A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(32)
One day, she fainted at work, and when she awoke in the public hospital, the doctor informed her that she had severe anemia and told her that she had to stay home for at least one month, eat well, and relax.
Doaa reluctantly took time off work to follow the doctor’s orders, but during that time she had no appetite. She didn’t care about getting healthy again. From her balcony, she could see Bassem leave for work at the hair salon in the morning and return in the evening. Her sisters told her stories about how when he saw them in the street, he would buy them small gifts and always ask about Doaa.
While all the women in the house and many neighbors knew about Bassem’s feelings for Doaa, Shokri somehow remained oblivious. Hanaa and the girls had kept the drama from him—but he knew Bassem and often mentioned how much he liked him. Hanaa was becoming increasingly impatient with Doaa—and concerned. She didn’t tell Doaa about Bassem’s plan to return to Syria to fight, but she fretted about it and increased the pressure on Doaa to accept him. She told Doaa that her poor health was probably caused by her stubbornness, and that Bassem could bring her happiness and take care of her. Hanaa implored her to think about the engagement again, to open her heart, and to pray if it helped her, then to make a decision once and for all.
Doaa did pray for help. She knew her mother only wanted what was best for her, and she didn’t fully understand why the thought of accepting Bassem upset her so much. She asked Allah what course she should take. Night after night, she prayed, but no answer came.
One night, Hanaa called Doaa over to sit beside her. Looking uncharacteristically unstable and weary, Hanaa asked point-blank, “Why don’t you like Bassem? He’s a great guy and he supports us.” Doaa knew that her mother was right and couldn’t give her a good answer; instead she looked away embarrassed. Hanaa took Doaa’s chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Enough is enough,” she stated urgently. Doaa didn’t quite understand what, but she could tell something was unnerving her mother.
A few hours later, when Doaa got ready for bed, she knelt for her prayers, then called out to her mother in the next bedroom to say her usual good-night. When she was met with silence, she called out again. Her mother always answered her, but not this time. A sense of panic and dread washed over her as Doaa quickly got to her feet and hurried to her parents’ room, pounding her cold bare feet on the hard floor. She found her mother sitting in a trancelike state with her hand over her eyes, trembling uncontrollably and breathing harshly. Doaa shook her father awake, and together they carried Hanaa out the apartment door and into the street to hail a cab, while Hanaa moaned softly and could barely stand.
Bassem was sitting on his balcony at the time, enjoying a cigarette. When he noticed the family, he shouted down to them, asking what was wrong.
Doaa, crying in fear for her mother, called back up to him, “She’s not well at all, she’s barely conscious! We’re taking her to the hospital!” The concern in Bassem’s eyes warmed Doaa for a brief moment as they stepped into the taxi and sped away.
The doctor examined Hanaa and told the family that she was mentally and physically exhausted. She needed rest and the family had to care for her. Such a state was not uncommon in refugee patients, he said, after what they went through in Syria and now in Egypt. “She should not be given any bad news,” he warned. “She might not be able to take it.” Doaa felt as if the doctor were staring straight at her when he said this, and that her mother’s illness was somehow linked to her rejection of Bassem and her mother’s worry for her.
It was dawn by the time they returned home. Hanaa’s phone rang almost immediately upon their arrival, and Doaa noticed Bassem’s name on the caller ID. She picked it up.
“I am so sorry,” he said, “but I think I know why your mother is sick! It’s because of us.”
Doaa was surprised that he had arrived at the same conclusion that she had. “Yes,” she replied, her voice catching. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of her mother’s illness. “It is our fault.”
Before she could say more, he blurted out, “Doaa, I want to tell you something that I have only told your mother. I have decided to return to Syria to fight with the opposition. If I die, at least I know I will have you in heaven since I can’t have you in this life. I’m not leaving yet. I’ll wait for your mother to get better so I can say good-bye, but I am leaving in a few days.”
Doaa was stunned at this news. She now understood why her mother had been so upset. Hanaa had come to care deeply for Bassem, even to love him as a son. “Now I know for sure we are the reason she got sick!” she told Bassem, feeling suddenly as if she were confiding in a close friend. “It was because she was so upset knowing that you would go back to Syria. That’s why she’s been so angry with me lately.” Doaa stood in the doorway of her mother’s room, watching Hanaa’s chest move up and down as she slept. Doaa leaned against the wall outside her parents’ room and held the phone pressed tightly to her ear. She realized that she didn’t want Bassem to hang up, and that she hated the idea of not being able to talk to him if he left Egypt.
Bassem’s voice softened. “Doaa, do you think you could change your mind?” he asked hopefully. “Try and think about it more, but do it quickly. I’m going to leave in a few days. On Thursday at the latest. I can’t stand to stay here any longer than that.” Thursday was only three days away. Doaa thought about how much he cared for her and her family. FSA fighters died every day, and if he left, he could die, too.