Page 188 - A Woman Is No Man

Isra

Spring 1995

A year passed and Isra was pregnant again. Her fourth pregnancy. After

completing her chores, she spent her days curled againt the basement
window, a book in her hands, hoping to silence the gnawing fear of giving
birth to another girl. But no amount of reading had alleviated her angst. In
fact, it seemed as if the more she read, the more her worries grew, and her
belly along with it, so that she got bigger and bigger and the walls around
her narrower and narrower, hemming her in.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked Isra one night as they stood over the

stove, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. They were cooking mujaddara, and
the air smelled of lentils and rice, sautéed onions and cumin. Sarah put
down the stirring spoon and met her eyes. “You haven’t been yourself
lately.”
“I’m just tired,” Isra said, stooping slightly, one hand under her belly.
“This baby is wearing me out.”

“No,” Sarah said. “I can tell something else is wrong. Is it Adam? Is he
hitting you?”
“No . . .” Isra looked away.
“Then what is it?”
“I really don’t know what’s wrong . . . ,” Isra said, averting her gaze.
“I’m just a little worried.”
“About what?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“No, I won’t. I promise. What is it?”
“I’m worried about the baby,” Isra whispered. “What if it’s another girl?
What will your family do? What will Adam do?”
“They can’t do anything,” Sarah said. “Having a girl isn’t in your

control.” She moved closer and touched Isra’s shoulder. “And you never
know, you might be carrying a boy this time.”