Page 104 - A Woman Is No Man

Fareeda straightened the hemline of her navy-blue thobe, pulling it
down over her pudgy midsection. “We’re going to visit my friend Umm
Ahmed,” she said. “Her daughter-in-law just gave birth to a baby boy. Umm

Ahmed’s very first grandson.”
Isra’s hands drifted toward her belly. Forcefully, she pulled them away.
Fareeda knew the subject made her uncomfortable. Watching Isra tug on the
edges of her nightgown, she even felt sorry for the girl. Perhaps she
shouldn’t put so much pressure on her, but how else were they to secure
their lineage in this country? How else were they to secure their income in
the future? Besides, it wasn’t as if Isra was the only woman in the world

shamed for bearing a girl. It had always been this way, Fareeda thought. It
might not be fair, but she didn’t make the rules. It was just the way it was.
And Isra was no exception.

Outside the air was crisp, the tips of their noses stinging from the leftover
winter wind. Fareeda led the way, and Isra followed with Deya in her
stroller. It hadn’t occurred to Fareeda until that moment that neither of them
had left the house since the visit to Dr. Jaber. The weather had been too

cold. Khaled had gotten their weekly groceries alone, driving to Fifth
Avenue on Sunday mornings to get halal meat from the butcher shop, and
on Fridays, after jumaa prayer, to Three Guys from Brooklyn in search of
the zucchini and eggplants Fareeda liked. She couldn’t wait to accompany
him again now that the weather was warming up. Fareeda didn’t like to
admit it, had never even said it out loud, but in the fifteen years she had
lived in America, she could easily count the number of times she had done

anything outside their home without Khaled. She couldn’t drive or speak
English, so even when she did leave the house, poking her head uneasily
from the door before venturing out, it was only for a stroll around the corner
to visit one of her Arab neighbors. Even now, walking only a few blocks to
Umm Ahmed’s house, Fareeda found herself glancing behind her, wanting
to turn back. At home, she knew where her bed was, how many tugs were

needed to start the furnace, how many steps it took to cross the hall into the
kitchen. There, she knew where the clean rags were, how long it took to
preheat the oven, how many dashes of cumin to sprinkle in the lentil soup.
But here, on these streets, she knew nothing. What would happen if she got
lost? What if someone assaulted her? What would she do? Fifteen years in
this country, and she still didn’t feel safe.