Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction (16 page)

Afterward each one of the sisters got their fingers smeared with henna, a lucky sign for finding a good husband. Amina allowed her fingers to be smeared. She did not wear her engagement ring. She wanted to talk to her mother first. But Musa had asked her to wait for the day after Na’ima’s wedding, and she agreed.

Mahmood entered the room, and after he bowed respectfully in front of the old ladies, his mother smeared henna on his little finger. It was the first time Amina saw him, but she would have recognized him anywhere from Na’ima’s descriptions as well as from Musa’s letter.
A hunk of a guy, that Mahmood
, Amina concluded.

In spite of the loud music, they heard the cries of a baby.

“It must be our little boy,” Mahmood’s mother said, getting up quickly. A woman entered the room holding in her arms the five-month-old child.

“I’m sorry to disturb, but I can’t make him stop. Maybe he has colic.” Mahmood and his mother jumped at once, but Na’ima was quicker.

“I want to hold him, please. In two days I’ll be his mother, we’d better start getting used to one another.” She cradled the little boy in her arms, and as if by magic, he stopped crying and smiled at her.

Amina’s eyes shone with admiration, while Na’ima’s mother-in-law gave her a kiss. “That’s a good omen,” she said. “You’ll have a good marriage.”

At noon the next day, the
Imam,
accompanied by Mahmood and two of his friends, his witnesses, arrived at Fatima’s house for the religious wedding ceremony. Na’ima was told she could choose to participate or not, since Musa would represent her, but she wanted to be a part of it. Cousin Abdullah was her second witness. Only male witnesses were accepted by Islamic law.

The Imam started by reading the Surah Nur from the Koran, “Marry those among you who are single and those who are fit,” after which he added the words of the Prophet, “No house has been built in Islam more beloved in the sight of Allah than through marriage.”

The Imam asked Na’ima first, “Do you agree to marry Mahmood?”

With tears in her eyes, but in a clear voice, Na’ima answered, “Yes, with all my heart.” Then the Imam asked Mahmood the same question. Mahmood nodded. He and his witnesses were asked to sign the
Nikaahnama
, the marriage contract.

Following the ceremony, Mahmood was led to the women’s section to receive the blessing of his mother, Fatima, and the other elderly women from both families. Fatima had decided to bypass the obligatory gifts that the groom was supposed to give to his bride’s sisters as well as a money dowry due to her family. “
Inshallah,
” Fatima had said to him at their engagement, “We’ll talk again when you sell the first harvest of your new olive orchard.”

Fatima bypassed the old tradition concerning the meal following the ceremony; instead of eating separately, at their first meal together, Na’ima and Mahmood were seated at the head of the table, with the Koran between them, while a long scarf covered their heads.

The many dishes and delicacies brought to the table, one by one, were greeted by the guests with admiration. In the kitchen, the fine chopping of dill, parsley and green onions ready for the tabbouleh salad never stopped; while the shashlik and shish-kebab sizzled on the skewers.

The fame of Fatima’s kitchen and her exquisite dishes had reached beyond the circle of her family. Now that she was honoring her son-in-law’s family and his friends, she served the best. Scents of the Mediterranean spices z
aatar
, s
umac
and roasted cumin danced in the air, and the guests, already cheered by the glasses of arak and the sweet wine made by the Latrun monastery monks, felt their appetite renewed with each dish.

To those who congratulated her, Fatima modestly answered, “Wait until tomorrow, when you’ll eat the real feast.”

For dessert, there were dates, nuts and the honey-moist baklava. The dates, according to tradition, were symbols for happiness and for a fruitful life.

One by one the guests left saying again, “
Mavrook Wa-barak Allah Fecum
,” the usual blessings and good wishes offered to a young couple. Only Mahmood remained. According to tradition he had to sleep in the bride’s home and share one of her brother’s bedrooms.

Musa, who would have loved to linger in the kitchen to watch the preparations for the next day’s banquet, and mostly, to be close to Suha, had to host Mahmood, who, with the perennial toothpick in his mouth, grinned with satisfaction,

“If your sister knows how to cook the dishes we ate today, our marriage will start off on the right foot.” Musa refrained from telling Mahmood that his sisters were never allowed in the kitchen.

Mahmood stretched out on the bed, opened his belt and after a big belch, he groaned, “I need to rest. The wine from those devilish monks has gone to my head. Tomorrow will be another long day.” He yawned, “A good night’s sleep will help to lead the
Debka
.”

Musa was happy to leave him. He went into the courtyard where he found Amina and Suha hanging garlands of flowers between the lanterns. When Amina saw him, she whispered, “Be quiet; Na’ima and our mother are asleep.
Inshallah
, everything has gone as planned. We couldn’t have wished for anything better.”

“Can I help you?” Musa offered.

“You can help Suha,” Amina answered with a smile. “Since she’s shorter than me, it’s harder for her to reach so high.” Musa looked at Suha, whose face glowed in the lanterns’ lights. Silently she passed the garlands to him. The two girls had woven cyclamen, tulips, irises and narcissus, and their perfume intoxicated Musa. He took hold of Suha’s hands and for a moment they felt their rapid heartbeats pulsating in their wrists.

Musa could not refrain any longer. “By this time next year,
Inshallah
, you’ll be my bride. I promise.” His eyes burned. He’d never been so direct, but he needed to say it. He would be going back to Jerusalem to work at Abdullah’s bank and there should be a clear understanding between them. He saw Suha’s eyes suddenly brimming with tears. The garlands fell from her hands and she ran into the house.

Mahmood woke up in the middle of the night. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He was completely dressed. Still half-asleep, he started to undress. These were the clothes he was going to wear the next day and they had to look fresh. As he moved, he heard a sigh. It was Musa, who slept peacefully at his side, a smile on his lips.

Mahmood yawned. He had eaten and drank too much, but it had been a long time since he had such a meal. He still felt
his head spinning. Yes, he was getting married again, and at that thought, he felt that he was getting an erection. Na’ima will be all right. Of course she’s not as pretty as her sister Amina, but who needs beauty?

His first wife had been beautiful, but did that help him? She was so skinny she couldn’t even work in the yard, much less take care of the olive trees. She moaned during her pregnancy, and begged him to take her to a doctor because she passed blood when she urinated, but he knew that all she wanted was to be spoiled. She wanted attention. As for making love, at the beginning of their marriage he had to beg her, until one night he beat her to make her understand he was the boss.

After she became pregnant, she mostly stayed in bed and told him that if he wanted a boy, he should not touch her until the baby was born. She died giving birth. Mahmood was sure that she put a curse on him.

But now—now, he was sure that his star was on the rise again. Na’ima had strong arms, good for work, good to embrace. Plump like a fattened goose farmers sell in the
souk
in Jerusalem. And her breasts! Even through the loose
jelebia
, he could see how firm they stood, those two little melons. Oh, he felt his desire mount. If only he could find her room! He’d go right now, open her fat thighs with his knowledgeable hands and enter her with all his might. When he laid his strong body on top of her, his semen would spill into her as from an open tap. He felt feverish, excited. Yes, he’d go right now and surprise Na’ima.

Wearing only his long shirt, Mahmood climbed carefully over Musa’s body but as soon as he was at the door, he heard Musa’s sleepy voice, “Where are you going?”

This stopped Mahmood in his tracks.

“I’m going to pee,” he answered sheepishly.

“I’m coming with you,” Musa said, getting up. “It’s dark in the house and you don’t know the way. You could make a mistake and wake somebody up.”

Damn you
, cursed Mahmood. “There’s no need,” he answered, “I think I can hold it until the morning.”

Na’ima was awake, but lingered in bed. It was the day of her wedding party, and her mother had told her that she could stay in bed as long as she liked.

“You’ll have to be as fresh and beautiful as a flower,” Fatima said. Amina, who entered the room together with her mother, said, “I see you haven’t opened the gifts I brought you..”

“You’ve already showered me with gifts,” Na’ima answered, “every day last week the mailman brought gifts from you. For me, the biggest gift is that I have you here with me. I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” and Nai’ma kissed her sister.

But her curiosity was aroused. She took one package from Amina’s hands and caressed the wrapping paper, “Let me guess,” she said, closing her eyes and playing their childhood game. Quickly, Amina opened the first gift.

“Oh, how beautiful,” gushed Na’ima at the sight of the exquisite Turkish coffee cups. The second gift was a set of tall tea glasses with silver holders. “Amina, you spoil me.”

“Not yet, look what I brought you, to wear tonight when the two of you will be alone.” In front of Na’ima’s wide-open eyes, Amina displayed a diaphanous see-through nightgown.

“And before you put it on,” Amina expertly continued, “oil your body with this perfumed oil. It’s a recipe from Queen Hatshepsut, King Tut’s wife. It will make your skin as soft as silk.”

Na’ima blushed. “Where did you learn all this, Amina? I’ll tell you a secret, I can barely wait to have Mahmood all to myself, yet somehow I feel scared, too.”

“Girls, girls,” an impatient Fatima called, knocking at the door, “do you want to wait until noon to get up? Did you forget what day it is?”

“We are coming in a minute,” Amina answered. While she spoke, she took from underneath a pillow where she had kept it hidden, the sapphire ring, George’s engagement gift, and showed it to Na’ima.

“I am engaged to a wonderful man. The gifts I brought you are from both of us.”

Na’ima was speechless.

“Who is he? Do we know him? Does Eumi know?” Na’ima fired the words rapidly when she regained her voice.

“Not yet,” whispered Amina, hugging Na’ima and dancing her around the room. “It’s a secret, but she’ll find out very soon.”

Shifra woke up early. She had promised Samira to prepare
fattoush
, the vegetable salad, mixed with big toasted pita pieces, which had to be served as fresh as possible. And all for at least a hundred people!

But it wasn’t that chore that troubled her sleep. She dreamed of Musa saying to her again and again, “By this time next year, you’ll be my wife.” In her dream she heard his voice accompanied by a violin, little bells and angels’ voices. Her savior, her hero, how handsome he was, so much better looking than Mahmood!

Thinking of last night made her blush.
Why had she run away from Musa? Why didn’t she answer him? What would Musa think of her now?

“Suha, what’s taking you so long?” Samira’s clear voice startled her. “The guests will arrive soon, and we are far from being ready.”

Dear Samira, always worried
, the entire household resting on her shoulders. The meal they had after the wedding ceremony, was such a feast, Suha wondered how the guests would be able to eat again just twenty-four hours later. In all her life she had never seen such a rich meal, and, as her mother would say, “Such a waste of food!”

She remembered the
kiddush
following the weddings held at their little s
hul
in Geula, where the men clanked the glasses filled with schnapps, screaming
L’chaim, L’chaim
, while the children ate the yellowish and already dried
leikeh
.

“There was nothing to eat but herring, boiled eggs and
challah,
” Shifra had heard her mother say sometimes, to which her father would answer, “
Ureme kinder
, poor youngsters, what did you expect, they couldn’t even pay the Rabbi.”

Samira burst into the room, “Suha, what’s happening to you today, of all days? The musicians are at the gate. The minute they start playing will be the signal for the guests to arrive. And you are still in your nightgown!”

It was true. By the time the violinist and the clarinetist finished tuning their instruments; the
tabla
player started drumming and the gate bell rang. Suha watched the guests from her window. Mahmood’s family and their friends arrived first. On the low tables, plates with
sharbat
and water glasses filled with nana leaves waited for the guests.

Fatima, flanked by Amina and Musa, welcomed the guests. She looked splendid in her rich attire, embroidered with gold and silver, and wearing her most expensive jewelry.

“Dear Guests,
Tafadaloo Tasharafna Fecum
, thank you for honoring us with your presence,” bowing slightly, Fatima said to the well-wishers. Besides neighbors and family, she had invited Faud’s former friends and partners, as well as her own business contacts. She introduced her children, “My eldest son, Musa, may Allah grant him long life, who’s going to be a banker, and this is Amina,
Benti Al-Azeeza
, my dear daughter, who studies nursing in Cairo.” There was unabashed pride in her voice. Like raindrops, the congratulatory
Mavrooks
fell on the three of them.

Everybody eyed Amina, whose see-through hijab was constantly sliding, showing her modern hairdo.

“Look, look at her,” the women guests elbowed one another. The first to talk was the mukhtar’s wife, whose daughter was at her side.

“
Salaam Aleikum
, Amina,” she said, honey dripping from her mouth, “We are so glad to have you home. I hope you are here to stay.” The group of women around her, members of the Arab Women’s League, became quiet, their eyes riveted on Amina.