Page 53 - A Woman Is No Man

wives spoke to their husbands in America. Maybe things were different here
after all.

Adam came home at sunset. “Get dressed,” he told her. “I’m taking you
out.”

Isra tried to contain her excitement. She was standing in front of the
living room window, where she had been for some time, studying the plane
trees outside, wondering if they smelled woody or sweet or a scent she had
never smelled before. She kept her eyes on the glass so Adam wouldn’t see
her blushing.
“Should I tell Fareeda to get ready, too?” she asked.
“No, no.” Adam laughed. “She already knows what Brooklyn looks

like.”
Downstairs, in front of a square mirror propped on her bedroom wall,
Isra couldn’t decide what to wear. She paced around the room, trying one
color of hijab after another. Back home she would’ve worn the lavender
one, with the silver beads stitched across it. But she was in America now.
Perhaps she should wear black or brown so she wouldn’t stick out. Or

maybe not. Maybe a lighter color would work better, would make her seem
bright and happy.
She was studying the color of her face against a mossy green headpiece
when Adam entered the room. He eyed her hijab nervously, and through the
mirror, she could see the straining in his jaw. He moved closer to her, not
once looking away from her head, and the whole time he was walking, she
felt her heart swelling inside her chest, inching toward her throat. He was

looking at her hijab the way he had looked that day on the balcony, and it
was only now that Isra understood why: he didn’t like it.
“You don’t have to wear that thing, you know,” Adam finally said. She
blinked at him in shock. “It’s true.” He paused. “You see, people here don’t
care if your hair is showing. There’s no need to cover it up.”
Isra didn’t know what to say. Growing up, she had been taught that the

most important part of being a Muslim girl was wearing the hijab. That
modesty was a woman’s greatest virtue. “But what about our religion?” she
whispered. “What about God?”
Adam gave her a pitying look. “We have to live carefully here, Isra.
People flee to America from war-torn countries every day. Some are Arabs.
Some are Muslims. Some are both, like us. But we could live here for the