Bitter Almonds (23 page)

After the last stop, Marwan asked, ‘Fatimah's place?'

Omar shook his head. ‘I'd rather not. They're probably still cleaning.'

‘How did you get Shareef stuck with that?'

‘Um Waleed bullied him into it. I guess he couldn't come up with an excuse fast enough to get out of it.'

‘Home, then?'

‘Can't,' Omar blurted. Nadia was home. Better stay away. The past few days, he had tried his best to avoid her, and she must have sensed it, or something else had affected her behavior around him. He couldn't figure out if she was angry with him or if she was despondent because of what he had told her about Marwan. The brief instances they had run into each other, Nadia had gone out of her way not to look at him, finding things to occupy her hands. She had stopped her casual touching too. He had noticed that the most.

‘You can't go home?'

Omar rested his elbow on the edge of the window, ran a hand through his hair. ‘I need a breather.'

‘I hear you. Come over. Rihab makes the best falafel sandwiches.'

‘Don't want to impose.'

Marwan made a sharp turn. ‘Nonsense. Did you see your doctor yet?'

‘Yeah, I saw the sadistic tyrant.'

‘He didn't clear you?'

‘Extended my leave for three more months. Said I should stay home for the winter.' Omar threw his hands in the air. ‘What the hell am I to do with myself for three full months?'

‘Get a job.'

‘Doing what? I can't physically do a damn thing and I don't have a release from the army. No one will hire me.'

‘Come work with me. I don't care if you don't have a release.'

‘I will not get you in trouble, my friend.' Omar slammed his palm on the dashboard. ‘I don't get it. If they're going to assign me to a desk job anyway, what difference does it make if I made a full recovery from my injuries?'

‘Perhaps they have a higher plan for you in the army.'

‘I'm a Palestinian. I will never move up the ranks. This is it for me.'

‘You don't know that for sure.'

Omar glanced sideways. Born to a deeply rooted Syrian family, Marwan would never understand the kind of limitations a Palestinian refugee like Omar faced. ‘You know what I'm thinking?'

‘What?'

‘I'm thinking about spending those months at Fatah headquarters in the Jordanian desert. I can train Palestinian militia at the Karameh refugee camp there. My skills are needed.'

Marwan slowed the car. ‘Someone from the
fidaiyeen
contacted you?'

‘A week ago. Ran into him at the hospital the day Fatimah delivered.'

‘He tried to recruit you right there in the hospital?'

‘Nah. He sent me a signal. I met with him a couple days later. Seems I have a reputation.' Omar folded his arms on his chest. ‘There is a place for me with the
fidaiyeen
. Fighters are joining in from all nations, not just Palestinians. We could repel Israeli attacks across the Jordanian border.'

‘You think you can disappear with the Palestinian resistance for three months and return to your post here? You're a fool if you think you can pull that off. They will never let you.'

‘They?'

Marwan raised his hand and counted on his fingers. ‘One, getting involved with the
fidaiyeen
means you will never be able to leave. They will own you. Two, the Jordanians will keep track of you wherever you go. Even though they're sympathetic to the Palestinian cause, they will not allow another army to expand on their land.' Raising his third finger, Marwan lowered his voice. ‘Three, the Syrians will consider you a deserter when you don't report back in time. You will never be able to show your face here again, and if you do, you will be caged like a dog.'

Omar turned his head away. He shouldn't talk about his plan to anyone, not even to Marwan. Doing anything that would risk cutting ties with the family in Damascus was out of the question. He had promised Uncle Mustafa to take care of his girls. No force on earth would make him jeopardize that. But he also had a duty to fulfill. The man who recruited him had said he would be very helpful to the resistance movement with the kind of military training he had. Palestine waited for her rescuers, and he was no coward. No one would
own
him, not the
fidaiyeen
nor the Syrian army. He would have to sneak in and out of the Fatah militia camp on his own terms.

‘You're right. I'm so frustrated. Trapped here behind red tape while my brothers are fighting every which way they can.'

‘You did your share.'

‘And I failed.' He pointed at a corner. ‘Drop me off there, will you? I'll walk home. I need to clear my head.'

‘You and me both.' Marwan pressed his foot on the gas petal, jerking the car faster. ‘It's settled. You're coming over.'

Omar eyed his friend. Nadia was right. Something was off with Marwan. His casual talk seemed forced, distracted. Nadia was at the heart of the matter, no doubt. Omar pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the obligation to give his friend a chance to get things off his chest.

They drove through the city in silence for a while. Disgusted with his selfishness, Omar finally prodded, ‘Everything all right at home?'

‘Yeah.'

‘And your uncle?'

‘Not doing well. He wants me to take his second son under my wing. Teach him the ropes, introduce him to the market.'

‘Take his brother's place?'

‘Something like that. The boy is fifteen.'

‘You were a year younger when you took on your father's business. You turned out fine.'

Marwan slammed his palm on the steering wheel. ‘But I lost the chance for a decent education. I will not let my uncle do that to Nader. The boy is smart, driven. He should have a better chance.'

Omar motioned for Marwan to take a right turn after he missed the street they should have taken. ‘Is that what Nader wants?'

‘Nader wants to please his father, carry on the family reputation. But someone has to look out for the boy. The Barady name is solid enough in the market, if I keep it up until Nader gets a diploma, he can take over his share then.'

‘Your uncle won't have it that way?'

Marwan shook his head. ‘My uncle is devastated by his son's death. Not thinking straight.' He missed another street they should have turned into to go home. ‘My uncle wants . . . more.'

Realizing Marwan wasn't paying attention to his driving, Omar pointed in the distance. ‘There, park the car. Your uncle wants payback?'

‘After my father died, my uncle was everything for us. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be standing on my two feet right now.' Marwan brought the car to a stop with a jerk. ‘He could have taken over the business, covered our expenses, done his duty and no one would have faulted him for that.' He exhaled long, struggling with whatever he was trying to say. ‘But he insisted I learn everything about my father's trade. He introduced me to the merchants my father dealt with, backed me up. He shaped me to be the man they wanted to do business with.'

Omar couldn't put his finger on what was bothering his friend. ‘You owe him to do the same for Nader. I get it.'

Placing his hands on the steering wheel, Marwan stretched his arms and dropped his chin to his chest. ‘More. He wants more. I can't refuse him.' Lifting his head, he glared at Omar, his eyes intense. ‘Can you understand that?'

Omar nodded. ‘What can't you refuse, man?'

Marwan swallowed a couple of times, working his throat to get difficult words out. He shifted the car into gear and drove off. ‘Better get home.'

Rihab's falafel sandwiches dripped with tahini sauce and hit the spot with Omar. He ate more than his fill, crunching pickled hot peppers between bites to enhance the flavor. The dripping sesame seed paste needed more lemon juice in his opinion, but he didn't say anything. They ate under the orange tree in the courtyard and Marwan seemed to relax. Encouraged by his lightened mood, Omar licked his fingers in front of Rihab, complimenting her for the fabulous meal. ‘That was the best falafel I've had in years.'

Marwan watched Rihab go into the kitchen. ‘I will miss her.'

‘You're planning a trip?'

‘She's getting married. Her wedding is at the end of the month.'

‘Congratulations, man. Huda didn't tell me.'

‘Huda doesn't know yet. The decision was made recently.'

‘When did Rihab get engaged?'

Marwan left the table, went to the fountain and washed his hands. ‘I thought you knew. Rihab has been engaged for the past year.'

‘I had no idea.' Omar followed Marwan. ‘A year is a long time for an engagement.'

‘She refused to go ahead with the wedding on account of my younger sisters.' Marwan dried his hands on a towel hanging from a tree branch. ‘Didn't want to leave them. Kept the poor man waiting all this time.'

Omar avoided Marwan's gaze. Wasn't he doing the same thing? Keeping Marwan waiting for a green light from him? He took the towel. ‘Who's the lucky man?'

‘A merchant's son from Aleppo. A decent man. But he's running out of patience. The girls are old enough not to need her mothering now, so we are moving forward.' Marwan gave a half-hearted smile. ‘Though I fear Rihab worries about me the most.'

‘She will move to Aleppo?'

‘Yeah.'

Rihab joined them with a tea tray in her hands.

Marwan took the tray. ‘Thank you. We'll have it in my room.' He poured tea at a small table in the corner. Omar walked around the room, studying the family pictures and paintings framed on the walls. Generations of Barady family members stared back at him with grainy gray faces. Aware of the absence of such pictures in his own life, jealousy poked his chest. He wandered over to the desk and checked a stack of books.

Marwan fell silent, heaving a heavy sigh every now and then. The spoon in his hand clattered without mercy against the sides of the short tea glasses, stirring sugar and spinning the wheels in Omar's head in search of a way to draw him out.

‘So you're going to look after your sisters by yourself from now on?'

‘I won't be by myself. My uncle solved that problem.'

Omar's fingers paused between pages. ‘What do you mean?'

Marwan flung the sugar spoon onto the brass tray. ‘I can't say no to him.' He shook his head, sounding defeated. ‘I just can't.'

Omar closed the book in his hands. ‘What's going on? What does he want from you exactly?'

‘God help me, Omar.' Marwan lifted red eyes. ‘He wants me to marry his son's widow.'

‘Oh!' Omar blew a long breath. ‘I see.'

Marwan dragged his palms down his face. ‘He thinks it will solve
everything
.' His voice came out muffled and strained. He dropped his hands. ‘It will keep my cousin's share within the family without having to deal with fortune hunters who will go after the widow. Her boy will have a decent living until he can take over his inheritance. I will have help with my sisters while Rihab finally moves on with her life.' He spread his hands wide. ‘See? Everything is solved.'

Giving Marwan his back, Omar closed his eyes. He placed his flat palms on the desk surface, catching his breath. Could it be this easy? Getting Marwan out of his way, out of Nadia's life, without having to do anything? Was this God's way of showing him he wasn't forgotten?

Marwan's voice came closer from behind. ‘You know where my heart is.'

Omar opened his eyes. A blue and white ribbon dangled from one of the books before him. He knew that ribbon well, the details of its white lace fringes imbedded in his memory. How had it come to be tucked in Marwan's book? How long had it been there? Had he asked for it? Had she given it to him as a token of her affection? How would she take this news? Would it break her young heart? Omar forced his throat to work. One word came out, heavy with concern, with worry, full of bitterness and frustration. ‘Nadia.'

‘How am I to cherish a woman as a wife,' Marwan choked, ‘when my heart belongs to another?'

Omar swung around, his pulse racing. How was he to answer that? And why couldn't he come up with something to ease his friend's agony?
Must he? He could stand aside and let things unfold on their own. Allow his suffocating aspirations to rise to the surface and catch a breath of air at last.

‘Talk to the widow. Try to make her understand.' The words forced their way out of his mouth, overriding a voice in his head saying,
Let it be. Let it happen.

Marwan dropped on his bed. ‘I tried. All she cares about is her son's wellbeing. I promised her, no matter what, I would take care of her boy like he were my own.' He slammed a fist into his palm. ‘But my uncle won't have it. Says I have to honor the family. Keep the Barady name above everything. If she marries someone else, it would shame us among merchants to allow a stranger to raise our orphaned namesake.'

‘That's ridiculous. We don't live in the Dark Ages. You're a free man.'

‘Free?' Marwan shook his head. ‘I'm nothing without my family name. Our heritage goes back hundreds of years. I cannot ignore that.'

Omar paced the room, trying to focus his thoughts; his feelings—a different matter. A moment ago, he was jealous of Marwan's deep roots, but now he saw they had turned into shackles around his ankles. ‘The widow has a say in this, right? And her family?'

‘They left it up to her. But her father said he wouldn't stand in the way of another Barady member taking care of his daughter and grandson. Would be proud if it happened. And she . . . seems to agree.'

‘Meaning?'

‘She doesn't mind this arrangement if I agree to it.' Marwan twisted his lips in a sad smile. ‘She's under the impression I'm a good man.'

The voice in Omar's head screamed for him to end this conversation there, to leave. But the miserable look on his friend's face nudged him to decency. ‘There must be a way to get you out of the picture without damaging your family image.'