They all began talking at the same time, each giving his opinion, suggestions, I comments, creating a terrible hubbub. The Bey suggested the Awqaf and the imam of the mosque, while Said insisted on the grocer as a starting point, and Amira and their father wanted to tackle the situation in a straightforward manner, ally, Amira put an end to the confusion, saying decisively, “Let everyone search in his own way and we’ll see.”
The group dispersed, each inclined to search in his own way, while Nahleh lingered in that vault, waiting for the Creator’s mercy and the help of His creatures.
Mazen tried to search for Nahleh following the Bey’s suggestion, entering the city through the Awqaf building. Having studied and understood the idea, Mazen found it to be logical, because the imam of a mosque was nowadays, naturally, the beginning of any thread and even its middle. He knew the people and the city, its alleys and its secret hideaways. This is true as far as the poor are concerned, and today’s poor are different from yesterday’s poor. Those were the workers, the hired help, and the salesmen. They had read the manifesto and heard the sermons, then joined the organizations in large numbers. Today’s poor, on the other hand, were fed up with sermons, slogans, and manifestos. They left the organizations, making the mosque their meeting place and their point of entry. So both men went there.
When they arrived, the imam had just awakened from his afternoon nap and was getting ready for the afternoon prayer. They didn’t want to meet him in the mosque or in a caféé because they feared for their reputation, lest the news reach people’s ears. What would they say if they knew that Mazen Guevara had visited the imam? Might they not think that Mazen Hamdan, Abu Jaber’s son, a member of the political parties and organizations, sought the imam for an amulet or to predict his future? This is what went through Mazen’s mind before he entered the imam’s house. It explains the great secrecy that surrounded the visit, which he didn’t share even with his father. Abd al-Hadi Bey was similarly concerned for his reputation and feared the Black Tigers.
After a slow, polite, and boring introduction by Abd al-Hadi Bey during which he tried to dispel suspicions about himself, the blind imam said, his eyes turned toward the ceiling:
“Son of Abu Jaber, we have heard a great deal about you, but we never thought you would be so audacious as to step over God’s law and have your sister divorced from her husband.”
The Bey interrupted him quickly, concerned that a misunderstanding would associate him with the apostate, Abu Jaber’s son, and he would be accused of defying God’s law: He said quickly, “Sidna, God forbid that it ever occurred to him or to me to dare God’s law. Mazen is suggesting that each party takes what belongs to it: Abu Salem’s children would recuperate their properties and the Abu Jabers, would get Nahleh back.”
He then looked at the imam to assess the impact of his words. The imam moved his head to the right and then to the left, a habit he had developed throughout years of chanting the Qur’an and reading the dhikr for the dead. A few moments of silence followed, which Mazen broke with a clearing of his throat. He then asked, patiently, “Kindly tell us where they took her, if you know?”
The imam was clearly shaken, as if a serious charge had been made against him. He asked, “Know what?”
“Where they took her,” explained Mazen.
“Where who took whom?” asked the imam.
“My sister, Nahleh,” replied Mazen.
The imam said, “He who took her did not wrong her or you, it was all done in God’s name.”
Mazen looked at the Bey, embarrassed and angry. He was embarrassed to be in this place at this time of day, and angry at Nahleh for dragging the family into this hunt. He was furious at the Bey because he suggested this stupid, useless plan that would lead to nothing.
The Bey intervened, saying calmly, “Sidna, we came to you seeking your intervention.”
Clearly displeased, the imam continued to shake his head left and right while his eyes were fixed to the ceiling, then asked, “Intervene for whom, by whom?”
The Bey answered patiently and indulgently, “Intervene with those who took her, Sidna.”
When Mazen heard the word Sidna, which to him was a form of cheap imploration, he became even angrier and more humiliated. He considered running away from this situation that neither his mind nor his dignity tolerated. He was hesitant to do it because of Abd al-Hadi Bey, who had taken the trouble to come with him, to inquire and intervene. He stayed put, moving his long legs and watching the reactions on the faces of the two men. He felt doubly humiliated—for Abd al-Hadi Bey, who was embarrassing himself to save Nahleh, and by the imam’s attitude, pretending to be unaware of the purpose of their visit.
Abd al-Hadi Bey continued to use his subtle style and his patient diplomatic skills. He persisted, addressing the imam, “We came to you, Sidna knowing very well that you are able to deal with this subject and these surroundings.”
The blind man ranted and asked, in total exasperation, “What surroundings and what subject?”
The Bey explained, “Nahleh’s case and the group who kidnapped her.”
“What group?” asked the imam.
The Bey lowered his voice and whispered, moving closer to the imam, “The Black Tigers, Sidna.”
The imam responded, saying, “What do I have to do with the surroundings? I do not know black or white, I know neither a panther nor a ram, I have enough troubles of my own.”
Mazen couldn’t take it anymore, he jumped from his seat and said rudely, “All right, let’s go.”
But the Bey pulled him from his arm and said patiently, “Sit down, sit down, wait a minute.”
He sat down, and listened to the conversation of the two men. The Bey was talking politely and kindly choosing his words judiciously, saying, “You are among friends Sidna’l-Sheikh, and I promise you that if we find her we’ll make sure to reward you for your help.”
The imam didn’t reply, his eyes were still fixed to the ceiling, but he wasn’t swaying his head right and left. He was clearly weighing his words.
The Bey asked again, patiently insistent, “Well, what do you say?”
The imam asked, while pronouncing the name of God, trying to win time in order to think, “About what?”
Mazen jumped to his feet and spit out his words, saying, “What do you think of my lost sister whom we can’t find.”
A sarcastic and malicious smile appeared on the imam’s face, as he asked, “Is your sister lost? Do you want me to make a talisman for her? Write an amulet or predict her fate? Maybe I should predict her fate.”
“Al-salamu ‘alaykum,” said Mazen, taking his leave. The Bey tried to stop him, but failed. He shouted angrily, “Is this what it’s come to? We’ve stooped to the level of writing amulets and predicting the future?”
He became suddenly conscious of his voice, realizing that he was in the street. There were no pedestrians due to the siesta time and the heat of the summer. He slowed down and waited for the Bey.
The women searched for Nahleh on their own. We held a meeting during which Sitt Amira told us what to say to Umm Salem and what to wear because our appearance would matter greatly. Our words must be transmitted literally to the kidnappers. It was important, therefore, to be conservative in appearance and refrain from exhibiting shapes, colors, and hairstyles. She said, “We don’t want short clothes, or stretch pants, and no make up. Our words must be well balanced in order to convince them that we are respectable people. We will say that Nahleh will give up her rights, is it clear? Do you understand?”
Futna commented in her usual husky voice, “I wouldn’t give up my right if I were her. What was written in her name was done by the realtor, that means it’s hers.”
Violet nudged me in a conspiratorial manner and said, “Is it her right or her price?”
Amira heard her, and said firmly, staring at her, “We shouldn’t speak English either. Those people have their roots in Wadi al-Rihan. Do you understand what I mean?”
We didn’t reply, but we smiled and looked around us scared and nervous because Nahleh’s fate was in our hands. As a delegation of the weaker sex we were facing a situation that surpassed us because the matter didn’t concern merely Nahleh’s fate but the dire consequences of Nahleh’s loss.
Umm Grace said, apprehensively, “Why don’t we leave the matter to the men to solve? We, women, no insult intended, cannot face up to the situation. By God, if anyone says ‘boo’ to me I’ll run away and hide like a cat.”
We all laughed, including Sitt Amira, but she quickly regained control of the situation and said firmly, “No, ladies, we must be strong and should not let men feel vindicated. You must promise me before God, that at no moment you will forget that this concerns Nahleh. Nahleh’s fate is in our hands, is that clear? Do you understand?”
No one answered, as if we had become totally dumb. Yet, moved by the situation, we all said Amen, and went looking for Nahleh.
Umm Salem entered the room swinging her fat, half a kilogram of gold attached to her neck and wearing half a dozen bracelets on her forearm. She welcomed us with a great deal of generosity and anxiety. The situation was indeed unnerving, and contradictory emotions were at play. She was mortified because Abu Salem had taken a second wife, but she was proud of her sons’ tyrannical support. The most important element in this specific situation, however, was the realization that she had become the center of attention of all these women who had never visited her before. She was, unfortunately illiterate and didn’t know how to dress, talk, or show off. She didn’t know how to pretend and boast about her family and their achievements. She came from a family of peasants. Instead of a few sheep and a hen house, she found herself in a house filled with tables and sofas imported from Italy and polished by Abu Mas’ud, the neighborhood carpenter, to bring them up to par with Abu Salem’s status. He added a gold string and satin and velvet cushions. There were trinkets made of mother-of-pearl and gold, and a musical cigarette box placed on the end table. There was a piano and a clock with a wooden bird that crowed every five or ten minutes. The curtains were made of pleated bold pink satin, with fringes and golden pompons.
Still breathless, Umm Salem welcomed them, saying, “You have honored us.”
Then she sat down, apprehensive, looking sideways at Sitt Amira and Umm Grace. There was an old, ingrained enmity between her and Umm Grace because the latter was in the habit of showing off talking about America and planes, using strange words in English with the clear intention of humiliating Umm Salem and stressing her low social origin. As for Sitt Futna, her case was somewhat more complex, because, despite her blonde hair, her heavy makeup and her revealing clothes, she provoked contradictory feelings. In spite of her reprehensible appearance she belonged to one of the oldest and most respectable Jerusalem families. The imam told them that they had been the keepers of the Aqsa Mosque key since the Ottoman rule, in other words, they were honorable people and from good stock. Moreover, her mother conveyed a sense of awe, with her large, bright and piercing eyes, and her personality.
Umm Salem repeated her welcome, saving once more, “You have honored us with your visit.”
Sitt Amira began telling her plainly and frankly that the visit was meant for each party to get back its right, Abu Salem’s children would recover their shares and properties, while the Abu Jabers would get back their daughter.
Umm Salem responded rudely, ‘The house in Nablus before anything else.”
“Of course, the Nablus house too,” replied Sitt Amira without hesitation.
“The gold and the lands in the Ghor, as well” added Umm Salem, loudly.
“The gold and the Ghor lands, too,” echoed Sitt Amira.
“And the lands in Sabastiya and Qalqilya,” said Umm Salem.
Sitt Amira approved, repeating, “And the lands in Sabastiya and Qalqilya.”
“She must also be divorced three times,” said Umm Salem, loudly.
Sitt Amira fell silent and began assessing matters in her head, wondering how Nahleh could be divorced! Was it in Nahleh’s power to be divorced? The only one who could do that was her husband hiding in Amman, and even if he should return, would he consent to a divorce?
Amira said, quietly and clearly, in the tone of someone giving a lesson, “Forgive me Umm Salem, let’s talk sense. We agreed to the property, the shares, the gold and the house, to the lands of the Ghor and Sabastiya. The divorce, however, is not a matter that we control, even the imam cannot divorce her, only Abu Salem can. In other words, it is out of our hands, it is a matter of shari‘a, a matter of the law.”
Umm Salem answered, somewhat rudely, “Don’t go blaming Abu Salem now. He wasn’t aware of what was happening to him, poor Abu Salem, someone must have concocted a magic potion for him, of the strongest kind. Neither the Sumerians nor the imam could undo it.”
She then turned to Umm Grace, her face puffed and swollen, and said, “Not even the Orthodox priest could do it. The Sumerian said that the magic was done outside the country, far away and because of the distance it was difficult to neutralize it. I would like to know who did it since Nahleh hasn’t gone anywhere or crossed the bridge ever since she returned from Kuwait?”
She looked at Umm Grace, then at me. Umm Grace smiled and whispered, “O my God! O my God!”
Umm Salem heard her and was upset, saying, “Listen, lady, you’re in my house and that kind of talk is not acceptable here.”
Umm Grace mumbled, fearful and intimidated, “Why, what have I done?”
Sitt Amira finally intervened to placate her and said, “Umm Salem, we are family and people help people. We women are more compassionate toward each other, while men complicate matters, if you do not mind me saying so. In other words, ya Umm Salem, you have men and the Abu Jabers have men too, and if men complicate matters where will we be, God forbid? You are known, ya Umm Salem to be pious, to pray and wish the best for everybody. Would you want to see Abu Jaber languish for any of his children?”
Umm Salem pondered for a while, lowered her gaze, and seemed hesitant, as she sincerely wished everybody well, being a God-fearing woman. She certainly wanted the best for Abu Jaber and every father and mother in the world. She was a mother too and an affectionate one at that. She loved all children, no matter whose they were, even calves and lambs, donkeys and mules. Whenever she saw a mother breastfeeding her baby she felt the milk in her own breasts, though she was in her sixties. Young ones, whoever they were, are pleasant to look at; what endears them to us is their need for their mother’s affection. She found baby monkeys, frogs, rats, and snakes very beautiful. When she was about to open her mouth to talk, the door opened suddenly and her daughter entered to serve coffee.
She was about thirty years old, tall and full figured with flat feet. She was wearing a printed dress shaped like a sack that hid her early pregnancy. She sat down and looked around her then said with a thick, hoarse voice, “Welcome.”
She stared at us directly, with large, protruding eyes, examining each one from head to toe. She went on staring boldly for some time until unexpectedly, our eyes met. Slightly embarrassed, she repeated her welcome in a thick voice that sounded more like an insult.
Sitt Amira resumed her control of the situation, asking, “Ya Umm Salem, what do you say?”
Umm Salem didn’t answer her but she turned to her daughter and explained the purpose of the visit, saying, “They’re here to intervene for Nahleh. They’re willing to return the lots and all the shares.”
The girl asked, very carefully, “And the house in Nablus, your house?”
Umm Salem shook her head approvingly, “They say the house too.”
The daughter inquired as her suspicious, antagonistic eyes swept the room, “How can we guarantee that? My brother says that we won’t let her go until she signs away her rights.”
I asked with a great deal of curiosity, “You mean she hasn’t renounced her rights yet?”
The woman stared at me with her protruding, antagonistic eyes, but
didn’t reply. She then looked at Futna who exclaimed spontaneously, despite her mother’s admonitions to curb her reactions, “By God, she is brave!”
The daughter’s look hardened, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she swept the room with an angry look that seemed to project flames. Sitt Amira rushed to take hold of the thread and redirected the conversation to Umm Salem, who was the lesser of two evils. She said to her, “Ya Umm Salem, you are the baraka, a blessing, you are the one who can solve the problem.”
Her daughter roared unexpectedly and said sharply, “How can she solve it, and why should she?”
Sitt Amira blinked, she didn’t expect the high-pitched tone of the voice and its enormity, but she didn’t flinch. She froze and her face turned plaster white. She said very politely, “I know that Umm Salem will solve it because she is good, she is kind, and has a big heart.”
But the daughter asked, angrily, “Is it because she is kind that you want to corner her?”
Sitt Amira blinked a second time and said in a seemingly calm voice, “My daughter, this is not decent talk, we are here in good faith.”
The daughter shouted, saying, “If you had good faith you wouldn’t have come to us. I know why you’ve come here.”
She regarded us with cold sarcasm, provoking our resentment and disgust. She seemed to be shaking off the long accumulated feelings of subjugation that she had possibly suffered, even before her father remarried. She said, ‘You came to take our pulse, you came to find a way to expose us.”
Her mother chided her mildly, saying, “No Rawdeh, this is a shame! They are our guests!”
The girl shouted back, saving, “If they knew what shame meant they would have brought up their daughters well and taught them not to steal men. They would not have taught them shameless manners and exposing their merchandise in the street. It is well-known that men are small-minded and their eyes dazzle at the sight of flesh, painted nails, and blonde hair.”
The Inheritance Page 17
