A Woman Is No Man(61)

“How’s business?” she asked Omar, reaching for a warm pita from the plate Nadine had just set on the table.

“Alhamdulillah, bringing in a steady income,” he said, smiling gently as he caught Nadine’s eyes.

Fareeda raised her eyebrows at the sight. She reached for the shakshuka, her favorite dish, scooping a bite full of poached eggs and tomatoes into her mouth. Still chewing, she said, “Maybe now you can focus on having another child.” She stole a glance at Nadine, who was blushing, as she said this. Fareeda knew her words were pointless, that Omar and Nadine would have another child when they wanted to, but she spoke anyway. The satisfaction of making Nadine uncomfortable was enough. Omar was a fool. Instead of putting his foot down, as she’d told him, he let his wife run the show. At least Adam had listened to her, and look at Isra now. As quiet as a graveyard. Not mouthy and insolent like Nadine. Let’s see where that will get Omar, Fareeda thought. She turned to Ali. “What about you, son? How is college going?”

“It’s going,” Ali mumbled.

Khaled looked up. “What did you say?”

Ali slumped into his chair. “I said it’s going.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Here he goes again, Fareeda thought, regretting that she had asked. Lately, most of her fights with Khaled had been about Ali. He thought she was too lenient with him; she thought he was too tough. That he expected too much.

“I’m trying,” Ali said. “I’m really trying. I just”—Khaled’s eyes were wide now, and Fareeda realized she was holding her breath—“I just don’t see the point of college.”

“You don’t see the point of college?” Khaled was shouting now. “You’re the first person in this family to go! Adam couldn’t because he was working to help us pay the bills, Omar couldn’t even get in, and now you’re saying you don’t see the point of it? Walek, do you know what I would’ve done for an education?” The room was silent. All Fareeda could hear was the sound of her own chewing. “I would’ve given an arm and a leg. But instead I worked like an animal to bring you here, so that you could go to college! So that you could live the life your mother and I couldn’t have! And this is how you repay me?”

Ali looked at him with panic. Fareeda knew her children couldn’t understand what she and Khaled had endured. They weren’t even born when the Israeli soldiers had come, sweeping them out of their homes like dust. They knew nothing about life, about how easily everything could be taken from you.

She reached for another scoop of shakshuka. But what did she know about life then, either? She was only six years old when the occupation began. Fareeda could still remember the look on her father’s face as he surrendered, both hands in the air, when they were forced to evacuate. But it wasn’t only her family. Tanks had rolled into Ramla to drive out its inhabitants. Some villagers had been killed as Israeli militia burned their olive groves. Others had died in the makeshift trenches, trying to protect their homes. She had always wondered why her family had fled, why they hadn’t stayed and fought for their land. But her father would always say, “We had to leave. We never stood a chance.”

“The boy doesn’t like school,” Fareeda said. “We can’t force him.”

“What about all the money we’ve already spent on his tuition?” said Khaled.

“Didn’t you want sons so badly?” Fareeda shot him a sidelong glance. “Well, this is what having sons means, paying for things. It’s an investment in the future of our family. You should’ve known it would be expensive. Besides, you have Adam to help you out. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

She hoped Adam would understand. Lately he hardly spoke to anyone, including her. Especially her. At first, she thought he blamed her for Isra, who was only getting worse, retreating to the basement as soon as her chores were completed, barely a word to anyone. But now Fareeda was beginning to wonder if he was mad at her, at them, for all the responsibility they put on him. She thought back to when he was sixteen, how he would spend his days after school reading the Holy Qur’an. He’d wanted to be an imam, he’d told her. But he was forced to leave that dream behind when they went to America. What was she supposed to do? He was the eldest son, and they needed him. They’d all left things behind.

She turned to Ali. “So what do you want to do now?”

He shrugged. “Work, I guess.”

“Why don’t you work in the deli?” She turned to Khaled. “Can’t you hire him?”

Khaled shook his head, looking at her like she was an idiot. “The deli barely brings in enough money to pay the bills. Don’t you see all the work Adam does just to keep it running? Why do you think I want Ali to go to college?” He waved his hands. “So he isn’t stuck behind a cash register like we are. Don’t you understand a thing, woman?”

“I don’t know,” Fareeda mocked. “Do I? The last time I checked, I’m the reason we made it to America in the first place.”

Khaled said nothing. It was true. If it hadn’t been for Fareeda, if she hadn’t forced Khaled to give her his daily earnings, they never would’ve made it to America in 1976, or likely ever. It was Fareeda who had saved enough money for them to purchase their plane tickets to New York, and later, she who had saved Khaled’s earnings at his first job, an electronics store on Flatbush Avenue, in a navy-blue shoe box under her bed. She who had become ever more resourceful, limiting the amount of money she spent on food and household items, washing her children’s clothes daily so they didn’t need more than two outfits each, even baking ma’amool cookies for Khaled to sell his customers, who were enthralled by the foreign combination of figs and butterbread. Soon she had saved ten thousand dollars in the navy-blue shoe box stuffed beneath their bed, which Khaled had used to open his deli.