Three Daughters: A Novel (26 page)

“They always say they’re going, but then they don’t. What would they do in America, anyway?”

“Butruss’s son is doing well there. He travels door-to-door in the better neighborhoods taking orders for linens. It’s quite a business. Now he’s going to open a shop in a town where the rich Americans go to escape the cold winters. The town is called Palm Beach and it’s directly on the Atlantic Ocean. The sea is right there, so they say. It comes right to the edge of the yards of those large houses. Can you imagine? The vast ocean coming right up to your house?”

“Khalil might go,” she said thoughtfully, “but Hanna would never leave you.”

“I want him to leave us,” said Nadeem. “It’s no good for him to stay behind.”

“Baba! What a thing to say.”

“I say it because I love him. It’s strange. Hanna seems independent because he doesn’t say much, but he is the most attached to us. He needs to make his way in the world. Not to stay with us. Anyway”—he sighed and smiled lovingly at his daughter—“we still have you. After June you’ll be home for the summer.”

“Baba. I want to sit for the matriculation exams. Perhaps I’ll stay here and be tutored so I can take them next year.” She knew he wasn’t expecting to hear this, but it was a relief to say it.

“Why,
habibty
? You’ll be graduating next year. You’ll be finished with school.”

“Miss Smythe says I could pass them and she wants to enter my name. She says it would give me a feeling of accomplishment for my hard work even if I don’t go to the university.”

“The university.” He echoed her last word with a melancholy look in his eyes.

“If I pass I could be accepted to the sophomore class at the University of Beirut. Even though I won’t attend, I’ll know that I could have gone. Samir Saleh is sitting for the London exams. He’s going to a university abroad. He had to stay here an extra year to be ready, but that’s because the boys’ school had to start anew after the war and didn’t have a full staff.”

“Is that so? Samir is going abroad?” He raised his eyebrows with mild surprise, but his heart wasn’t in the subject. “I think your mother will be happy to have you home again. With the boys gone, the house will seem too quiet.”

Nadia remained silent. Her mother was eager to have her home and she was eager to stay at school. She looked longingly around the room. Miss Smythe, poised and confident, floated from group to group. Miss Bailey, comfortably stout, had hold of the girls who had no visitors. The Muslim parents quietly took note of the mannerisms of the English who were now in charge of their government. It was called a protectorate—they wanted to see how they would be protected. Two Italians stood in the center, proud and alone. She loved this ordered world—every hour had its own rhythm. She felt at home here because she was accepted.

“What’s wrong? You have such a troubled look on your face? What is it?”

“Nothing, Baba. How’s Gala? Is she getting exercise? I’ll be able to ride her myself soon.”

“Yes,” said her father, but he seemed to have shrunk into his jacket. She realized that it sounded as if all she had to look forward to was riding Gala. Then she remembered who had given her Gala and her heart ached for her father. There were times when she felt older and wiser than her parents. As if she knew things they were too innocent to understand. It was such a lonely feeling.

“Come,” she said, putting her arm protectively through his, “I want you to meet Margaret before you leave. She introduced me to her father and now I want to introduce her to mine.”

A quick survey of the room showed no trace of Margaret and her father. Nadia was about to look for them in the hall when Samir approached.

“Amo.” He bowed his head slightly toward Nadeem. “Hello, Nadia.”

Why is his tone peeved
, she wondered idly, but she was more occupied with finding her friend. “Have you seen Margaret?”

“Yes. She and a man just pulled out now in a loud car.”

“That was her father,” said Nadia and her voice showed her disappointment. “I didn’t realize she was leaving with him.”

“Well, don’t look so dejected,” he said and again there was that scornful reproach. “She’ll be back.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Nadeem spoke. “You’re going to the University of London?”

“If I pass the exams.”

“To study what?”

“Economics.”

“Economics? But you have your father’s business. Why not learn about your father’s business interests?”

“But I will, Amo
.
That’s part of economics.”

Samir was being overly gracious to her father and . . . cranky to her. There was another side to Samir Saleh. He was capable of a certain detachment that could be cowering if it was directed at you. He looked through people more than at them and could wither the fainthearted with a cool disinterest that chilled the heart. She felt it now.

“You have to go to London to learn about your father’s business?” asked Nadeem with a rueful laugh. “Why not just ask your father?”

“It’s my father’s wish that I go,” said Samir.

“I see. It’s your father’s wish to send you away and it’s my wish to bring Nadia home, but she wants to try the exams, too. She doesn’t want to come home.”

At that moment her spirits began to collapse. She kissed her father affectionately and embraced him. “Baba, it’s late. Thank you for coming, but I know you would have been in bed long ago. Say hello to the boys. I love you. I love Mama.”

“All right,
habibty
.” He was about to put the fedora on his head but reconsidered and kept it in his hand. He walked to the door, turned back again to have one last glimpse of his daughter, and walked out into the darkness.

“You’re going to take the matriculation exams?” Samir asked. She couldn’t decide whether he was genuinely surprised or making fun of her.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if it will be for some use.”

“You feel I won’t put it to use?”

“Women in our clan have never worked and none that I know of has ever attended a university.” He stated it as simple fact, yet he felt that she had disappointed him in some way.

“And does that mean none ever should? Perhaps I’ll be first.”

“Perhaps,” he said softly.

Still feeling wounded from her gaffe over Victor Madden, she let down her guard. “I envy you going to London. Going home is . . . well, it’s a letdown. I always seem to disappoint my parents’ expectations.”

“You don’t want to settle down?” he asked gently.

“Not right away. There’s so much more I want to experience. Your sister’s not married.” She challenged him with her eyes. “Julia strikes me as having good sense.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m quite sure Julia will be engaged this summer.”

“Oh.” She was at a loss.

“You can marry and still have good sense,” he said with a little mirthless laugh. “Do your parents agree with your modern view? They don’t mind if you don’t marry?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“I see.”

“And yourself?” She couldn’t control the sarcasm. “What fortunate girl will have the honor of marrying Samir? Every mother in Tamleh has spent her house money on lamps for el Khalil for the miracle of having you choose their daughter.” She was referring to the old superstitious custom of leaving candles and food at the tomb of the prophet in the hopes of gaining impossible favors.

“Really?” He smiled and traced a pattern on the floor with his shoe. “And is your mother lighting a candle as well?”

“Who knows? Perhaps she is.” She couldn’t help smiling. “Wouldn’t that be ironic?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s precisely what it would be.”

Nadia stayed at school an extra six weeks, studying
Richard III
and
Othello
, two of the works required for the matriculation exam. The days had been sunny and the nights cool—the type of weather that enticed an increasing trickle of summer vacationers to the New Grand Hotel. Margaret had left the country to answer a summons from her mother, so it was a surprise when Victor Madden came roaring up the Nablus Road in his Singer coupe.

She was outdoors reading. As he parked and she realized who it was, she stood, hoping he would turn and notice her. “Ah,” he said with pleasure, “just the person I’m looking for.” He walked toward her. “Am I interrupting your studies?” Even as he said it, his eyes crinkled mischievously.

“Oh, no.” It was obvious he had interrupted. She smiled and reconsidered. “It’s fine. I can do this another time.”
No one else wears such splendid suits
, was her first thought. The straw-colored linen clung to his broad shoulders and chest and molded softly at his waist.

“Good. I want to talk with you.” He looked around, then motioned with his arm toward the grounds beyond the building. “Can we stroll down this way a bit? They won’t mind, will they?”

“No. Of course not.” She was intoxicated by the sound of her own voice, which had acquired a slightly British tinge. He stopped to appreciate the view and the spectacular variety of flowers and she waited. Right about then she felt she should ask about Margaret, but bringing up his daughter didn’t fit in with her feelings.

Within seconds he said, “Margaret is spending all of July and August with her mother in Italy. My ex-wife’s come into a bit of money and they’ve rented a villa on the Ligurian Sea.” He said this proudly, as if his ex-wife had shown astuteness rather than just had good luck.

“Oh.”

“I doubt we’ll see Margaret again. If she tires of her mother, she’ll go to her grandmother in London.”

“Does that make you sad?”

“Yes, it does. Margaret’s wonderful company, but that’s the least of it. I love her.”

Inexplicably, the admission shocked her. That this exciting man should admit to loving her friend was bizarre. It was as if he had claimed to love her, too. A rivulet of perspiration traveled down her long neck and over her breasts. She felt its stinging sensation as it crossed the soft, tender center.

“You’re perspiring,” he said solicitously and handed her a handkerchief.

Down, down, they walked into a valley of wild daisies as high as their arms. A heat wave rose and he took off his jacket, handed it to her to hold, and rolled up his sleeves. The sight of his bare arms gave her a jolt.

“Margaret tells me you live here in the village. I didn’t believe her,” he said morosely, as if he would have liked to apologize to Margaret right then.

She bristled, attuned to the rancor over the British presence and their presumptions. “I’ve lived here all my life except during the war. Why is it so hard to believe? It’s not Borneo.”

“It’s a splendid home. But your coloring doesn’t seem typical.”

“My grandmother is fairer than I. She had bright red hair as a child. My mother’s eyes are blue. Half my cousins are too fair to take the sun at all.” She stopped talking. He was focusing those gray eyes on her.
I’m not that interesting
, she thought.
Any moment, he will discover it and try to leave.
“Down in Jericho”—her voice trembled—“the population is darker but still varied.” She shrank inside.

“You’ve put me in my place,” he said. “From now on I’ll mind what I say.”

From now on?

“Do you speak Arabic at home?” he asked.

“Mostly. Some English, too, now.”

“Can you read and write in Arabic?”

“Of course.”

“My questions aren’t meant to be boorish. I’m trying to find out more about you.”

“I’ve told you everything,” she said. “I speak Arabic and I can read and write it, too.”

He smiled. “That’s simply perfect. I was hoping that was the case.”

“Why?”

“I need someone just like you to help on a special project.”

“A special project?”

“It’s a matter of public relations. I need someone who understands the nationals and also understands me. Someone pretty who will smooth the path.” He lingered on the last word, as if he were including her in a conspiracy. “Would you be free to begin work in late summer?”

Up to that moment she hadn’t understood what he was leading up to.
Someone pretty.
“You want me to help you with your project?”

“Yes. For a salary, of course. Does such a job appeal to you?”

“Oh, yes. But I’d have to ask my parents.”

“Talk it over with them and let me know.” At this point the field of flowers became dense, making it difficult to walk. They took exaggerated high steps and made sweeping motions with their arms. They looked at each other and laughed, tried to walk forward again, and continued to laugh before finally turning back.

22.

I WISH YOU WOULD JUST RELAX AND BE YOURSELF.

S
he had been home eight days, all spent thinking of Victor Madden. She might have daydreamed that he kissed her, but she wasn’t yet crazed enough. She daydreamed long conversations wherein she was brilliant and he was amazed.

When her mother or father stared at her, she’d wince and harden her heart. They wanted her safely at home, then safely married, then safely put away in a small house in the village without any more queer ideas. She was saving the question of Victor’s job offer for a moment when she could barter something to make them happy.

Her mother was making cookies to take to Julia Saleh’s betrothal party. “You’ve given them linens,” Nadia argued. “That’s what they’re expecting from us. Why do we have to bring food, too? It’s excessive.”

Miriam took a dollop of dough and worked it deftly in her hand, making a hollow to receive the almond paste, and then pinched it closed. “We’ve always taken food.”

“That was in the old days. Sheik Jamal doesn’t need our cookies, Mama. Couldn’t we arrive somewhere without all this . . . baggage?”

Khalil, who had heard the last of the conversation, set his jaw. “You don’t have to carry anything, madam,” he said sarcastically.

Miriam remained unperturbed. She was used to Nadia and also engrossed in her own thoughts. “Have you seen Samir lately?” she asked. “He’s going to London next month.”

“I saw him at services every morning. And the boys always came over on Friday nights for the British films.”

“When you were both small, you used to ride on his back. He was very patient with you. Now he might be embarrassed to be reminded.”

“So am I.” She took one of the baked cookies and bit it. “He’s determined to be different from everyone. Many times he’s the only one wearing the agal and kaffiyeh. However”—she sighed, resigning herself to Samir’s better qualities—“he’s a good soccer player.”

“His father expects it. And”—Miriam looked meaningfully at Nadia, working the dough more strenuously—“I tend to agree with him. It’s important not to lose everything to the British.”

“Oh, Mama, we’re not going to lose everything. What is there to lose, anyway? Wearing this dress instead of a long one doesn’t make me English. You should see the really British girls. They care nothing about their family at all. My friend Margaret—her parents are divorced—she calls her father by his given name. ‘Victor,’ she says when he shows up unexpectedly, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’ They speak to each other as if they were equals.” She sighed. “If you must take the cookies, that’s plenty. You can’t expect to feed everyone.”

“All your cousins will be there,” said Miriam. She wanted some promise of cooperation.

“I’m sure.” Nadia knew precisely what that meant.
A man you could marry will be there. Be pleasant. At least be as pleasant as the other girls.

“I wish you would just relax and be yourself.”

“Mama, if I’m myself it’ll be a total loss. You want me to bat my eyes at the boys. And giggle.” This was a good time to bring up Victor’s offer.

“I want you to be pleasant,” Miriam said earnestly and put down the piece of dough.

“Don’t worry about my future. I’ve already had a good job offer.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense. I’ve been offered a lovely job with the Office of National Relations.” It was best not to mention that her superior would be the man she had just described as so liberal. “I have this fancy education. Let me earn some money with it.”

“Your father will have to decide.”

“Perhaps I’d cooperate more if he gave in.”

Miriam was interested. She knew Nadeem would say yes. “We’d have to make sure it’s proper.”

“What could be more proper than the government?”

“Nadia, it wouldn’t hurt to be sociable. There might be someone there.”

“We’re assuming the poor man would also like her,” said Khalil, “and that would be a miracle.”

“Hush,” said Miriam.

“Nadia wants to marry her horse,” he said, not intending to be humorous. “She wants to marry her horse and also go to work to support him. Face it, Mama, you have an odd one.”

“I’ve always been the odd one,” said Nadia, “so why can’t I reap the benefits of it and have some freedom?”

Miriam was still on her own subject. She set her shoulders. “These meetings are important. They give young people a chance to see each other and talk. It’s a way of doing things and you shouldn’t be so ready to dismiss it. Life isn’t so black-and-white as you like to paint it.”

Unexpectedly Nadia had a twinge and felt sorry for her mother. They had been so close once. She remembered being tucked in a sling and bouncing against her mother as she walked. She wanted to say,
Mama, I’ll act just as you want me to. I don’t want to make you struggle over me. I want to make you happy. Which young man shall I attract? Just point him out. I’ll charm King Abdullah himself just to make you smile.

Aloud she said, “You and Aunt Zareefa probably have someone already picked out. Tell me now and save yourselves a lot of trouble.”

Julia Saleh, gracious and soft-spoken, wealthy and educated, had the sort of plain looks that women could appreciate—they knew the value of the tight-pored skin and healthy pink coloring—but men found unenticing. When she was twenty-two, ordinarily a year of despair for an unmarried girl, a wealthy entrepreneur from Jerusalem—a man any girl would have welcomed as a husband—had discovered Julia’s goodness and asked to marry her. Her father was overjoyed and her betrothal party was the most elaborate social gathering ever attempted in the village.

The event was held at the sheik’s summer estate, ten miles north of the village, a beautiful setting amid healthy, productive vineyards and orchards. Thomas Cook & Son was hired to set up three tents. The property had newly erected stables and an elaborate watering system, but the only shelter was a stone cottage, a nostalgic relic from the old days that Sheik Jamal refused to update.

He’d added a tennis court as a gift for Samir’s fifteenth birthday. Secretly, he considered tennis the most demented pastime, yet it gave him satisfaction to provide such a gratuitous indulgence. It had cost three hundred pounds sterling but it was worth it for the look of surprise it received from every European guest.

All the food for the party had been brought in a large truck and laid out in the middle of the tent. Five whole lambs stuffed with pine nuts and peppered rice were being roasted on spits. Tomatoes, cucumbers, and radishes were arranged alongside tubs of roasted eggplant smothered in simsim paste and garlic. Baby summer squash had its pale innards scooped out and replaced with peppered rice studded with spiced bits of lamb. Tenderized grape leaves rolled like piquant little sausages around a vegetable mixture had been steamed on a bed of meat bones, allowed to cool, and doused with lemon juice. Pickled turnips and beets, glistening green and black olives, plump rounds of cheese, and stacks of bread baked throughout the day whetted appetites for the succulent lamb to come.

The entire Mishwe clan made the trip together in one tightly packed jitney, with Umm Jameel denouncing the vehicle at every sharp turn. Nadia bolted from the bus, relieved to be away from Miriam’s admonitions to “be sociable,” and went in search of the bride-to-be.

Julia was four years older than Nadia but they had always been drawn to each other. “Lovely.” Nadia spread out the blue georgette skirt. “You look calm and relaxed. I’d be so nervous.”

“I was nervous yesterday.” Julia placed her hand on her cousin’s bare arm and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for the linens. They arrived yesterday. Did you see them?”

“No. Baba had them sent to you directly from France. Are they pretty?”

“They’re beautiful. Let’s sneak away to the cottage and I’ll show you.”

They walked to the little house that, although meticulously clean, was in sharp contrast to the posh amenities of the estate. It consisted of one large room with a stone floor and a deep fireplace. Two alcoves were curtained off for sleeping and the beds were the old-fashioned spun-cotton mattresses on roughhewn trestles. The center of the room was dominated by a long refectory table that was piled with gifts.

“You’ve got to see these.” Julia bent down to a linen chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl and olive wood. “Your father had my new initials embroidered on the spreads and towels.” She pulled out more pieces. “Look, the coverlets are peach, bordered in white satin, and the sheets are white bordered in peach satin.” She rubbed her hand across the material. The sheets reminded them of what came with marriage and they were silent.

“Julia, didn’t you ever want to get away from the village and do something that had nothing to do with the family?” Nadia spoke breathlessly. “My parents would weep if they knew the things I wish for.”

“It never occurred to me to protest,” said Julia.

“Aren’t you frightened now, even a little? These are the last few days you’ll be free.”

“I’m not.” Julia’s face was frank. “Peter is my miracle. And I don’t mean that he saved me from spinsterhood, although I’m sure that’s what people think. The miracle is that I’ve found my perfect situation. He makes me feel . . . comfortable.” She looked out one of the small windows, searching for the right words. “That doesn’t sound exciting, but I’ve never felt comfortable within the family since my mother died. Samir is my father’s main project and rightly so. He has extraordinary abilities. Did you know he spent a year with the Bedouin? He was almost killed. He’s generous and not at all self-centered.” A wistfulness came into her voice. “I’m going to miss him terribly.”

“I envy his going to London,” said Nadia. “That would be my ideal. To go where no one knows me or cares what I do. People have never liked my going to FGS. My own aunts and cousins thought I was trying to be a snob.” She shrugged. “I’ve been offered a job with the government. My roommate’s father needs an interpreter.” For one wild moment, she considered sharing her fantasies about Victor Madden, but perhaps Julia wouldn’t understand. She might appear like a silly girl with an impossible crush. “Where are you and Peter going to live?” she asked instead.

“In the Old City. We’ve settled on a charming stone house off St. Francis Street and I’m going to decorate it myself, top to bottom. It has three floors and a little square-walled courtyard to separate it from the street. It’s the sweetest house, Nadia, with odd nooks and one spectacular wood-paneled room. I can even choose my own flowers for the garden.” She smiled with anticipation and pleasure. “I don’t know why, but the thought of furnishing that house makes me dizzy with happiness. Nadia”—she had a new thought that excited her—“you can come on your lunch break and help me choose things. I’ll cook for you in my own kitchen.”

“Of course I’ll visit.” They stood and threw their arms around each other and danced a few steps. Julia dropped her hands. “I’d better get back to the receiving line, but you don’t have to. Go have a look at the new stables. Samir says you’re crazy about horses.”

“Samir talks about me?” She was surprised.

“You intrigue him,” said Julia. “We were teasing him about the sort of girl he would marry and he said perhaps it didn’t matter so much. That most of the girls he knew were predictable. Then he said, ‘Excluding Nadia Mishwe. She’s daft for horses and murder on the tennis court.’ ”

“Thank God my mother didn’t hear that,” said Nadia. “Can you think of a worse recommendation for a girl?” She was pleased to hear that Samir thought of her. If he found her interesting, maybe Victor would, too. “I will go look at the horses,” she said gaily.

She walked away in long, bouncy strides, feeling the muscles in her calves. There was power in her lithe, well-exercised body. It belonged to her to do with as she wanted.

On the morning of his sister’s party, Samir had awakened with feelings of relief and satisfaction. The previous day he had received news that he had passed the grueling two-day London matriculation exam and could be admitted to the sophomore year at London University. He picked up Phillips, who had also passed the exam and was set to attend the University of Glasgow, and they drove to the farm in Samir’s new Humber coupe.