A Woman Is No Man(66)

Deya couldn’t remember the walk home, couldn’t recall how she felt as she tiptoed across the pavement, crept down the basement steps, and settled into her bed. All she remembered was sinking between the sheets with a book in hand—Matilda—willing herself to escape between its pages. She dug her fingers into the spine, flipping page after page until she could no longer hear the ringing between her ears.

The next thing she knew Mama was downstairs with her. The room was quiet, and Mama settled on the edge of her bed, hugging her knees. How long before Deya had inched up to her? She didn’t know. All she remembered was blinking up at Mama, desperate to meet her eyes, to catch even the hint of a smile. But she could barely see her face, couldn’t see her eyes at all. She reached out to touch her hand. Mama flinched.

She waited for Mama to say something. Maybe she was thinking of a way to punish her. And why shouldn’t she be punished? She deserved it. There she was, making Mama sad, as if she needed any more reasons.

Deya wondered how she would be punished. She looked around the room. There was nothing worth taking. Just a handful of toys scattered across the floor. She thought maybe her mother would take the television. Or the cassette player. She wasn’t sure. She had nothing.

But then she saw it, the book resting beneath her fingers, and she realized she did have something to be taken away. She started to think of the words Mama would use when she told her to hand over her books, that she was forbidden from the school library, that she was no longer allowed to— “Deya,” Mama began. “Your father . . .”

Please don’t say it. Please don’t take my books.

“Listen . . .” Mama was shaking now. “I know you love school . . .”

I’ll do anything, please. Not my books.

“But . . .” She breathed in. “You can’t go to PS 170 anymore.”

Deya’s heart stopped. For a moment, she had an overwhelming feeling of breathlessness. She felt the way a book must feel, the unseen weight beneath its cover. She swallowed. “What?”

“Not just you. Nora, too.”

“No, Mama—please—”

“I’m sorry, daughter,” Isra said in a choked voice. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have a choice.”

“Is that when you started going to Islamic school?” Sarah asked when Deya had finished. “After they took you out of PS 170?”

“I think so,” Deya said. “Do you know why they took us out?”

Sarah shook her head, shifting in her seat.

“Wait a minute,” Deya said. “What year did you run away?”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

“Nineteen ninety-seven.”

“You were still there,” Deya said. “Surely you must remember something.”

Sarah stared at her knees. “I think it was because I ran away. They must’ve been afraid that you and your sisters would follow in my footsteps one day.”

“That makes sense.”

There was a pause, and Sarah met Deya’s eyes. “Do you remember how things were after I left?”

“Not exactly. Why?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sarah asked.

“What?”

“Do you remember the last time you saw your parents?”

Deya considered. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

“What do you remember?”

She felt the enormity of the memory on her tongue, words she had never said aloud. “They took us to the park. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Tell me what happened,” Sarah said.

Deya had replayed this memory so many times before she could picture it vividly: Mama waiting for her and Nora at the bus stop, with Layla and Amal asleep in the stroller. “We’re going to the park,” Mama had said, smiling wider than Deya had ever seen. Deya felt a rainbow bloom inside her. They walked down Fifth Avenue, teeth chattering, cold air forming goose bumps on their skin. Cars honked. People rushed by. When they reached a subway station, Deya realized Mama meant to take them inside and her stomach clenched in fear: she had never ridden a train before. She breathed and breathed as they descended the dirty staircase. Below, the dimness hurt her eyes. The platform was a dingy gray, smeared with garbage and wads of chewing gum, then dropped steeply to the subway rails. Rats ran across the tracks, and Deya inched back from the edge. At the end of the tunnel, she could see a bright light, fast approaching. It was the train. She gripped Mama’s leg as it swept by. When the train stopped in front of them, the doors opened, and there stood Adam. He rushed over to them, wrapping her in his arms. Then they went to the park, all six of them, a family.

“So Adam met you all in the subway and took you to the park?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.”

Sarah eyed her in silence.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “So, what happened after that?”

“I don’t know.” Deya slumped in the chair. “I’ve tried to remember so many times, but I can’t. For all I know, I could’ve made it up. Maybe I’ve even made everything up. That would explain why nothing makes sense.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said after a moment.