City of Veils (56 page)

BOOK: City of Veils

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Katya was quieter than usual tonight. While this filled him with dread, he felt a fierce current of generosity flowing out of him, and he imagined that this retreat into silence was the feminine equivalent of going to the desert for a month, an act he had often undertaken himself and therefore could not begrudge her. He wished that she would help keep up the conversation and answer his questions with more than an
aywa
or a
laa
. As the sun dipped below the horizon, an eruption of color interrupted these thoughts, and just for a moment the pink and gold light and the green-smelling breeze conspired to make the view from the Corniche as stirring as a Ramadan prayer.

Food was obviously on everyone’s mind. The weather was unseasonably cool, 30 degrees at least, and half of Jeddah had come out to picnic. They laid carpets on the beaches, on roads, and in parking lots. They pitched their tents on sidewalks. Four meters wide, stretching to the horizon, the Corniche sidewalk could probably have accommodated the entire nation. The less prepared sat on the sand beside fast-food kiosks selling
balela
. Every few feet the warm smell of chickpeas and barbecued lamb wafted over the sidewalk. Although there was a respectful distance among families, the whole scene seemed as busy as a coral reef.

“How is work?” he asked, hoping that this was the problem, that it wasn’t something worse—or something about him.

“Good,” she said, another pat answer that invited a riposte, but he didn’t want to pressure her.

They walked in silence another ten minutes, until they reached the restaurant. It was a quiet family place where you could dine cloistered in your own little bungalow, away from prying eyes. He had been here a few times with Samir, and the food had always been excellent.

“This is nice!” Katya exclaimed. “How did you find this place?”

“There’s a popular dive site out there.” He motioned to the water some ten meters down the shore from the restaurant. She looked as if she wanted to say something but didn’t.

A waiter led them to a bungalow just big enough for two. The walls were dark bamboo in tiki-shack style, but one side of the structure was open, giving them a view of a rocky beach and beyond that the Red Sea sparkling in the sunset. A rolled-up screen on top of the wall could be let down if they wanted more privacy.

They sat on cushions placed on a grass mat. The waiter returned with water and menus. Katya asked about the different types of fish, and Nayir gave his advice while his mind drifted back to the events of the afternoon.

He had gone to her house while she was still at work. Her father had welcomed him warily at first; he seemed to know from the look on Nayir’s face what he’d come for. After escorting Nayir into the sitting room, Abu had brought a generous pot of tea and some dates, sat down across from his guest, and said, “So, how have you been, Mr. Sharqi?”

The use of his surname had made the ensuing conversation seem even stiffer. Nayir forced himself through a discussion of the weather, growing more and more tense as he realized that Abu wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. Finally, when he felt he’d done enough chatting, Nayir said, “I’ve come to ask your permission for Katya’s hand in marriage.”

Abu sat back on the sofa and regarded him evenly. Nayir tried not to squirm. He set his teacup on the table and met Abu’s gaze. In the growing silence he felt he ought to say more, explain at least why he wanted to marry her, but his reasons lay flat on his tongue. It would have meant admitting that he had spent enough time with her to know the many reasons to love her, and while Abu undoubtedly suspected that much, Nayir wasn’t prepared to admit it.

The horrible silence was broken when Abu sat forward again. “You are a good Muslim man, Nayir. I think you would make an excellent match for my daughter.”

And that was it. Taken by surprise, Nayir had let out a happy breath. Seeing Abu’s stern face, he quickly sobered up, but the relief and the thrill of having Abu’s blessing was enough to float him out the door. Even Abu seemed pleased, and shook his hand with a congratulatory vigor.

At the door Abu said one last thing: “I will tell her you have my blessing, but I would prefer it if you talk to her yourself before I say anything.”

“Yes,” Nayir said, perplexed, “I will.” As he left, he felt dread settling over him. The decision was in Katya’s hands now. Of course, Nayir had known that this moment would come. Traditionally, the parents handled the negotiations, but Abu had just thrown the whole thing in Nayir’s lap. If Katya said no, she would tell Nayir herself. Was it only his pride that made the idea seem so horrific?

Nayir suspected, although he couldn’t be sure, that Abu was doing this because of Katya and not because he was a careless or cowardly man. But why he was doing it, and what it meant about her, Nayir couldn’t be sure.

These thoughts weighed on him once the waiter had left and he sat facing Katya. She seemed inexplicably different this evening. She was changing right in front of him, no longer the woman he had yearned for but a woman he might marry, who might become his wife, lover, friend, and as they drank fresh mango juice and ate grouper, he found himself looking at her face more often, studying its contours as if to make sure they hadn’t really changed. They talked about the Nawar case but only briefly, before she switched to the other cases she was working on. He was reminded once again that she loved her job and that marriage and children might not be in her plans, but the question that had been percolating inside him for the past two weeks—or, if he was honest, for the past nine months—was now exploding in his head. He thought of Omran leaping over the edge of a dune as he put down his fork and said, “Katya, will you marry me?”

She froze in the act of setting her glass on the mat. She didn’t look at him at first, but he was watching her intently enough to see discomfort stealing across her face. She set the glass down and took a breath.

“Nayir…”

She was struggling. He wanted to tell her that the reason he hadn’t spoken to her for those months was that he’d been afraid, and that the fear was overwhelming, huge and amorphous, too much to explain even to himself. But seeing her again had made him realize that he wanted her. He only hoped that it wasn’t too late. He felt a momentary weakness, then a whooshing sensation as certainty filled him.

“Katya,” he said, “I know I’m not perfect, and I might not be right for you. I know you love your job. And it might be difficult to have children when you work so much. But I think we can do it. We can find a way.” She still wasn’t looking at him. He lowered his head to hers, trying to encourage her to meet his gaze, but she kept staring resolutely at the mat.

“Katya.”

She swallowed, looking scared. And without knowing how it happened, he reached out to her cheek, turning her face to his. Her cheek was warm, and soft. She didn’t resist. When her eyes met his, he saw that they were wet, that she looked frightened. An impulse that came from every part of his body made him lean closer, pausing as their noses touched in case she backed away—but she didn’t, so he kissed her, gently at first, their dry lips touching, then more insistently, while pinpoints of light exploded inside him.

K
atya was the first to pull away from the kiss.

“Nayir,” she said softly, amazed at herself but even more amazed at him. So it was true what they said: too much repression will lead a man straight into sin. She put a hand to her mouth and gave a short, nervous laugh of surprise.

Five minutes before, she had been vaguely uncomfortable, not certain that Nayir was enjoying himself. At one moment, he’d looked spectacularly anxious. And now she knew why. Of course she should have seen it coming. He would never have asked her out on a date for any other reason. Her first thought had been resentful, but the softness of his voice, the touch of his hand on her cheek, had unleashed a kind of frenzied rebelliousness in both of them. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore, only that her body was doing it and that her mind seemed to have become lost in a dust storm.

She sat up, picked up her juice glass, set it down again.
I’m sorry
, she almost blurted, but she wasn’t sorry, she was scared. Marriage? To Nayir? Visions of her mother flashed through her mind, the disappointments, the frustrations. Ummi had thought she had married a more open-minded man. Katya, on the other hand, knew just what she was dealing with.

“Nayir,” she began. “I don’t…”

“You’re afraid,” he said. “I am, too.”

Surprised, she pushed on. “I need to know that you’ll respect me. My job. And everything else I might want to do.” She met his eyes as she said it, and he didn’t look away. “I just need to know —”

“I shall not lose sight,” he whispered. It was a tender sound, and the tone of his voice made her realize that he was quoting Quran.
“I shall not lose sight of the labor of any of you…”
She recognized the quote then; he didn’t have to finish it:…
who labors in My way, be it man or woman; each of you is equal to the other.

She felt a tear threatening to spill onto her cheek. “I can’t make this decision right away,” she said.

“You don’t have to answer today,” he assured her.

When she found the nerve to look into his eyes again, she saw that he understood.

They walked back along the sidewalk to Nayir’s car, uncertain what to say to each other. Katya was beyond thought, and as the silence dragged on, another power took hold. Chemical stimuli, the warmth of the breeze caressing their bodies, picnicking families hanging about them like charms. Fertile, messy bliss. She felt an inkling of hope that she might find happiness after all. She drew closer to him and carefully, so that no one would notice, brushed her arm against his.

He smiled and kept walking.

GLOSSARY

abaaya
—a long, loose black cloak worn by women in Saudi Arabia

Ahlan wa’sahlan
—welcome (hard to translate exactly; loosely, it’s something like “family and familiar comforts”). Slightly more formal than
marhaba
.

Allah Akbar
—“God is great”

Allah yarhamha
—loosely translated, “God rest her soul”

‘aql
—intelligence

‘Asr
—the third of the five daily Muslim prayers

aywa
—yes

balela
—a salad of chickpeas, black beans, and spices

barzakh
—an intermediate state after physical death when the soul separates from the body

biryani
—a rice and meat–based dish cooked with spices

Bism’allah, ar-rahman, ar-rahim
—“In the name of Allah, most gracious, most merciful,” the opening phrase of a Muslim prayer

burqa
(also
niqaab
) —in the Gulf countries,
burqa
refers to a veil that covers a woman’s face; not to be confused with the enveloping outer garment, also called a burqa, worn by women in other Muslim countries