Page 83 - A Woman Is No Man

accustomed to it, or if she would ever come to crave it like women were
supposed to.
“You have to be careful now,” Adam said, stroking her flat stomach. “I

don’t want anything to happen to our child.”
Isra studied him, shocked by the softness of his voice, the way the lines
around his eyes multiplied when he smiled. Maybe he would spend more
time with her now. Maybe all he needed was a child after all.
“Life will change now, you know,” Adam said, looking down on her.
“Having children, a family . . .” He paused, tracing his finger against her
belly as though he were writing across it. “It changes everything.”

Isra met his eyes. “How?”
“Well, for one thing, there will be more work for you to do. More
washing and cooking, more running around. It’s tough really.” When Isra
said nothing, staring at him with wide eyes, he added, “But children are the
pleasure of life, of course. Just like the Qur’an says.”
“Of course,” Isra said, remembering that she hadn’t yet completed

maghrib prayer. “But will you help me?”
“What?”
“Will you help me?” she said again, her voice slipping. “With our
child?”
Adam stepped back slightly. “You know I have to work.”
“I just thought maybe you’d come home early some days,” Isra said in a
whisper. “Maybe I’d see you more.”

He sighed. “You think I want to work day and night? Of course not. But
I have no choice. My parents depend on me to support the family.” He
stroked Isra’s face with the back of his hand. “You understand that, right?”
She nodded.
“Good.” His eyes shifted to the stove, distracted by a cloud of steam.
“Now what’s for dinner?”

“Spinach and meat pies,” said Isra, feeling slightly embarrassed. It was
ludicrous of her to expect Adam to leave work to help her. Had any man
she’d ever known helped his wife raise children? Motherhood was her
responsibility, her duty.
She moved closer to Adam, hoping he would say something more. But
without another word, he walked toward the stove, pulled a spinach pie off
the plate, and began to chew.