Page 241 - A Woman Is No Man

me in a situation where that man might kill me, and everyone would look
the other way! How could you want that life for me?”
“We would never let anyone hurt you.”

“That’s not true! You let my father hurt my mother. Here. In this very
house! You and Teta knew he beat her, and you did nothing!”
“I’m sorry, Deya.” Those meaningless words again. His expression
when he looked at her was one of deep sorrow. “I was wrong not to protect
your mother,” he said after a moment. “I wish I could go back in time.
Where we’re from, this is how it was between a husband and wife. I never
for a moment thought Adam would . . . I didn’t know . . .” He stopped, his

wrinkled face on the verge of crumpling into tears. Deya had never seen
him cry before. “Did you know Isra used to help me make za’atar?”
Deya swallowed. “No.”
“Every Friday after jumaa prayer. She even taught me her mother’s
secret recipe.” He reached inside the pantry and pulled out a few spice jars.
“Do you want me to show you?”

Deya was filled with anger, but this was the first time he’d mentioned
her mother in years. She needed his memories of her. She moved closer.
“The most important part of making za’atar is roasting the sesame seeds
perfectly.”
Deya watched him pour the sesame seeds into an iron skillet, curious to
see him the way her mother had. She wondered how Isra had felt standing
beside Khaled, only a few inches between them as they roasted the sesame

seeds. She pictured her smiling shyly, saying no more than a few words,
perhaps afraid that Fareeda would overhear them. “Did you and my mother
ever talk?” Deya asked.
“She was never much of a talker,” he said, opening a jar of marjoram
leaves. “But she opened up sometimes.”
“What did she talk about?”

“Different things.” He scooped a spoonful of leaves into the mortar and
began to grind them. “How much she missed Palestine.” He poured the
ground marjoram on top of the sesame seeds. “How impressed she was by
your curiosity.”
“She said that?”
He nodded. “She used to read to you and your sisters daily. Do you
remember? Sometimes I used to hear her on the front stoop, making funny