Bitter Almonds (28 page)

‘Tell him what?'

‘Oh, Mama. You know what I'm talking about.'

Mama joined her at the railing and placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘He must have,
habibti
. Omar wouldn't hide something like that from his friend.'

‘How can we be sure?'

‘Ask Omar when he gets home.'

‘Ask me what?'

Nadia did a swift turn. Omar filled the doorway, his face the same as that morning, dark and foreboding.

‘Didn't mean to interrupt, but I heard my name? I thought you called me.'

‘I'm glad you're here.' Mama pulled him to a chair. ‘Sit. Talk some sense into her, will you?'

He handed Mama the bag in his hand. ‘Roasted almonds.' He kissed her forehead. ‘Uncle Mustafa would have approved of Marwan, don't you think?'

Mama clutched the bag of almonds to her chest. ‘I'm sure of it.' She wiped under her eyes with the tips of her fingers and headed inside. ‘I'll make you something to eat.'

Omar leveled his gaze on Nadia. ‘What's going on?'

Nadia took back her chair. ‘What did Marwan say when you told him about . . . the problem?'

He straddled the other chair. ‘He didn't say a word. Traditional men like him don't talk about such matters. He wouldn't even let me finish my words. He's making a statement with his actions, though.'

She bowed her head. ‘What does that mean?'

‘He's bringing close to a hundred men from the Barady family and their acquaintances tomorrow to ask for your hand. You know how impressive that is?'

She ran the back of her hand under her chin, brushing away unexpected tears. Why couldn't she hold it together anymore? And why wasn't she impressed? What was missing?

‘You're crying? You should be happy. Families brag about the number of men accompanying a prospective groom, don't you know that?'

She shook her head. She didn't know and she didn't care.

‘It shows the groom's good standing in the community and how much he values the woman he seeks. Shareef will have plenty to gloat about among his friends.'

Lifting her head, she wiped away more tears. Why wasn't she happy, indeed? She searched Omar's close face for something that eluded her. Like the time she hid her valuable watch in a safe place then forgot where, she was plagued by the effort to remember. Restless now, she stared into Omar's bright blue eyes and found the hidden spot, but the item itself was lost to her. What was missing, Nadia? What was missing?

‘I don't want to marry before I get my diploma. Did you tell Marwan that?'

Omar sat back. ‘I did. You'll have to discuss those details further with him.'

A sense of urgency overwhelmed her, and she gripped Omar's knee. ‘But does he understand that?'

Omar shot to his feet, letting his chair crash against the railing. ‘What more do you want from me?'

Mama came back onto the balcony, carrying a tray of food and tea service. ‘Stop worrying,
habibti
. Everything is going according to plan.'

He straightened the chair and offered it to Mama.

She spread hummus on pita bread. ‘Do you have to leave tomorrow?'

‘Afraid so. I need to catch the three o'clock bus.'

‘And you can't tell us where this assignment is?'

‘North, is all I can say.'

Mama handed him the sandwich. ‘When will we see you again?'

‘I hope to get reinstated here in three months.'

Nadia held the teapot and filled glasses to the rim, her eyes blurry. Tiny tea leaves swirled around with the sugar spoon.

Omar. Omar was missing.

 

29

Preparations were well underway for the important event on Thursday. Women from the neighborhood crowded the kitchen. Mama Subhia and the girls removed furniture to make room for the influx of men. Omar helped as much as he could, unable to find a legitimate excuse to stay away from the house. At two in the afternoon, he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and said his goodbyes, kissing Mama Subhia on the forehead.

Nadia followed him to the stairwell. ‘I wish you didn't have to go.'

He paused on the top step and pulled out a small box wrapped in newspapers from his pocket. ‘I have something for you.'

‘What is this?'

‘To go with your dress. Sorry I won't be there.'

‘You don't have to give me gifts.' Her voice shook.

He took her hand and closed her fingers around the wrapped box. ‘I want you to have this. Happy birthday . . . and congratulations on your engagement.'

Nadia tore at the newspapers, lifted the cover off the small box and pulled out a chain holding a silver pendant. ‘Wings? You're giving me wings?'

‘Angel wings.' Backing away, he went down a couple of steps on the stairs. ‘And you've always had them.' He pointed at the dangling pendant in her trembling hand. ‘That's to remind you how lucky Marwan is.'

He turned and scurried down the steps, refusing to see more tears spill down Nadia's cheeks. The steps under his feet blurred. He ran a hand down his face and wiped his eyes. Damn!

Shareef met him at the bottom of the stairs. Omar thrust a firm hand to Shareef's throat. ‘You screw this up for Nadia, and you will wish you were never born.'

Shareef's eyes bulged and he gasped for air.

Omar let him go and left the building. He zigzagged his way through narrow alleys. Hitting the main streets, he picked up his pace, jogging past people on their way home from work, eager to start the weekend. He approached the bus depot and sprinted, ignoring the fact there wasn't a certain time for him to report anywhere, believing the lie he used to stay away. He ran to the station then bolted through it, and kept on running past the bus stop and along the roadside leading out of the city center. Crunching pebbles under his feet, he ran until his lungs burned, pushing his healing body too far. Spasms took hold of his abdominal muscles, and he doubled over on the side, hitting the dirt.

He lay on his back and waited for the trees to stop twirling. The world spun like the wheel of a water mill. A bird soared in the sky, spreading its wings wide. He followed it with his eyes as long as he could.

Curious men approached. Rising to his feet, he hugged his duffle bag and went back to the ticket booth, ignoring their stares. He would travel to Jordan, join the Palestinian militia, and stay away as long as he could.

In the strange disciplined savagery of the militia training camp in the Jordanian desert, Omar worked through his frustrations. He grew his beard to look older and fit his new identity. He found his place with the mix of men, young and old. Angry men, eager to take back what was theirs. With his training skills, he gained respect from everyone in the regiment assigned to his command, and he formed a fighting force that was the envy of other factions in Al Karameh camp.

He found peace among the tenacity of freedom fighters and the unbound enthusiasm of warriors. Staying aloof, he formed no ties to any of the divisions in the camp, and by refusing monetary compensation from the Palestine Liberation Organization, he remained independent of political affiliations. Keeping his true identity a secret, he gained no friends and carved a revered presence by staying a mystery. The man who recruited him in Damascus never showed up in camp. No one knew the Englishman's real name, and Omar dug deep into the trenches of obscurity, burying his deprivation under layers of practiced hardness.

On the twenty-first of March, men talked about taking a break to celebrate Mother's Day with their families. He stayed put with his men and kept vigilant. Intelligence reports from Jordanian army officials warned of troop movements on the Israeli side of the border. He remained on edge.

Early morning, Israeli defense forces launched an attack on their camp. The Englishman was ready, his fellow fighters were ready, and the Arab world woke to a different war equation this time. Palestinian
fidaiyeen
, supported by the Jordanian army, repelled the attack and defeated the Israelis, captured armored vehicles, and inflicted heavy losses.

Victory, how sweet the taste.

Dignity, how valuable the gain.

Winning the Battle of Al Karameh became the Englishman's identifier, an essential lever in the complexity of warfare. He had made his mark. He had made an impact. He mattered.

When the dust settled, Omar packed his duffle bag. One of his fellow commanders stormed into his tent. ‘I don't understand why you are leaving. The men need you. Look at what you've done in three months. Think of what you can accomplish if you stay.'

‘I have commitments.'

‘Your commitment should be to the Palestinian cause. We are stronger now. This is a historic chance for us. It will never happen again.'

‘I came to fight the Israelis. My mission is done.'

‘We all made sacrifices. Left our families and careers to take up arms. This is where we belong.' The commander jabbed Omar's chest with his index finger. ‘This is where the
Englishman
belongs.'

He sidestepped the commander and walked out of the tent. ‘I paid my dues and now I'm going home.'

He had to return. If he didn't report to the Syrian army, he would be branded a deserter and would have to stay on the run. How would he see Nadia then? There were chains pulling on him, chains as strong as patriotic causes. Chains of the love he couldn't bury deep enough, shoot out of his system, burn to ashes, or blow to smithereens. Nadia was his cause, pure and simple. No one could shame him for it. He belonged in her world. Engaged to his best friend, married to a king, he didn't care. And he was the Englishman, the triumphant hero who would return home, his head held high this time. Would she take notice?

Closing the door to Marwan's car, Nadia dumped her stack of books on the back seat. ‘Where are the girls?'

‘I thought I'd come get you first. Give us few minutes alone before we pick them up from school.'

‘What for?'

‘The girls are always around. Your sisters, mine. I feel like we're babysitters every time we're together.'

‘Chaperones, or have you forgotten how cruel people are?'

‘I would be happy with an adult chaperone, someone who gives us space every now and then.' He stuck his index finger in the air. ‘And I don't mean Huda. She scares me.'

‘Well, I'm sorry my brother bailed on me and Omar is not around. I don't have eligible chaperones other than the girls.'

Marwan blew a long breath. ‘People won't talk about you like that, anymore.' He held her hand and brought it up to his lips. ‘It's over.'

She snatched her hand away. ‘We can't just sit here alone in the car for everyone to see.'

‘You're being paranoid.'

‘Please drive.'

‘Fine.' He jerked the car into traffic.

‘I have three exams to study for, and an essay due on Tuesday. You will have to excuse me this weekend.'

‘I get it.'

‘Get what?'

‘I understand, Nadia. You don't want me to visit today. You could just say that, you know. Say it clear and simple.' He changed gears with the same intensity his voice carried. ‘Don't come over, or I don't want to see you, or I would rather be alone. However you want to phrase it. Just be straight about it, will you? Don't use excuses.'

‘I'm telling you why I can't afford to waste a weekend.'

‘That's how you see it? Wasting time—when you're with me?' His voice dropped, and she had learned over the past months, that was how Marwan showed his anger. He became subdued until he found a way to diffuse the situation. At times, she wished he would lash out instead.

Inhaling deeply, she tried to soothe him. ‘Don't read too much into this, please. You agreed to be supportive.'

‘I have been, don't you think? But I didn't realize you would rather be with your books so much instead of me.'

‘Of course, you wouldn't understand how important this is.'

‘Why? Because I didn't get to finish school? Is that it? I'm too ignorant to
comprehend
?'

‘That is not what I meant.' She couldn't help yelling and felt ashamed for losing control. ‘You're a man, an established merchant. You have everything set for you. You don't need more.' She placed her hand on her chest. ‘I do. I
need
the security of a university degree.'

‘Security? You don't feel your future is secure with me?'

She dropped her hands in her lap. ‘You're getting it all wrong.'

‘That's Omar's influence, I know it.' He screeched the car to a stop in front of the girls' school. ‘Let me tell you something. I do understand. I understand you made a promise to Omar to pursue your studies. But you also made a promise to me. I am not that selfish to ask you to choose between me and your diploma.'

‘What is it, then?'

‘I would like to feel I
am
your future, and not an obstacle in the way. I need more.' He ran his index finger along her jaw line. ‘I miss the way you used to look at me.'

Salma and Farah ran to the car, Marwan's sisters right behind them. Grateful for the interruption, Nadia greeted them with more enthusiasm than usual. She threw Marwan an apologetic smile, faking it. He was right. She wasn't the same infatuated girl she used to be, dreamy and naive. She was a calculating woman now, a careful one. A woman who didn't have the safe haven of a father, or a sensible brother to lean on. And Omar was gone, forced away by Shareef's slander. Would Omar still have her back when he returned?

Omar was right. She was not ready for this. He had nudged her before the problem happened, had pushed her to think about a future independent of a man in her life. He had understood she needed more than what Marwan offered. She fingered the silver wings on her chest. When would Omar come back?

Marwan drove, the girls babbled in the back seat, and she drifted away. Why couldn't Marwan understand her point? She hated having to spell things out as if he were a foreigner, an outsider. No matter how hard she tried, her earlier childish infatuation wasn't maturing into a deeper connection with this noble man. He had earned her respect and admiration, for certain. But she had transformed into an emotional miser in his company, holding something back, something dear and special, raw and honest, defining the kind of woman she wanted to be. How could she explain that?