once, years ago when Adam first beat her, that a woman was put on this earth to please her husband. Even if he was wrong, she had said, a woman must be patient. A woman must endure. And Isra had understood why Fareeda said it. Just like Mama, she believed silence was the only way. That it was safer to submit than speak up. But watching the tears gather in her eyes, Isra wondered what Fareeda thought about her words now.
Deya
Winter 2008
Assalamu alaikum,” Khaled said when Deya returned home that afternoon.
“Walikum assalam.” Why was he home so early? Surely Fareeda had told him that Deya knew the truth. Did he want to know where Sarah was? Fareeda had been so consumed with hiding the truth that she had barely asked anything about her daughter.
She placed her hijab on the kitchen table. “Why did you lie to us?”
Khaled stepped away from the open pantry and looked down at her. “I’m sorry, Deya,” he said in a low voice. “We didn’t want to hurt you.”
“How did you think we’d feel when we found out you lied to us all these years? You didn’t think that would hurt us?” Her grandfather didn’t reply, only looked away from her again. “Why did Baba do it? Why did he kill her?”
“He was drunk, Deya. He wasn’t in his right mind.”
“That doesn’t make sense. There must be a reason!”
“There was no reason.”
“Why did he kill himself?”
“I don’t know, daughter.” Khaled reached inside the pantry for a jar of sesame seeds. “I don’t know what your father was thinking that night. It’s haunted me for years. I wish I knew what made him do those terrible things. I wish I could’ve stopped him somehow. There are so many things about that night I don’t understand. All I know is that we’re sorry. Your grandmother and I only wanted to protect you.”
“You weren’t protecting us. You were only protecting yourselves.”
He still didn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, daughter.”
“Sorry? That’s all you have to say?”
“We only want what’s best for you.”
“Best for us?” The loudness of her voice startled her, but she kept going. “If you wanted what’s best for us, you would let me go to college. You wouldn’t force me to get married to a stranger. You wouldn’t risk putting me in a situation where that man might kill me, and everyone would look the other way! How could you want that life for me?”
“We would never let anyone hurt you.”
“That’s not true! You let my father hurt my mother. Here. In this very house! You and Teta knew he beat her, and you did nothing!”
“I’m sorry, Deya.” Those meaningless words again. His expression when he looked at her was one of deep sorrow. “I was wrong not to protect your mother,” he said after a moment. “I wish I could go back in time. Where we’re from, this is how it was between a husband and wife. I never for a moment thought Adam would . . . I didn’t know . . .” He stopped, his wrinkled face on the verge of crumpling into tears. Deya had never seen him cry before. “Did you know Isra used to help me make za’atar?”
Deya swallowed. “No.”
“Every Friday after jumaa prayer. She even taught me her mother’s secret recipe.” He reached inside the pantry and pulled out a few spice jars. “Do you want me to show you?”
Deya was filled with anger, but this was the first time he’d mentioned her mother in years. She needed his memories of her. She moved closer.
“The most important part of making za’atar is roasting the sesame seeds perfectly.”
Deya watched him pour the sesame seeds into an iron skillet, curious to see him the way her mother had. She wondered how Isra had felt standing beside Khaled, only a few inches between them as they roasted the sesame seeds. She pictured her smiling shyly, saying no more than a few words, perhaps afraid that Fareeda would overhear them. “Did you and my mother ever talk?” Deya asked.
“She was never much of a talker,” he said, opening a jar of marjoram leaves. “But she opened up sometimes.”
“What did she talk about?”
“Different things.” He scooped a spoonful of leaves into the mortar and began to grind them. “How much she missed Palestine.” He poured the ground marjoram on top of the sesame seeds. “How impressed she was by your curiosity.”
“She said that?”
He nodded. “She used to read to you and your sisters daily. Do