“He won’t need that big of an opening. We’re talking about Ziad, remember?” Rima said.
“How would you know, eh?” Mona asked, arching her left eyebrow. “You’ve seen it?” She looked serious. “You’ve seen his…” she paused. “You know…”
Rima laughed. “Yeah, I have dated him a few times and I’ve even touched it!”
“With your mouth or hands?” Adele suddenly interjected, smiling to herself. She loved shocking her sisters; they thought she was so naïve.
Rima playfully nudged Adele on the shoulders. “Listen to you! I was only joking about seeing Ziad’s penis. The mouth or hands? My God, Adele, what are they teaching you in school these days?” She was grinning.
Katrina shook her head disapprovingly.
“I should go,” Rima murmured. Her shoulders tensed as stared hard at the suitcase.
“Where will you go?” Katrina asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “I’m not supposed to be thinking about marrying some old Lebanese guy just because Babba wants me to. Fuck, I’m only eighteen! I’m not even out of high school yet. Really, does this make any sense? What a fucked up family! What kind of parents encourage their daughters to date old men? Fucked up ones, that’s the kind.”
Adele silently nodded in agreement.
Katrina rolled her eyes.
“Don’t look at me that way, Katrina! You know I’m right.”
“Calm down,” Katrina said. “That’s the way things are…”
“Stop it! Stop saying that. Now you sound like Mama. We’re in Canada, not some fucking village in the Middle East,” Rima screamed, grabbing the suitcase from her bed. At the same time, Katrina placed her hands on the top of Rima’s and tried to pull the bag from her hold. The two sisters struggled, neither one refusing to let go of the suitcase. Rima suddenly pushed Katrina; she stumbled back, finally letting go of the handle.
Adele suddenly got up and ran toward Rima. She didn’t want her to leave so she hugged Rima hard. Rima squirmed in Adele’s grip, dropping the suitcase on the floor. “You can’t go, Rima. We need you. Stay with us. Please,” Adele pleaded.
Rima stopped squirming. Adele’s warmth spread into hers. But then Adele saw a mixture of sadness and determination in Rima’s eyes and she knew she was determined to leave. She realized, too, that things wouldn’t change. Rima pushed away, but Adele refused to let her go. She grabbed onto Adele’s right arm and twisted it; suddenly she had Adele pushed up against the wall. “You’re hurting me,” Adele cried.
“Stop it!” Mona said, jumping up from the bed. “Let her go, Rima! You’re going to break her arm. Stop it!” But Rima held tight, refusing to let Adele go. Mona shoved Rima away from Adele. Tears were spilling down Adele’s face once more.
“Stop crying!” Rima wailed. She punched the wall, just inches away from Adele’s face, cried out wildly and then grabbed her own hand, examining the scraped knuckles. “I’m sorry, Adele,” Rima whispered. “I didn’t mean … I’m sorry.”
“You’re such a bitch!” Mona said, coming to Adele’s defence. “You’re just as bad as Babba.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to him, Mona!”
But Mona didn’t stop there. “You think you’re so tough. Well, you’re not! You’re a coward, a chicken shit! Go,” Mona said, flinging her right arm in the air. “Go. Leave us. We’re the ones who’ll have to deal with Babba. Take your fucking suitcase and run. Run, chicken shit, run,” she taunted her sister. “Leave us to deal with your mess. Just go, Rima,” she said, almost pleading.
“What are we supposed to tell him?” Adele asked in a small voice.
“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Rima whispered, staring across at Adele. But Adele avoided her sister’s eyes and wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt.
“What fucking world do you live in? ‘You don’t have to tell him anything.’ Yeah, right. Are you crazy?” Mona growled.
“I don’t have time for this,” Rima said, pushing past her sisters. “You guys don’t understand. You have a lot of growing up to do.”
“And look at yourself? You’re running away! That’s so mature. I admire you,” Mona said. Pressing her hands against her chest, she said, “I aspire to be like you, dear Rima. Oh great, mature one!”
“Shut up, Mona! You don’t know shit. You haven’t even kissed a guy yet. Fifteen and never been kissed or felt up or anything,” Rima said defensively.
“Well, at least I’m not a sharmouta.”
“I’m not a slut. I’m still a virgin, you know. Just because I’ve experimented a bit doesn’t make me a slut.” Rima lunged at Mona and pushed her back on the bed. Jumping on top of her, Rima grabbed a fistful of Mona’s hair. Mona yelled as they rolled together on the bed. Katrina jumped off the bed as their arms swung wildly at each other.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Adele shouted by the doorway.
Just as quickly as she had attacked her, Rima let Mona go and sat up on the edge of the bed. Then she got up fast, wrapped her fingers around the handle of the suitcase and lifted the bag as she walked out of the bedroom. “I have no other choice.”
Adele waited until she heard her sister tiptoeing downstairs. She ran out of the bedroom and peered over the banister. Rima opened the front door and walked out. Adele screamed Rima’s name but she didn’t turn back.
CHAPTER 5
THE TV BLARED IN THE FAMILY ROOM while the three sisters watched an episode of Happy Days. Their eyes were pasted on the television screen, following the action between the Fonz and Richie Cunningham.
“But Fonzie, don’t you want to meet your father? You haven’t seen him in years,” Richie said, sitting across from the Fonz in the apartment above the Cunninghams’ garage. He sat up on the sofa and leaned towards the Fonz who stood with his thumbs gripping the front pockets of his jeans. The leather jacket was half- unzipped, revealing a white undershirt. Pacing back and forth, the Fonz finally said, “The old man deserted me when I was just a kid. My Ma had to support me herself. He didn’t even say bye to me when he took off and left. How can I meet a man like that? I ain’t got an old man.”
Richie sat back and sighed. “Everyone has a father, Fonzie. It’s whether you want to forgive him, that’s the real question.”
Adele looked away from the TV. She sat beside Mona on the sofa across from Katrina. She glanced at her sisters, the glow of the screen on their skin made their flesh turn bluish-green. If only they had a friend like Richie to help them with their problems, she thought. A commercial came on and Adele turned to look out the window, checking for her father’s green Chevy. She knew he didn’t like having the TV on too loudly. The streets were deserted on this Sunday evening. Although their house was located in the downtown core, the loud noise from the cars on the main avenue didn’t travel down their small, quiet street. As Adele stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the apartment building across from their home. The sisters referred to it as “the castle” because that’s what it looked like. Adele was startled when she spotted her parents’ silhouettes; they were walking towards the front door. “They’re back,” Adele said out loud.
Katrina’s body was stretched out on the large sofa, her arms behind her head but when she heard Adele, she sat up quickly, straightened her shirt and clutched the remote control, lowering the volume of the TV.
“Hey,” Mona protested. “I can’t hear the show anymore.”
“Shh,” Katrina said, holding a finger to her lips. “Didn’t you hear Adele? Mama and Babba are back.”
The sisters sat on the couch with their hands folded on their laps. Their faces paled as they listened to the sound of the key slipping into the lock. Within a few minutes, their father walked into the house, their mother trailing behind him. Youssef switched on the light in the hallway and shouted, “We’re back. How many times do I have to tell you
girls to turn on some lights so it doesn’t look like the house is empty?”
“Sorry, Babba. We forgot,” Katrina replied from the family room.
“We’ve got very forgetful daughters, Samira,” he said to his wife, closing the door behind her.
“No, they’re young, that’s all,” Samira said in Arabic, removing her overcoat. Adele leaned her elbows on her knees and listened more closely.
“No excuse. When I was their age, I was already working and helping my parents with the land. I never forget anything,” he said, tapping his head with his fingers. “I have a memory like an elephant’s.”
Samira smiled. “Things are different here, Youssef.”
“Why do you always defend them?”
“I’m not defending…”
He interrupted. “If only I had a son, then I wouldn’t worry so much. He’d remember to turn on the lights,” Youssef said, leaning into the doorway of the family room. He turned back to his wife. “Stop defending them, okay?”
Adele sat back and breathed deeply, watching the shadows of her parents. She saw her mother grab a hanger from the closet and place her coat there. Then she heard her father say, “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” Samira replied.
“There’s no excuse for stupidity. Katrina’s old enough to know better. Instead, she’s stupid,” he muttered in a low voice. Adele looked across at her second-oldest sister. She knew Katrina heard her father’s mumbled words by the way her sister dropped her head and gazed at the floor. With her hands, she wiped her eyes before the tears had a chance to wet her cheeks. Their father had always called Katrina “stupid.” It was his preferred nickname for his second daughter. Adele watched Katrina roll her shoulders inward until she was curled on the sofa, her knees pinned against her chest, her eyes still fixed on the floor.
“She’s not stupid!” Adele shouted back at Youssef, defending her sister. The light from the doorway made her father’s shadow flash on the wall.
His shoulders tensed. “Listen to her,” he said to Samira. “That damn young one is always talking back. I should’ve whipped her like her sisters when they were younger to teach her some discipline and respect but, no!” he said, throwing his hands up. “Damn school teaches her to threaten me with the cops if I slap her. What do the government and school have to do with raising children, especially ones as defiant as Adele?” Youssef’s footsteps pounded the stairs leading down into the TV room. With his hands on his hips, he looked at his three daughters who now sat upright on the sofs. “Where’s the converter?” he bellowed.
“Here, Babba,” Katrina replied, handing him the remote control. He grabbed it from her and nudged Mona on the shoulders. “Go sit beside Katrina.” Mona got up and obediently sat next to her sister on the other couch. With her father next to her, Adele frowned and moved to the opposite corner of the sofa.
Youssef aimed the converter at the television set and flipped the channel to wrestling. Two bulky men in skin-tight shorts and undershirts struggled together in the ring, pushing each other against the flimsy, flexible ropes. Their bodies crashed down on each other while the crowd clapped and cheered at the barbaric display.
“This is so fake,” Adele said suddenly. She sat up on the sofa, straightening her small back. Mona and Katrina glared at her to keep her mouth shut, but she ignored them. “It’s so fake.”
Youssef immediately defended his favourite show. “No, it isn’t. It’s real. It’s a sport.” He sat back on the sofa.
Adele continued. “Everyone knows it’s fake. Even a kid like me. It’s fake and boring.”
“Look at that man, look at the pain on his face. That’s not fake,” Youssef said, pointing at the set where one of the wrester’s face was crunched up in pain, clutching his right arm after the other wrestler twisted it behind his back.
“Fake. It’s called ‘acting,’ Babba. Everyone knows wrestling is fake,” Adele insisted. “Let’s watch something else.”
“This is my TV. I pay for the cable. We watch what I want, understand?”
“No, I don’t understand,” Adele persisted, her reedy voice rising in anger.
“Shut up, Adele!” Katrina finally said. “Listen to Babba.”
“Why should I?”
Youssef turned from the TV and glared at Adele, his dark eyes narrowing, his thin lips pressing together. “Because I’m your father. I brought you into this world. I support you, feed you…”
“Mama feeds us, not you. You don’t even know how to cook.”
His face tightened even more and his thick eyebrows arched inward.
“Let it go, Adele,” Mona whispered from across the room. “Just let it go.” Adele stared blankly at her, then she turned to face her father again, defiant.
“I’m the one who pays for the food, not your mother,” Youssef shouted, splattering spit on Adele’s forehead and pounding his fist against his chest.
She wiped her forehead quickly. “Money isn’t everything.”
“What do you know? You’re just a stupid kid. You’ll never amount to anything. You’ll be lucky if you find a good husband. Nobody wants a stupid girl and ugly too!” He stared hard at her as these words tore from his mouth.
“You’re a bastard,” Adele blurted out.
Youssef raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Katrina and Mona jumped but didn’t look across at Adele as she rubbed her cheek.
“I hate you! If you hit me again, I’m calling the police on you, understand?” she said, trying to control the tremor in her voice.
“You’re no good for nothing. No one could ever love you because you’re so ugly.”
Adele looked down at her hands, kneading her knuckles together. She felt the tears gathering but refused to cry. Youssef continued, “Only a dummy would think wrestling was fake. Can’t you see right, even with your four eyes?” Adele pushed her glasses up her nose. Katrina and Mona lowered their heads while Adele took the brunt of their father’s abuse. Without blinking, Adele stared intently at the television and let her father’s words enter her eardrums, worming their way into the lobes of her brain, her heart. She glanced across at her sisters, who didn’t raise their heads to meet her gaze. They stared silently at the floor.
Suddenly, Youssef stopped talking. He looked around the room. “Where’s Rima?”
No one answered him.
“I told her to stay home with you. Is she in her room?”
“I don’t know,” Katrina answered. “I think so.”
Youssef stood slowly, casting one more glance of disgust at Adele, and left the family room. The three girls looked at each other as the stairs creaked under his weight. Now he was walking down the hallway. Adele imagined him standing in the doorway to Rima’s bedroom, his small lips puckering in anger at finding it empty. A minute later, he came racing downstairs again. Back in the family room, he looked hard at Katrina. “Where is your sister?”
“She’s not upstairs?” Katrina asked, pretending her best to sound surprised.
“No. Where the hell is she?” he asked louder. Samira came into the family room, her face complicated with worry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Rima’s not home.”
“Maybe she went out with a friend.” She spoke in Arabic.
Samira sat down on the sofa next to Adele. She smoothed her daughter’s hair.
“Where is she?” Youssef repeated.
“She’s gone.” Katrina spat the words out.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Youssef balled his right hand into a fist, slapped it into his left palm, more than once, as if he were warming up for a baseball game. “Where the fuck did she go?” he cursed. Then he quickly calmed down, and asked, “Did she go out with Ziad?”
“No. She doesn’t like Ziad.”
“Doesn’t like Ziad? Why? ’Cause he’s a good Lebanese man?” he shouted.
“She doesn’t like him because she loves Mitchell,” Katrina said.
“I told her to stop dating that boy!” Youssef threw his hands up in the air and shouted, “Son of a bitch! She better not be with that bastard. Where the hell did she go? She ran away with him!” He stomped across the room and said, “What are people going to think?”
“Why are you so concerned about what other people think?” Mona asked.
“Ayb,” he said nervously, the consequences of Rima’s actions flooding in on him in an unstoppable tide. He ignored Mona’s comment. “Ayb. How could she disgrace us like this? Wait until everyone finds out that she’s run away. This isn’t good.”
“Well,” Samira said, “we need to find her. Maybe we can find her before anyone else finds out about this.”
“Of course, they’ll find out! Especially if she refuses to go out with Ziad because of this enklese boy. Ziad wants to marry her. What am I supposed to tell him and his aunt and uncle if she refuses? Ayb,” he said again, his voice trembling. He turned to Katrina. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
He stood in front of her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where the fuck is she?”
“Honest, Babba, I don’t know. I tried to stop her,” Katrina said, her body shaking in her father’s grip. “I don’t know where she is.”
“Did she go with that boy?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled.
Youssef grunted in disgust then let Katrina go. He sat on the sofa and cupped his head in his hands. His daughters and wife sat silently in the blue glow of the TV, too afraid to turn the channel or shut the television off. Adele twisted away from her father’s face and stared at the television set. Two wrestlers were at it again, pounding each other on the floor of the ring. The taller of the two—a man with wild blond hair pulled back in a ponytail—suddenly grabbed the shorter wrestler, flung him over his shoulders, then slammed the man’s muscular body on his knee. The man winced and lay on the floor, groaning. Adele glanced over at her father. Youssef’s face was as severe as the small wrestler’s face, all tight and wrinkled. She studied the way her father sat, hanging his head in his hands. What was the big deal? she wondered. So Rima was dating a white man. It wasn’t the end of the world, she thought, shifting on the sofa. What was the big deal? She turned to the television set again and took a long breath as the short wrestler regained control, smashing the other man into the elastic rope, now making them both fall onto the mat like objects flung from a sling-shot. Adele slumped back into the sofa once more and wished she were anywhere but here. She stared vacantly at the wrestlers pounding each other senseless. Maybe Babba was right, she thought. Maybe it was real.
The Allspice Bath Page 7
