Page 166 - A Woman Is No Man

Deya

Winter 2008

In the coming days, Deya visited Sarah as often as she could without

raising her grandmother’s suspicions. Luckily Fareeda was occupied lining
up another suitor, in case Nasser withdrew his proposal, and it seemed that
school hadn’t called home to report her absences, which were common in
senior year as girls began sitting with suitors. At the bookstore, Deya and
Sarah sat in the same velvet chairs by the window. Deya listened eagerly as
her aunt told her stories of Isra, each tale unspooling like a chapter in a
book, often in unexpected ways. The more Deya learned about her mother,

the more she began to feel that she hadn’t known her after all. All the
stories she had told herself growing up, the memories she had pieced
together, they had failed to paint a full picture of Isra. Now, gradually, one
began to emerge. Still, Deya wondered if Sarah was telling her the entire
truth—if she, too, was filtering her stories, the way Deya had to her sisters
for so many years. Yet despite her suspicions, for once in her life she wasn’t

impatient for the whole truth. She had found a friend in Sarah, and she
didn’t feel so alone.

“Tell me something,” Deya asked her grandparents one cold Thursday night
while they drank chai in the sala.
Fareeda looked up from the television. “What?”
“Why hasn’t Aunt Sarah ever visited us?”
Fareeda’s face became pink. Across from her, Khaled sank deeper into
the sofa. Though he kept his eyes on the television screen, Deya could see

that his hands were shaking. He set his teacup on the coffee table.
“Really,” Deya continued. “I don’t think either of you have ever
explained it. Doesn’t she have enough money to travel? Is she married to
one of those controlling men who doesn’t let his wife leave the house? Or
maybe . . .” She kept her eyes on Fareeda as she said this. “Maybe she’s