Page 134 - A Woman Is No Man

Isra

Fall 1992

Seasons passed in a blur. Isra was pregnant with her third child. She peered

into the oven, flipping over a batch of za’atar pies she had baked for lunch,
while Fareeda and Nadine sipped chai at the kitchen table.
“Brew another ibrik,” Fareeda told Isra when she set the za’atar pies on
a rack to cool. As Isra did, she watched Nadine place Fareeda’s hand on her
swollen belly.
“Do you feel it kicking?” Nadine said.
“Yes!”

Isra could see Nadine smirking, and she hid her face inside the cabinet.
In the beginning, when Nadine first arrived, Isra had thought she would
finally have a friend, a sister even. But they barely spoke, despite the small
efforts Isra made to befriend her.
“Come, come,” Fareeda said when Isra had set the kettle on the stove.
“Sit with us.”

Isra sat. She could feel Fareeda studying her belly, trying to make out
the child inside. The look in her eyes sent a prick of fear down Isra’s spine.
Not a day had passed when Fareeda had not mentioned the child’s gender,
how they needed a grandson, how Isra had disgraced them in the
community. Some days Fareeda would dangle a necklace over the globe of
Isra’s belly, trying to discern the baby’s gender. Other days she would read
the grounds of Isra’s Turkish coffee.

“It’s a boy this time,” Fareeda said, studying a spot on Isra’s stomach,
calculating whether the baby sat high or low, wide or narrow. “I can feel it.”
“Inshallah,” Isra whispered.
“No, no, no,” Fareeda said. “It’s a boy for sure. Look how high your
belly sits.”

Isra looked. It didn’t seem high to her, but she hoped Fareeda was right.
Dr. Jaber had offered to tell Isra on her last visit, but Isra had refused. She
didn’t see any reason to suffer prematurely. At least now, not knowing the