Bitter Almonds (8 page)

 

11

Omar had but fifteen days to work things out before he sealed his fate in the academy. At Waleed's urging, Uncle Mustafa's insistence and Fatimah's approval, Omar set the date to sign her marriage contract the last Thursday before he had to leave. He did his homework this time, asking Uncle Mustafa, some of his friends, their fathers and the Imam at the mosque what to expect, how to conduct himself as Fatimah's single male relative. He hoped his attempt to take charge would impress his sister, softening her toward him and encouraging her to let go of her anger over his plans.

Waleed accompanied the men of his family, trustworthy neighbors and respectable acquaintances for the important male-only event. Again, Omar was at the center, receiving the official request for Fatimah's hand from Waleed's oldest uncle. He listened to men testifying, one by one, to Waleed's good character. Omar didn't need convincing. He and Uncle Mustafa had asked about him at the places he suggested, and then followed their own sources for a thorough evaluation. Omar had no doubt Waleed would take good care of his sister.

Going along with traditions, Waleed's oldest uncle asked Omar about the amount of dowry expected from his nephew. Omar specified a modest amount in the form of a gold Ottoman coin. He and Waleed had agreed to that earlier during one of his planned visits. Waleed opened a small jewelry box and passed it around for the men to observe the coin reach Omar's hands.

Glancing at his watch, Omar worried the civil court clerk appointed to register marriage contracts might not show up. When he arrived at last, the clerk launched into a long lecture about the sanctity of marriage, reminding the groom of his responsibilities and duties toward his wife. Half way through the intimidating speech, Omar expected Waleed to bolt for the door. As if the situation weren't heavy enough for poor Waleed, the old man had to lay out every warning possible, citing verses from the Qur'an and quotations from Prophet Mohammad about marriage. Showing patience and attentiveness, Waleed listened, nodding his head every now and then.

The clerk requested to talk to the bride in person.

Omar led the way to Mama Subhia's room where the women had gathered. The door opened. Mama Subhia and Um Waleed crowded the opening. They guided Fatimah out to the hallway, keeping the bedroom door open. Fatimah wore a soft pink dress. A rosy color highlighted her smooth cheeks. Her lips were a couple of shades darker. Something on her eyelids made her hazel eyes look bigger. Omar had never seen his sister with make-up before. He gave her a kind smile, then stepped aside, allowing the clerk to have a semi-private conversation with her.

‘Are you Fatimah Bakry?'

‘Yes.' She handed him her identification card.

‘Can you confirm to me your age?'

‘Twenty-four.'

‘Are you willing to accept the marriage proposed by Waleed Najad, age thirty-two?'

Fatimah nodded.

‘I need to hear you say the words, please. Speak up, daughter. Don't be afraid.'

‘Yes, I agree.' Her voice came out low, yet clear.

‘Of your free will? Have you been coerced in any way to accept this proposal?'

Fatimah shook her head. ‘I have not.'

‘Have you received your dowry of one gold Ottoman coin?'

Omar approached, handed over the jewelry box nesting the gold coin framed as a pendant. He returned to his spot a few steps behind the clerk.

The clerk examined the piece of jewelry, then handed it over to Fatimah. He wrote its specifications in his book. ‘Do you have any conditions to this marriage, daughter?'

Fatimah looked at Omar. She raised her eyebrows, clearly confused.

Omar heard some families imposed restrictions on place of residence or other trivial issues in marriage contracts. He saw no need to complicate matters. He shook his head.

‘I have no conditions,' Fatimah answered.

‘
Ala barakatillah
,' the clerk said, stating his satisfaction and calling for God's blessings as they moved forward. ‘Where are the two witnesses? No blood relatives to either party.'

Omar called for Waleed to bring over two neighbors. They presented their identification cards and witnessed Fatimah sign the contract, then Omar and finally Waleed. They added their signatures at the end.

The women put their hands to their mouths, wobbled their tongues and launched into high-pitched
zaghareed
of joy. Folkloric ballads rang through the house, Um Waleed's voice the loudest and most cheerful.
Kanafeh
trays poured out of the kitchen, original Nablusian
kanafeh
oozing with sweet syrup and made under Um Waleed's watchful eye. The servers were Omar's friends from the neighborhood, distributing plates along with bitter Arabic coffee brewed with lots of cardamom. The afternoon event ended with a wedding date set the day Omar came home from the academy on his first visit three months later.

Feeling like he had aged twenty years in the span of a few hours, Omar shook every man's hand at the door on their way out, thanked his friends for their time and promised to return the favor. Uncle Mustafa nudged him to invite Waleed to stay behind.

As soon as the front door closed, Um Waleed stepped out of the bedroom and ran to hug her son, crying and laughing at the same time. Her tongue swung in her mouth from side to side like a pendulum with lightning speed, ringing the traditional vocal cheer. Waleed kissed his mother's hand and touched it to his forehead. He repeated the act twice, asking her to bestow her blessings on him and his future wife.

Omar watched from his corner. A stab of jealousy anchored him to the floor. Whose hand would he touch to his forehead when his turn came? Mama Subhia dabbed at her eyes, the embroidered handkerchief hiding half her face. She stood tall, her back straight despite intermittent tears. A proud mother's stance.

The girls filed in. Like a hummingbird, Nadia fluttered around Fatimah, singing and fussing over Fatimah's dress, her younger sisters giggling behind her. Huda stayed a couple of steps away, her face solemn. Fatimah approached Mama Subhia. She held her hand, kissed it and touched it to her forehead, mimicking Waleed's actions.

‘
Allah yirda alaiki
,' Mama Subhia kept saying over and over again, asking God to be pleased with her.

Omar's eyes watered. He swung his head to face the wall. This couldn't be happening. He had just married off his sister, conducting himself in the manliest manner possible for someone his age. Why the hell was he about to weep like a girl?

To his relief, Uncle Mustafa ushered him, Shareef and Waleed out of the house, leaving the women to their celebrations for the rest of the evening. On their way down the stairs, they passed neighborhood women and friends starting to arrive, carrying gifts, plates of food and bundles of flowers.

Shareef became animated, jumping down two steps at a time, saying over his shoulder, ‘My friends are waiting for me.'

Omar craned his neck over the railing and saw Sameera among the women entering the building. She took two steps to the side to let the
women behind her pass, then turned around and walked out to the street, Shareef not far behind.

Exhausted and spent, Omar slipped into bed past midnight. His back and hands hurt from scrubbing the kitchen floor. After the party, everyone had done their best to clean up before they turned in. Omar had stayed behind, insisting on putting the kitchen back in order for Mama Subhia. The girls were tired, and he didn't want Fatimah to have to spend any part of this night on housework. Besides, he needed an outlet, something to slip him into sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, escaping thoughts and reflections.

Omar closed his eyes. Fatimah had looked genuinely happy tonight, glowing. Thank God Huda hadn't tried anything to spoil the event for her. He had one more night left in this room, on this bed, so close to Nadia. No. He would not let his mind go there. Why hadn't he fallen asleep yet?

Shareef snored from his bed to his left. Omar flipped on his side, facing Shareef and giving his back to the dividing curtain and the girls' side of the room. His body relaxed and he started to drift off.

‘Fatimah,' Nadia whispered from behind. ‘I can't sleep. I can't believe you can, either. Do you think they have fallen asleep?'

‘I don't know,' Fatimah whispered back. ‘Let's see.' She called Huda's name. No answer. She called Shareef's name. His snoring continued, uninterrupted.

Nadia called Omar's name. His eyes flew open. For some twisted reason, he remained silent and motionless.

‘They're asleep.' Fatimah's voice stayed hushed. ‘Are you still thinking about the party?'

‘I can't believe you're married.'

‘Not for three more months.'

‘But under the eyes of God, you are.' Nadia's voice rose a notch. ‘You don't have to wait for the wedding to go with Waleed, right?'

‘I want a wedding. The white dress and the see-through veil and the cake. I didn't think about it before, but now I find it important. Don't you?'

Nadia giggled. ‘I dream about it sometimes. My wedding will be the talk of the town. White flowers everywhere. No colors. Only white flowers. And instead of the mesh veil, I will wear a hat made of flowers.'

‘A hat?'

‘Fine, maybe not a hat. A crown. Yes, a crown. And the gown . . . sleeveless.'

A slapping sound followed. Then hushed laughter.

Omar wished he could close his ears, put the pillow over his head or something. He remained on his side, afraid to make a move. Nadia continued with her descriptions, Fatimah making silly comments every now and then. They switched turns, and Fatimah went into her dream wedding. He was sick to his stomach for eavesdropping, but he had no choice. He didn't want to do or say anything that would interrupt the girls' talk. In time, their hushed voices lulled him to the brink of sleepiness.

‘And in all of this, do you see a groom?' Fatimah asked.

‘Oh, yes.'

Omar's drowsiness drained out of his body and took a dive out the window.

‘Tell me,' Fatimah encouraged.

‘Are you sure they're asleep?' Nadia sounded anxious.

‘Yes, yes. They are.' Fatimah sounded impatient. ‘Who's the lucky guy?'

‘One of Omar's friends who helped serve tonight. I don't know his name, but he was one of the early ones to arrive and he was so sweet. I noticed him right away.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘Kind of Shareef's height, dark skin, smooth black hair brushed to the side, and his eyes . . . long curly eyelashes.'

Omar's mind displayed his friends' faces one by one, scanning for long curly eyelashes, a detail he couldn't imagine. Which one was he?

‘While we were working together in the kitchen,' Nadia continued, ‘we talked about things. You would never believe it, Fatimah, but he used to read the same adventure series I did.'

Omar held his breath. Marwan. Goddamn Marwan Barady.

 

12

Leaving the academy on his first break proved to be more complicated than Omar had anticipated. By the time he chased down the necessary signatures and multiple stamps, half the day had passed. Arriving home late, he found himself without a specific role as every arrangement concerning the wedding had been taken care of. The rooftop of their apartment building had been transformed into a wedding hall. Flower arrangements of all colors formed an elegant backdrop to the stage where the new couple sat. Strings of lights entwined with clotheslines dangled above their heads. A band in one corner moved happy crowds on the dance floor and between chairs. Waleed had spared no expense on the wedding.

Uncle Mustafa instructed Omar to sit unsmiling in one corner during the festivities.

‘Are you serious? Why can't I smile?'

‘You want to show Waleed's family you are happy letting go of your sister?' Uncle Mustafa sounded angry. ‘You can't do that. They need to know Fatimah has a strong family to answer to if they mistreat her in any way.'

Omar obliged for the benefit of Uncle Mustafa and the people who held ancient traditions to heart. On a personal level, he didn't need to send a cloaked message. He had already warned Waleed in plain words when he put Fatimah's hand in his, ‘Mistreat my sister and I will ruin the lives of everyone in your family.'

From his corner, Omar watched the crowd. He noticed things he could have done without. Things that wouldn't have hit him hard had
he been occupied, mingling with his friends. Uncle Mustafa's ghost-like appearance, for one. He moved like a man in his seventies, not late forties, shuffling his scrawny bowed legs with his back bent, coughing into a handkerchief almost every time he exhaled. Good thing Fatimah didn't need his cadet allowance. Sending it to Uncle Mustafa instead was the right thing to do.

Omar's wandering eyes landed on Nadia. He willed them away to Mama Subhia, sitting to the side, conversing with a group of women. She stood out in her black and red embroidered Palestinian dress next to Um Waleed's gray dress. The few times he had seen Waleed's mother, she wore some shade of gray. This one a few degrees lighter, but gray nevertheless.

His eyes found their way to Nadia again. He hung his head and lowered his gaze to the floor. Don't look up, a voice in his head commanded. A hearty laugh echoed and he snapped up his head. Nadia was radiant in a simple ivory dress, hair mounted high on top of her head, making her appear taller, more mature. She moved on the dance floor with reserved awareness, her hand flying often to her hair, checking if the style was intact. Surrounded by her friends, she scanned the crowd, eyes bright with healthy vibrant energy. When they settled, her face flushed red. Omar followed her gaze.

Marwan Barady stared back at him. He raised his hand to his forehead, giving Omar a firm salute. Omar acknowledged it with a terse nod. Had Marwan blinked, he would have missed it. Maneuvering his way through people, Marwan pulled up a chair next to Omar.