A Woman Is No Man(95)

Isra arrived at the bus stop early. She had grown accustomed to her daily walk to meet Deya and Nora after school, had even come to look forward to it. But today the blocks felt longer than usual, the pavement wide and foreign under her feet. She told herself to be brave for her daughters. She saw the long yellow bus from a distance and eyed it anxiously until it halted to a complete stop in front of her. Her watch read 3:43 p.m. Two minutes early. Maybe God is helping me, she thought as the bus opened its double doors and her daughters emerged.

Step by step, they walked away from the bus stop. When they made it around the corner, Isra’s legs started to go numb, but she didn’t stop. Be strong, she told herself. This isn’t for you, it’s for them.

They reached the subway on Bay Ridge Avenue at 4:15 p.m. As they descended the steps, Deya and Nora helping with the stroller, Isra exhaled a deep breath. At the bottom, the station was dark and hot and claustrophobic. She looked around, trying to figure out where to go next. There was a line of metal poles blocking the entrance, and Isra didn’t know how to get through them. She watched men and women slide through the pole, dropping coins into metal slots, and she realized they would need tokens to pass.

There was a glass booth to her right, with a woman standing inside it. Isra pushed the stroller toward her. “Where can I get coins?” she asked, feeling the English words heavy on her tongue.

“Here,” the woman said, not meeting Isra’s gaze. “How much do you want?” Isra was confused. “How many tokens do you want?” the woman said again, more slowly, shooting her an irritated look.

Isra pointed to the metal poles. “I need to go on the train.”

The woman explained the cost of each single ride. Overwhelmed by all the information, Isra pulled out a ten-dollar bill and pushed it through the glass.

“Th—thank you,” she stuttered when the woman handed her a fist of tokens in return.

Isra’s hands were shaking. Inside the subway were two short staircases leading farther down. Isra didn’t know which to take. She looked around, but people rushed past her as though they were competing in a race. She decided to take the staircase on the left.

“Are we lost, Mama?” Deya asked when they had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“No, habibti. Not at all.”

Isra scanned the space around them. They stood in the middle of a dim platform crowded with people. On both sides of the platform the concrete floor dropped off like the edge of a cliff to the track. Isra traced the rail lines with her eyes, curious to see where they led, but they disappeared into the darkness beyond the platform’s end.

A black rectangular sign hung above the track, the letter R stamped in a yellow circle on it. Isra didn’t know what the letter R stood for or where the train would take her. But it didn’t matter. The best thing was to get on a train, any train, and stay on it until the very last stop, until they were as far from Bay Ridge as possible. There was no turning back now. If Adam knew she was running away, if he found her now, he would beat her to death. She was sure of it. But it didn’t matter. She had made her choice.

Isra stood on the platform, surrounded by her daughters, and waited for the train. The world seemed to slip away from her bit by bit, and she felt as though she were floating in a mist high above their bodies. Then there was a light shining at her, and a dull whistling. Slowly, very slowly, the light moved closer and the whistle blew louder until Isra could see the train emerging from the darkness, sweeping her hair as it neared. When it stopped in front of them and its metal doors opened wide, a pulse of victory swooned through her chest. They would finally be free.





Acknowledgments


To Julia Kardon, the agent who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for your patience, your friendship, and the many hours you’ve spent working with me on this novel. You’ve stood by me not only as an agent, but as a sister too. Finding you was one of the best moments of my life, and I will be forever grateful for everything you’ve done for me.

To Erin Wicks, my wise and passionate editor. Thank you for your brilliant insight, your innate understanding of everything I’ve wanted to accomplish, the many hours we spent on the phone, and the connection I’ve found in you. You’ve taken this story where no one could and helped me grow as both a writer and a person. I’m immensely grateful to call you my friend.

I would like to thank my HarperCollins family—Mary Gaule, Christine Choe, Jane Beirn, and countless others—for being advocates of this story and making this a wonderful experience for me. I’d like to thank my former colleagues and students at Nash Community College, who supported me while I wrote the early pages of this book. I also want to thank my very first reader, Jennifer Azantian, for believing in this story from the start. Finally, I would like to thank my family and friends—especially my beautiful sisters, particularly Saja—for encouraging me while I wrote this story and for talking with me about it for hours upon hours, whenever I needed it.

This book was inspired by my two children, Reyann and Isah, and by the women of Palestine.