Page 75 - A Woman Is No Man

She pulled the card out and held it up under the lamplight. There was
nothing unusual about it. Small, rectangular, crisp at the corners. Three bold
words—BOOKS AND BEANS—took up most of the white space on the front,

leaving room for a few lines at the bottom:

800 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
212-r e a d m o r

She flipped the card over. There was a note handwritten on the back in
pen: ASK FOR MANAGER.
She ran her fingers over the card and imagined the strange woman

doing the same. Who could she be? Deya closed her eyes and pictured the
woman’s face, hoping to see something she missed before, but instead, in
that instant, all she could see was her mother. Suddenly a thought came to
her—absurd, fantastical, but her mind clung to it, bewitched. Could it be?
Could the woman be Isra? It was possible. After all, Deya had not seen the
car accident, had not been to the funeral, which Fareeda had said was held

in Palestine. But what if Fareeda had made the whole thing up? What if Isra
was still alive?
Deya sat up in bed. Surely it was impossible. Both of her parents were
dead—not just Isra. Fareeda couldn’t possibly fake the death of two people.
And to what end? Her mother had to be dead. If not in a car accident, then
suicide. And even if she were alive, why would she come back after all
these years? She wouldn’t. She had barely wanted Deya ten years ago. Why

would she want her now?
Deya shook her head, tried to will her mother out of her mind. Only she
couldn’t. The memories rushed to her in the usual, suffocating way: Isra,
sitting in the kitchen with her back turned to Deya, rolling grape leaves on
the table. Mesmerized, Deya had watched her stuff each leaf with rice and

then roll it into a fingerlike shape before placing it in a large metal pot.
“You’re really good at this, Mama,” she’d whispered.
Isra didn’t respond. She just pinched a bit of rice between her fingers
and tasted it to make sure it was seasoned well. Then she stuffed another
grape leaf.
“Can I try to roll one?” Deya asked. Still no response. “Mama, will you
show me how?”