Page 119 - A Woman Is No Man

thought, studying the Manhattan skyline as the plane climbed into the air,
her hand clutching Khaled’s. There was nothing she could do but marry
Omar off before it was too late.

Two months later they returned to New York with Nadine.

“Congratulations,” Isra murmured when she greeted them at the front
door, looking first to Nadine’s face and then to the floor.
Fareeda could tell Nadine’s dazzling smile and bright blue eyes
intimidated Isra. She had expected this. In fact, she had planned it. Not to
hurt Isra, no, but to show her what womanhood should look like. As soon as
Fareeda reached Palestine, she had made it clear to all the mothers that she
was not looking for another Isra. The last time she had searched for a bride,

she had asked for a shy, modest woman who knew how to cook and clean,
wanting the opposite of all the disrespectful women she had become used to
in America. But this time, she had asked for a lively girl. They needed some
good spirits around the house, Fareeda thought, glancing at Isra’s meek
smile. Perhaps Nadine’s presence would even force Isra to grow up and
start acting like a woman.

“Be sure to put your foot down,” Fareeda warned Omar that evening
while Nadine was upstairs, settling in. She had whispered those very same
words the day the couple signed the marriage contract in Nadine’s sala, and
again on the night of the wedding ceremony, but it didn’t hurt to remind
him. Omar was practically an American, staring at her with his large, dopey
eyes, oblivious to the workings of the world. So typical of men these days.
Why, when she had first married Khaled, he would slap her if she even

raised her eyes off the ground—pop after pop, until she was as quiet as a
mouse. She remembered the early days of her marriage, years before they
came to America, when she had lived in fear of his hostile moods, his slaps
and kicks if she dared to talk back. She remembered how he would enter
their shelter every night after plowing the fields, enraged at the quality of
their life—the hardness of the mattress they slept on, the sparseness of food,

the aching of his bones—only to take his anger out on her and the children.
Some days he’d beat them for even the slightest confrontation, while other
days he’d say nothing, grinding his teeth, fury bubbling in his eyes.
“Forget all this American nonsense about love and respect,” Fareeda
said to Omar now, turning to make sure Isra was setting the table. “You