A Woman Is No Man(48)

Sarah shot her a sidelong glance. “Maybe.”

Isra shrugged. Sarah had matured so much in the past two years. She was thirteen years old, creeping up on womanhood. Isra wished she could save her from it.

“Whatever happened to your romantic streak?” Sarah said.

“Nothing happened,” Isra said. “I grew up, that’s all.”

“Not everyone ends up in the kitchen, you know. There is such a thing as a happy ending.”

“Now who sounds like a romantic?” Isra asked with a smile. She thought back to how naive she had been when she’d first arrived in America, walking around dreaming of love. But she wasn’t naive anymore. She had finally figured it out. Life was nothing more than a bad joke for women. One she didn’t find funny.

“You know what your problem is?” Sarah said.

“What’s that?”

“You stopped reading.”

“I don’t have time to read.”

“Well, you should make time. It would make you feel better.” When Isra said nothing, she added, “Don’t you miss it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Isra lowered her voice to a whisper. “Adam and Fareeda are already disappointed in me for having two girls. They wouldn’t like me reading, and I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Then read in secret like me. Isn’t that what you used to do back home?”

“Yes.” Isra entertained the idea for a moment and then pushed it away, amazed at how little defiance she had left. How could she tell Sarah that she was afraid of adding tension to her marital life? That she couldn’t handle any more blame for the family’s unhappiness? Sarah wouldn’t even understand if she did tell her. Sarah, with her bold, bright eyes and thick schoolbooks. Sarah, who still had hope. Isra couldn’t bear to tell her the truth.

“No, no.” Isra shook her head. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“Whatever you say.”

They stood by the oven, dropping balls of minced lamb into a sizzling pan of oil, one after another, waiting until each piece turned a crisp brown before setting it on old newspaper to cool. The heat stung their fingers, and Sarah laughed every time Isra dropped a ball of kofta on the floor.

“Better pick it up before Lord Fareeda sees you!” Sarah said, mimicking the look her mother always gave at the sight of sloppy cooking. “Or I might never see you again.”

“Shhh!”

“Oh, come on. She won’t hear us. She’s completely engrossed in her soap opera.”

Isra looked over her shoulder. It bothered her that she couldn’t even laugh without worrying about Fareeda. She knew she was only getting duller as the years passed, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be happy. But she felt as though she wore a stain she couldn’t wash off.





Deya


Winter 2008

Nasser is waiting for you,” Fareeda told Deya when she returned home from school. “Go change out of your uniform! Quickly!”

It took a tremendous amount of effort for Deya not to confront Fareeda right then. All these years lying about Sarah! What else was she hiding? But Deya knew better than to challenge Fareeda. It would only jeopardize her future visits with Sarah and her chance to learn the truth, so she bit her tongue and said nothing, stomping down the stairs. When she came back up, Nasser and his mother were sipping chai and eating from a platter of ma’amool cookies in the sala. Deya refilled their cups before heading to the kitchen, Nasser closely behind. She settled across from him at the table, bringing the warm cup to her face for comfort.

“Sorry to make you wait,” she said.

“It’s okay,” Nasser said. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

She sipped on her chai. “Not really.”

There was an awkward pause, and he fidgeted with his teacup. “You didn’t think you’d see me again, did you? You thought you’d scared me away.”

“It’s worked so far,” she said without looking at him.

He let out a small chuckle. “Well, not on me.” Another pause. “So, should we talk about the next step?”

She met his eyes. “Next step?”

“I mean, marriage.”

“Marriage?”

He nodded.

“What about it?”

“What do you think about marrying me?”

Deya opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. She needed to prolong her sittings with him until she knew what to do. “I’m not sure what I think,” she said. “This is only the second time I’ve ever met you.”

“I know,” Nasser said, blushing. “But they say people usually know if something feels right instantly.”

“Maybe when deciding on a pair of shoes,” Deya said. “But picking a life partner is a bit more serious, don’t you think?”

Nasser laughed, but she could tell she had embarrassed him. “To be honest,” he said, “this is my first time agreeing to sit with the same girl twice. I mean, I’ve sat with a lot of girls—it’s exhausting, really, how many my mother has found at weddings. But nothing serious ever happened with any of them.”