Three Daughters: A Novel (30 page)

“Sara’s gone to America to visit her brothers, so he’s here in the house all alone except for the servants.” Julia had driven alone to meet Samir’s boat. “You’ll find it hard to believe that he can’t move. Do you ever remember seeing him sitting still except for meals?”

“No. Is he terribly depressed?”

“Not at all. His acceptance is so touching. He’s not bitter about it. He can be very cheerful, especially when I bring Ambrose.”

“Why didn’t Mother come back? Why is she still in America?”

Julia looked straight ahead and gripped the wheel. “He says she’s not going to come back. He says that she’s gone for good.”

“What?”

Julia’s voice broke. “Samir, I can’t swear that it’s true, but it’s not just gossip or I wouldn’t mention it. Baba speaks about it freely to me. And the heartbreaking part . . . well, he doesn’t feel sorry for himself at all. I hated sending you that cable, but there are decisions to be made and I was afraid to make them by myself. Now I’m so glad you’re here. Is that too selfish?”

“Of course not. How could you not tell me?”

He had declined Julia’s offer to accompany him into the house. He wanted to be alone with his father and she had to return home to her little son, Ambrose.

“Samir?” The sheik jerked as if to sit before remembering he couldn’t manage it alone. “Help me into the chair so we can talk,
habiby
. I’m sorry they called you from school. Who told you? Julia? Well, she meant well, but such a long trip and what can you do?” Samir offered his arms and the sheik leaned on them until he was upright. “There.” He squinted. “You look tired. What’s the matter?”

“I’m not tired. Just the voyage. We landed quite early. Baba . . . what happened?” It was a shock to see his father’s face. One eye stared crazily, roving to the left, while the other looked ahead. Samir had such an intense desire to cry he had to blink rapidly and rub his face.

“What happened is that I can’t run around anymore. As for the cause . . . who knows?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Physically, no. It’s quite peaceful at times. It forces on me the art of reflection. I’ve run around, always fidgety, scurrying all my life. I’m even a little stooped, not from age, but from butting my head into the wind to move faster. Now God is saying, ‘Take your time.’ ” He sighed and slapped his good hand down on his lap. “Tell me, how’s the great university? How is London?”

“London is very frenzied. The streets are always crowded.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“The British can be very cold and snobbish. They’ve come around toward me because I have money and help them win their soccer games. Also, I don’t care whether they accept me or not, which of course confuses them.”

“You only have three months left for the semester. Then you have the summer here.”

“Baba. I can’t go back now. I can’t leave you.”

“Of course you can. And you will. I don’t need you yet. I can still make decisions and Peter helps me. Julia brings Ambrose and I forget everything. Take advantage of the time you have left.”

“How could Mother . . .”

The sheik made a dismissive sound by clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Your mother did what she had to do. Her mother and brothers are in America and it makes perfect sense for her to be there. We both save face.”

“But why aren’t you angry?”

He was silent and his jaw became slack. He was thinking carefully about what to say. “She had no experience in coping with bad luck. I knew that when I married her. If I’m honest with myself, I can’t expect qualities now in adversity that weren’t there to begin with.”

“But Baba, how could she leave when you needed her?”

“You won’t believe me, but she was more humane than I gave her credit for. She went across several oceans to be unfaithful so as not to embarrass me. She could never have stayed, Samir. It wasn’t in her.”

“Why don’t I want to flee?” he asked softly.

“Ah, well, you have a different heart. You learned the lesson of duty at an early age. You welcome it.” He became thoughtful and looked down, absently remembering something. His bad eyebrow was so arched it looked as if he were having an epiphany, some brilliant realization that captured his imagination. “Samir, I want to tell you something. When I left you in the desert, remember? When I rode off, knowing you would wake up alone and feel abandoned, Samir . . .”

A tear formed in his unparalyzed eye and rolled down his cheek. “It broke my heart. But you see, that year served you well. It made you into a real man. Now, help me get dressed and we’ll go outside. I can lean on you and we’ll sit in the garden. You can help me with my shoes. One of the things I miss most is being able to tie my shoes. I always felt so satisfied when I tied my shoes. That set the day for me.”

Samir slipped a clean aba over his father’s head, touching him gingerly at first, but then with more confidence. He bent to put on the soft leather shoes and was shocked at how small the sheik’s feet were. As he was tying the second lace and straightening the aba around the legs, he felt something warm running down on his hand. He almost cried out but managed to check his reaction in time. He undressed his father with a matter-of-factness that denied pity. He brought out clean clothes and different shoes and began again. When he was through he put the sheik’s bad arm around his own neck, raised him up, and together they hobbled into the surprisingly warm February sun.

Three days later, because his father insisted, he returned to London. He and Julia had hired Muffi, a huge Moroccan who could lift their father easily. Muffi was respectful but jolly, with an impish sense of humor. Satisfied that his father was in good hands, Samir returned to England. He would finish the semester to please his father, but he knew that he would never return for the final year. The business had to be run. The future—it had always seemed so far away—was here.

He had opened the tiny pearl buttons on the back of her blouse, grumbling at each obstinate loop. The soft silk had parted willingly and he ran his hand down the length of her. “Such a beautiful straight back.” He kissed three places: the nape of her neck, the middle vertebra, and the base of her spine. While he did this, she was perfectly still, but she couldn’t keep from thinking,
He’s in command. He’s had much more experience with the female body.
They were on his bed, which was made of polished burled wood outlined in walnut with a scrolling back. It was like a sleigh. The entire width was taken up by a square down pillow covered in creamy white linen. He turned her over, pushed up the blouse, and stared at her breasts. They lay relaxed against her body, perfectly centered, the nipples as tender as the secret inside of a newly unfurled rose. His face hovered above one pink center. His mouth opened, his tongue darted out to meet it. His lips enclosed it and slid with a featherlight touch up and down, then stopped.

“I can’t. I can’t do this to you and I can’t continue like this any longer.”

“Nor can I.” She didn’t move to cover herself. She was beyond that. She lay there, immobilized, her eyes on the textured ceiling, waiting for life or luck or the devil to make all her choices. “What are we going to do?” she asked, totally detached from any answer. Her voice was noticeably deeper and more adult.

“There’s only one thing we can do.” His voice was weary, as if they’d been negotiating for days.

“What is that?”

“Well,” he began, looking miserable and sounding forlorn, “I could ask you to marry me.”

He was joking. No one would speak so casually of marriage. He might as well have said,
Oh, this chair’s not comfortable; I’ll move and sit on that one.
Slow, stony hatred began to build inside her. “That isn’t fair. Or funny. You want me to jump with joy and then you’ll double over laughing at me. I hate you for joking about that.”

He looked confused. “Joking? I’m not joking.”

She remained solemn and angry, waiting out any preamble to a burst of laughter. “If you’re not joking, how can you speak of marriage so lightly?”

“What should I do? Bend down on my knees and weep? Nadia, marriage is not cataclysmic. It’s simply a legality. Do you think people feel one whit more in love because of marriage? Quite the opposite. It often puts a dampening effect on ardor.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Because I want you. Because I need you. Because you’re the freshest thing that’s come into my life in a long time.” Her mouth eased a bit. The crease of suspicion on her forehead spread out. Perhaps he did mean it after all. Only it would have been nice if he had said he loved her.

“Mama, I’m going to marry Victor.”

“And I’m going to be queen of England.” Even with the flippant remark, Miriam dropped her favorite bowl. It was a large and sturdy one and had held her rising dough for twenty years.

Most of their important conversations had taken place while Miriam was handling food, and the smell of whatever she was cooking always accompanied the memory of the event. Today she was making Easter cookies. It was a laborious effort because the dough wasn’t easy to work and it had to be filled and rerolled between the palms and formed into a circle and pinched together. All the plump, pale rings—at least a hundred of them—remarkably alike, were placed evenly on the baking sheet. Hours of work.

“No, Mama. I mean it. He’s asked me and I’ve accepted.”

Miriam stabbed viciously at the dough—now without a resting place—as if it blanketed all the evils in her life. She hadn’t even looked up and Nadia felt a gagging resentment rise in her throat. “Victor Madden. The man I work for. He’s asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. I’m going to do it, Mama. I love him.” Her voice was thin and high.

The unique paralyzing anger a parent feels toward the improper arrogance of her child licked through Miriam like a well-fed flame. Twice she let out a chilling laugh. “You foolish girl.” She shook her head and laughed again and then put the dough down and slapped her daughter across one cheek and then the other. “Don’t you dare speak like that to me. Don’t you dare tell me so brazenly what you and some foreigner have decided.”

Nadia was trying not to cry. “I’ve accepted and we’re going to be married. I mean it.” At that moment she sounded so childish it was almost laughable.

“You mean what? You mean nothing, you silly girl,” Miriam hissed. She picked up the largest shard of the broken bowl and smashed it down to the floor again. “You silly, silly girl.”

“Nadeem, don’t let her go back there. We don’t have to send her back to him. Forbid her to leave the house.”

“If I forbid her, she’ll leave before I finish speaking. Then our worries will begin.”

“It’ll keep her away from him.”

“She’ll find other ways of meeting him. We can’t lock her up.”

“Since when can’t a parent control a child? We can forbid her. We can act as parents.”

“I was thinking we could meet the man. He’s not going to harm her. He’s a government official and can’t afford a scandal. I would think she’s quite safe. If we don’t go against her, perhaps the idea will die by itself.”

At that moment she hated Nadeem. She hated his patience and that unquestioning love that made Nadia so able to manipulate him.
She isn’t yours
, she wanted to scream at him. Instead, she said, “The idea will not die by itself, you fool. She’ll never go back on her decision even if she grows to detest him. This is a man who has already discarded one woman, and he’ll discard Nadia, too. He’s a philanderer. He’ll ruin her life and I’ll remember that you let it happen.”

His bad eye turned so cloudy that she was afraid he was having a stroke, as Father Leclere had done while giving Communion. She wasn’t repentant. “I would like to hurt you,” she said viciously. “I would like to gouge out the other eye.” Then she walked away, blinded by tears that flooded her eyes but wouldn’t fall.

She wouldn’t speak to Nadia or look at her except to ask, “Have you come to your senses?” Even as she said it, she knew her tactics would bring the worst results, but she was powerless to stop herself. “He’s a divorced man. You’re throwing away everything. Everything! And you know what? He’ll throw you away. Yes, he will tire of you and throw you away.” Nadia, her back straight and her eyes cold, never answered.