Bitter Almonds (6 page)

‘And the father?'

‘The Bakrys were our neighbors in Jerusalem,' Uncle Mustafa interjected. He glanced at Waleed and nodded, giving him the signal to change the subject.

Waleed straightened in his chair, fixed his eyes on Omar and started what seemed like a well-rehearsed speech.

‘My mother and I have come this evening to respectfully ask your permission to pursue your honorable sister with the intention of marriage.'

Omar held Waleed's gaze, hiding his surprise at being the one addressed, rather than Uncle Mustafa, and at Waleed's formal tone.

‘I've been your teacher for the past three years. I hope you've had a chance to know the kind of man I am.' Waleed cleared his throat. ‘I can provide a decent living if Fatimah is willing to live with my mother . . . with your approval, of course.' He gestured toward his mother. ‘My father passed away five years ago.'

‘
Allah yirhamuh
.' Everyone mumbled the typical prayer asking for mercy on the deceased man's soul.

‘Our family,' Waleed continued, ‘the Najads' are from Nablus.'

Mama Subhia drew in an audible breath. Everyone's eyes shifted to her. She coughed into her handkerchief. Omar could tell she forced it.
What had the man said that surprised her? He looked back at Waleed.

Um Waleed shifted in her seat. ‘I have come to know Fatimah well in the past three years. Allah has not blessed me with girls, but I love Fatimah like my own daughter. I will make sure she is happy with us.'

Waleed ran an index finger sideways in his collar, swallowing several times. ‘I try my best to attend Friday prayers and I don't have any debts. I deal with the butcher, Abu Nawaf, at the south corner on a regular basis. Most of the grocers on Mehyi Eldeen Street know me. They will give honest answers to your questions.'

He produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and placed it on the coffee table. ‘You can also ask about me at this newspaper press. My eldest uncle works there.'

Omar blinked. So that was how things went in situations like these? He hadn't been to the cinema much, but the way they showed these instances in the films was less severe. His articulate teacher was a nervous wreck. His face gleamed with sweat, his leg pumped up and down at maddening speed.

Was he supposed to say something now? Omar glanced at Uncle Mustafa for guidance. The man stared back at him. Omar shifted his eyes to Shareef. He had his head down and his hands clasped in his lap, apparently finding them captivating.

‘You are from Nablus, you said?' Mama Subhia rescued him.

‘Both parents. My late husband's family too.' Um Waleed inflated her chest, pride clear in her voice.

Tilting her head closer to Um Waleed, Mama Subhia said in what only could be understood as an apology, ‘I wish I had known that before.'

‘Don't worry about it.' Um Waleed patted Mama Subhia's hand. ‘I'm sure it's very good.'

Omar didn't know what to do next. What had happened? What kind of secret code were the women using? If Uncle Mustafa would say
something, he could follow his lead. Was it time for Fatimah to come in with the coffee tray?

‘Omar, is there anything else you would like to know about?' Waleed asked, looking a bit more controlled.

If they deemed him the central figure in this play, then he would speak his mind and ask about what truly mattered. Rules be damned. ‘How do you feel about my sister?'

Waleed blinked a couple of times. ‘I admire her manners.'

Fatimah's footsteps came from behind. Omar gave Waleed a firm nod to indicate his approval of his answer.

Fatimah walked in, carrying a polished brass tray. Short coffee cups rattled on their saucers.

Waleed stretched to his feet and buttoned his jacket.

Uncle Mustafa spoke at last, making the official introduction of Fatimah's suitor. ‘Waleed Najad, history teacher. You have met before.'

Fatimah served coffee as directed, starting with Um Waleed, then Mama Subhia, Uncle Mustafa, the boys and ending with Waleed. She placed the tray on the coffee table and sat between Waleed and his mother, crossing her legs.

Mama Subhia cleared her throat.

Fatimah uncrossed her legs and put her feet together, shifting them slightly to Um Waleed's side.

Omar rolled his eyes. More secret codes between the women? God help him when his turn came to be in that spot. If it ever did.

Waleed stiffened next to Fatimah. Holding the coffee cup and saucer in his hands, he turned to face her. ‘How are you this evening?'

Before Fatimah could say anything, Huda entered the room.

Waleed rose to his feet again.

‘This is my eldest daughter, Huda.' Mama Subhia's voice elevated higher than usual.

Um Waleed placed her coffee cup back on the tray and stretched a hand to greet her.

There was no room for Huda to sit anywhere. Omar was about to give up his chair, but Shareef beat him to it. Huda smoothed the back of her skirt with her hands before she sat down, smiling and connecting eyes with Omar.

Something was wrong. Huda almost never smiled. Certainly not the way she was beaming this evening. Something sinister in the twist of her mouth puzzled Omar.

 

9

Nadia paced the narrow space between the beds, chatting with her younger sisters to keep them occupied. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door and checked the front buttons of her yellow blouse. The top had made its way down to her from Huda, passing through Fatimah's teenage years. The silk fabric had lasted longer than it should have. The girls knew how to extend the lifetime of an expensive item like that. Nadia hunched her shoulders forward to lessen the stretch of the front panels across her bosom, realizing she had developed more than the others in that area. She should ask Fatimah to let the seams out a couple of centimeters.

‘How much longer?' Farah asked from her corner on one of the beds.

‘Soon.' Nadia frowned. They should have called them in by now. What was taking so long? She turned and sat by the edge of the bed. ‘Now remember girls, we go in, we greet everyone and then we come back here.' She adjusted the ribbon on Salma's head. ‘If they ask questions, your answer should be brief. I don't want us to take too much time.'

‘Why can't we stay a little?' Farah whined.

‘Because that's not how things are done.'

‘But why?'

‘There's no room for us.'

‘I can sit on the rug,' Salma chirped. ‘I always sit on the floor when I play.'

Nadia leaned closer and whispered as if telling them a secret. ‘It's not a time for children. The grownups need to get to know each other first.'

Farah shook her head; soft black strands covered her eyes. ‘You're not a child like us. You're sixteen.'

Straightening, Nadia examined her profile in the mirror again. Her sister was right, she sure didn't look like a child in this outfit.

Collective coughs penetrated the quiet atmosphere, followed by the clatter of dishes.

Nadia jumped to her feet.

‘What happened?' Farah followed. ‘Why is Mama apologizing?'

‘I don't know.' Nadia approached the closed door. Should she go outside to see? Maybe they needed help. She turned to the girls. ‘Stay here. I'll be right back.'

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.

Everyone was standing. Mama coughed non-stop, Um Waleed by her side patting her back. Fatimah held a glass of water, her face ashen and white. Huda was bent down, collecting pieces of broken coffee cups by Um Waleed's feet. The men shuffled from side to side, staring at each other, seeming confused or lost at what to do. Omar had his back to Nadia.

‘I'm so sorry,' Mama managed between coughs. ‘The first sip must have gone down the wrong way.' She looked at Um Waleed's dress. ‘Did I spill coffee on you?'

Brushing the front of her plain gray dress, Um Waleed smiled. ‘Spilled coffee is a good omen.'

Huda straightened. She headed to the kitchen, passing Nadia. Huda sauntered, her back straight, sandals clicking on the tiled floor, lips parting in a strange sideway smile.

Nadia froze in her spot.

Omar turned, following Huda with his eyes.

A cartoon character popped into Nadia's head, an angry worrier with steam blowing out of his ears. Omar's menacing look confirmed Nadia's suspicion. Whatever bad thing had happened was Huda's fault, and Omar knew it.

‘We are in need of fresh coffee,' Mama addressed Fatimah. ‘I'm afraid I spilled Um Waleed's cup in my coughing fit. Be a dear and help Huda.'

Fatimah collected the remaining untouched coffee cups and hurried to the kitchen.

Nadia followed. ‘What happened?'

Huda stood by the stove, arms crossed on her chest, that strange smile stamped in place. ‘Fatimah made a mistake. The salt canister is right next to the sugar one.'

Fatimah filled the coffee kettle with water and set it on the stove, her movements twitchy, lacking finesse. ‘It's a good thing Mama Subhia took a sip before Um Waleed did,' she mumbled under her breath.

Huda opened the cabinet door above her head and brought down another set of coffee cups. ‘Yes, that was a good thing.' Sarcasm laced every word.

Nadia grabbed Huda's arm and swung her around. ‘How could you?'

Huda pulled her arm out of Nadia's grip, throwing her off balance. ‘I didn't do anything.'

Mama entered the kitchen. ‘You had better pray Um Waleed didn't pick up on what just happened.' She shook a finger in Huda's face. ‘I've never been so embarrassed in my life. I want you to go in there and excuse yourself. Stay with the little ones in the bedroom. Nadia will help Fatimah with the dessert service.'

Huda opened her mouth to say something.

Mama shook her head in silent warning. She stepped to the side of the doorway, directing Huda with a nod of her head to proceed in front of her out of the kitchen.

Nadia approached Fatimah and draped her arms around her waist. ‘Everything's going to be all right.'

Fatimah wiped tears. ‘We will see.' She stirred cardamom-fragrant coffee into the boiling water, watched it foam to the surface a couple of times, and turned off the stove.

Nadia pulled back and arranged the new coffee cups on the tray. ‘Left or right? I can never tell which way the handles are supposed to be turned.'

Fatimah approached with the kettle in hand. ‘Your left. The guests should be able to hold the handles with their right hands.'

‘Why did you let Huda brew the coffee in the first place? Aren't you the one who's expected to do it?'

‘I asked her to pour the coffee after I made it,' Fatimah sighed. ‘She must have added the salt when I turned to fill the water glass.'

Nadia leaned closer, stealing a look at the door. ‘Omar knows Huda is responsible.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I just do. He will make her pay for this. Wait and see.'

‘No, he mustn't. And you will not talk to him about this foolishness. It's between us girls. Promise me.'

Nadia heaved a long sigh. ‘You're too kind.'

‘I'm just trying to put myself in Huda's shoes. This is very difficult for her. She's the oldest.' Fatimah held the tray. ‘Let's get this evening over with. We're about to serve the
kanafeh
experts what they will only find lacking. More things for Um Waleed to criticize.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘They're from Nablus. Famous for their unparalleled
kanafeh
. And what do we decide to serve them?'

‘Store-bought
kanafeh
.'

‘Not from one of the best dessert stores, either. Mama Subhia is beside herself. Now prepare the plates and follow me in ten minutes, please.' Heading out the kitchen, Fatimah turned and added in a hushed voice, ‘Make sure you keep your shoulders hunched a little, maybe cross your arms over your chest. That shirt is too tight for you.'

The dessert service passed without incident. Um Waleed was gracious enough to take one bite of her serving, make a half-hearted comment
on how good it tasted, and set it down for the rest of the evening. Waleed devoured his piece while conversing with Fatimah by his side. Nadia balanced herself on the arm of Mama's chair, opting to keep her arms crossed rather than eating her dessert.

Toward the end of the visit, Um Waleed asked Fatimah, ‘Do you welcome my son's courting?'

Fatimah lowered her head, clasped her hands in her lap and kept quiet. Seconds passed in silence. Everyone stared at Fatimah, her face turning bright red.

‘Silence is a sign of approval,' Mama said.

‘Shall we read the
Fatiha
?' Waleed's voice was reserved, but his enthusiasm to seal his proposal with a verse of the Qur'an showed clearly enough.

Expecting her father to respond, Nadia was surprised to see him staring at Omar instead. Poor Omar, he was beyond uncomfortable, the creases between his eyebrows turning white with his scowl. He hated being the center of this official business. Balancing his body at the edge of his chair, he looked ready to bolt out of the room. He cleared his throat.

Fatimah flashed him a glimpse and then returned her gaze to the floor.

Omar nodded. ‘Very well then.'

Everyone put their hands together, flipped their palms upward, recited the
Fatiha
in unison, and wiped their faces with their palms.

Mama told Waleed he would be welcomed in the house every Thursday evening to spend time with Fatimah. Should they decide to go out, Waleed would have to coordinate with her brother and Shareef to be chaperoned.

Nadia thought the whole process unnecessary, even absurd. Fatimah and Waleed could always meet in his place when she went there to work, his mother a proper chaperone just as it had been so far. Nadia brought this up after everyone had left.