She didn’t know what to make of his unusual behavior, but she thought she’d ask if she’d done something wrong. She swallowed dry spit. “Are you angry with me?”
He took a gulp of water and looked at her. “Why would I be angry with you?”
“Because I had a daughter. Or maybe because I’m pregnant again. I don’t know.” She looked down at her fingers. “It feels like you’re avoiding me. You barely come home anymore.”
“You think I don’t want to come home?” he said, waving his hands. “But who else is going to put food in your mouth? And buy diapers and baby formula and medicine? You think living in this country is cheap?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m doing the best I can to support this family! What more do you want from me?”
Isra considered telling him that she wanted his love. That she wanted to see him and get to know him, wanted to feel like she wasn’t raising a child on her own. But if he didn’t understand that, then how could she explain it? She couldn’t. She was a woman, after all. It wasn’t her place to be forward in her affections, to ask a man for his time, for his love. Besides, any time she tried, he scorned her attempts.
Instead Isra willed herself to make a request she had been brewing in her mind but had been too scared to ask: “I was hoping maybe you could teach me how to navigate Fifth Avenue. Sometimes I want to take Deya for a walk in the stroller, but I’m afraid I’ll get lost.”
Adam put his fork down and looked up at her. “Go out to Fifth Avenue on your own? Surely that’s out of the question.”
Isra stared at him.
“You want to take a stroll down the block? Sure. But there’s no reason for you to be out on Fifth Avenue alone. A young girl like you on the streets? Someone would take advantage of you. So many corrupt people in this country. Besides, we have a reputation here. What will Arabs say if they see my young wife wandering the streets alone? You need anything, my parents will get it for you.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Fahmeh? Do you understand?”
She couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. How red they were. For a moment she thought perhaps he had been drinking, but she quickly dismissed it. Drinking sharaab was forbidden in Islam, and Adam would never commit such a sin. No, no. He worked too hard, that was all. He must be getting sick.
“Do you understand?” he said again, more slowly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good.”
Isra stared at her plate. She thought back to her silly hopes, before coming to America, that she might have more freedom here. She had the familiar urge to break one of the plates on the sufra, but instead she dug her fingers into her thighs, squeezed tight. She breathed and breathed until the familiar throb of rebellion dissipated. She was only nineteen, she reasoned. Adam must be afraid for her safety. Surely he would give her more freedom when she got older. And then a new hope occurred to her: perhaps his overprotectiveness was out of love. Isra wasn’t sure if that was one of the things love made you do, possess someone. But the possibility made a warm feeling rise up inside her. She put her hands on her stomach and allowed herself a small smile, a rare moment of peace.
Deya
Winter 2008
Deya was convinced she was dreaming. She stood in the center of the bookstore, staring at Sarah, stunned. There was so much to say, and she opened her mouth, searching for the right words, but none came to her.
“Let’s sit,” Sarah said with a wave of her hand. Her voice was strong, declamatory.
Deya followed her down the bookstore, mesmerized. She glanced at all the books, hundreds of them, covering most of the exposed brick walls. There was a café bar at the end of the room, with coffee tables arranged around it, and a few people sat with books and cups of coffee in hand. She followed Sarah to the corner of the café, where they settled opposite each other on a pair of chairs by a window. The smell of coffee and the overcast winter sun through the window created a warm glow between them.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you who I was over the phone,” Sarah began. “I was afraid you’d tell my parents I