Bitter Almonds (20 page)

Omar snatched the pillow and pressed it to his midsection. ‘Get the hell out,' he barked.

Marwan held Nadia by the shoulders and forced her toward the door. ‘Go.'

The women rushed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Marwan held his legs, preventing him from falling off the sofa while he twisted and withered. ‘Pain in your gut again?'

He slammed his fist to the back of the sofa. ‘Shit. Never this bad.'

Marwan lifted his feet. ‘Bend your knees. The doctor said this might help relieve pressure.'

He cursed out loud. Many times. Convulsions ground his insides, turning them into minced meat. Good to stuff Fatimah's zucchini. He let out a harsh laugh at the thought, his consciousness about to slip away. Sweat drenched his shirt, or was it blood?

Omar opened his eyes. ‘Where am I?'

‘Fatimah's place.' Marwan was balanced on the sofa's arm by his head.

‘Did I pass out?'

‘Yeah.'

He tried to get his bearing. ‘Did I say or do anything I should apologize for?'

‘Not to me, but the women got an earful of your colorful language.'

Omar exhaled. ‘Shit.'

‘Listen. Best to take you back to the hospital. Have the doctor check you.'

‘He won't tell me anything I don't know. He already warned me of episodes like these.'

Nadia's voice came from behind the closed door. ‘Can I come in?'

Marwan checked with him, raising his eyebrows.

Omar grabbed the back of the sofa. ‘Help me.'

‘Give us a minute,' Marwan called out.

He sat upright, his shirt stuck to his skin, his armpits wet with sweat. Good thing he was scrubbed clean before he left the hospital. How bad did he stink? Hugging the pillow, he concealed his upper body.

Nadia walked in, carrying a tray with a water pitcher and a couple of glasses.

‘Fatimah all right?' Omar tried to sound strong.

‘Fatimah is doing fine.' The glasses rattled in Nadia's hands, her face draining of color.

Did he look that bad?

‘She's worried. Huda and Um Waleed kept her out of earshot.' Nadia set the tray on the coffee table.

‘Sorry about that,' Omar mumbled.

‘I told them I would get them once I checked on you.' Nadia filled a glass and handed it to him. ‘How do you feel?'

Omar took short sips. ‘Better.'

‘What happened?' Nadia ignored Marwan, who poured himself a glass. She lifted a hand to Omar's forehead. ‘You scared us.'

Drained of energy, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back. ‘Muscle spasms. Nothing serious.'

‘His muscles are scarred and weak,' Marwan explained. ‘Once he regains his strength, the spasms will go away.'

‘You mean this could happen again?'

‘Afraid so.'

Omar opened his eyes, glared at his friend. ‘Don't scare her.'

‘No point hiding facts. Besides, someone at home needs to know what to do when you have another episode.'

‘I can do it. Teach me,' Nadia said.

‘No need.' Omar's voice sounded more scared than angry. Have Nadia see him twist and cry like a baby?

Huda entered the room, followed by Fatimah. They hovered over him and kept him from stopping Marwan taking Nadia aside to teach her what to do.

Arriving home, Omar braced himself for Mama Subhia's warm welcome. He reveled in the genuine love she showed, put his agony behind him and tried to enjoy the attention. Tolerating her light embrace in the living room, he noticed a change in Nadia's attitude. She appeared nervous and apprehensive, fluttering around and biting her lower lip. He couldn't figure out what had fazed her. He also noticed she walked Marwan to the door and took her time to bid him goodbye.

Sameera lurked in the background, as if afraid to talk to him. Huda disappeared into the kitchen. And Mama Subhia went on and on about how much she had missed him, how thankful she was to have him with her again, and how the miserable outcome of the war didn't matter as long as he was safe.

Shareef walked in through the front door.

Mama Subhia sucked a sharp breath. ‘You're home early.'

‘Quick break.' He extended a hand to Omar. ‘Good to have you home.'

Omar shook his hand, had no clue why Mama Subhia's tears poured. She opened her arms wide to her son, and they embraced in that awkward position, Shareef almost folded in half. Nadia stood at a distance, the strange expression on her face adding to Omar's bewilderment. From
her corner, Sameera observed with her brows knotted, mouth twisted to one side. Huda peeked her head out of the kitchen. The women seemed taken aback. If only he were in a state of mind that would allow him to analyze, evaluate and understand the undercurrents that were going on. But he was dead tired. A bed. He needed a bed.

Shareef took a chair. ‘Do you know when you're expected to report to your commanders?'

‘Medical leave for a month.' Omar suppressed a yawn behind his hand. ‘Hopefully the doctor will give me the green light.'

‘Prescriptions?' Shareef glanced at his watch. ‘I can get them on my way back from work.'

‘Already got them. Pain killers, that's about it.'

Shareef turned to his wife. ‘Lunch ready? I have to get back soon.'

Sameera hurried to the kitchen. It reminded Omar of his comrades obeying orders from their officers. How far had Sameera fallen from her angelic status? Unable to think straight, he closed his eyes and rested his head back.

Mama Subhia tugged on his arm. ‘Let's get you to bed.'

Nadia hurried and opened the door to Mama Subhia's room. She stood by the entrance, wringing her hands. ‘This will be your room.'

Omar checked with Mama Subhia. She gave him a gentle push. ‘Go on.'

He took one step into the room, passing an anxious Nadia. ‘This can't be.' He turned to face Mama Subhia. ‘I can't take your room.'

‘You can and you will.' Mama Subhia pushed him further in. ‘It's the closest to the bathroom.' She held his forearm and pulled, urging him to bring his head down. ‘It isn't the same without Mustafa, God rest his soul.'

‘But—'

She patted his arm. ‘I need to be with my daughters, and you need your privacy.'

Omar straightened. ‘Thank you.'

Shareef's voice came from behind. ‘Thank Nadia. She's the one who worked hard to get it ready.'

Nadia lifted her eyebrows, questioning. ‘Do you like it?'

Seeing nothing but her adorable face, he mumbled, ‘Very much.'

‘I will see about lunch. You get some rest.' Mama Subhia left the room. Nadia followed her. Omar met Shareef's clouded gaze. He brought his voice down a notch. ‘Don't take this the wrong way. I am very grateful. Is everyone on board with this arrangement?'

Shareef gave an awkward nod. ‘Like I said. Welcome home.'

Omar's friends visited non-stop over the next several days. Young officers and soldiers poured into the house, their defeated demeanor distorting the grandeur of their otherwise impressive presence. Busy preparing coffee and tea trays, Nadia wondered if she would have admired the handsome men had they returned victorious. Instead, their pressed uniforms and political discussions annoyed her. They saturated Omar's room with cigarette smoke, reminded him of his failures and pushed him deeper into depression after each visit. Day after day, she watched him try to stay balanced and pull himself out of the despondent slump the entire country had sunk into.

Omar struggled with everyday tasks. Going to the bathroom, bathing, changing his clothes, and some days, keeping food in his stomach. Nadia would stand outside his closed door, unable to lend a helping hand, hearing him fumble and swear in frustration. He didn't allow any of the girls to help him, including her mother. Shareef was always absent and never offered his assistance when he came home. His callousness drove Nadia crazy.

To regain his strength, Omar employed the younger girls for his training. Salma and Farah lay on the bare floor, held on to Omar's ankles and allowed him to drag them around the room. He had tremendous difficulty at first, able to move them half a tile forward before he collapsed in pain. But he persevered, placing markers on the tiles as
goals. For his arms, he carried around food cans, books and sacks of rice or bulgur. The girls challenged him to carry them as the ultimate goal. They giggled, encouraged and provided the right amount of incentives. Omar sweated, yelled and gritted his teeth in concentration. He kept at it, reaching one set target after another.

Marwan didn't visit as often as Nadia thought he might. Always coming in with a group of friends and leaving with them, he seemed to avoid talking to her, or even glancing her way. Not knowing what to make of his sudden disinterest, offended and disappointed, she acted in defiance and did her best to avoid running into him as well. On the days he visited, instead of taking the service tray into Omar's room as usual, she would send Salma in her place. When it was time for him to leave, Nadia felt the urge to use the bathroom. One time, Marwan left with the group he came with, then returned a minute later saying he had forgotten his keys. Nadia let him in and pretended to be busy. On his way out, he met her eyes. Something was wrong. Marwan's dark eyes screamed at her, asking for something. Understanding? Patience? What held him back? Who? Huda? Shareef?

One Thursday evening, while Omar's friends mingled in his room, devouring everything Nadia sent their way from the kitchen, Mama joined her by the sink.

‘Um Waleed called. Fatimah is restless.' Mama put a hand on Nadia's shoulder. ‘I think I'll go over there.'

Nadia dried her hands on a towel. ‘I'm coming.'

Mama shook her head. ‘Shareef and Sameera took your sisters with them to her parents' house, so they will be back late. Omar's friends will leave soon. He shouldn't be left alone.'

Nadia nodded. ‘I hope Fatimah is all right.'

‘Don't tell Omar. No need to worry him.'

‘Will you call me to let me know?'

‘I'm sure it's nothing.' Mama headed to the door. ‘If Huda comes home soon, send her over.'

A couple of hours later, Nadia closed the door behind the last visitor. She went back to the kitchen to put things in order, eager to get out of her shoes and clothes, and away from the sink. Her hands felt like she had spent the entire day washing dishes.

A loud crash sounded from Omar's room. Nadia ran over.

Omar was curled in the fetal position on the floor, twisting and moaning. Broken glasses and plates spread around him and under him.

Nadia rushed to kick sharp pieces away. ‘I'm here. I'm here.' She squatted by his side.

‘Goddamn it,' Omar shouted and slammed his head on the floor a couple of times. The veins in his neck bulged out.

Frantic, Nadia wrapped her arms around him. ‘Please, stop moving. You will hurt yourself.'

‘Go away,' he choked between gritted teeth. ‘Get out of here.'

‘I can help you.' She snatched his blanket off the bed and spread it two-folds over the scattered glass next to him. ‘Can you get onto the blanket?'

Omar rolled to his knees and balanced himself with one hand, the other pressed at his midsection. Spewing obscenities Nadia didn't understand, he crawled to the blanket and flipped on his back.

‘Sorry, I am so sorry,' he half-mumbled half-screamed, folding his arms around his waist.

Nadia held his ankles, and like Marwan had instructed, stood straight, lifted his feet and placed them on her shoulders. ‘Bend your knees.'

Praying she wasn't causing him more harm, she took small steps forward, stretching his legs higher in the process. His fists clutched the front of his shirt, and he huffed short quick breaths with each step she took. She noticed a number of small cuts on his nape, neck and
forearms. Patches of blood spread on the fabric of his pants in multiple places, most around his left knee.

‘Don't be alarmed.' Omar closed his eyes, his voice weak and shaking. ‘I might pass out.'

‘You will not, Omar Bakry,' Nadia yelled. ‘You will not scare me like that.' Tears flowed down her cheeks, her nose ran and sweat dampened her forehead.

‘Trying not to . . .' His voice disappeared, his head lolled to one side.

‘Omar?'

He didn't respond.

She lowered his feet to the floor and knelt by his head, her hands hovering over his cheeks.

‘Don't panic. He lost consciousness. That's all.' She ran her sleeve under her nose. ‘Marwan said it might last a couple of minutes.' Checking her watch, she contemplated calling Marwan. He would know what to do. But the hour was late, and he wouldn't get there before Omar came to.

Should she slap Omar? Splash cold water on his face? Wait for him to open his eyes? Sitting back on her heels, she surveyed his limp body. Damned if she was going to sit there doing nothing while he lay unconscious and bleeding.

She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a couple of clean towels, filled a bowl with hot water from the kitchen, and went back to sit on the floor, using a pillow under her to protect against broken glass.

Starting with the cuts on his nape, she dabbed at the blood with a wet towel first, then dried the area, careful to remove any glass pieces stuck to his skin. Working her way down, she unbuttoned his shirt, took care of a cut on his neck, his shoulder, found a couple above his navel and tended them. Blood ran heavier on his arms, the cuts there deeper. Using her teeth, she ripped strips from the dry towel and wrapped them around the gashes as bandages.

‘It's time to wake up now, Omar,' she said out loud. ‘I want you to wake up now.'

Omar didn't move.

With the back of her hand, she brushed hair strands off her face. ‘I can't stand the sight of blood, you know that?' She shook her head. ‘Definitely not going to nursing school.'