Bitter Almonds (4 page)

Nadia was flipping through her English book. She lifted her head. ‘Finally. I thought you would never leave the bathroom.' She grinned. ‘Sameera will be here any minute.'

Omar pulled out the chair at the head of the table. He would have Sameera take the chair to his right, across from Nadia. That way, he would be close enough to accidentally touch her arm or, if he played it right, bump her leg with his knee during their study session. The plain tablecloth would provide enough cover. He rested his back and crossed his arms, glancing at his watch.

Fatimah worked in one corner of the room, needle and thread going up and down in her hand with fascinating speed. The younger girls sat on the floor close to Fatimah's feet, playing with dolls. They had been told to keep their voices down since their mother was taking a nap.

Omar closed his eyes, wishing they had an additional room away from everyone. Their bedroom was off limits this afternoon. It would be ideal to study there, to close the door and have relative quiet. But
Mama Subhia would not allow it. Improper, she had scowled, for Omar to be alone in a room with Sameera. Nadia didn't count, Mama Subhia had insisted when he pointed out they would not be alone.

Shareef closed their bedroom door. He walked over to sit in the chair Omar had designated in his head for Sameera.

‘What do you think you're doing?' Omar arched one eyebrow.

‘Joining the class.'

‘You don't have an English test.' Omar tried to keep the agitation from showing on his face. ‘You don't even have English this year.'

Shareef glanced at Fatimah. ‘All the more reason to refresh my memory.' He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘It'll help with my French class.'

Omar took a deep breath. So that was how Shareef wanted to play it? He too had his eyes on Sameera? Exhaling, he unfolded his arms and waved a hand toward the chair on Nadia's left. ‘Fine. As long as you move over there.'

‘Why?'

‘Because this way you two will be on one side of the table and I won't have to keep turning my head to get your attention. Now move.' Realizing he must have sounded rough, he added, ‘Please.'

The doorbell rang. Shareef jumped to his feet. ‘I'll get it.'

Omar half rose from his chair, then forced himself to sit back down.

Sameera floated into the room. Angels' feet didn't touch the ground, did they? Chestnut curls cascaded down her back and bounced around her perfect face. A fitted pink dress hugged her well-proportioned body and left little room for imagination. Directing her eyes at Fatimah, she chimed, ‘Good afternoon.'

Omar stretched to his full height, his heart racing. He heard music. Violins, to be exact.

Fatimah lifted her head and welcomed Sameera, then went back to her work. Nadia greeted her friend with a quick hug.

‘Please come in,' Shareef addressed someone at the door.

A young man in his early twenties stepped in, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Sameera introduced him. ‘My youngest brother, Ahmad.'

The boys shook hands.

Fatimah left her corner and approached with a welcoming smile. ‘We're happy Sameera could study with Nadia and her brothers. I'm Fatimah.'

Avoiding eye contact, Ahmad placed his right hand on his chest, giving her the signal that he would not shake her hand if she extended it. She didn't.

Omar narrowed his eyes, annoyed by Ahmad's attitude. So he was one of those religious fanatics, refusing to shake hands with women. But Sameera didn't even wear a head cover. Didn't guys like him force their sisters and daughters to wear the veil? Omar had engaged in a couple of arguments with one of them at school. Physical arguments.

‘Sorry to intrude like this.' Ahmad cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to make sure my sister made it here in time.'

‘Of course.' Fatimah's tone remained polite.

Ahmad turned toward Omar and looked him straight in the eye. ‘And I wanted to meet you.'

Omar nodded, uncomfortable under the man's steady gaze. Ahmad's stance seemed to rather say,
‘And I wanted you to meet the person you'll be dealing with if you misbehave.'

Ahmad didn't even look in Shareef's direction. Had he decided Omar was the potential threat to his sister? The unspoken warning flattered him in a twisted way. Would he do the same for Nadia if they were put in a similar situation? Of course. Only he would stay with her, monitoring every move the boy made above
and
under the table. He cleared his throat. ‘We should be done at seven. Would you like us to walk your sister home? Or should we wait for you?' There, that was the best he could do to reassure the man nothing bad would happen to his angelic sister.

Ahmad turned his head in Fatimah's direction, but didn't lift his eyes to her face. ‘If it's not too much trouble, I would like to come back at seven. Would that be all right?'

‘No trouble at all.'

Ahmad excused himself and left. Nadia motioned for Sameera to sit at the table. ‘Is there something wrong with your brother's eyes? He didn't look at any of us girls.'

‘Ahmad is the most religious of my brothers. It seems annoying sometimes, but he was actually showing respect.' Sameera sat in the chair Omar had pulled out for her. ‘Especially to Fatimah.' She squinted at Omar before he took his seat. ‘Ahmad is sweet. You'll see that once you spend some time with him.'

Omar had no intention of spending any time with Sameera's brother. He slid Nadia's book closer and flipped through to the assigned section. Better concentrate on proverbial wisdom and grammar.

As the class got underway, Shareef's attitude shifted. The often quiet, almost invisible Shareef talked non-stop and made jokes. Funny ones. Shareef's confidence grew with each smile Sameera threw in his direction. Even sweet Nadia noticed the change in her brother, winking at Omar to let him know it.

At one point, Shareef left his chair across the table from Sameera and slid onto the one next to her, pointing at a sentence in her book. Or he pretended to, at least. It was obvious he was completely taken by the girl. And she encouraged him, paid attention to him. A first for Shareef.

Why did Shareef have to follow Omar's every move? Why couldn't he find his own girl? Omar could insist Shareef return to his seat, but that would dampen everyone's mood. It would also draw Fatimah's attention. He could say something to embarrass Shareef or belittle him to shake his confidence. That would be cruel. It would upset Nadia. He could follow through with his plan and see how Sameera would react to his ‘accidental' touch. Would she shift her attention to him instead?

While he contemplated his best move, a warm sensation snaked up his calf. He shot up in his chair, covering his surprise with a forced cough. His eyes darted to Sameera. She had her head buried in her book next to Shareef's. Was this a mistake? Did she cross her legs and brush his by accident? Did his leg extend too far to her side, and she couldn't avoid bumping it? Should he apologize? She didn't seem bothered. Did she notice, even? What was so damn interesting in that book? He should make a joke or something to get her attention since she seemed so taken by Shareef's silliness.

Nadia asked a question. He gave her an answer, not sure if it was the right one, his mind losing focus.

Sameera lifted her head and flicked back her hair with delicate fingers. ‘What time is it?'

Without taking his eyes off hers, he answered, ‘Past six.'

Her lips parted in a smile, showing those dazzling pearls. ‘Good. We still have time.' She touched Shareef's arm. ‘Do you think you could get me a glass of water?'

Shareef was on his way to the kitchen before she had finished her words.

Lifting her body off her chair, Sameera stretched across the table to reach Nadia's book. ‘Let me see how you spelled that.'

The snaking sensation returned along Omar's leg, a bit slower this time, creeping past his knee. He coughed again, drawing Sameera's eyes to his. He arched his eyebrows.

Her foot tapped his thigh twice.

Pushing his chair back, he rose. ‘Excuse me.' He went into the bathroom. That was clearly not a mistake. So Sameera was no angel. She was that kind of girl? She played with one boy above the table and another under it? No wonder her brother hovered over her. He shook his head. What a fool he had been, thinking she was as innocent and pure as Nadia. Marwan had warned him about girls like Sameera, but he hadn't quite understood their danger until now. His good friend
faced those sorts of girls in his store and had talked about their inventive ways to get his attention. Omar splashed cold water over his face. Poor Shareef. He had no idea what was in store for him. Should he warn him? Or show him what Sameera was truly like? If only Nadia weren't there. Whatever move he could make to expose her friend's readiness for boy games would embarrass Nadia, and he was not going to risk that. Let Shareef reach his own conclusions for a change.

Returning to the living room, he sat as far from Sameera as possible. He planted his feet under his chair and locked his elbows on the table, abandoning his plan to get close to dangerous Sameera. He concentrated his teaching efforts on Nadia. Would he get dragged into a confrontation with Ahmad anyway if Shareef got carried away? Not that Sameera might mind. From the way Shareef kept fidgeting in his seat, Omar suspected her feet warmed Shareef's legs at least three times before the clock struck seven.

Ahmad returned on time and escorted his sister home. Shareef disappeared into the bedroom as soon as they left. Fatimah called Nadia from the kitchen to help her prepare for the evening meal.

Omar went out to stretch his legs. On his way down the stairs, he saw Uncle Mustafa dragging his body up the steps.

‘Where are you going?' Uncle Mustafa coughed to the side.

‘For a walk.'

Looking unable to stay on his feet a minute longer, Uncle Mustafa pointed a finger at him. ‘I need to talk to you. It's important. Don't be late for supper.'

Omar hurried to the man's side, grabbed his elbow and helped him along. ‘I don't have to go.'

Uncle Mustafa stopped and shook his head. ‘No, you go on ahead.' He placed a hand on Omar's shoulder, catching his breath as if he had just run a race. ‘I need to eat and get some rest. We'll talk after supper.' He held the railing and resumed his efforts, leaving Omar behind. ‘It concerns Fatimah.'

 

6

Omar stopped, one foot on a step and the other hanging midair. Something must have forced its way down his throat and wrapped itself around his guts. He leaped over several steps to block the front door before Uncle Mustafa could open it.

‘What about Fatimah? I just left her inside.'

With a calloused thumb, Uncle Mustafa smoothed the frown knotting Omar's brows. ‘You worry too much, son. We'll talk after supper.'

Circling the neighborhood twice convinced Omar he had wasted enough time for Uncle Mustafa to think that he would return with a clear head. Truth be told, his mind had raced from one bad assumption to a worse one with every step he took. When he couldn't shake the apprehension building inside, he headed home and braced himself through a torturous meal until Uncle Mustafa was ready to talk.

Seated on a wooden chair in the small balcony off the living room, Uncle Mustafa sipped hot tea and nibbled on roasted almonds. The door opening to the balcony was solid wood. If one kept one's voice down when the door was shut, the balcony provided a decent private area, sheltered from the rest of the family and from passers-by on the street. Uncle Mustafa and Mama Subhia used it often to discuss matters out of earshot.

Uncle Mustafa motioned for Omar to take the other chair, offering him a handful of almonds. ‘If I close my eyes on a quiet evening like this, I imagine myself at my orchard in Palestine.'

‘Is that why you love almonds so much? They take you back home?' Omar studied the old man. Uncle Mustafa had not summoned him to talk about almonds.

‘Nothing comes close to the rich taste of almonds from the old almond tree in my orchard. Come the first signs of spring, it was the first tree to flower, before the apricot and plum trees.' He popped an almond into his mouth. ‘One way to distinguish bitter almonds from sweet ones. By taste.' He filled tea glasses and handed one to Omar. ‘Haven't had a single bitter one yet. This is not good.'

Crunching almonds and sipping tea, Omar tried to follow the man's logic. ‘The bitter almonds make you savor the sweet ones more.'

‘You're catching on.' Uncle Mustafa placed his tea glass back on the small table. ‘Your history teacher, Mr Waleed, stopped by the plant today to talk to me.'

‘I didn't do anything. Haven't had a fight at school all year.' Omar set down his glass and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘I thought we were going to talk about Fatimah.'

‘We are.' Uncle Mustafa gave a quick nod. ‘Waleed asked for an appointment to bring his mother over one evening.'

Omar shook his head. ‘I don't understand. I'm sure Fatimah didn't do whatever Mr Waleed claims she did.' He unfolded his arms and leaned forward. ‘I like the man. I think he's nice enough, but he has no business getting his nose in Fatimah's job with his mother. The women should work it out between them, don't you think?'

‘It's not about Fatimah's work.' Uncle Mustafa took another sip of tea. ‘Waleed wants to bring his mother to ask for Fatimah's hand.'

The thing that had been gripping Omar's insides all evening suddenly let go. A wave of relief washed over him. ‘Yeah? That's great news.'

Uncle Mustafa tilted his head to one side. ‘You think so?'

‘Mr Waleed is a decent man. Fatimah spoke highly of him the few times she mentioned him to me. Why? Do you know something I don't?'

‘You know him better than I do. He's good to his mother. That's a solid indication of a kind man. We have to ask about him outside the school circle. You know. Who his friends are, if he owes money. Things like that.' Uncle Mustafa put his elbow on the balcony railing, rested his head on his open palm and winked at Omar. ‘Of course, the first one you should ask is Fatimah.'