“But why is it important?” Adele persisted.
“It just is. It’s part of being a Lebanese woman. A Lebanese man wants to marry a clean girl like Rima and you.”
“What if she isn’t a virgin?” Adele asked, struggling to speak in Arabic. When she spoke with her mother, Arabic and English collided. And sometimes Adele would give up out of frustration. She asked her mother why she never learned English, but Samira routinely asked why didn’t she make more of an effort with Arabic. Before kindergarten, it had been Adele’s mother tongue. Suddenly, she buried her head on her mother’s lap, tracing the pattern of flowers on Samira’s dress with her fingertips.
Samira shifted slightly from her daughter’s warm touch and replied, “If a woman isn’t a virgin, her husband won’t respect her. He’ll think less of her.”
“Were you a virgin when you married Babba?”
“Of course!” Samira said, shocked. “Of course.”
“Then why is he mean to you?”
Samira stopped stroking Adele’s head and stared out the window. A deep crimson sun swiftly moved through the clouds, throwing light on Samira’s dark skin. She pushed Adele from her lap. With one quick movement, Adele sat up and gazed at her mother’s face; it was sad and resigned. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said, squeezing her mother’s arm.
Samira got up from the bed, straightening her summer dress. She pulled a tissue out from one of the pockets and wiped her eyes. Standing by the doorway now, she cleared her throat and said, “You ask too many questions. Be silent and obedient. This is our culture. This is the way things are for us.”
“I don’t like it,” Adele protested.
Samira shrugged her shoulders. “Nobody cares whether you like it or not. I know we live in Canada, but remember who you are, Adele. You’re not one of them…” Samira said, pointing her finger in the direction of the window, the neighbourhood. She patted her chest. “You’re like me. You’re Lebanese.”
“But I’m Canadian too. I was born here.”
“By citizenship only, not by blood,” Samira whispered fiercely. “Don’t ever forget that.”
PART II: 1988
CHAPTER 10
WITH TWO RESTFUL WEEKS AWAY from the routine of high school, Adele lay in bed, admiring the sunlight that filtered through the enormous window. It was a chilly December day. Snowflakes tumbled through the blue sky. Yet the coolness was overshadowed by the spectacular sunrise pouring into her bedroom, one she had finally claimed as her own after Mona married two years ago. All three sisters were married now, living their own lives with husbands and children or babies on the way. They had all married Lebanese men, and had children within a year or two of their wedding vows. Rolling over on her stomach, hugging her pillow, she turned her head to the window and watched the sunrise, appreciating how it rose with the promise of new things; countless sketches of it were in her drawing pads. She threw the covers off her body and felt a sharp ache moving along her pelvis but then it faded quickly as she got out of bed, pulled up her pajamas, and headed into the bathroom.
The cold ceramic tiles under her bare feet made her shiver. She came close to the mirror and studied her face, which had a combined look of kindness and seriousness. But now her eyelids were swollen and she looked pale. She slipped off her pajamas, threw them on the floor, and glided open the glass door to the bathtub. Slowly, she closed the sliding door and turned on the shower. For a few minutes, she stood under the warm spray, letting its steam envelope her before she grabbed a bar of soap and trailed it over her skin. Her eyes followed her thin frame: the firm breasts, the slight curve of her hips, and the muscles in her thighs. She had always been slender, had been able to eat whatever she wanted without gaining extra pounds. Lately though, she had noticed a small protrusion developing in her belly. Her fingers felt something hard in the space reserved for her future children. Returning the bar of soap to its holder, she pressed her right hand into her stomach to check the unusual bulge that made her flat abdomen stick out. With the tips of her fingers, she probed the lump; it was the size of an orange. She grabbed the soap again and began to lather her body once more, a mixture of water and soapsuds flowing down her legs. But suddenly, the soap slipped from her grip and as she bent down to retrieve it, she fell to her knees because of a razor-sharp pain in her pelvic area. Her kneecaps thudded against the bathtub. She clutched her belly while droplets pounded on her head, making her curls heavy. Slowly, she seized the edge of the tub, her fingers slipping until she got a firmer hold. She lifted herself up, sharp pains pulsating in the right side of her abdomen and lower back. On limp legs, she stood up and turned off the faucet, then slid open the shower door and stumbled out of the tub. “Oh God,” she moaned, reaching for her towel. She wrapped it around herself then sat down on the toilet seat, doubled over in agony. Beads of blood trickled down her thighs.
A half-hour later, the blood was still gushing, ruining her nightclothes and bedding. But Adele couldn’t bring herself to get up and head into the bathroom again. This was her third accident, the most severe in her menstrual cycle yet it wasn’t the time of month for it. She had earlier changed her sheets and pajamas, and all she could do now was lie motionless because any movement caused severe pains in her right side. But lying still was also becoming unbearable. Sharp, intense cramps moved in the depths of her womb as if she were in labour. Open-mouthed, she took deep breaths to lessen the throbbing. She closed her eyes but she couldn’t fall asleep. She suddenly heard Samira speaking with Youssef in the living room, their voices travelling up the hallway, arguing over what Samira would make for dinner. She closed her eyes tighter and tried to tune them out. After a few minutes, she slowly hoisted herself out of bed, pressing her hands on the drenched mattress. Her top was soaked with sweat; it clung to her body. Escaping the confines of the damp, bloodied sheets, she stumbled across her bedroom.
In the bathroom, she stripped off the bottom of her pajamas, taking along her undergarment. Then she slipped on clean underwear and fastened two large sanitary napkins on top of one another. She was unable to straighten her body; she stood bent over, close to the mirror. Suddenly, she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. She lifted the lid and vomited into the bowl. A few minutes later, she rested her forehead on the cold rim, and at the same time, her right arm reached up and flushed the contents down, water spattering her burning face. Tears streamed down her cheeks now. “What’s wrong with me?” she cried, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. She got up from the floor and stood at the sink, turned the tap on full. Her arms felt heavy as she lifted them and splashed water on her face. Then she squatted down again, drawing her knees to her chest.
An hour must have passed before Adele tilted her head, peered down at her crotch, and noticed the bleeding had ceased. She pulled on her pajama pants again, even though the back was covered with dried bloodstains. There was a loud knock on the door. “Open the door. What’s the matter? Are you okay?” Samira asked at the other end, her muffled voice coming through the wood. “Answer me, Adele!” she shouted.
A few minutes later, Adele got up from her knees. Unsteadily on her feet, she unlocked the door, pulled it open. Samira stood before her, frowning. Adele stared at the floor rather than face her mother’s concerned gaze. Quickly, Samira touched her daughter’s forehead, rubbing her large hand against the hot flesh. “You’re burning up. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Mama,” Adele answered, squeezing her tummy.
Samira looked down at Adele’s abdomen, then pushed her arms away from it. Adele struggled with her mother, afraid of her sudden grasp. “Let me see.” She raised the top of Adele’s pajamas with her one hand and pulled at the waistband with the other. Then she traced the mound on Adele’s belly, making her cry out when she dug her fingers into it. She looked into Adele’s eyes, bloodshot from the pain and earlier tears. “What have you been doing? Have you been with a boy?”
“
What?” Adele said, exasperated.
“Have you done something with a boy?”
“Mama!”
“No Mama! Your belly is as swollen as a melon! Answer me,” Samira demanded.
Adele suddenly pushed her mother’s hand away, squeezing past her heavyset body. She walked back into her bedroom, then lay on the edge of the bed, where the blood hadn’t consumed the sheets.
Her mother followed her. She eyed the crimson-stained bedding. Swiftly, she threw off the covers, making Adele tumble to the floor. “What’s all this? Why are you bleeding so much?”
“I’m sick, Mama,” Adele finally said, struggling to sit up. “I need to go to the hospital. I’m in a lot of pain.”
Samira turned, reached down and helped Adele back on the bed. She pushed the dirty sheets to the side, then sat next to her, brushing the hair away from her tear-stained face. “Habibti, what’s wrong?” she asked again, softening her tone.
“My stomach hurts. I need to go to the hospital.”
Samira nodded and stood. Adele listened to her mother’s footsteps echoing down the hallway, then the stairs. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands, breathing deeply. The soreness throbbed in her gut again. By the time her mother returned, she was bent over in pain. This time Samira stood behind Youssef while he stared at Adele; her face was crumpled. He directed his gaze to the bloodied bed sheets then to Adele’s swollen belly, which she was now grasping, her fingers massaging her exposed flesh. She fell back on the mattress.
“You know I’m busy in the store. I had to close it now just to come and see you. What’s wrong with you?” Youssef said, his tone on the verge of breaking.
“I don’t know, Babba.” She gave an audible sigh. “I’ve been through this with Mama. Please take me to the hospital.” She rubbed her stomach more fiercely as if this would make the pain stop. Then she turned to her side, embracing her knees, peering at her mother, opening and closing her mouth, silently pleading for her help. But Samira wouldn’t look at her.
Abruptly, Youssef rolled her on her back. He squinted at her; his eyes darted back and forth from her face to her swollen belly. “What have you been doing?”
“Oh, God, not this again!” Adele groaned. “I haven’t done anything. I’m a virgin for God’s sake!” she said, shouting.
“Don’t raise your voice to me!” Youssef said angrily. “Show me some respect. I’m your father.”
Adele pushed her father’s hands away from her and sat up in spite of the pain. Before she spoke again, she took a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sick, Babba. People get sick. It happens. Please take me to the hospital.”
Youssef paced the room. The floorboards exhaled noisily under his shoes. “I don’t know. Wait until tomorrow when your doctor’s office is open. You can’t be in that much pain.”
Adele opened her mouth in disbelief. Her voice rose unsteadily; she was shaking. “If you won’t take me today, I’ll take a taxi.”
“Yeah, so you can disgrace us if the cabbie turns out to be Lebanese.”
“Christ, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m Chinese, okay?” Adele rose from her bed, walked across her room, pulled open the closet and rummaged through her clothes. She then unbuttoned her pajamas, slipped them off and put on a pair of jeans and striped turtleneck. The floorboards moved again while Youssef swung his hands in the air as if swatting a bunch of mosquitoes.
“No respect!” Youssef yelled at Samira. “Look at her!” He pointed at Adele as she zipped up her pants. “Showing her naked body to her father!” He turned away from Samira and stood behind Adele. “I didn’t raise you to be a sharmouta.”
“I know, Babba,” Adele said, finally turning around. She said in a quiet voice, “You raised me to feel shitty about myself.” She looked hard at her father now, tried to find an ounce of compassion in his greenish-brown eyes. But he let his gaze drop to the floor before she could find it. She cleared her throat. “Have you forgotten, Babba? Well, I haven’t. Yes, I’m a virgin and I’m a whore at the same time. I’m pregnant, didn’t you know? See that blood on the sheets,” she said, pointing to the double bed. “That’s from the miscarriage I’m having right at this moment. Yeah, that’s right. I’ve lost the baby. A virgin and pregnant! But it happened once before. It can happen again.” Before she knew it, Youssef raised his hand and struck her in the face. Her head snapped back from the blow. Falling to the floor, she curled herself over her knees and began to sob.
Finally intervening, Samira lightly touched Youssef’s arm. “Take her to the hospital, Youssef. I’ll watch the store. You know I can’t take her. If only I knew how to drive, but you thought I didn’t need to learn,” Samira sighed. “She needs a doctor. You’ll have to take her.”
After a momentary silence, Youssef lifted Adele up, his hands digging into her sides. “Okay,” he mumbled under his breath.
Adele didn’t struggle this time with her father. She let him guide her out of the bedroom, down the stairs where he slid on her winter coat then buttoned it up for her as if she were a young child again. He grasped her arm while he led her outside.
The dwindling light of the sunset filled the hospital’s emergency room; red and violet streamed through the waiting area, which was packed with people clasping their bellies or heads. It smelled of vomit and stringent disinfectants, a smell that only faded briefly with the opening of the sliding doors, bringing forth another ill person and a gust of frigid wind. Adele peered over her father’s shoulders and stared at the people who were either sitting on the plastic chairs or lying on their sides while a TV set blasted in the background. She faced the nurse at the front desk. Her greyish-blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, some strands were falling loosely around her long face. Her eyes looked tired, glancing every few seconds over at the increasing number of sick people in the waiting room. She asked in an exhausted voice, “What’s your daughter’s name, sir?”
Youssef held up Adele in his arms as she moaned in pain. “Adele Azar.”
In spite of her weary expression, the nurse looked at the form then smiled kindly at Adele, who was frantically gripping her belly and moaning. “Do you want to sit, dear?”
Adele mustered a faint smile. “No, it hurts too much when I sit.” The sound of her shallow breathing surprised her.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
The nurse scribbled this information on the green registration form. She glanced up at Adele over her reading glasses, which were positioned on the tip of her narrow nose. “Have you had this pain before?”
“No. It started a few hours ago. It began in my lower back then moved to the right side of my belly.” Adele explained, gliding her right hand from her back to the front of her abdomen.
The nurse glanced at Adele’s body. “How long has your belly been distended?”
“Distended?”
“Swollen, dear.”
“Oh, about a month or two. I just thought I was gaining weight,” she laughed weakly.
The woman smiled. “Is there any chance that you’re pregnant?”
At this point, Youssef piped up even though this had crossed his mind earlier when he had interrogated Adele with the insensitivity of an ogre. “What kind of fucking question is that? She’s not a slut. She’s eighteen for God’s sake! And not to mention unmarried! In our culture, a woman doesn’t have sex until she’s married.”
“We have to ask, Mr. Azar. This is Canada. Premarital sex is common among teenagers here.”
“Not for my teenage daughter,” he answered coldly.
The nurse reworded her question. “Are you sexually active or have you been?”
Youssef smacked his hand against his forehead. “For fuck sakes! The answer is no. I didn’t raise my daughter to be a whore.” Adele looked at her father. She drew her brows togeth
er and sighed aloud. She clenched her teeth.
“Please, Mr. Azar, I need your daughter to answer. If you continue to use foul language, I will have to call security.”
Relaxing the muscles around her mouth, Adele now touched her father’s arm in a comforting way. “It’s all right, Babba.” She looked at him, his winter coat hanging open and revealing a round belly under an old sweater, his pants drooping on his slender thighs. In the modernized, sanitized hospital, Youssef seemed out of place. Adele was suddenly conscious of the heavy frame of black curls around her dark-eyed face. She and her sisters joked about being “off the boat” but it wasn’t funny now, as she looked down at the unravelling threads of her second-hand coat. Like her father, she too seemed to have walked out of another time, an old world. She turned to the nurse and said in a low voice, her face reddening, “I’m still a virgin.”
“Okay then.” The nurse jotted something down on the file before getting up from behind the desk. “Can you walk or should I get a wheelchair?”
“I can walk.”
“Please follow me.” Youssef and Adele followed the nurse down a dim-lit corridor and inside one of the examination rooms. The nurse pulled out a robe from one of the cabinets. She handed it to Adele. “Please change into this gown and a doctor will be with you shortly.” The nurse faced Youssef. “You may want to wait in the hallway.”
For the first time since they had arrived at the hospital, Youssef obeyed the nurse’s instructions. He walked out of the room, his right hand tracing the curling moustache above his thin lips. Adele then slipped off her clothes and put on the blue gown; it sent shivers down her spine. The room was unpleasantly cold. In a matter of minutes, there was a knock on the door. A young female doctor with sand-coloured hair walked in with Youssef trailing behind her. She wore a mid-length white jacket over her powder blue sweater and grey skirt. Her thin lips were covered with frosted pink lipstick. She looked barely a few years older than Adele with her tall, slender body and heart-shaped face. The doctor turned and stared at Youssef curiously.
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