf around her shoulders. ‘If Marwan picked them out, he has good taste.'

Nadia buried her flaming face in the fine sweater. ‘Yes, Mama. He does.'

16

At the academy, Omar received word from Uncle Mustafa that Shareef's marriage contract was scheduled for the following day. Bringing Uncle Mustafa around to the idea hadn't been that difficult. The man knew his son's shortcomings, and though outraged by Shareef's callous misconduct, he didn't seem surprised. Omar didn't know how Mama Subhia took the news, however, having left right after his private talk with Uncle Mustafa.

There was no way Omar could ask for a day break. The reason wouldn't convince his superiors to give him an exception. The political climate was tense, and it reflected off every officer's grim face. Israeli raids across the West Bank, aerial clashes over Syrian territory, and threats to thwart Nasser's power had added to the tension, bringing the possibility of war closer to certainty. Everyone held their breath in anticipation. Omar was living on a different plain than the one Shareef occupied. His was filled with political analysis and patriotic discussions. War loomed and darkened his skies. Shareef's plain was anchored in normalcy. Marriage opened doors to life's natural cycle. Omar could not have felt more removed if he tried. Immersed in grueling training, he had to tell himself things would go as planned and waited to receive a reassuring phone call from Huda. When he was summoned into his supervising officers' quarters that Thursday afternoon, he was surprised to see Waleed waiting for him, permission for an emergency leave in his hands.

‘What's going on?' Omar asked as soon as they left the academy.

‘A disaster.' Waleed walked fast, ushering Omar into a taxi. ‘Shareef didn't show up as planned this morning. All the men waited, even the notary clerk. But he is nowhere to be found.'

‘The goddamn coward,' Omar exploded.

‘I thought you might know where to look for him, who his friends are?' Waleed scratched his head. ‘I told your superior officer that Uncle Mustafa's health was bad and that he was asking for you.' Waleed shook his head. ‘I wasn't lying.'

‘Have you taken him to a doctor?'

‘He's bed-ridden, Omar. I brought the doctor to him. It's bad.'

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Omar braced himself. ‘What did the doctor say?'

‘His heart gave way when Shareef didn't show up.'

‘A mule. A goddamn mule.' Omar spit out the curse, ignoring the driver's disapproving scowl.

‘I had to leave to come get you. Your next-door neighbor stayed in case they needed anything.' Waleed glanced at the taxi driver and lowered his voice. ‘That's not all. Sameera's brothers are searching for Shareef. You know what that means?'

Omar ran a hand over his cropped hair. ‘It means we better find him before they do.'

‘I can take a guess at the reason behind their outrage, something other than the . . . public humiliation?'

Omar nodded.

‘You should have told me. I'm family now.'

‘A matter like that, the fewer people involved, the better.' Omar didn't hide his frustration. ‘Besides, I didn't want Fatimah to know.'

‘Well, the whole neighborhood knows now.'

Omar took in a sharp breath. ‘The girl? She all right?'

Waleed threw his hands in the air. ‘God only knows. I'm still hoping we can salvage the situation if we find him soon and come up with a valid excuse.'

‘Like he was hit by a bus?'

‘Something like that. But it has to look convincing.'

Omar slammed a fist into his hand. ‘Oh, it will be convincing, for sure. Once I lay my hands on the dumb ass.'

Waleed's eyes scanned the street outside his window. ‘Where should we start?' His tone shifted, became business-like.

‘Come to think of it, let them find him. The shithead deserves what's coming to him.'

‘I would agree with you if it wouldn't kill his father. Now, stop reacting and start thinking.'

‘Goddamn it!' Omar shouted. ‘We are on the verge of war and the egotistic rake is running after his whims.' He scooted forward and touched the driver's shoulder, directing him home. He turned to Waleed. ‘You should be by Uncle Mustafa's side. They need you there. I will look for Shareef. I think I know where to find him.'

‘And when you do?'

I'll hand him over to Sameera's brothers, Omar wanted to say. ‘Something will come to me.' He prayed for this to be true.

Trying the couple of places Omar had in mind where Shareef usually hung around turned out to be a waste of time. He searched anywhere he could think of, starting with the main hospitals and police stations to ease his mind and clear his conscience. He then checked the library at Shareef's precious university campus, the mosques he seldom frequented, the secluded place on top of Qassyoon Mountain, even a few seedy cafés. No one had seen him. In some places, Omar was told three men also stopped by asking for Shareef.

Omar needed help. He headed to Marwan's place, hoping he would know who Shareef's new friends from the university were, and that at least one of them could have an idea where he was hiding. Besides, Marwan had a car, and Omar had run out of bus fare money.

*   *   *

Toward the end of the night, and after tracking down Shareef's friends one by one, Omar and Marwan were able to get a lead. A bar on the outskirts of the city.

Parking his car a distance from the White Tulip Night Club, Marwan turned off the engine. ‘I can't go in there.'

A neon sign announcing the belly dancer Blazing Zahira glared in Omar's face. ‘I understand. Don't wait out here, either. Someone might recognize you. You have a reputation to protect.' He opened the car door. ‘Go home.'

‘I'm not leaving.' Marwan pointed toward a dark spot. ‘I'll park under the trees up ahead.'

‘I owe you.' Omar got out of the car.

‘Wait,' Marwan called after him. He stuck his hand out his window and handed Omar a roll of bills. ‘In case they don't let you in.'

Omar stared at him in confusion.

‘You don't fit the type who frequents these places.'

Omar looked down at his clothes. He was still in his green fatigues, his dirty, low-ranking, star-free cadet uniform. Not even an officer could afford a place like this. He tucked the money in his pocket, thanked his friend and headed for the door.

Marwan was right, Omar had to pay his way in. The stench of
nargileh
smoke hit him hard in the crowded place. Men gathered in groups in front of a stage, clouds of fruit-flavored tobacco smoke hanging over their heads. Fruit, and God only knew what else. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light and then inched forward. Loud
dirbakkeh
beats vibrated the floor under his feet. On stage, a couple of men created the throbbing rhythm by beating small drums balanced on their knees and tucked under their arms.

Meandering around, Omar searched for Shareef, pretending the stifling atmosphere didn't faze him, like he was a frequent customer. When the voluptuous Blazing Zahira came on stage, he stopped, found a dark corner and watched her move her body in ways that made him
dizzy. He wasn't naive. Spending time on the streets with guys from all walks of life, he had seen enough pictures of naked women get passed around. But he had never seen a belly dancer, provocatively clad in a see-through red outfit, perform live before his eyes. Half way through her sensuous dance, he checked that his mouth wasn't hanging open and willed himself to continue his search. He finally spotted Shareef, sitting with a couple of men, drinking.

Omar studied his companions and decided they were intoxicated enough he could handle them with ease should they interfere.

Riveted by the dancer, Shareef didn't see Omar approach. He circled Shareef's arm and whispered close to his ear at the same time, ‘Come with me.'

Shareef gaped at him with his mouth open, the strong stink of alcohol on his breath.

‘Get the hell up.' He tugged at Shareef's arm.

‘What?' Shareef narrowed his red eyes, trying to focus. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Saving your ass.' Omar used his other arm to pull Shareef to his feet. ‘Don't make a scene.'

Stumbling through the crowd, he dragged Shareef with little effort and they made their way out. Blazing Zahira kept the men busy. No one seemed to notice Shareef's objections, not even his drinking buddies. The fresh air gave Shareef the strength to yank his arm from Omar's grip. The move, however, unbalanced him and he fell, his face hitting the pavement.

Good, Omar thought. One convincing bruise, more to come. He waited for him to get back on his feet and pushed him toward Marwan's car.

‘What do you want from me?' Shareef shouted. ‘Where are you taking me?'

‘You know where.' Omar struggled to keep his voice low.

Shareef planted his feet apart and crossed his arms. ‘No, I am not going there. I am not marrying her.' He swayed from side to side like a tree branch on a windy day.

Omar slammed his fist in Shareef's face hard enough to send him a couple of feet back and to the ground again. ‘Do you have any idea what you have done, fool?' Omar exploded.

Marwan jumped out of the car and ran to stop him from pummeling Shareef, who rolled into a ball and started crying. ‘This is not the place,' Marwan urged. ‘Come. Get him in the car and let's get out of here.'