Part 18 (2/2)

That evening, the family teased me. They joked again about Imad's English name, Matt, and how it meant dead in Arabic.

”How is he, Allah yerhamo, Bea? Still Matt, G.o.d rest him?”

”I saw Allah yerhamo walked you home today, Bea. He's quite a Qais!”

I said, ”My mother has a family reunion in May. She thinks maybe I should come home for it.”

And it was Nisrine whose face grew very still, who said, ”You mean leave?”

Nisrine had been wanting to leave. She didn't have a mother who allowed her. I felt my embarra.s.sment.

”For the reunion.”

Madame said, ”You're not supposed to leave until September.”

This reminded me of other news. I told Madame, ”I have cla.s.s again this Friday.”

”Friday?” Madame said. ”Friday's a family day. I thought cla.s.s was Tuesday and Sat.u.r.day.”

Nisrine was looking soft and still, her face to the window.

Lema shook her head. ”What about your tutor, Bea? Matt mat, Allah yerhamo. Where else will you find a dead boyfriend, if you leave?”

IMAD WAS NOT A REAL QAIS, despite what Lema joked. He didn't even want to be. He was steady and kind to me, and I'd liked the warm weight of his kisses.

I followed Nisrine to the bedroom. ”Imad kissed me.”

”He did?”

Normally, this would be a small celebration between us.

She was thinking of other things. ”Do you think you'd really leave, Bea? You're happy here.”

I was. I was happy, and she was part of it. I still hoped Nisrine would be happy, too, that things would get better, and we could find a way.

Nisrine said, ”Maybe when you leave, you'll take me with you.”

”Haha, that would be nice!”

We lay on the bed, and built homes out loud, from our imaginations. In my home, Imad put all his best books. In Nisrine's home there was good food, and family, and Adel's jasmine flowers.

Then she said, ”I don't care anymore about houses.”

”You don't?”

She sometimes teased by saying things she didn't mean. I thought she was teasing.

”I don't think I'll ever build my house.”

”Of course you will.”

But, she shook her head. ”It's a feeling I have.”

I wasn't sure what to say.

”It's just a house, anyway. Why do I care for a pile of cement?”

Why do we care for anything? It is our nature, I wanted to tell her, what we do as humans. I knew that I for one loved strange things, like words and books, but I had never questioned that love, or wanting to love. Why not want? I had never questioned how much I cared for Nisrine.

And, Nisrine had never before questioned how much she cared for Dounia, or Adel, or rebuilding her house. It was a dream for her future, for her child's comfort, the reason for countless mornings, face pressed against the window, a cream-colored rag in her hand, searching for spots. She was beginning to dislike even the future.

I stared at her until she sighed and gave in. ”OK, Bea. I'll build my house. Sometimes, I think everything would be all right, if someone would just be on my side for once.”

Nisrine had been asking and asking, and Baba had done nothing, and Adel had done nothing, and I had said, Try, Nisrine, as if telling her to try might help her.

And looking back now, I want to step in, stand up, say, I am with you, I'm on your side, let's walk out right now, I'll find a new family for you, or if not a family, then something else, certainly we can avoid what is destined to happen next, certainly together, we can do something-we don't need to wait for Adel, or Mama or Baba, why did we always wait for them?

But, we lived in a small world, where everything we did was watched, by Madame or police or the neighbors. The feeling of being caught is something real: cramped legs, like a cramped mind-over the next weeks, this feeling would increase, we would feel more and more trapped, until finally, we found ourselves so utterly locked in, there was no way out. For this, we paid a very high price.

But, that comes later. Now, in this room, I still believed that love was staying, that as long as Nisrine was here, everything would be OK, that our tragedy would be her leaving.

We returned to talking about kisses. Nisrine wanted to know what Imad's felt like: breathlessness, a deep conversation.

”Bea, what do you wish for me?”

”For you?” I tried to think of all we both wanted. ”I don't know, your new house and your son and great lovers.”

”Thank you.”

”You're welcome.” Pause. ”What do you wish for me?”

She thought for a moment. ”Freedom, to be who you want in the world. And a G.o.d to put your faith in.”

”Thank you.”

Nisrine had her G.o.d; she did not have all her freedoms. I had my freedom.

”I want to add on to mine,” I said. ”I wish that for you, too.”

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