Bitter Almonds (14 page)

An older neighbor announced a round of free hot tea for everyone in the café. ‘My son is in infantry. I bet he's heading his troop and will be the first to set foot in Tel Aviv.'

Another man shouted from his corner, ‘My nephew is with the air force. His jetfighter will fly over the city first.'

Elation filled the air. Cheers could be heard from the streets at all times. People broke out in jubilant cries as news of the three Arab armies' advancement to liberate Palestine poured in. Waleed recounted some of the happenings in the café to Fatimah when he returned home, further fueling her hopes and aspirations.

Despite Fatimah's intense worry about Omar's fate, she couldn't help dreaming about moving back to their father's house in Jerusalem. She talked about it many times. Waleed was confident the joined forces of the three Arab armies would wipe out the Israeli army. He and everyone else. Military statements on the radio confirmed victory was imminent. Patriotic songs filled the air between updates. Um Kulthoom, the famous singer, ignited nationalistic ardor with her passionate voice and zealous words. Other entertainers pitched in, some adored by younger crowds, including the young singer Abdul Haleem whom Nadia worshipped. Every Palestinian refugee, young or old, rode the euphoric wave; they would soon return home.

Lounging in her husband's arms, Fatimah tilted her head and traced a finger along Waleed's jaw. ‘Do you think my father's house is still standing?'

Waleed murmured unintelligible words, struggling to stay awake.

Fatimah flipped to her side and kissed his chin. ‘Do you?'

He opened his eyes. ‘Don't know.'

‘I remember the way the house smelled at dawn. The fragrance from the orange and lemon trees in our grove mixed with thyme and olive oil. Every morning, my mother baked thyme bread for Father before he left to work in the orchard.'

‘Thyme bread sounds good right now.' Waleed licked his lips. ‘Do we have any?'

Fatimah sighed. ‘I'll bake in the morning.'

‘Why not now?' He nuzzled her neck. ‘I'm hungry.'

‘I'm not fiddling in the kitchen in the middle of the night. What would your mother think?'

‘My mother thinks I'm the luckiest man alive.' He ran a hand up her leg. ‘Want to make me hungrier so it would be worthwhile?' His voice was husky and seductive.

Fatimah wiggled out of his arms and rested her back on the headboard. ‘I'm trying to tell you something. It's important.'

Waleed's hand went under her nightgown. ‘More important than me?'

‘You're impossible.' She playfully kicked him away. ‘I'm serious. Will you listen?'

Waleed scrambled onto his hands and knees, bringing his head forward. ‘Listening.'

She held his face in her palms. ‘Do you know why I asked you about my father's house?'

‘You would have your home back, Fatimah. I promise to build it again if it's razed to the ground.'

‘Good.' She dropped her hands to her belly. ‘Because I want our baby to be born on my father's land.'

It took Waleed several seconds to process what she had said. When comprehension dawned, his eyes widened. He put his hand over hers. ‘Are you sure?' He choked on his words.

She nodded. ‘Three months.'

Waleed jumped off the bed and ran out of the bedroom. ‘Um Waleed!' He called out for his mother. ‘I'm going to be a father!'

‘If it's a boy, we will name him Fawzi, after my father, of course.' Waleed informed Mama the following morning, handing her a plate of the best
kanafeh
dessert his mother had ever made.

Serving dessert in the morning was an exception, in celebration of the great news. It was also Mama's first outing while in mourning.
Wearing a black dress and a white scarf draped over both shoulders, she beamed at her son-in-law. ‘Of course. And if it's a girl?'

‘Mariam,' Fatimah answered, her voice firm and unwavering. ‘My mother's name.'

Giving up on using a fork, little Farah licked her fingers, producing unappetizing noises. ‘Fatimah, your father is dead too. Why not name your son after him?'

Fatimah gave Farah a motherly smile, soft and serene. ‘It's the son's right to pass on the name of his father, not the daughter's.'

Farah turned to Sameera. ‘When you have a son, Shareef is going to be Abu Mustafa?'

Mama dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

Sameera patted Farah's head. ‘It won't be soon.' Her words fell flat. A string of cheese dangled from her lower lip. ‘Shareef isn't ready to have children yet.'

Innocent of the workings of Sameera's marriage, Farah tried to play with the cheese string. ‘Why not?'

Huda swatted Farah's hand away. ‘This is not the right conversation for someone your age.' Huda's sharp voice added weight to the air in the room. ‘Eat your
kanafeh
and stay out of the adults' affairs.'

‘What was your father's name, Fatimah?' Unfazed, Farah ran her tongue up her wrist, following a drop of sweet syrup. ‘I don't think I've heard it before.'

‘Jamal. Jamal Ali Bakry.' Fatimah's pride mixed with amusement in her tone.

‘Omar will be Abu Jamal, then?'

Nadia followed the conversation from her corner. She lifted her head when Omar's name was mentioned. ‘Could we turn on the radio, please? We missed the nine o'clock news.'

‘Right.' Waleed put his plate down. He turned on the radio, raising the volume all the way.

Um Waleed motioned for him to bring it down a notch. ‘It's the same news, anyway.'

Waleed complied, but stayed by the radio, one ear to the news and the other to the women.

‘May Allah bestow victory on our troops soon.' Um Waleed raised her palms toward the ceiling. ‘When they reach Tel Aviv, I swear I will put henna on my hair and dance on the roof.' She turned to Mama. ‘You will have to forgive me, my dear.'

‘I will stop wearing black and join you as soon as Omar makes it home.'

Waleed's curse penetrated the women's talk, silencing Mama. He cranked up the volume.

News of a major setback of the Egyptian army broke in. Abdul Hakim Amer, the Egyptian army chief commander, had issued orders for a tactical retreat from Sinai toward Suez Canal.

Fatimah sprang out of her seat. ‘What happened?'

As if the broadcaster had heard her question, his heavy voice, lacking the luster and passion of the previous six days, continued with the bulletin. Having destroyed the majority of Egyptian jetfighters during the first aerial strike, Israeli air forces delivered a devastating blow to tanks and artillery on the ground, inflicting heavy casualties among troops.

Staring at the radio in disbelief, Waleed put his hands on his head. ‘God have mercy. This is a disaster.'

More disturbing news followed. The same scenario happened on the Syrian front. Without aerial cover, Syrian troops faltered. The Golan Heights fell to the Israelis.

‘Why the hell is it the first time we are hearing about this?' Waleed shouted at no one in particular.

Fatimah went to his side. ‘Is this true? Were they lying to us? Or are they lying now?'

‘Maybe the BBC has better coverage.' Waleed's hands shook while turning the radio dial.

A BBC reporter confirmed the alarming news, adding that Israel had taken over the West Bank and eastern Jerusalem as well.

Waleed slid to the floor, his knees unable to carry the weight of this tragic turn. Fatimah dropped down next to him. ‘This can't be,' she wailed. ‘The past week lies? All lies?'

Um Waleed launched into a series of damning prayers, asking for God's wrath to descend on everyone responsible, blasting to eternal damnation the Israelis, misleading politicians, Arab radio reporters with their false propaganda, all the way to Jamal Abdul Nasser himself.

Mama fell into a state of catatonia, her eyes fixed on a point in the space between the radio and Fatimah's head.

Nadia wrapped her arms around her mother. ‘Omar will be all right,' she repeated over and over, then nodded at Sameera. ‘And your brother, Ahmad.'

Sameera broke down crying.

Huda, the first to recover from the shock, knelt beside Fatimah and urged her to her feet. ‘Waleed, help me take her to bed. This is not good for her.'

Huda's commanding tone brought everyone out of their daze. In a strange way, there was something sensible in her aggravating voice. Her unflinching attitude solidified the revealed intelligence. Yes, this was happening. The three Arab armies were defeated.

Back at home, Nadia opened the door to let Shareef in, his face solemn.

‘Everyone is in total shock. People are gathering in the streets. No one knows what to do.' He dropped on the sofa and rubbed his neck. ‘I guess I better go to the bank. Withdraw as much cash as possible.'

‘Why?' Nadia asked.

‘We have to get out of here.'

She held on to the doorjambs with both hands. ‘I thought our armies were on the outskirts of Tel Aviv. You think the Israelis will reach Damascus instead?'

He nodded. ‘Their air fighters might try, and we don't have the means to stop them. What we heard on the news was all propaganda to boost morale.'

‘Where would we go?' Her voice vanished on the last word.

Mama marched into the room. ‘We are not going anywhere.'

He jumped off the sofa. ‘I'm the man of this family. I have to protect everyone and I say we should head north, away from the capital.'

Mama crossed both arms over her chest. ‘We are staying here until Omar comes back.'

‘There have been heavy casualties. Omar might never return.'

Mama staggered a couple of steps back, Shareef's words landing like slaps across her face.

Nadia went to her side and held her in her arms. ‘You don't know that.'

Shareef lifted his arms to his sides, then dropped them in exasperation. ‘I can't find out if he's alive or where he is. No one can. Sameera's brothers tried to find out about Ahmad. Nothing. Reports are coming in that bombing Damascus is imminent. The Israelis are coming. We can't stay here.'

‘Let them come!' Mama shouted, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘We lost our home once. Let them try to take this one too, and let them see what will happen. Let them try!'

Nadia stroked her mother's shoulders. ‘Please calm down.'

At that moment, Huda walked in through the front door. ‘I heard your voices from the street. What's going on?'

‘How's Fatimah?' Mama asked, her voice raspy.

‘Better. She will be fine once her nerves calm. Waleed should keep her from listening to the news. What's the shouting about?'

Mama swung a hand in Shareef's direction. ‘Your brother wants us to flee the city.'

Shareef rounded on Huda. ‘Tell her. She won't believe me. They might drop bombs over our heads any minute now.'

‘That's true.'

He turned to his mother. ‘See? We can't wait for Omar. God only knows what happened to him.'

Huda narrowed her eyes. ‘If you want to run, then take your wife and go. I'm planning to volunteer at the hospital to help the wounded.' She put a hand on Nadia's shoulder. ‘I came to see if you would like to join me? They need hands. I know you can handle it.'

‘It's the least I can do.' Nadia kissed her mother's hand. ‘Your blessings, Mama?'

‘Go.' Mama headed to the door. ‘I will talk to the neighbors to gather blankets and other essentials.'

Huda threw Shareef one of her dagger-like sneers. ‘They're calling for people to donate blood.' She swept him with her eyes from head to toe. ‘You can spare some, I'm sure.'

 

20

Strong smells challenged Nadia to keep the contents of her stomach in check. Disinfectant odors mixed with the metallic scent of blood and threatened her willpower. Because she lacked medical training, she was assigned to one of the registration stations receiving blood donors at the main hospital in the city center. Stiffening her body in order to stay in control, she jotted down the names and ages of men filing in. The depressing news had aged their faces considerably.

Huda disappeared into the hospital to help nurses with the influx of injured soldiers coming in from the military hospital. Army doctors sent mild cases to local hospitals in order to manage the overflow.

Concentrating on her work, Nadia flipped to a new page in the register. Without lifting her head, she asked the same question for the thousandth time since she arrived.

‘Name?'

‘Marwan Barady.'

Nadia's hand froze on the white page. She lifted her head. Omar's friend? He had his eyes on his wallet, taking out his civil registration card. A scowl creased his forehead. Handing his card over, he met her eyes.

‘Nadia?' Surprise added a tremor to his deep voice. He looked around. ‘Are you here by yourself?'

Taken aback by his condescending question, Nadia wrote down his specifications in the register. ‘Huda is inside the hospital with the nurses.' She gave him a defiant stare. ‘I'm old enough to do my share.'

Marwan shifted his weight, embarrassed or impatient. She couldn't tell.

‘Right.' He held her gaze. ‘I wondered if Shareef was also here. I plan to go over to the military hospital once I am done to ask about . . .' He swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Nadia arched her eyebrows.

‘To see if they needed help there,' he continued. ‘I could take Shareef with me.'

‘It's best not to wait for Shareef. I have no idea if he'll show up.' She handed him back his card. ‘Do you have relatives in the army?'

‘Three cousins.' Marwan nodded, twisting his mouth sideways.

What did he mean by that expression? If only she had more experience reading men. ‘I pray for their safe return.'

‘Thank you.' He slipped his card in his wallet. ‘I tried to enlist, but they wouldn't take me.'