she didn’t make the world the way it was. She was just trying to help her survive in it. Besides, Sarah should be thankful for the life she had, living in a country where she had food to eat and a roof over her head—enough of everything.
Later, Fareeda gathered the men around the kitchen table, crossing her plump ankles as she admired the view around her. Khaled sat to her right, Omar and Ali to her left. All of them strong and healthy, even if Khaled wasn’t as young as he used to be. She wished Adam was with them, but he was working. He had so much to do, maybe too much. In the mornings, he helped Khaled in the deli, staying up front near the cash register to fill orders. Then he stopped by Omar’s shop to count inventory and deposit checks before heading to his own store. Fareeda was grateful for Adam’s help, though she didn’t tell him as often as she should. She told herself she would thank him tonight.
“How’s business?” she asked Omar, reaching for a warm pita from the plate Nadine had just set on the table.
“Alhamdulillah, bringing in a steady income,” he said, smiling gently as he caught Nadine’s eyes.
Fareeda raised her eyebrows at the sight. She reached for the shakshuka, her favorite dish, scooping a bite full of poached eggs and tomatoes into her mouth. Still chewing, she said, “Maybe now you can focus on having another child.” She stole a glance at Nadine, who was blushing, as she said this. Fareeda knew her words were pointless, that Omar and Nadine would have another child when they wanted to, but she spoke anyway. The satisfaction of making Nadine uncomfortable was enough. Omar was a fool. Instead of putting his foot down, as she’d told him, he let his wife run the show. At least Adam had listened to her, and look at Isra now. As quiet as a graveyard. Not mouthy and insolent like Nadine. Let’s see where that will get Omar, Fareeda thought. She turned to Ali. “What about you, son? How is college going?”
“It’s going,” Ali mumbled.
Khaled looked up. “What did you say?”
Ali slumped into his chair. “I said it’s going.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Here he goes again, Fareeda thought, regretting that she had asked. Lately, most of her fights with Khaled had been about Ali. He thought she was too lenient with him; she thought he was too tough. That he expected too much.
“I’m trying,” Ali said. “I’m really trying. I just”—Khaled’s eyes were wide now, and Fareeda realized she was holding her breath—“I just don’t see the point of college.”
“You don’t see the point of college?” Khaled was shouting now. “You’re the first person in this family to go! Adam couldn’t because he was working to help us pay the bills, Omar couldn’t even get in, and now you’re saying you don’t see the point of it? Walek, do you know what I would’ve done for an education?” The room was silent. All Fareeda could hear was the sound of her own chewing. “I would’ve given an arm and a leg. But instead I worked like an animal to bring you here, so that you could go to college! So that you could live the life your mother and I couldn’t have! And this is how you repay me?”
Ali looked at him with panic. Fareeda knew her children couldn’t understand what she and Khaled had endured. They weren’t even born when the Israeli soldiers had come, sweeping them out of their homes like dust. They knew nothing about life, about how easily everything could be taken from you.
She reached for another scoop of shakshuka. But what did she know about life then, either? She was only six years old when the occupation began. Fareeda could still remember the look on her father’s face as he surrendered, both hands in the air, when they were forced to evacuate. But it wasn’t only her family. Tanks had rolled into Ramla to drive out its inhabitants. Some villagers had been killed as Israeli militia burned their olive groves. Others had died in the makeshift trenches, trying to protect their homes. She had always wondered why her family had fled, why they hadn’t stayed and fought for their land. But her father would always say, “We had to leave. We never stood a chance.”
“The boy doesn’t like school,” Fareeda said. “We can’t force him.”