Three Daughters: A Novel (17 page)

Despite his frustration, Nadeem liked Slivowitz and found himself eager to confide in him. “I would do as you say, but I’m afraid that the squabbles in Europe will soon ignite into war. My imports come from France and she’s aligning with Russia, perhaps against Turkey. My family has been through great strife and I want to be certain of their future.”

“Do you believe Turkey will be involved in the war? My God, she’s been at war continuously. She has nothing left with which to fight.”

“Germany will drag us in. Turkey is mesmerized by the German military machine. They believe Germany’s strength will be their strength.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. The Arab soldier will never be aroused to patriotism by the Teutonic method. I have firsthand knowledge of their disdain for our race. At Jerablus, where they are building their railway bridge, they painted numbers on the laborers so they would not have to learn their names. They believe we’re savages and we believe they are pompous fools.”

“You were in the Turkish army?”

“Yes. This eye is a souvenir.”

Slivowitz mulled this over and his tone became subdued. “But if you don’t believe in the stability of Europe or Turkey, what makes you think rental property will be in great demand?”

“Palestine has always prospered despite Turkey’s fortunes. Distance makes us immune. My village is growing daily. I don’t know from morning to morning what new structure I will find. We will soon extend our borders closer to Jerusalem. It can only grow bigger.” As he spoke, he felt a great optimism for the future, but the man before him seemed unmoved and Nadeem rose to leave. “Thank you.”

“For nothing.”

“At least you listened.”

“Listening is cheap.”

“You didn’t insult me by telling me my plan was immature.”

“I didn’t praise you either.”

“Good day, M. Slivowitz.”

“A good day for me it isn’t. I’m going to become your partner, Mr. Mishwe. I’m going to lend you the money.”

“How’s that?”

“Sit down. We have some details to work out.”

When they had settled on the terms of inspection, approval, payments, and repayments, Nadeem said, “I feel ill at ease. As if I were already having difficulty repaying the loan. As if I were burdened with a debt that was doomed.”

“That’s good,” said Slivowitz. “I have faith in a natural worrier. If you felt happy and optimistic, I would worry.”

He bought a patch of land on the Street of the Dyers and Weavers because it was off the main path and not so costly. He put up a two-story building of about fifteen hundred square feet with the upper floor set back to create a balcony. He made the loan money go far and put in a foundation for an additional structure and covered it over for the future.

His hands cracked and bled from the second week. He had to sleep in a crude shelter at the site to protect his materials from theft, yet he had never been so happy in his life. He worked every possible moment he could spare from the shop. The men from the clan came to help at the roofing bee.

Khalil, now a teenager and tall for his age, showed a great aptitude for selling and, after a few weeks apprenticing with his father, was able to look after the linen business for short periods. Hanna helped him as a stock boy and by delivering orders.

A perfumer had rented the space in the shop vacated by the pharmacist and, with the idiosyncrasies of their customers to bond them, he and Khalil became friends despite the difference in age. Khalil’s new responsibilities had matured him and he enjoyed the role of proprietor, playing it out with relish. He had a feel for merchandise and the sincere interest in human nature that makes for a natural salesman.

“He can make a more convincing presentation than I,” Nadeem told his wife. “He speaks knowledgeably of the benefits of percale over combed cotton. Of chintz over muslin. Of dimity over linen. He knows how many threads per inch are in the lisle spreads and why they are cool. He likes to spout these facts. I suppose it gives him a feeling of authority. He tells the customers that the construction allows the fabric to breathe. You should hear him. He behaves as if he has two days to spend with them over the purchase of hand towels, and the ladies feel comforted. Wouldn’t you like to see him?”

“No,” said Miriam. “I would be far too nervous and I’d interrupt him a dozen times.” She had no wish to be in Jerusalem at all.

Nadeem closed his eyes to the possibilities for error in allowing his son to run the business and spent as much time as he could on construction. The face of the building was stone covered over with golden stucco troweled to a smoothness that took patience and expertise. The windows and doorway were gracefully arched and accented with contrasting burgundy brick in a herringbone pattern. The foundation walls went far below the frost line. He had lived through enough snowstorms to know that the winter weather could be severe, but still there were comments that he was being foolishly cautious.

“It’s a handsome building,” Slivowitz said when he saw it. “But will it bring in any more rent for its beauty?”

“And sturdy,” said Nadeem.

“And sturdy,” echoed Slivowitz, uselessly thumping a wall. “Well,” he added as an afterthought, “I have a tenant for you.”

“Oh?” Nadeem wasn’t ready to part with his creation. “Who is that?”

“Another man to whom I’ve loaned money. At least I’ll know the health of his business. If he pays you the rent, I’ll sleep at night.”

“What is his business?” asked Nadeem morosely.

“Cutlery. And cooking utensils from the Continent.”

“You think there’s a market for such things?”

“I don’t know,” said Slivowitz, frowning.

While the southern tip of their empire prospered, the Turks had been locked in battle with the vigorous Albanian mountaineers, who scored a succession of startling victories, causing the Turks to lose all of their Balkan territory except for Constantinople.

The protracted Ottoman and Balkan crisis was attended by almost convulsive efforts on the part of every European state to increase its military and naval forces. The instruments of war had become revolutionized. The giant gun, the scouting and bombing plane, the trench bomb, the tank, poison gas, and the submarine were the new tools of destruction. The French led in the development and manufacture of the warplane, including the Farman, the Caudron and Breguet. Their world-famous Spad and Nieuport were to become the standard pursuit planes of the US services in a war where supremacy was settled by one fighter plane battling with another. It was France’s great flying aces—René Fonck and Nungesser—who would keep the skies cleared of the enemy’s deadly Taubes and Fokkers until Great Britain was ready with her Sopwiths, Bristols, and Handley-Pages.

There was no hint that war would touch Palestine. Miriam’s days were ordered. Life was easier than in the old days. Nadeem had put in a pump and at five each morning, Jirius came to pump water from the garden well into the storage tank. He executed a hundred strokes before going to the next house.

The milk woman arrived next, balancing two heavy jugs, one with milk, the other with yogurt. There followed the egg man calling out, “
Beyyd, beyyd
.” At Zareefa’s urging, Miriam used these services, conserving her strength for dealing with the younger children, who still needed help. For diversion she ordered cloth and made garments for Esa and Nadia and very seldom for herself. She had completely retreated to her old life and found few occasions to leave her familiar surroundings.

With Mustafa’s help she planted a vegetable and flower garden that was as beautiful as it was fruitful. The property around the house became an appealing maze of paths bordered by purple gorse, vetches, poppies, cyclamen, and the dainty lavender crocuses that the villagers called
serâj-el-ghûleh
, lamp of the ghoul, because it is the first brave color bearer after the long, dry summer.

She engaged Baruch, a cotton fluffer from Jerusalem, to come and restore all the mattresses. He stayed two days, working far into the night, refusing any food but tomatoes and eggs and frightening Miriam with his habit of putting the lantern too close to his materials.

“He’ll burn the house down in our sleep,” she whispered to Nadeem. “I feel I should stay up and watch him.”

“He’s been doing this for many years. You would insult him watching him like a child.”

“I’d rather insult him than find my house gone by morning. I wish he’d just sleep at night like the rest of us.”

“Consider it a blessing. He’ll be finished sooner and you can stop worrying.”

“I suppose.”

“All right, sleep now,” said Nadeem. After a moment of silence, he added, “You’d better bring Nadia in here to sleep. Just to be safe.”

She scrambled out of bed, not needing a second urging. “I’ll bring Esa, too.”

When they were settled and she had adjusted herself in bed, he spoke again. “I saw a poster today warning against rabid dogs. You mustn’t let Nadia near any strange animals.”

“Nadia is always the one you worry about. What of Esa?”

“Well, of course, Esa, too. All of them, but Nadia doesn’t understand and she is too fond of animals. You know what she has named the dog? La-la. She points to him and shrieks, ‘La-la, Baba. La-la.’ This is all her own thinking.”

Miriam smiled into her pillow, pleased that Nadia brought him so much happiness, but she also enjoyed kidding him about his preoccupation with the baby’s safety. “Don’t worry. They came yesterday from the public health. A man in a horse-drawn van. He lassoed ten strays with his rope. But the poor dogs kept hurtling themselves against the barred window, trying to escape.”

“Never mind. Better to have the dogs unhappy than children dead.” He raised his head, listening to his daughter breathing noisily in the corner. “Her breathing is always heavy. Do you hear it?”

“It’s nothing, Nadeem. She has a little something. Maybe it’s the cotton dust from the mattresses.”

“Maybe you should take her to Dr. Malouf.”

“It’s nothing. You worry too much about her.”

Nadia grew and her preference for animals became more ingrained. She adored the dog until the day Uncle Daud hoisted her in front of him on a gentle gray gelding and took her for a twenty-minute ride into the hills. From that day the request most frequently on her lips was “Hordee. Nadia ride hordee.” Miriam, remembering Max’s passion for riding, tried to dissuade her. She still had her old fears, but Nadeem gave in and whenever they had a horse available he patiently led Nadia around until she drooped from exhaustion and had to be carried to bed.

So many events—so much change crammed into those few years—had shifted everyone’s awareness. At thirty-two Miriam was a graceful woman with many elements of beauty and an unassuming confidence. Umm Jameel deferred to her with a childlike reliance that was touching. Her own mother reverted to the age-old custom of calling her
Yuma
—Mother. Zareefa came daily to chew over some aspect of her life. Nabile’s wife, Diana, her weight now over three hundred pounds, often struggled up the hill with one of her children and although she complained and criticized, Miriam could see she was the neediest of all.

Two less familiar visitors came from Umm Jameel’s wealthiest relatives. The sheik’s oldest son, Jamal, a widower, had married Sara, an exquisitely beautiful girl from Nablus with strong ties to America, and their firstborn son, Samir, was two years older than Nadia. Twice, the breathtaking Sara, outfitted in her fashionable European clothes, brought her striking little boy to play with Esa and Nadia. He wore linen shorts that buttoned to a linen shirt and white high-top shoes with reddish soles. He seemed unduly serious and very advanced. His mother said they already had a tutor for him and he was learning to read although he was barely four. “He sits in with the council members when they meet.” She smiled as if it were a joke. “He’ll be admitted to the Friends school next fall.” Nadia liked him because he had placed himself at her disposal on all fours and she had climbed on his back and ridden him like a horse. Watching them, Miriam had an odd feeling. These two youngsters seemed to be set apart even at this young age.