Three Daughters: A Novel (46 page)

“He’s so beautiful,” she said. “It makes me sad to see him.”

“Why sad?”

“A hunter will pick him off in the next day or two.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“His life is at its peak. He’s so perfect. His legs, his head, his eyes are perfectly made. It’s such a waste. I don’t understand that part of it at all. Why does he have to die?” Her eyes were full.

“If he dies now with one swift crack to the heart, it’s better than being mauled to death by a wild animal when he’s too old to run.”

“Baba . . .” The beauty of the scene made her feel bereft, as if James were already a memory. But that was frightening. Everything she saw made her think of him. She wanted him to see the buck and experience this perfect morning. The urgency to see him clouded reason and made her reckless. Her father must already know all there was to know. No doubt he had already traced James’s family back a few years. There was no need to pretend. “I love him,” she said. At that moment she was sure her father would give in. “You’re not going to take me away from him, are you?”

“You were never his.”

“But I am! I am! He makes me happy. And free.”

Samir moved closer. She was the treasure of his heart. Nothing suited her beautiful face more than the wide-brimmed hat. The shadow it made emphasized all the strong planes of her face—the peaks above her mouth, the deep cleft. He shifted position on the horse and flexed one hand, suddenly tired and frightened. Her face appeared sensual. Those wide eyes that had looked at him with faith for so many years were wary. His imagination went in wild directions, presenting a vivid picture of a failed life—his own failed life if he lost her.

“You’ll marry the right man and it won’t be the son of an opportunist.” His voice became hard and dull. Other fathers had panicked at the idea of turning their daughters over to another man, but Nijmeh was his only link to the future. “All this belongs to you; all of it is in your hands,” he warned. “Your place is here with someone who has the same roots and the same commitment.”

“If you only knew him, you’d feel differently. He’s so sure of himself and he has the power to make you feel sure, too.”

“I don’t doubt it. If you love him, he must have great charm, but charm isn’t enough.”

“You make him sound shallow,” she said bitterly. Echoing precisely what James had said, she added, “You don’t have to slaughter lambs and fight off wolves to be a substantial person. Your definition of goodness is so narrow.”

Samir looked stung. Even though he knew that wasn’t what he’d taught her, the accusation had the power to hurt. She seemed possessed. If she thought she was in love, it was an idea foisted on an unknowing, vulnerable girl. He struggled to keep anger out of his voice. “I have no definition of goodness,” he said simply. “I only have a job to do. And that is to instill in any child of mine a powerful love of the land. If I don’t do that and other men like me don’t do it, who will care for our past? Who will bring all our traditions into the future? It would be tragic if there was nothing left.”

She saw a look of sadness and vulnerability in her father’s face and she was torn between the strong desire to console him and the equally strong pull not to capitulate. Her tenderness toward him made her angry and frightened, as if it were proof that she was too weak spirited. “I wouldn’t turn my back on those things. If James thought they were important to me, he wouldn’t interfere. He wants me to be happy.” Her voice was too high and thin. Her happiness sounded like a frivolous goal. “Please let him come and meet you,” she added in desperation.

“I would feel dishonest in giving you false hope.” It was strange. If he closed his eyes, he could forget what had happened and see her future as it should have been.

“Then how can you say you love me?” she shouted. “You’re no better than a dictator. It has to be all on your terms.” The words flew out. She felt such uncontrollable rage that she thought her heart would stop or explode.

“Not a dictator,” he said gently. “Just a father who has lived long enough to see the pitfalls of short-term delirium. This is your first crush. There’ll be others. You’ll see.”

His smugness made her gag. “You think I’m an idiot who’s being swept off her feet by the first man who pays attention to her? That’s not true. I could have encouraged a lot of boys who were interested, but I chose him. You don’t want to think that I have any sense because that would ruin your neat theories. But I have. I have good sense and I’ve chosen the best possible man to love. This time, Baba, you’re wrong!”

The possibility that there was a kernel of truth in what she said made something burst in Samir. “Don’t you dare raise your voice to me. You’re not wise enough to make the best choice, no matter what you think.”

If she had something to smash, she would have smashed it. Her heart was pounding so hard it made her tremble. Horrible despot! She hated him. All she could do was hurl words at him. “You can’t make marry anyone. You can tie me up or lock me in a room, but you can’t make me do anything!” She gave him one more hard look. “Even if I wanted to obey you, I can’t,” she said with spite. “I love him too much. I can’t give him up.” She was looking forward to making him angrier, but he remained silent. She turned the horse around and rode away, imagining he would gallop after her and hold her back physically, but when she turned to look, he hadn’t moved at all.

“I’ve spoken to my parents,” James said quietly. He had come by the school, shown himself to Madame Boulanger, and, miraculously, she had allowed them to leave together.

“Really?” It had not occurred to her that his parents had anything to do with it. “And?”

“They were surprised. They didn’t know what to say. I guess they’d always assumed I’d marry someone”—his voice became sarcastic—“from the vast pool of international beauties.”

“Oh?” There was hurt in her voice.

“Hey . . .” He put his hand under her chin. “I didn’t say I had planned to do that. I merely said that’s what they thought would happen. If you want to know the truth, I don’t think they thought much about it at all. And anyway, I don’t see what you’re so put off about. You’re not going to get rid of me, Nijmeh.” He grinned, put his hands behind his head, and sat back, as if preparing for a long, embattled stay.

“Oh, James.” She was all over him with kisses. Then she curled up against his chest and put her arms around him and cried softly against his shirt.

“Why so sad?”

“Nothing’s going to be easy.”

“Certainly it is. It might be hard here, but has it ever occurred to you that this isn’t the whole world?”

“It’s been my whole world.” She was thinking that he should have been a little less carefree.

“Maybe it can stop being your whole world. There are other ways to live.” He said this with a tone of slight superiority that made her think he had wanted to say it before.

“I love it here.”

“You’ve been told you love it.”

“That’s not true.” She knew it was true, but she also loved it. “Can you say this isn’t beautiful?” They were facing east to the dark hills of Moab.

“You should see the light in Paris just at dusk. That’s beautiful, too.”

His reasonableness irked her, but she had no answer. Paris. She had never pictured a life away from here. She had never thought of Paris at all and now, with just those few words, he had set up a longing to see it.

Samir did nothing to prevent her seeing James, which left her with a feeling of dread. She was too proud to ask. Samir’s calm was disturbing to Nadia, too. After the first few agitated days, he seemed emotionally free again, as if the problem had evaporated. It was the same unnatural calm he had displayed when she kept miscarrying.
I know you will have a child
, he had insisted, as if his will were all that was needed. She had never rid herself of the notion that finding Nijmeh was somehow tied to Samir’s perfect faith. How many times had she seen him wait out a difficult situation with that unshakable knowing that the outcome would be right? He was doing it now and it broke her heart to think of unsuspecting Nijmeh thinking she had won out. But it was for Nijmeh’s own good, wasn’t it? Her head went round and round.

Finally she said something. “You didn’t forbid her to see him?”

“No. What can I do, lock her up?”

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Nadia, too, was fearful.

“I have to think about what to do,” he said. “It was my own fault, after all. I didn’t realize she was a woman and would begin concocting ideas of love. We’ll have to see what young men are available. Do you have anyone in mind?”

They were in bed and Nadia sat up. “Let me see . . . when it’s your own daughter, no one seems right.”

“The best thing would be to lure her away, but I have to have something to lure her with.”

“Let’s see if I understand this correctly,” said Delal. “You want me to receive your boyfriend’s letters when he goes abroad and pass them over to you secretly?” She was purposely using language that would embarrass Nijmeh. “I would be the go-between?” She put a finger to her brow. “Do I want to do that? Do I want to take the risk of offending your father? To say nothing of my mother, who would probably never forgive me for aiding the man who caused her brother misery. I would be taking a big chance.” She pretended to be mulling it over. Delal was surprised that Nijmeh hadn’t caved in to her parents’ demands. “Why don’t you just go with him? Keep it simple.”

“Well.” Nijmeh looked straight ahead. “For one thing, he didn’t ask me.”

“Oh? Too bad.” She looked mildly apologetic. “I guess you really love him.” Nijmeh nodded. “He’ll probably ask you to marry him when he has a profession. He wants to offer you a decent life. It’s not such a long time, you know. In the meantime, he’ll keep in touch—through me.”

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“Well, let’s see if he writes first,” she said breezily. Nijmeh was a very different person now. The face definitely showed that something had happened. Around the mouth—she chewed nervously on her lips. Maybe she did that to deflect her sexual needs. Delal had been reading about nymphomaniacs. Nijmeh’s eyes looked as if they’d seen a thing or two. Maybe she’d done it with James a lot of times.

“The letters will be addressed to you. Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all. Have them sent to the paper.” Delal—approaching twenty and with more than enough credits to graduate—worked three days a week reviewing films (and reporting on minor crimes) for the Palestine
Post
. “No one will be the wiser. I’ll keep them safe. By the way, have you slept with James?”

Nijmeh looked surprised but not shocked. “No. I wanted to.”

“So?”

“He wouldn’t. He thought it would be too damaging.”

“Damaging? How?”

“Because a girl in my situation . . . sheltered . . . and my father . . . well, the whole thing. He felt it would be disastrous.”

“It would be disastrous if he weren’t planning to marry you. If he only wanted to use you for a quick thrill. You know, get into your pants and then say ta-ta and be off. Then you’d be spoiled goods—as they say—for the husband who got you.” She waited for some response, but Nijmeh had none. “Well? Is he or isn’t he planning to be your guy forever and ever?”

Nijmeh blinked. It was a relief to talk frankly. “I love him desperately. That seems an odd word to use with love, but when I can’t see him I become desperate.”

“How can you be satisfied to give him a few kisses and be madly in love? You’ve got to give him a good reason to think that this is it. That he’s obligated to you and, for all intents and purposes, you’re already married.”

“Obligated? I don’t want him to feel obligated.”

“Committed then. You like that word better?” She brought her hands together on her lap and sat up straight. “Look, you’re probably thinking I haven’t had so much experience with men so what do I know. But I do know. Men like James . . . they’re never desperately in love or ever really unhappy. Oh, they like the odd little challenge. Winning at sports, drinking beer faster, or doing the daring deed. They’re hardly ever crazy for love. They’re usually crazy for war or money, but not your James probably. He’s had too easy a life.”