A Woman Is No Man(80)

Isra looked up to see a man approaching her.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Isra wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the ground. The man moved closer. “What happened to your head?”

“N—nothing,” she stammered, the English strange on her tongue.

“Did someone do this to you? Did someone hurt you?” She shook her head. “You need to call the police. Hurting someone like this is illegal. Whoever did this to you will go to jail.” Isra started to cry again. She didn’t want to send the father of her daughters to jail. She just wanted to go home. “You need to go to an emergency room,” the man said. “You need stitches. Do you have anyone to call?” He pointed to a phone booth at the end of the block. “Come with me,” he said, gesturing toward the booth. Isra followed. The man placed two quarters into the shiny box and handed Isra the receiver. “You need to call someone.”

It was the first time Isra had held a public telephone. The metal felt crisp against her fingertips and sent a chill through her. Once she started shaking again, she couldn’t stop. She held the phone to her ear. There was a beeping noise on the other end.

“You have to dial a number,” the man said.

She didn’t know who to call. In those seconds, holding the phone to her ear, Isra’s loneliness was the clearest it had ever been. She knew she couldn’t call Palestine without a phone card, and besides, what would Mama say except to go home at once, to stop parading her shame for the whole world to see? She couldn’t call Adam’s beeper, not after what she’d done. She had only one person to call, and she wept as she dialed the number.

“Get in,” Fareeda said from the passenger window as Khaled parallel-parked. Isra climbed into the car. “What were you thinking leaving the house alone this late at night?”

“Who is that man over there?” Khaled snapped, shooting her a sidelong look

“I don’t know,” Isra said. “He was trying to help me, and—”

“Tell me,” Khaled cut her off. “What kind of decent woman leaves her house in the middle of the night?”

“Calm down,” Fareeda said sharply. She was eyeing Isra’s head by the light of the streetlamp. “Can’t you see the girl is shaken up?”

“You be quiet.” He turned around to see Isra fully. “Tell me, where were you going? Who is that man?”

“I—I don’t know. He was just trying to help,” Isra said. “I was scared. My head wouldn’t stop bleeding. . . . It won’t stop.”

“That’s no reason to leave the house,” Khaled said. “How do we know you weren’t out with some man?”

“Man? What man?” Isra curled up in the back seat. “I wasn’t with anyone. I swear.”

“And how do we know that? How do we know you didn’t sneak out with some man and now you’re calling us to come get you?”

“I’m telling the truth!” Isra cried. “I wasn’t with anyone. Adam hit me!”

“Of course he did,” Fareeda said, flashing Khaled a look.

“We don’t know anything,” Khaled said. “Only a sharmouta leaves her house in the middle of the night.”

Isra was too tired to fight anymore. She leaned her head back, nauseated by her own helplessness.

“That’s enough!” Fareeda snapped. “Look at the girl’s head.”

“She could’ve hit her head on the sidewalk,” Khaled said. “She could’ve just been with another man, and he could’ve done this to her. How do we know she’s telling the truth?”

“You cruel, disgusting men! Always quick to point a finger. Always quick to put the blame on a woman. Your son is a drunk—of course he is, why wouldn’t he be? Just like his father!”

“Uskuti! Shut up!”

“What? You don’t like hearing the truth? Look at the girl!” Fareeda turned around and pointed at Isra in the back seat. “Look at her head! It will need a dozen stitches to close it. And you’re sitting here talking about another man. Ttfu.” She made a spitting sound. “The cruelest thing on this earth is a man’s heart.”

Khaled raised his hand. “I said uskuti! Shut your mouth!”

“Or what? You’re going to start beating me again? Do it! Put your hands on an old lady, you filthy man! Instead of screaming at this girl, why don’t you go punish your damn son for beating her senseless? What are we going to tell her parents, huh? That our son beat her so hard she needed stitches? And what if someone at the doctor calls the cops? What if your son goes to jail? Tell me, have you thought about that? Have you?” She turned to look out the window. “Of course you haven’t. I’m the one who has to do all the thinking around here.”

Khaled sighed. “She shouldn’t have left the house like that.” He met Isra’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “A woman’s place is her home. Do you understand?” Isra didn’t reply. “Do you understand?” he said more loudly.

Isra nodded and looked away. She feared what she might say if she spoke. It was the first time Khaled had ever reminded her of Yacob—loud, overpowering, furious with her—and she felt herself involuntarily shrinking away whenever she glanced up to find him still studying her in the rearview mirror. She looked away again, panicking. If Khaled was this angry, what would Adam do to her when he saw her?