Bitter Almonds (21 page)

Faint scars from his war injuries spread all over his left side. She ran her fingertips over the raised lines, then turned her attention to his leg. Blood soaked the area covering his left knee. She bent over and tried to roll his pant leg to expose the cut. The fabric wouldn't pass his calf.

‘Of all the days, Omar. You chose today to do this?' She slammed her lap in frustration. ‘When no one is here but me?'

With shaking hands, she fumbled with his belt buckle and fly zipper, her eyes blurry with tears. ‘I can't believe I am doing this.'

Determined to get the bleeding gash on his knee under control, she gathered her red skirt between her legs and straddled him, grabbed the sides of his pants and pulled to bring them down his hips. Once part of his underwear showed, she stopped, wiped more tears off her face.

‘Don't you dare come around now. I will die of shame.' She closed her eyes and tugged again.

‘What do you think you're doing?' Huda's voice froze Nadia in place. Her eyes flew open. She swung her head around.

Huda stood in the doorframe, the look on her face too scary to decipher.

‘Thank God you're here.' Nadia let go of Omar's pants and got off him. ‘Help me.'

Approaching, Huda's eyes ran over Omar head to toe. ‘How long has he been out?'

‘Several minutes. I don't know.' Nadia pointed at his knee. ‘See? He cut himself really badly twisting on the floor.'

Huda grabbed a pillow off the bed, threw it down and knelt on it. ‘Well, for one thing, I'm not helping you undress him.' She leveled cold eyes on her. ‘Surprised you managed to get this far.'

She swallowed. ‘He is . . . he is bleeding. Has cuts all over.'

‘I can see that.' Huda ripped apart Omar's pant leg from the thigh down, exposing his bleeding knee.

Nadia pressed the back of her hands to her flaming cheeks. ‘I didn't think of that.'

‘Bring me my bag.' Huda's tone sounded threatening rather than commanding. With precise movements, she extracted a sizable piece of glass from Omar's wound. More blood gushed out. She used cotton gauze from her bag, grabbed Nadia's hand and placed it on the wound. ‘Apply pressure while I wrap a bandage.'

Warm blood trickled between Nadia's fingers. She turned her head to the side and swallowed several times to steady her nerves.

Once Huda was done, she nodded. ‘There, this should hold.'

‘Oh God, I forgot.' Nadia wiped her blood-stained hand on what was left of the towel, gathered Huda's things and stuffed them in her bag. ‘Quick, you have to go to Fatimah. Mama is there already. They need you.'

Huda sprang to her feet. ‘She bleeding again?'

Nadia shook her head. ‘I don't know. Mama said to send you over as soon as you came home.'

Huda pointed at Omar. ‘Keep him warm. Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids when he wakes up.' She headed to the door. ‘And don't tell him I was here. I will never be able to look him in the eye again. Not after seeing him in that state.' Huda slammed the front door shut.

Nadia blinked. What did she mean? What state? She studied Omar, his open shirt barely covering one shoulder, his pants half way down his hips, his thigh exposed by the huge tear in his pant leg. Almost naked, tight abs detailed, bulging muscles defined by damp skin, Omar could
have jumped out of one of her adventure books. How come she hadn't noticed that before?

A sound emanated from Omar's throat.

Heavens, he was waking up. Fearing he might see her gawking at him, she rushed to drape a blanket over him. She took in the chaos around her. Shattered plates and broken glasses, crumbs of the baklava that had been served earlier in the evening, and drops of blood splattered everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hair and went to work.

25

Swooshing sounds penetrated Omar's dark world. He opened his eyes. Where was he? A crooked crack in the ceiling didn't orient his muddled mind. He turned his head toward the strange sound. A pair of shapely smooth legs blocked his view. He blinked, his eyes traveling up a woman's red skirt to her hips, swaying right to left. A dancer? Blazing Zahira? Was he in the White Tulip Night Club? He shot up to a sitting position. A blanket dropped off him, revealing his bare chest.

‘What's going on?' His voice cracked, his mouth dry.

The woman turned, a broom in her hands. ‘You're awake.'

Nadia? He scrambled to his feet; the blanket fell to the floor and his pants threatened to follow. He clutched the sides just in time, his mind racing to focus. ‘What the hell?'

‘I did it.'

His left knee buckled and he stumbled down on the bed.

Nadia's fingers fluttered over the top button of her blouse. ‘I have never been this scared in my life.' She flattened her hand on her chest. ‘But I did it.'

Omar stared at her, tried to gather the fronts of his shirt with one hand, the other not letting go of his wide-open pants. ‘What?'

‘You were thrashing on the floor. Cut yourself everywhere on broken glass. I took care of your cuts.' She let the broom crash to the floor and stepped closer. ‘And you know how I can't handle seeing blood.'

He glanced at his bandaged arms and leg. Why was he exposed like that? God have mercy, what had he done? He worked his throat with difficulty. ‘I don't rememb—'

‘Sorry about your pants.' Nadia bit her lower lip. ‘It was easier to tear them.' Her cheeks turned red. ‘Easier than trying to pull your pants down.' She turned to the nightstand, hiding her face from his eyes.

He swallowed to wet his dry throat. Nadia undressed him? Like lightning, the thought shot energy through his half-naked body.

‘You should drink.' She handed him a glass of water. ‘You must have been carrying the service tray when the spasms happened.'

‘I remember trying to clean up.'

She sat next to him on the bed. ‘You shouldn't have.'

He pulled the blanket across his lap. There was no decent way he could zip his pants with her sitting this close, and no way could he walk to the bathroom in the condition he was in. He needed her out of the room. ‘Could you go get Mama Subhia, please?'

‘She's not here. No one is.'

He emptied the glass in one gulp.

‘Don't try to help me again,' Nadia whispered, her brown eyes wide and earnest, her lips red and moist.

Omar pulled the blanket higher on his waist. Shit. Where did his filthy mind wander? His body couldn't handle having Nadia this close without reacting like a love-struck schoolboy? Shaming him?

Nadia got off the bed and retrieved the broom. ‘Let me clean this mess and I will leave you to rest.'

His movements stiff and painful, he placed the empty glass on the nightstand and stretched on his side, making sure the blanket covered him well. He watched Nadia sweep the room, her swaying hips stealing his breath. Like a bull fighting in its arena, Nadia in her red skirt became his matador. His exhausted and confused body reacted to every move she made, every twist of her hand, every flick of her hair, every
tap and step. In the back of his dirty mind, crowds cheered Nadia on for the final plunge.

He closed his eyes. Blazing Zahira in her see-through dancing ensemble beckoned him with her liquid moves.
Dirbakkeh
drums beat in his ears, matching his racing pulse. The belly dancer had visited him often in his dreams, when he lay helpless in the hospital bed night after night. But she had Nadia's fascinating face, Nadia's tea and milk skin, Nadia's bouncing ponytail. At the time, he had blamed medications in his system for the scandalous visits. What excuse could he use now?

Nadia made a sound. A dainty low murmur.

He opened his eyes.

Reaching with her broom under one of the chairs, her posture allowed him a glimpse of cleavage.

Sweat drenched his chest and back. He was drowning, sinking to rock bottom. If only he could throw off the blanket. Or pass out again before his body pushed him to an embarrassing point.

‘Leave,' he managed the words, sounding rude and urgent.

‘Almost done,' Nadia sang. ‘I need to mop with water now.' Giving him her back, she bent forward to collect a dirt pile.

Perfect. What a match for the perverted man that he was, turned on by a broom in Nadia's hand. He rolled to his other side with difficulty, looked out the window, studied the girls' funny drawings on the walls, his eyes searching to land on anything but Nadia's roundness. His skin on fire, his muscles tight with anticipation, he ached. A desirable, pleasing kind of ache, persistent, escalating, engulfing the dull sensation of his cuts, dousing his nerves. Diving further away from the surface of dignified composure, a groan escaped his throat.

‘Can I get you anything?' Nadia's voice sounded closer, tantalizing, enticing, luring him to the brink of disgraceful surrender.

‘I need you to leave now.' Behind him, the mattress dipped with her weight. He held his breath.

Another sound emanated from her. A soft sigh.

He buried his face in his pillow. The bull yielded, teetered in his spot, about to fall.

‘What is it? Let me help you.'

Pulling the blanket over his head, he barked, ‘Get the hell out.'

At the crack of dawn, before anyone awoke, Omar slipped into the bathroom and bathed, scrubbing his skin raw. The hot water scorched his cuts. He didn't care. His core dirty, he couldn't get clean enough. How was he to perform Friday prayers? Stand before God, shoulder-to-shoulder with pure men, after the night he had spent immersed in filthy thoughts? Bathing purified his body, but how could he cleanse his mind? Should he not go to the mosque? Claim he wasn't well? A legitimate reason, for sure. But his doctor frequented that mosque, and he was supposed to evaluate him. If the doctor didn't see him return to normal activities, he would postpone his reinstatement. God help him, he needed to work, get busy, leave the house, stay away from Nadia as long as he could.

Returning to his room, he rifled through papers and dug out the last letter he had received from the Ministry of Defense, summoning him to report to his division the following Saturday and view his medical report. A week. Omar had a week to convince his doctor he was well enough.

The phone rang. Who would call this early? He opened his door and hurried to answer the phone in the living room.

Nadia beat him to it, wrapped in her night robe, her hair loose on her shoulders.

‘We'll be right there.' She ended the call.

‘Who?'

‘Waleed.' Nadia headed to her room, removing her robe on the way. ‘Fatimah was in labor all night. We need to go to the hospital.'

Omar stumbled after her. ‘I'm going now. I can't wait for everyone to get ready.'

‘There's no one here. Mama and Huda spent the night with Fatimah.' She closed the door in his face. ‘By the time you find a taxi, I will be ready.'

Omar limped to the waiting area, following Nadia. They found Waleed pacing around the room. A couple of men sat in a corner smoking.

‘They're all in there.' Waleed pointed down a long hall. ‘Huda will come out to let me know as soon as there's news.'

‘Doctor Anwar?' Omar needed confirmation that the expert doctor he had recommended a while ago had been called in.

‘Phoned him before we left the house. He made it here soon after we arrived.'

Omar nodded. His contacts had come through. One of the soldiers in his regimen was the good doctor's nephew. Omar patted the wallet in his back pocket. The money Mama Subhia had set aside for him would come in handy.

‘How is she?' Nadia asked.

‘Calm. Really calm.' Waleed rubbed his stubble-covered chin. ‘It's strange, you know?'

One of the men in the corner laughed. ‘Your first baby, huh?'

Omar scowled at the man shrouded in smoke.

‘My fifth,' the man said between puffs. ‘If she doesn't give me a boy this time, I'm going to find me a second wife.' He spread his lips wide, exposing a rectangular gap between his top teeth.

Waleed struck a conversation with the man, asking him about his wife's four births in this hospital.

Nadia grabbed Omar by the elbow and steered him to chairs under an open window. He rested his arms on his knees and stared at the floor. Nadia took the chair to his left.

‘I can't believe Waleed is asking this man about his wife like that.' She crossed her legs. ‘It isn't decent.'

‘Waleed is nervous. Better he stays engaged.' Omar glanced at the man. ‘Doesn't seem like the man is bothered by the questions.'

‘I still think it isn't right,' she whispered. ‘Those are private matters.'

Omar sat back. ‘Why didn't you tell me Fatimah was in labor all night?'

‘You needed your rest. Mama told me she would call when it was time.' Nadia waved her hand in the air. ‘And here we are.' She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side. ‘How's your knee?'

‘Stings a little when I bend it.' He studied her face, dark shadows under her eyes. ‘You're tired.'

‘I didn't sleep last night.'

He cleared his throat. ‘Why?'

‘I was waiting for Mama's call, waiting to see if you needed anything. I don't know. I just couldn't sleep.'

He left the chair, folded his arms over his chest and leaned his back against the wall. He studied the other man in the corner, chain-smoking and following Waleed's conversation with the toothless father. Every now and then, the man's beady eyes would dart to his.

If Omar took to the cigarette like everyone he knew, he would smother his nerves with nicotine too. Fatimah better come out of this all right. She was strong and healthy, delivering in a sterile hospital, under the care of a real doctor. Times had changed since his mother birthed him. Fatimah's baby would not kill his mother. Tasting blood in his mouth, he realized he had been chewing the inside of his cheek.