Three Daughters: A Novel (31 page)

Mindlessly, Miriam even tried to talk to Max. To ask for his intervention in whatever world he existed. “Oh, Max, I can’t lose another child. I can’t.”

25.

MISS NADIA SOON MARRY ENGLISHMAN.

H
e returned from London in late May on the
Rothenberg
, a coal-burning cargo ship of the German Lloyd line carrying twenty-eight passengers. They landed at Jaffa on a brilliantly sunny day that was balm to him after nine months of British weather. Once ashore, he breathed in that special scented air. He was happy to be back in his homeland. On the other side of the customs station, Muffi was waiting with the Hispano-Suiza.

“Your father doesn’t want me to wait for luggage,” he said apologetically. “Bring you right home and get everything tomorrow.”

“But you’ll have to make the tiresome trip again. I don’t mind waiting,” said Samir.

“Not tiresome,” said Muffi. “Driving is exciting. I love it.”

“Very well.” Samir smiled. “I won’t rob you of the opportunity. Let’s leave quickly, the baggage may come down too soon.”

They drove out of the city with the delicate fragrance of orange blossoms wafting through the car. “How is everyone?” Samir asked casually. He wanted to hear any news of Nadia, even though it was unlikely because Muffi knew little about her. It was just a childish desire to discuss her. The possibility of seeing her brought back his desire with intensity. But then a very strange thing happened.

“Everyone satisfied. The grape crop very good this year.” Muffi spoke in the stilted cadence of a country man trying to imitate the British yet leaving out the occasional verb or article. “Your nephew Ambrose is growing very cute.” They left the plain and began the ascent to the hill country and the air became drier. Muffi was silent but he kept grunting, as if mulling over any tidbit of news that would entertain Samir. “The whole family is discussing situation that is unexpected and this has to do with Miss Nadia.”

“And what situation is that?” Samir was uneasy. It was as if Muffi had read his mind and was playing to it.

“Miss Nadia soon marry Englishman.” With this, Muffi turned to glance at Samir and enjoy the reaction to this special news. “Family very puzzled. Upset.”

Samir moved to the edge of the seat and almost made Muffi stop the car. Surely he had the wrong information. How could Nadia marry an Englishman? What Englishman? “You must have the wrong information. That sounds like mischievous gossip.” There was a thud in his chest and he felt betrayed.

“It’s true,” said Muffi with a weary grunt, as if he too was undone by the news.

“But her father will forbid it.”

“
La!
No. Her father allow it.”

He sat in silence the rest of the ride. His mind was filled with chaotic scenarios of Nadia and her unknown Englishman, to whom he gave the face of Leslie Howard, having just seen him in a film. After all these months, his heart still churned at the thought of her. And the thought of her with another man destroyed his peace of mind. He composed himself enough to speak. “Who is this Englishman?”

“Divorced,” said Muffi in his economical pattern. “Too old,” he added. “His daughter friend of Miss Nadia at school.”

Again the information brought Samir to the edge of his seat. “She’s marrying Margaret’s father?” Even as surprise made his voice rise, the news seemed inevitable. Hadn’t he seen it coming from the very beginning—that first night in the school’s foyer? Perhaps he could stop her.

“Don’t know name,” said Muffi. “He tall man. Work for government. Miss Nadia, she work there, too.”

“It’s wrong,” Samir said vehemently. “Very wrong.”

Muffi grinned, delighted to be the bearer of such provocative news. “She should marry own kind, you think? Cousin.”

“It doesn’t have to be a cousin,” he said crossly. His aversion to marriage between close relatives was stronger since he had lived in London and realized it was such a taboo in Europe. Genetically it was unsound and now, in his mood, Muffi’s rote pronouncement annoyed him more.

“Muffi, don’t go straight home. Stop in Jerusalem. You can use a coffee, I’m sure, and I have an errand.”

When they approached Jaffa Gate, he became impatient with the car and asked to be let out. He walked to the Mandate government headquarters. “Miss Nadia Mishwe, please.”

The girl at the desk reacted to the handsome young man in the beautifully cut suit by fluttering her eyes. “Who shall I say is calling?”

“Is she here?” He hadn’t expected to find her so easily.

“On the second floor. In the back. Shall I call her down?”

“No, thank you.” He took the steps methodically, one at a time, as if each step confirmed his good sense. He would have a talk with Nadia, and the sooner the better. Once he got home, there would be little time. But right now he could convince her of her folly. After all, he was of her own generation. She would listen to him. In the heat of his determination, it never occurred to him that he was acting presumptuously.

“Samir!” She was shocked to see him. “I thought you were in London.”

“I just landed today. I haven’t been home yet.” She was wearing a mauve voile dress with a white organdy collar. Her hair was loose, spread all around her face—a beautiful dark-copper cloud. She had penciled her brows—it was the fashion—to look older, no doubt, but it had the opposite effect and this evidence of her vulnerability evoked in him an overwhelming tenderness. She looked lovely and a phrase came to mind—
the bloom of a girl in love
.

“And you stopped here? Why?”

“Muffi, who helps my father, came to drive me home and he told me your news. Can you come out for a few minutes and have a coffee?” It was a small office and he scoured the walls, imagining scenes of intimacy.

“I suppose.” She looked uncertain and searched his face for his true purpose. “Not too long, though. I have to transcribe these four pages for Victor by five.”

Did she briefly caress the paper? There was a look about her, a new confidence, but also a softness that totally transformed her. Was it the fact that she loved someone else that made her so desirable? She exuded a womanliness that was palpable. He felt its potency in that close space. It was in her eyes and in the way she held her body and especially in her lovely mouth.

He led her outside, conscious of his hand on her arm and happy to be out of that small room. They walked to Jaffa Road to the Hotel Fast. “Would you like lunch?” he asked when they were seated.

She was trying to read his intentions and she had a wary look. “Just a coffee.” When he had given the order and they were alone, he leaned forward with his eyes focused on her. “How was London?” She smiled nervously.

“You can’t be serious. You’re not going to marry Victor Madden.”

“Oh.” Her eyes turned hostile. “So that’s what this is all about. Who sent you?”

“No one sent me. I haven’t even been home yet. I couldn’t just stand by and let you do something so foolish.”

Her face reddened with indignation. “You have decided it’s foolish? You don’t even know Victor.”

“He’s a divorced man twice your age.”

“Oh.” Her lips held the small round O shape. “I have never thought of it that way, but I’m not shocked. Those are just words and they don’t really portray him.” Now she looked at him with uneasy understanding. “You haven’t been home for months and you stopped here on the way from the boat to talk to me? You must think I’m a fool if you thought you could change my mind in a few minutes.” Her eyes became hard and cold. “And don’t pretend to be so shocked over the age difference. I’ve seen too many girls in our family sold off—yes, sold—to men twice their age . . . but with a big difference. They were strangers. I know Victor. And”—she lowered her eyes shyly—“he’s everything I want.”

“I’m not judging him because of his age. But he’s from a different culture. He knows nothing of what you’re made of. What’s important to you. What you expect from marriage.”

She emitted a short stingy laugh. “And you know what’s important to me?”

“Yes. Probably better than he.”

“I have to go now,” she said, rising. Momentarily she put aside her anger. “I’m sorry you wasted your time. You must be tired and your father must be eager to see you. How was the university?”

“The university was fine,” he said thoughtfully. His mind was not on the university. “I have to wait for the results of a paper on logic. Other than that I’m finished for the semester.”

“Do you feel finished?” Her brow was furrowed, as if she really wanted his answer. “What I mean is, are you getting your fine classical education and are you a man of the world now?” Her tone was sarcastic. “Coming to discipline the country girl?”

“I don’t know if I’m a man of the world. I feel quite helpless right now. You’re probably making a terrible mistake and I wish I could make you see it.”

“I really must leave. I hope you’ll come to my wedding.” She walked out and left him there. After a few minutes, he sighed and went to meet Muffi, feeling more desolate than before.

For two days he prowled about the household, fidgety and withdrawn. He had a lot of business papers to look through, but he found it difficult to concentrate. His father had become considerably weaker, but he still struggled every day to participate in his affairs.

Samir was taking a walk through the village and came to the street where Nadia’s parents lived. It seemed quite natural to go and speak to them, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

He found his aunt Miriam in the garden, patiently cultivating the soil around the vegetables and murmuring to herself. At first he thought she might be praying and felt embarrassed. She had an air of mystery and, of all people, made him feel shy. Her beautiful eyes seemed to see right into his heart.

“My father said vegetables grow better if you think well of them as you cultivate. I’m talking to them, but you mustn’t think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Your father must have been a wonderful man,” he said with feeling. “My father talks about him often.”

“Yes, he was.” She straightened and started to walk toward the house. “I’m glad you came to see me. You’re a wonderful sight. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

“No,
Amti
, I’d like to talk outside.” He was surprised that she could be so calm considering what her daughter was about to do. “Are you pleased about this marriage?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I could accept anyone she chose if I thought it would bring her happiness.”

“And you think Victor Madden can bring her happiness?”

“No.” She looked at him shrewdly. “Nadia’s always been headstrong. She’ll go through with this and it will ruin her life.” Her expression changed and she became agitated. “We can’t lock her up. She’s threatened to leave with him for England.” Her eyes were filled with frustration. “Why couldn’t it have happened some other way? If you and she . . . you had a great deal in common.” She ran her hands down her skirt. “You were the two special children.”

He had the queerest feeling, an intense desire to admit to his aunt and to himself. “I do love her,” he said quietly. “I love Nadia.”

She looked stunned. “Why didn’t you say something? This is such a tragedy. Have you told her you love her? Maybe that would make a difference.”

“I can’t tell her.” Now the pain was in his eyes. “I can’t in good conscience marry my second cousin. There’s too much potential for physical problems and mental ones, too. I know it is done, but I can’t do it.”

Miriam turned her back on him and walked a few yards to a small copse of trees, where it was cooler. He waited a few minutes and followed her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ve only just become aware of how much I care for her. It’s my misfortune, too, you know.”

When Miriam turned around, she appeared slightly dazed. “Nadia isn’t your blood relative,” she said in an echoing whisper. “Your uncle isn’t her father. If that’s what’s holding you back, don’t consider it a barrier. Please, you mustn’t tell anyone. It would hurt too many people. I’m telling you now because I don’t want Nadia to ruin her life.”

He was deeply embarrassed, as if her revelation was too intimate. But after a moment, he felt elated.

She looked at the near hills dotted with the yellow heads of the wheat almost ready for harvest. “Her father’s dead now. He was a German doctor who practiced in Jerusalem before and after the war. He was a dedicated surgeon, vigorous, the son of a doctor. He loved Nadia, although I never told him outright that she was his. I’m sure he guessed. He sent her the horses.”

Samir shook his head. “That’s where the obsession with horses comes from. And the coloring. And the stubbornness.” He grimaced. “You and Uncle Nadeem seem so devoted.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” she said tersely. The set of her shoulders and her voice told him that, despite her revelation, she was still his aunt and in no way subject to his judgment. She put her hands on her hips. “What are we going to do?”

The basic facts had not changed. “Nadia loves him, not me. What can we do?”

Her eyes became hard. Her jaw was set with determination and she stared at him, offering a challenge. “I lost a child—a beautiful boy—during the war. It was one of those devastating things. He was well one day and dead a few days later.” She blinked rapidly, but two tears escaped down her cheeks. “I can’t bear losing another child. If Nadia marries this man, I’ll lose her. He’ll take her away and later—probably quite soon—he’ll tire of the responsibility of marriage and make her miserable. However, Nadia will stick by him forever and suffer silently. He’s a weak individual without a sense of duty or honor. Samir, you must help me.”

“How can I help you?” He looked perplexed.

“There is one way,” she said fiercely. “We can still win one way.”

Victor Madden had a suite of rooms on the third floor of the large house off the Street of the Chain, behind the Khalidi Library. A pair of French doors allowed him a spectacular view to the east to the Temple Mount.

They were charming quarters and Samir’s thought was,
The man has taste and finesse.
For the first time he felt trepidation over what he was attempting.

He took a deep breath, climbed the steps that ran along the outside of the house, and, raising the heavy brass knocker, allowed it to fall forcefully against the lion’s lips.