Three Daughters: A Novel (28 page)

The first time Nadia had the opportunity to be off with Victor—tucked into the Singer—the flagship of the Mediterranean fleet put in to Jaffa and they went with two local mayors to call on the admiral. There was a temporary platform where the dignitaries sat for a brief ceremony during which Victor gave a short humorous speech. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and turned up a corner of his jacket and this, for some reason, made her feel peculiar and excited. He loomed larger than life—charming and able. A man among men. Before she had been infatuated, but now she felt weakened and fragile, as if her strength had leaked out. That was her last peaceful day.

Her mind was as intractable as a stack of papers left near a window during a gale. Victor’s teacup and Victor’s chair, Victor’s worn grainy briefcase, Victor’s hat flung on a peg or his blue cashmere scarf slipping dangerously toward the floor, Victor’s laughter heard through the wall, and Victor’s footsteps approaching—any of these made her numb to everything but the anticipation of his presence. Perhaps he would enter her small office . . . could she draw him in by willing it? Some days she felt so beautiful and was certain if he would only come in and see her he would realize it, too. It was an exhausting game.

Within two weeks she had lost four pounds. She was desperate to control her emotions and distance herself. For several days she became overly prim and officious, as if she had a righteous grudge. When she tried not to love Victor, she wanted him to think she hated him.

“I say, are you put out over something?” he asked solicitously.

“Not at all.”

“That’s strange. I notice a little pulling in around that remarkable mouth. As if some dolt hasn’t considered your feelings. Have I upset you?”

Oh, Lord.
“Nothing like that.”

“I seem to remember you know your way around horses.”

The remark was like holding out a lolly to a cranky baby. He was trying to mollify her. “Yes.”

“Good. It’s going to come in handy. I’d like to join the Ramleh Vale Hounds and infiltrate the local landed gentry.”

“You don’t need me to do that.”

“I do need you,” he said, giving her the full treatment.

She lived on that sentence for a week.

“Baba, you wouldn’t believe how much squabbling there is over nothing. I feel ashamed sometimes.”

“Humph. Ashamed? Don’t waste your shame. The British duped an entire country. Let them feel ashamed.”

“Baba, there’s constant complaining. Some of the new Jewish settlers don’t even speak Hebrew, yet they insist that Hebrew should be the official language. And the Arabs feel it should be Arabic. And, of course, neither wants to see anything printed in English. Everyone wants only his religious holidays observed. On Fridays the Christians and Jews can work but not the Muslims. On Saturdays the Christians and Muslims, but not the Jews. On Sundays not the Christians. Some of the immigrants from Poland and Galicia are accustomed to swimming nude, but the local people are appalled and want them arrested. They throw stones. One thing leads to another and before you know it a riot breaks out. Everyone is on the verge of madness.”

“No one is on the verge of madness. That’s propaganda served up by the British. They are bleeding our country. Even the lowest British clerk receives an allotment to send his family, and they use our money to buy British goods and British property. Instead of feeling ashamed, ask your boss about the vast sums that are leaving the country. My banker sends them out.”

After a few weeks, she stopped talking about her job. She wasn’t a traitor, but she could not see evil in a man like Victor Madden. He was compassionate, generous, and able. He went through the streets greeting businessmen and peasants alike with friendly goodwill. It wasn’t his fault that the British had won the war and the right to govern. It would pain her father to hear it but she didn’t share his suspicion and resentment toward the Mandate government.

She bought a new riding outfit—a trim, tailored beige jacket and dark-brown jodhpurs, burgundy boots, and a black cap. Margaret had once told her she was born to wear pants. “You fill them admirably without looking vulgar. Pity the man who has to walk behind you and not touch,” she said sourly. Her own buttocks were flat. After her purchases, Nadia lived with a constant flutter in her stomach that made her lose interest in food.

The third time they drove to the Ramleh Vale Hounds kennels between Lydda and Ramleh, William drove and Victor joined her in the back. Along the road they passed several of the enamel post office signs that were printed in Arabic, English, and Hebrew. At each place Victor asked William to pull over because the signs were vandalized—one or two of the languages were scratched off.

“They deface the signs in hopes that the other nationality will disappear.”

“I’m ashamed that my countrymen can be so petty,” she said.

“None of us is beyond pettiness,” he said amiably. “While I was in college, I had a roommate who never bought soap or tooth cleanser but always helped himself to mine. I was eaten up with resentment and found myself skulking in shadows, waiting to catch him in the act. I’d wait up till the wee hours to stop him from washing his face with my soap. I even stopped buying soap and went a week without it myself to force his hand. Well, I didn’t force his hand at all. He went without it, too, but his life wasn’t tainted by bitterness. I learned a great lesson from that boy. Timothy Reems.”

“But you were right. He should have bought his own soap.” She’d never heard anyone speak as Victor did. He had an opinion on everything and it was always the exact opinion she would have had.

“Perhaps, but that’s not why I hated him. I hated him because he showed me that I was crippled by pettiness. I was willing to sacrifice my well-being over the cost of a bar of soap because I felt threatened by his difference. I cordoned myself off from him but had to watch him like a hawk. Precisely what’s going on in your country. The nationalities exclude each other but then must keep a vigil, lest their antagonists get the better of them.” He raised one eyebrow and tucked in his chin as if he were going to say something especially provocative. “Sometimes individuals cordon themselves off. They don’t want anyone to intrude. They are afraid to share themselves.”

They were approaching the driveway of the kennels and she waited to answer until William had let them out and went to park the car. “You’re talking about me,” she said accusingly. “You’re saying I’m afraid to share myself.”

“Of course I am. You keep everything hidden behind that disquieting sensual face.” At that moment the hound master approached and she was left to deal with those words.

Sensual.
There must be a different meaning than the one she knew. He wouldn’t say anything so intimate to her. He wouldn’t say her appearance was carnal.

“You ride to hounds with your employer? That’s your job?” Julia put two plates on a small table in the study. “Let’s eat here. The sun streams in this window and we can have a look at the garden.” She rolled in a cart that held a tureen of lentil soup, cheese, bread, and sliced tomatoes. Marriage had released a new confidence in Julia. Today she was wearing a long peasant skirt with a knit top that made her look like a struggling artist. She was one of only a handful of women who had learned to drive and scooted around in a Humber sedan, to the admiration of the community. “I’ve never heard of a job like that. What sort of man is he? Do I sound too much like your mother?”

“Don’t worry about that. Victor has his own ideas of how to do a job. He likes to get out and mix with people instead of getting information from reports. People speak to him candidly and he persuades them that it’s to their advantage to get along. Of course, he’s always promoting the Mandate government. ‘We’re not callous imperialists twenty-four hours a day,’ he says. They are doing some good, Julia.”

“I see.” Julia was skeptical. “And has he convinced you too that the English have only our good at heart? I have to admit the post is improved since the days of the Turks. Peter gets his mail from abroad so regularly he can’t catch up. Besides the post, what else have they done? Oh, yes, there are the riots and work stoppages. We never had those before the war.”

“Planning. They’ve planned the neighborhoods around the Old City. Behind the railroad, there’s a nice development with a lovely pinewood. No one can put up a house just anywhere. The streets are much cleaner, too.”

“Look,” said Julia, “the soup’s stopped steaming. I’ve kept you from eating. All right. If you like your job, I won’t play devil’s advocate. Mr. Madden is a man of the world and you’re very dear to me.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Nadia took a sip of her soup and looked around the room. It contained a deep fireplace faced with terra-cotta tiles and flanked by two overstuffed love seats upholstered in flowered chintz. The polished cotton drapes and the tablecloth on the small table they were using were of the same design. “I love this house. This room is comforting. Do you sit here in the evenings?”

“We rarely have an evening free. Peter has to entertain visitors from abroad. We either take them out or I serve dinner here. Afterward we sit in the parlor and hear the gossip from Europe or America. In New York they have dance marathons that last for weeks. Doctors stand by to help those who collapse. Some die of heart failure. Can you imagine such nonsense?”

“I can imagine wanting to do something that takes you out of the ordinary. Julia”—she felt shy—“I have those feelings. Sometimes I think that if I don’t do something exciting now, I’ll find myself shut away forever.”

“Something exciting?” Julia repeated. “Are you certain you’re not developing a crush on your boss? Now why did I say that?”

Nadia tore her bread into bits. “Perhaps because I’m thinking it.”

“Oh, dear. Is it serious?”

“It’s always on my mind.”

“And on his? He hasn’t done anything, has he?”

“You mean physical? Oh, no. He doesn’t even see me in that way. I’m the one who’s nuts with infatuation.”

“I’m not the right person to sympathize with you because I’m not on his side. I had always hoped that you and”—she wiped her mouth—“Samir . . .”

“Oh, God! You and my mother. He stopped to say good-bye before he left for England and my mother had us engaged. Samir and I aren’t suited. He must be busy with his life in England.”

“I’ve heard from him.” Julia went to a desk across the room as if she’d been waiting for an opening. “He’s lonely.” And, as if one statement were related to the other, she followed with, “He sends regards to you.”

“Does he?” She shrugged. Another time she might have been intrigued, but today she was too full of Victor Madden.

“Infatuation,” sighed Julia. “That makes me feel really old.” She wrapped a piece of soft, hot bread around a piece of cheese and took a bite. “My excitement is reading novels. I’ve just finished
Back Street
by Fannie Hurst. But there’ll be no reading until I redo the upstairs. There are two unfinished bedrooms. I was hoping one could be a nursery, but so far there’s been no reason . . . you can stay over anytime.”

They finished their lunch, blinking contentedly in the sunshine. If you had scoured the borders from Galilee to Gaza, you wouldn’t have found two happier women. Before Nadia could rush back to Victor, Julia asked her to help her choose among several swatches to cover a settee for her bedroom. Nadia asked to borrow a record of “Rhapsody in Blue” to play on Khalil’s new Victrola. When she gave her the record, Julia said, “I wish there was something really important I could do.” How could she know that in three short years she would get that wish?