Page 113 - A Woman Is No Man

Now she smiled, the prayer filling her with hope. She needed tawwakul,
submission to God’s will. She had to trust in His plan for her. She had to
have faith in her naseeb. She reminded herself how blessed she had felt

when Deya was born. What if Allah had made her pregnant again so soon in
order to give her a son? Maybe a son would make Adam love her. She
closed her eyes and recited another prayer, asking God to grow love in
Adam’s heart.
She had failed to earn his love despite her many efforts. She had learned
to recognize the patterns of his behavior, to anticipate his shifting
temperament, to better please him. Most nights, for instance, Adam’s mood

was volatile—particularly when Fareeda gave him a new request, like
paying another semester of Ali’s college tuition, or when Khaled asked him
to work longer hours in the deli. To compensate, Isra would be extra
accommodating, slipping into her best nightgown, fixing his dinner plate
just the way he liked, reminding herself not to complain or provoke him.
Then there were nights when he would come home jolly, smiling at her

when she greeted him in the kitchen, sometimes even pulling her in for an
embrace, rubbing his scratchy beard against her skin. With this small
gesture, she would know he was in a good mood, and that, after dinner, he
would roll on top of her, pull up her nightgown and, breathing heavily in
her ear, press himself into her. In the dark, she would close her eyes and
wait for his panting to settle, unsure whether to feel happy or sad about his
good mood. Uncertain whether she would have preferred for him to come

home angry.

“Why are you so quiet?” Adam said when he came home from work one
night, slurping on the freekeh soup she had spent the day preparing. “Did I
marry a statue?”
Isra looked up from her bowl, which she had placed on the table
because Adam said he didn’t like eating alone. She could feel her face burn
with shock and embarrassment. What did Adam expect her to say? She did

nothing besides cook and clean all day, her hand in Fareeda’s hand, never a
moment’s rest. She had nothing interesting to talk about, unlike Adam, who
left to work every morning, who spent most of his day in the city. Shouldn’t
he initiate the conversation? Besides, he had told her he liked quiet women.
“I mean, I knew you were quiet when I married you,” Adam said,
shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “But a year with my mother