Page 238 - A Woman Is No Man

Isra

Spring 1997

On a humid Saturday afternoon, Isra and Sarah stuffed eggplants on the

kitchen table. Fareeda sat across from them, phone pressed to her ear. Isra
wondered if this was one of her renewed attempts to find Sarah a suitor. If it
was, Sarah seemed unconcerned. Her full attention was on the eggplant
before her as she carefully stuffed it with rice and minced meat. It occurred
to Isra that despite the many threats Fareeda had made to Sarah since her
beating, nothing she’d said had elicited even the slightest appearance of fear
from her daughter.

Fareeda hung up and turned to face them. Isra froze when she saw her
face—it was as if she had seen death in her cup of Turkish coffee.
“It’s Hannah,” she began. “It’s Hannah . . . Umm Ahmed . . . Hannah
has been killed.”
“Killed? What are you talking about?” Sarah jumped from her seat, her
eggplant rolling off the table.

Isra felt her heart thumping beneath her nightgown. She didn’t know
much about Sarah’s classmate Hannah, Umm Ahmed’s youngest daughter.
Fareeda had considered her for Ali at one point, but had decided against the
idea when she’d sensed that Umm Ahmed hadn’t wanted Sarah for her son.
Isra remembered thinking how lucky Hannah was that this family hadn’t
been her naseeb—surely Hannah’s life would’ve turned out like hers. But
now, listening to the news, a panicky feeling moved through her. Sadness

was an inescapable part of a woman’s life.
“What do you mean, killed?” Sarah asked again, louder this time,
beating her thighs with the edges of her palms. “What are you talking
about?”
Fareeda straightened in her seat, her eyes glistening. “Her husband . . .

he . . . he . . .”
“Her husband?”