Page 211 - A Woman Is No Man

“I don’t understand why she insists on marrying me off so soon. For
God’s sake, I haven’t even finished high school!”
Isra passed her a warm look. She understood why: Sarah had become

increasingly rebellious over the years. She could imagine how worried
Fareeda was, watching Sarah refuse to take part in any of the traditions,
barely speaking Arabic anymore. Sometimes Isra watched Sarah from the
window as she walked home from school, rushing to wipe her makeup off
before she entered the house. Last month, when Sarah had handed her a
copy of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, Isra had noticed a sleeveless top in her
bag. She hadn’t mentioned it, and Sarah hadn’t either, stuffing the blouse

deep beneath her books, but Isra wondered what else Sarah was hiding. She
considered how she would feel if she was in Fareeda’s shoes. She didn’t
know what lengths she would go to in order to keep her own daughters safe.
“I don’t want to get married. She can’t force me!”
“Lower your voice. She’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if she hears me. This is America. She can’t force me to get

married!”
“Yes, she can,” Isra whispered. “She’ll punish you if you defy her.”
“What could she possibly do? Beat me? I’ll take a beating daily if it
means avoiding marriage.”
Isra shook her head. “Sarah, I don’t think you understand. It won’t be a
single beating by Fareeda. Soon your father and brothers will start beating
you, too. Then how long will you stand it?”

Sarah crossed her arms. “For as long as it takes.”
Isra examined her bright face and catlike eyes. She wished she could’ve
had her strength as a girl. How different her life could have been had she
only had courage. Sarah’s eyes narrowed further. “I refuse to have a life like
yours.”
“And what kind of life is that?” Isra asked, though she already knew the

answer.
“I’m not going to let anyone control me.”
“No one will control you,” Isra said, but her tone betrayed her.
“Maybe you can lie to yourself, but you don’t fool me.”
Though her books had shown her otherwise, the old words spilled out.
“This is the life of a woman, you know.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

“I don’t see any other way,” Isra whispered.