Page 157 - A Woman Is No Man

Isra

Winter 1993

The leaves turned brown. The trees were bare. Snow came. Isra watched it

all from the basement window. People on the sidewalks rushed by, cars
blinked and honked, traffic lights flashed in the distance. But all she saw
was a dull painting, flat behind the glass. She had days of overwhelming
sadness, followed by days of helplessness. It had been like this ever since
the birth of Nadine and Omar’s son. Whenever Adam came home to find
her staring dully out the basement window, she did not protest when he
neared her. In some perverse way she even looked forward to it. It felt like

her way of apologizing for all she had done.

“What is this?” Fareeda asked one December morning when Isra came up
to help with breakfast, squinting at the blue and purple mark on Isra’s
cheek. “You think anyone wants to see this?”
Isra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What was there to say? A
husband hitting his wife was normal. How many times had Yacob hit

Mama? She wondered if Khaled had ever hit Fareeda. She had never seen
it, but that meant nothing.
“There are things in this life no one should see,” Fareeda said. “When I
was your age, I never let anyone see my shame.”
Watching Fareeda, Isra thought she was the strongest woman she’d ever
known, much stronger than her own mother. Mama had always wept
violently when Yacob beat her, unashamed to display her weakness. Isra
wondered what in Fareeda’s life had made her so bold. She must have

suffered something worse than being beaten, Isra thought. The world had
made a warrior out of her.
Fareeda led Isra upstairs to her bedroom. She opened her nightstand
drawer, pulled out a small blue pouch, and fumbled for something within.
First she pulled out a stick of red lipstick, a deep maroon, then shoved it

back in. Isra pictured Fareeda’s lips covered in the color. She had worn red