Bitter Almonds (29 page)

She glanced at Marwan, his profile rigid and tense. She could be submissive if she wanted. Have him come over this weekend, go along for the rest of the day, and then stay up all night studying. That would pacify him, wouldn't it? But why should she? It wouldn't be her, not her at all. Would he even pick up on it? Realize she wasn't genuine?

Omar would. In a heartbeat.

Once he arrived in Damascus, Omar reported to his command post and found he had two days to take his new station in Homs, a three-hour bus ride north of Damascus. Nothing he could do about that. He would have to settle for seeing Nadia and the family once a month on a weekend break. His next stop was Marwan's store, to make sure Marwan didn't tell anyone where he was. He intended for the meeting to be brief, to get his story straight before he saw everyone, and not give in to the yearning in his core for news of Nadia.

As soon as he walked in, Marwan pulled him into a bear hug, mumbling a prayer in his ear. ‘You're safe.' Marwan pulled back, assessing him with his eyes. ‘You all right? No injuries?'

Omar worked hard on controlling his emotions. He didn't anticipate this warm concern, and he had no idea why he expected anything less from his best friend. ‘I'm fine.'

Marwan closed the store and guided Omar to his desk area. ‘You did it. You redeemed our dignity. You, the
fidaiyeen
, and the Jordanians.' Slapping him on the shoulder, Marwan's unreserved laugh reverberated through the store. ‘My God, you guys did it.'

Omar shook his head. ‘I didn't do anything. I wasn't even there.'

‘Of course. But this is me you're talking to. Details?'

‘I'm sure you heard the news reports. That's enough to know. To be frank, I couldn't wait to get out of there.' He rubbed his neck. ‘It's all screwed up now. Tensions between Arafat and King Husain.'

‘Didn't I tell you? The Jordanians will not accept a growing Palestinian army on their land.'

‘I didn't train the
fidaiyeen
in that camp to turn their weapons on fellow Jordanians.' Omar slammed his fist on the desk. ‘Those are good men, real fighters, caught in the middle of a skewed power struggle between leaders.'

‘President Nasser has been trying his best to resolve the situation between King Husain and Arafat. Our defense minister is not willing to involve the Syrians in this shameful conflict.' Marwan removed newspapers from the desk drawer and spread them out. ‘Assad is at odds with the politicians since the defeat of the Six-Day War. They are trying to hold him accountable, but Assad has held them at bay so far.' Marwan snapped his head up. ‘Did you report here yet? Please tell me you will not have to be involved in this mess.'

‘I'm not in active combat. Assigned to provide training in Homs.'

‘Try to ask for a transfer to Damascus as soon as you can.' Marwan handed him a glass of water. ‘The good news is that you're back. You're healthy. And you have a job.' Marwan's face brightened with a huge smile. ‘And Nadia and I are to be married.'

 

30

One year later, 1969

When Omar arrived in Homs, he searched for a rental place away from the garrison. He was in charge of basic training but had the freedom to leave camp when shifts allowed, and he enjoyed normal life in the city. The furnished room atop Um George's house provided enough privacy with its separate entrance, and it fit within his small budget. Most of his paycheck went to Mama Subhia. Shareef never sent money from Kuwait and Omar was left with very little to manage his needs. Yet, he didn't need much.

Like a sponge floating in a bucket of water, his affordable room absorbed noise from downstairs and forced on him lives he had no desire to be part of; he over-heard private conversations between Um George and her six sons, discovering secrets worse than his own. His landlady prepared a meal for her sons and their families every Sunday, and she always insisted he join them. He obliged a couple of times out of respect, but he had no place intruding on the tight family, and he stayed in the barracks whatever Sundays he could manage.

Throughout the year, he skipped his monthly breaks, needing the physical distance to keep Nadia out of his thoughts. His efforts accomplished nothing more than making Fatimah angry, and eventually he had to go to Damascus when he had leave.

On his first visit he showed up at her place unannounced. Fatimah hung onto his neck for what seemed like forever and dragged him inside, crying and laughing at the same time.

‘Forgive me, but you need to watch what you eat.' He bounced his nephew on his knees. ‘You have grown a bit . . . wider.'

Setting a fruit tray on the table in front of him, she straightened with difficulty. ‘That's because I'm five months pregnant.'

He shot to his feet, holding his nephew firm in his arms. ‘Not again?'

‘People usually say congratulations, Omar.'

He took her hand and eased her down on the sofa. ‘Sorry. I'm worried about you. Isn't it too soon?'

‘Two years is a good span between children. This is perfect timing. Sit down, relax. Everything is going to work out for the best.'

Omar took back his seat. Relax? Did she forget the agony of her first delivery? Was she intent on keeping him worried?

Fatimah peeled oranges. ‘Shareef left for Kuwait right after his graduation.'

‘That was the plan.' He didn't want to talk about Shareef, and he cared nothing about where he was. His nephew found his watch fascinating, and he let him pound on it with his chubby fingers.

‘Yes, but he didn't take Sameera with him.'

‘It takes time to get her papers ready for a visa. I'm sure Shareef is working on it.'

‘I'm afraid that's not going to happen.' Fatimah took back her son from his lap and handed him a peeled orange. ‘Shareef divorced her.'

Choking on a slice of orange, juice dripped down his chin. ‘When?'

‘Right before he left, apparently. She received her divorce papers from court two weeks after he was gone.' Fatimah carried her son to the playpen in the corner. ‘Her brothers tried to reason with Waleed, thinking he had a say over Shareef to take her back before the divorce was final.'

‘What did Shareef say?'

‘He told Waleed not to call him again.' Fatimah returned to her seat. ‘Shareef didn't pay her dowry.'

Omar held back a curse. ‘If her family pursues this legally, he'll be arrested the instant he tries to come back.'

‘Waleed asked her brothers to give us time to work things out. I don't know what he has in mind.'

‘I'll talk to him.' Damn Shareef. Let him get arrested and rot in prison. Why were they talking about him? Nadia, what news of Nadia? He couldn't bring himself to ask.

‘I can't help but feel sorry for Sameera. She deserved to be punished for trying to ruin Nadia's life. But what Shareef did was wrong.'

‘She brought it on. And the divorce is legal.'

‘Yes, but still wrong. A woman should have a say, not get discarded like that without her knowing.'

‘What makes you think she didn't know?'

Fatimah shrugged. ‘Shareef is too selfish. I think he didn't want to bother with a wife in his new life in Kuwait. I doubt he did it to avenge Nadia's honor.'

Omar chose an apple from the tray and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Speaking of Nadia, how is she?'

‘I'm worried about her. I know Marwan is your best friend, but please try to keep an open mind.'

Keeping a cool facade was almost impossible. To avoid looking at his sister and letting her see the hunger in his eyes, he examined the apple in his hand. ‘What's going on?'

‘I will let her tell you, but I think something is off. Marwan is very traditional, you know?'

‘And that's a problem?'

‘Small things matter, Omar.'

‘Like what?'

‘Marwan insists on driving Nadia to and from her classes every day, like she is a child going to school, not a university student. And he wants to know where she is at all times.' Fatimah plucked a handful of grapes off a vine and dropped them onto his plate. ‘We never had
to ask Uncle Mustafa for permission to go to the market, or to go out with our friends. Not like that, you know? It's difficult for Nadia to accept Marwan's controlling ways.' She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘I shouldn't be telling you this, but I doubt Nadia will say anything to you about it.' She glanced at her child playing in his pen, making sure he didn't hear her. ‘Nadia tries her best not to be alone with Marwan. You know what that means?'

His insides twisting like a laundered shirt about to hang on the wire to dry, he shook his head. ‘I know my friend. Marwan would never try anything indecent.'

Fatimah sat back, a triumphant smile on her face. ‘Exactly.'

‘You lost me.'

‘I can't believe I'm having to explain this to you. Look, if a woman is truly drawn to her man, she will create the chance for him to try something. Do you follow me?'

He sprang to his feet, angry heat surging to his face. ‘They're only engaged. You're not encouraging her to do something disgraceful?'

‘Nothing like that. Oh, you poor fellows. You have no idea what women are like.' Fatimah gazed at him with the warmth of a loving mother. ‘Small things matter, remember that. A woman likes to know how desirable she is.' She took his hand, pulling him down to his seat. ‘How could Marwan say or do anything to show his feelings if they are surrounded by children all the time? Nadia drags the girls with her whenever they go out, and she insists he brings his sisters every time he comes over. And that boy, his cousin's son? He's attached to Marwan's hip.'

‘People talk. Nadia is being careful.'

‘Too careful. I asked her. She wouldn't allow him to even hold her hand, lay his arm across her shoulders, or get close enough to whisper in her ear, or . . . or anything.' Tilting her head to one side, Fatimah squinted. ‘Little things you fellows try to sneak in. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about?'

Omar stared at his sister, not believing he was having this conversation. ‘I wouldn't—'

‘I won't say more. I'm sure you understand where I'm going with this.'

He cleared his throat. ‘Nadia knows what she's doing.'

‘She asked Marwan to visit Thursday evenings only, so she could study during the week. She isn't eager for his visits.' Fatimah shook her head. ‘She is not drawn to him, I'm telling you. Not the way a woman is to her soon-to-be husband. Something is not right with them.' Fatimah patted his knee. ‘This engagement will not last. Mark my word.'

‘It's best to stay out of it. I better go.'

‘Omar Bakry, you will not leave here before Waleed gets home.'

As though Fatimah's words were Aladdin's summoning his Genie, Waleed walked in, his surprise and joy at seeing Omar genuine and heartwarming.

Nadia blew out the nineteenth candle on her birthday cake and struggled to hide the embarrassment brought on by cheers of onlookers at the fine restaurant. Marwan had gone out of his way to arrange the midday celebration. He had asked Mama's permission to bring her to this place on the outskirts of the city without the children. Mama had sent Huda instead.

Nadia's nervousness prevented her from enjoying finely minced kabobs and butter-soft barbequed lamb. Marwan noticed her lack of enthusiasm and kept trying to feed her bites wrapped in pita bread soaking with tomato juices. Despite herself, she cringed every time he extended his hand. Huda kicked her under the table and enticed her to accept Marwan's engaging efforts.

Glad that dessert brought the elaborate meal to an end, Nadia's stomach muscles relaxed enough to let her enjoy cake with big chocolate ribbons on top.

Huda left her chair. ‘I'm going to the restroom.'

Marwan exhaled through a smile. ‘I thought she would never leave us alone. I kept filling her water glass, hoping she would get the urge sooner.'

‘You're terrible.' Nadia fiddled with her napkin, somewhat amused. Pushing him to resort to that kind of behavior to get her attention wiped the smile off her face. She was the terrible one.

‘What's bothering you, Nadia?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.' She didn't lie. Nothing in particular was troubling her, but she
was
bothered. She couldn't figure out why. Marwan left no room for criticism in his plans, thought of every little detail, and looked so handsome in his simple white shirt and gray pants. What was it that darkened her surroundings in this daylight and prevented her from enjoying his efforts?

Marwan placed a gift box wrapped in white paper and a satin red ribbon on the table before her. ‘Happy birthday.'

‘Oh! I didn't expect this.' She fingered the ribbon. ‘You've already given me too many gifts at home.'

‘Those were for your mother's benefit. I hope this one is to your personal liking.' He crinkled his eyebrows and glanced in the direction of the restrooms. ‘Will you please open it before Huda comes back?'

Nadia pulled the ribbon free and opened the box. A gold heart studded with small diamonds rested on a red velvet pillow. She lifted the pendant with numb fingers. A gold chain dangled to the table. ‘This is too much.'

‘Just the right thing to replace those silver wings you wear all the time, don't you agree?'

Her other hand flew to her necklace. ‘This is from Omar.'

‘Someone as beautiful as you should be draped in gold.' Marwan took the pendant from her hand and moved to stand behind her. ‘May I?'

She clutched her wings and froze. A mess of emotions gripped her—embarrassment, disbelief, helplessness, and finally anger. How dare he remove the connection she had to Omar?

‘Hmm,' Huda cleared her throat. Nadia swung her head to see her sister grab Marwan's hand. ‘We're in public, Marwan. Something this personal should not be done here.'