Bitter Almonds (24 page)

Marwan rose to his feet. ‘There
is
. I need your help for it to work.'

‘What can I do?'

‘Go to my uncle. Tell him I had given you my word to marry Nadia. He wouldn't allow me to break an honorable promise like that.' Marwan lifted his eyebrows. ‘Family reputation above everything else, remember?' Lifting his arms sideways, he inflated his chest. ‘I'll be released of my obligation to the widow with honor. She can choose whomever she wishes to marry. The boy will be raised under my care.' He dropped his arms. ‘Problem solved.'

Omar blinked a couple of times. ‘Aren't you forgetting something?'

Marwan nodded. ‘Nadia doesn't know about my intentions, I know that. Let me talk to her.'

Omar looked away. What arrogance! Did Marwan think Nadia waited on a word from him? Her mind made up to accept his proposal? He pressed a fist to his midsection, recalling Nadia's questions at the hospital. He was the arrogant fool, thinking he could keep her to himself. Of course she wouldn't object to Marwan. Everything he observed in the past months confirmed her hopes to be his.

Marwan stepped into his view. ‘If you tell my uncle you postponed my official proposal because of all that happened with the war, he'll respect that even more.'

Omar coughed into his closed fist, reeling himself in to face his cruel reality. No matter what he wished for, or did, he should at least give Nadia the chance to hear Marwan out.
If
she wanted to.

‘My uncle thinks the world of you.' Marwan gripped his shoulder. ‘A soldier like his son. He
will
listen to you.'

‘You know it's not up to me. Shareef has the final say.'

‘I think I've reached a level of acceptable civility with him. I haven't completely won him over, but I'm sure with your help we can convince him to go along.'

Omar clenched his jaw. ‘You don't know what you're asking.'

‘I'm asking you to use your powers of persuasion.'

‘What if Nadia refuses you?'

Marwan sucked a sharp breath. His hands dropped to his sides. The hopeful expression on his face collapsed in front of Omar's eyes. Did he not consider that possibility? Was he that sure of Nadia's feelings? What had she done to give him such confidence?

Marwan shook his head. ‘I have a feeling she will not.'

Stifling a need to slam his fist into Marwan's audacious jaw, Omar turned and headed to the door, needing to get out of there before he lost his mind. ‘Let me talk to Nadia. See where we stand.'

Marwan followed him, touched his arm, urging him to turn around. He thrust his hand forward. ‘Do I have your word?'

He had no choice but to take Marwan's hand and give it a firm shake. ‘We are men talking here, aren't we? I will get back to you in a couple of days.' He pulled the door open with more force than necessary. ‘In the meantime, it's best to keep your distance.'

 

26

An urgent knock sounded at the front door. Omar sprang out of bed and rushed to see who dared bother the household after midnight.

‘You the Englishman?' A tall, thin man asked in a hushed voice, his eyes darting down the stairwell and back.

‘Who are you? What do you want?'

The man shoved a package onto Omar's chest. ‘Take this.' He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You will understand.'

Omar grabbed a handful of the man's shirt instead of the package. ‘Understand what?'

Shareef's voice came from behind Omar. ‘Who's there?'

The man pushed the newspaper-wrapped package against Omar's chest again. ‘Take it. Don't let anyone know. I was told to deliver this to the Englishman.'

Hearing Shareef's footsteps advancing, Omar released the man, took the item and tucked it under his pajama shirt. The man hurried away and disappeared down the steps in the darkness. Omar closed the door and turned to face Shareef.

‘Someone looking for Faisal Nabawi.' The name popped into Omar's head from a movie poster he had seen on the streets. ‘You know him?'

Yawning, Shareef shook his head. ‘At one in the morning?'

‘Some emergency.' Omar headed to his room. ‘Told him he had the wrong building.'

Shareef didn't waste time on the matter. He shuffled back, mumbling curses on the way and shooing his wife into their room.

Safe behind closed doors, Omar placed the package on his bed and unwrapped it. Two pieces of folded paper and a brown leather wallet fell out. He flipped open the wallet first. His face stared back at him: an identification card had his picture with someone else's name and specifications. He slipped out the card, examined it on both sides. Not a counter fake. Ziyad Nimir, twenty-six years old, born in Jaffa. He slipped the card back in the wallet and picked up one of the folded papers. It held a white travel document with the same personal details. Stamped on the inside, a visa to enter Jordan valid for two months.

Omar dug in his nightstand drawer for his ID card. Comparing the two, he concluded the new one was authentic. The last piece of paper in the package had a list of names, detailing his new family history. On the back, clear instructions on how to sneak into the Karameh camp once he crossed the Jordanian border.

Dropping the papers on his bed, he scratched his head. This was it, then? A new identity and a purpose? He sounded out his new name, Ziyad Nimir. Could he pull it off? Could he become this older man during the time he would spend in the camp, training militia who would trust their lives to him? To a fake from Jaffa?

He gathered the documents and surveyed the room, searching for a good hiding place. Under the mattress? Nadia changed his sheets, and she was thorough. She might pull them out while she maneuvered the mattress. In his drawer? It didn't have a lock. Between his clothes? The little girls sometimes used his closet for a hiding place when they played. Examining the books stacked on the windowsill, he chose three books at the bottom and inserted one document in each book. No one touched his books without his permission.

‘Omar, are you awake?' Nadia's hushed voice came from behind his door.

He cracked the door open. ‘Everything's fine. Go back to bed.'

‘Mama is worried. She heard you and Shareef talking.' Nadia tightened the belt of her night robe. ‘Who was at the door?'

‘Someone had the wrong address. Tell her not to worry.'

Nodding, she turned around. Dark strands cascaded down her back, free and unrestrained. Her hair brushed the light fabric of her robe when she walked.

‘Nadia,' he called out before she moved far.

Her abrupt turn threw her hair to one side over her shoulder. With questioning eyes, she raised her eyebrows.

He stepped out of his room, needing to get closer, wishing he could rub a lock of her hair between his fingers. ‘Want to go tomorrow to the university to check registration?'

Nadia's face, illuminated by the mid-month moon, brightened with a wide smile. ‘Oh, could we?'

‘Get your papers ready.'

He waited for her to go into the girls' room, not bothering to conceal his blatant admiration of her figure. Gliding away, her narrow waist accentuated the roundness of her hips. At that moment, half shrouded by darkness, he wasn't Omar Bakry, the shamed soldier of a failed army, or the chained soul indebted to his friend, or the deprived man stuck behind an uncontrollable heart. He was Ziyad Nimir, the disguised leader, the skilled officer, the healthy man who had the freedom to admire Nadia in the open, without contrition or self-condemnation.

On the small balcony, Omar sipped his morning coffee and waited for Nadia to get ready. He spotted Huda coming down the street, walking like a drill sergeant he knew. A teenage boy walked beside her. Omar checked his watch; it was nearing eight. She must have been at a delivery all night. The boy most likely had been dispatched by the family to escort her home, sheer pretense for the neighbors' benefit. No one dared point fingers at Huda for staying out all night. Her occupation gave her benefits other women in the community didn't have. Immunity.

Grimacing, Omar set his coffee down on the tray. Huda's mood was bound to be sour. More sour than usual. He had hoped to get Nadia
out of the house without running into Huda, to spare Nadia her continuous nagging to attend nursing school.

Huda's sure footsteps announced her arrival, and Omar braced himself to hear her arguing with Nadia as soon as she entered their room. To his surprise, Huda joined him on the balcony instead.

‘We need to talk.' She took the other chair and peered into the Turkish coffee pot on the tray.

Omar poured her a cup. ‘Good morning to you too.' He tried to smile, but decided not to. It might encourage her to stay, and he wasn't in the right frame of mind to handle whatever she wanted to throw at him.

‘It's important. Very important.'

‘It will have to wait. I'm on my way out.'

‘When will you be back?'

He stretched to his feet. ‘Noon, maybe. I'm taking Nadia to the university.' He glowered at Huda, daring her to object. ‘To start her registration process.'

She put her cup down. ‘Good. She must enroll. Nadia should pursue her dreams.'

For the second time this morning, Huda had surprised him. He narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought you were against it.'

Huda shook her head, the look in her eyes difficult to understand. ‘I want her to have a diploma, to get a good job, to be independent.' She averted her eyes to the streets below. ‘This world is too harsh.' Rising, she gave him a gentle push. ‘Go. Take her. We'll talk when you come back.'

Omar hesitated, alarm bells sounding in his head. What was wrong with strong-willed, abrasive Huda? Her attitude toward him had changed in the past couple of years. Life's cycle had seasoned her, made her more mature, abrasive none-the-less. What fazed her now?

Nadia called him from inside. He pushed Huda's issues to the back of his mind and escorted Nadia to the Registration Department at Damascus University.

On the way, Nadia talked non-stop about her decision to study English literature, stressing her desire to become a teacher. Omar couldn't find an opening to say what was on his mind. Nadia's excitement for getting what she wanted despite Huda's objections kept her bouncing from one topic to another, cutting him off whenever he saw an opportunity to say something. Her joy was infectious and he marveled at her ability to lift his mood. Before heading home, he took her through his usual route around the neighborhood.

Nearing the bench at the public square, Nadia's steps faltered.‘You're not going away again, are you?'

‘Why would you think that?'

‘Last time you took me on a similar walk, you told me you were leaving to the academy.'

Omar forced a smile. ‘I'll always come back. You can count on that.' He cleared his throat. ‘But that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about.'

She touched his arm and snatched it away almost immediately. ‘Tell me then.'

Her awkward move confirmed his suspicions. Nadia had changed toward him too. If only he could figure out the reason behind it. He brought his voice down, ‘Are you angry with me or something?'

‘What?' Her fingers flew to the top of her blue dress. The navy-cut collar didn't have buttons. ‘You made my dream come true today.' She inserted the tip of her index finger under the fabric and moved it from side to side. ‘Can't you tell how happy I am?'

‘Just making sure.' He nudged her to resume their walk. She would turn eighteen on her next birthday. A necklace. He should buy her a necklace, something for her fingers to play with instead of collars and buttons.

‘Are you?' she asked.

‘Am I what? Angry?'

Nadia nodded, her large irises searching his face. Fearing she might trip for not watching her step, he held her elbow. ‘Can't you tell?'

She pulled her elbow out of his grip, plopped down on the bench, and crossed her legs. ‘How would I know? You've been acting very strange the past few days. I used to be able to catch your moods, but I can't anymore.'

He joined her on the bench. ‘There's a lot on my mind.'

‘Talk to me. What are you waiting for?'

Sighing, Omar lifted his eyes to the clouded skies. Birds flew in circles in the distance. ‘If you'll keep quiet for a minute, I'll tell you.'

‘We used to speak with ease to each other. The war changed you.'

He swung his head toward her. ‘Did you think it wouldn't? Grow up, will you?'

Flinching, she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I have.
You
didn't notice.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

Biting her lower lip, she inhaled deeply. ‘You still see me as a little girl, in need of protection from everything and . . . everyone.'

Omar tore his eyes away, concentrated on the soaring birds. ‘That's what I wanted to discuss with—'

‘I can handle myself, you know,' she interrupted. ‘I don't need you or Huda to solve my problems.'

He adjusted his seating to face her. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘Huda told you, didn't she?' She dropped her hands in her lap and examined her fingers.

At a complete loss, he opened his mouth to say that much but she cut him off again.

‘She promised she wouldn't. But, no. Poor little Nadia has to be protected. Like I don't have the brains to make stupid people shut up. I'm not helpless.' Her face turned red, her hands waved around at nothing in particular. ‘I know how to deal with this garbage. Once I find out who's spreading those nasty lies, I'm going to gouge their eyes out. Watch me. I
will
do it.'

Omar grabbed her wrists. ‘Hey, hey. Calm down.' Looking around, he lowered her hands to the space separating them. No one on the streets paid them attention. Not yet. He kept her hands in his, surprised to see this feisty side of her. Trying to remain calm, he controlled his voice as best he could. ‘I don't think I have the full picture here. What garbage?'