Bitter Almonds Page 9

  * * *

  Toward the end of the night, and after tracking down Shareef’s friends one by one, Omar and Marwan were able to get a lead. A bar on the outskirts of the city.

  Parking his car a distance from the White Tulip Night Club, Marwan turned off the engine. ‘I can’t go in there.’

  A neon sign announcing the belly dancer Blazing Zahira glared in Omar’s face. ‘I understand. Don’t wait out here, either. Someone might recognize you. You have a reputation to protect.’ He opened the car door. ‘Go home.’

  ‘I’m not leaving.’ Marwan pointed toward a dark spot. ‘I’ll park under the trees up ahead.’

  ‘I owe you.’ Omar got out of the car.

  ‘Wait,’ Marwan called after him. He stuck his hand out his window and handed Omar a roll of bills. ‘In case they don’t let you in.’

  Omar stared at him in confusion.

  ‘You don’t fit the type who frequents these places.’

  Omar looked down at his clothes. He was still in his green fatigues, his dirty, low-ranking, star-free cadet uniform. Not even an officer could afford a place like this. He tucked the money in his pocket, thanked his friend and headed for the door.

  Marwan was right, Omar had to pay his way in. The stench of nargileh smoke hit him hard in the crowded place. Men gathered in groups in front of a stage, clouds of fruit-flavored tobacco smoke hanging over their heads. Fruit, and God only knew what else. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light and then inched forward. Loud dirbakkeh beats vibrated the floor under his feet. On stage, a couple of men created the throbbing rhythm by beating small drums balanced on their knees and tucked under their arms.

  Meandering around, Omar searched for Shareef, pretending the stifling atmosphere didn’t faze him, like he was a frequent customer. When the voluptuous Blazing Zahira came on stage, he stopped, found a dark corner and watched her move her body in ways that made him dizzy. He wasn’t naive. Spending time on the streets with guys from all walks of life, he had seen enough pictures of naked women get passed around. But he had never seen a belly dancer, provocatively clad in a see-through red outfit, perform live before his eyes. Half way through her sensuous dance, he checked that his mouth wasn’t hanging open and willed himself to continue his search. He finally spotted Shareef, sitting with a couple of men, drinking.

  Omar studied his companions and decided they were intoxicated enough he could handle them with ease should they interfere.

  Riveted by the dancer, Shareef didn’t see Omar approach. He circled Shareef’s arm and whispered close to his ear at the same time, ‘Come with me.’

  Shareef gaped at him with his mouth open, the strong stink of alcohol on his breath.

  ‘Get the hell up.’ He tugged at Shareef’s arm.

  ‘What?’ Shareef narrowed his red eyes, trying to focus. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Saving your ass.’ Omar used his other arm to pull Shareef to his feet. ‘Don’t make a scene.’

  Stumbling through the crowd, he dragged Shareef with little effort and they made their way out. Blazing Zahira kept the men busy. No one seemed to notice Shareef’s objections, not even his drinking buddies. The fresh air gave Shareef the strength to yank his arm from Omar’s grip. The move, however, unbalanced him and he fell, his face hitting the pavement.

  Good, Omar thought. One convincing bruise, more to come. He waited for him to get back on his feet and pushed him toward Marwan’s car.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Shareef shouted. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘You know where.’ Omar struggled to keep his voice low.

  Shareef planted his feet apart and crossed his arms. ‘No, I am not going there. I am not marrying her.’ He swayed from side to side like a tree branch on a windy day.

  Omar slammed his fist in Shareef’s face hard enough to send him a couple of feet back and to the ground again. ‘Do you have any idea what you have done, fool?’ Omar exploded.

  Marwan jumped out of the car and ran to stop him from pummeling Shareef, who rolled into a ball and started crying. ‘This is not the place,’ Marwan urged. ‘Come. Get him in the car and let’s get out of here.’

  They shoved a sobbing Shareef in the back seat and took off. Marwan checked his watch. ‘It’s nearing midnight. Do you want to take him home like this?’

  ‘No way.’ Omar shook his right hand, his knuckles hurt. ‘It will upset Uncle Mustafa even more.’ He opened his window and let the breeze cool his skin and nerves. ‘Besides, there’s a chance one of Sameera’s brothers might be waiting for him in the neighborhood.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to humiliate Father.’ Shareef’s speech slurred. He spit blood out his window. ‘How upset is he?’

  ‘You almost killed him,’ Omar roared.

  ‘It’s all your fault.’

  Omar nearly jumped to the back. ‘How is this my goddamn fault?’

  Shareef scooted as far away as possible. ‘I told you I didn’t want to marry Sameera. You forced me to.’

  Marwan lay a staying hand on Omar’s arm. ‘Let him be. He’s drunk.’

  ‘Do yourself a favor, Shareef.’ Omar’s voice vibrated like a lion’s threatening growl. ‘Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you. Pray your father gets better soon.’

  Shareef walked his fingers on the bruise under his left eye. Resting his head to the side, he closed his eyes.

  ‘So? What are we going to do?’ Marwan slowed the car.

  ‘Hide him somewhere. Until I can find a solution.’ Omar ran a hand down his face. ‘I need to go home. Check on Uncle Mustafa.’

  ‘I could take him to our warehouse. It’s far enough from the neighborhood. I trust the night guard there. He will keep him under control.’ Marwan glanced at the rearview mirror. ‘I doubt he’ll try to escape in the condition he’s in.’

  ‘I hate to get you more involved in this mess.’ Omar exhaled his frustration and exhaustion.

  Marwan raised his eyebrows. ‘You have a better plan?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t think so. Let me help. It’s a good plan. Gives you some time to set things right at home. When do you have to report back at the academy?’

  ‘Shit! Tomorrow at three in the afternoon.’ Omar rested his head back and closed his eyes. ‘I need a miracle.’

  17

  Nadia opened the door, her eyes red. She threw her arms around Omar’s neck and broke down crying. Omar placed one hand around her waist and walked her backward to close the door behind him. His eyes darted toward Uncle Mustafa’s room, its door closed.

  ‘How is he?’ Omar whispered into Nadia’s hair.

  ‘Not good. I’m scared.’

  ‘He’s going to be fine.’ Omar tried to sound convincing, wishing he had found a chance to change his sweat-stained and smoke-saturated uniform. He held her shoulders and eased her away.

  Nadia hung her head. ‘He’s been asking for you and Shareef. You didn’t find him?’

  Waleed walked in from the balcony off the living room and stood a distance behind Nadia. Omar glanced at him. ‘I did.’ He lifted Nadia’s chin with his index finger. ‘Shareef is fine. Can I check on Uncle Mustafa first, please?’

  ‘I’ll tell Mama you are here.’ She headed to the bedroom.

  ‘Give me a minute to clean up.’

  Waleed motioned for Omar to follow him to the balcony. ‘Well?’

  Omar filled him in on what had happened then headed to the bathroom. While he was scrubbing his face and neck, he heard a soft knock on the door. He donned the fresh shirt he had brought in with him and opened the door.

  Huda shook a finger in his face. ‘Don’t lie to me. Where is he?’

  Omar peeked past her, making sure no one else was there. ‘Safe and sound at a friend’s place. Drunk as a mule.’ He passed her. ‘I will bring him in the morning after he sobers up.’

  Huda laid a hand on his arm. ‘Wait.’

  Omar’s patience was running out. He was dead tired and hungry, consum
ed with worry and anger. He needed this night to be over. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mama thinks something bad happened to Shareef. Mother’s intuition.’ Huda squeezed his arm. ‘Whatever you say, make sure you put her mind at ease. We don’t want her collapsing too.’

  Omar nodded. Something had happened to Shareef, all right. He had been hit by a bus and lost his backbone. Omar headed to the bedroom and stepped inside.

  Mama Subhia sat next to Uncle Mustafa on the bed, holding his hand. Her eyes were swollen, her face pale. Fatimah came over to give Omar a tight hug. She left, taking Nadia with her. Uncle Mustafa had his eyes closed.

  Mama Subhia leaned down to Uncle Mustafa. ‘Omar is here.’

  Omar pulled a chair closer to the bed. He cradled Uncle Mustafa’s other hand, frail and cold, the veins prominent, mapping his life’s journey.

  ‘My son.’ Uncle Mustafa’s words fell from colorless lips.

  ‘Shareef is fine. I just left him. He’s worried sick about you.’ Omar’s stomach lurched. Good thing Uncle Mustafa had his eyes closed. Made it easier to lie. ‘Shareef had a slight accident on his way over today.’

  Mama Subhia gasped, slamming her chest.

  ‘But he’s fine,’ Omar added. ‘A little bruised. He passed out and someone took him to a doctor’s clinic. That’s why we couldn’t find him sooner.’ He looked at Mama Subhia and stressed his words, ‘Really, Shareef is fine.’

  ‘My son,’ Uncle Mustafa said again.

  ‘I will take him over to Sameera’s family first thing in the morning. Seal the marriage agreement.’ Omar patted Uncle Mustafa’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. I’m sure once I explain things to her family, they will understand.’

  ‘My son,’ Uncle Mustafa repeated, his tone urgent.

  Confused, Omar raised his eyebrows at Mama Subhia. She blew into her handkerchief. ‘I think he means you, habibi.’

  Omar’s throat closed and his eyes watered. He turned his head to the side and buried his face in the crook of his arm. He pretended to wipe his nose, stealing a moment to get a grip. Uncle Mustafa’s fingers closed tighter on his hand.

  ‘I’m right here,’ Omar managed to say.

  ‘Take care of the girls.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I will,’ Omar choked. ‘I promise you.’

  Mama Subhia broke down sobbing. Omar got up and wrapped his arms around her. He spoke soothing words, telling her to be strong, that Uncle Mustafa would pull through and would need her by his side. Omar used words he never thought he would utter. Words like ummy and aboy, referring to Mama Subhia and Uncle Mustafa as mother and father.

  Huda walked in and took his place. He retreated from the room, his heart about to explode.

  Fatimah and Waleed sat side by side on the couch in the living room. Fatimah’s head rested on her husband’s shoulder, her hands clasped in his. ‘You must be starving. Nadia is making you a sandwich in the kitchen.’

  Omar nodded. He didn’t need food. He needed to get out of there before he lost it, seeing everyone so broken. Goddamn Shareef. Goddamn him to hell and back. Entering the kitchen, he dropped his body on a chair by the side table. Placing his elbows on the table, he held his head in his hands. Shit. If he was going to break down in front of Nadia, then so be it.

  Nadia touched his red knuckles where the skin had broken on Shareef’s jaw. Omar lifted his head, but kept his eyes cast down.

  ‘I know you’re lying to them.’ She placed a sandwich plate on the table. ‘And I know you must have a good reason to.’

  He closed his eyes.

  ‘Fatimah washed your uniform shirt.’ Nadia headed out of the kitchen. ‘I will let you eat in peace.’

  Early the next morning, Omar got into Marwan’s car. He had fallen asleep face down on the table in the kitchen for a couple of hours. Massaging his stiff neck, he explained his plan.

  ‘Waleed will head out to Sameera’s place, hoping to convince her family that Shareef is recovering from a minor accident he had yesterday. I will meet Waleed in the café at the end of the street around ten to see if we have the green light to take Shareef over, have him sign the marriage contract and put this mess to rest.’

  ‘You think they’ll go for it?’

  Omar sighed. ‘They have no choice. They want to shut everyone up.’

  ‘How are you getting Shareef to go along with it this time?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he does.’

  ‘Is he right-handed?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Then make sure you break his left hand.’ Marwan met Omar’s eyes. ‘So he can hold the pen.’

  Omar burst out with a healthy laugh. Marwan was proving himself to be the right man for this kind of mission. Marwan truly had his back. He had to admit, had Marwan not held Nadia’s eye, he would have appreciated the gem in his friend with the weight it deserved. Instead he pulled back, ashamed of what he might reveal if he reciprocated Marwan’s open goodwill.

  ‘One more thing,’ Marwan winced. ‘You sent Eid gifts to everyone at home.’

  Omar’s laugh died. ‘I did?’

  ‘I acted on impulse when I learned you were stuck at the academy. Sent them in your name. I know I had no right, and I apologize. I’m telling you so that we are on the same wavelength should it come up.’

  Omar worked his jaw, trying hard not to read too much into Marwan’s thoughtful act. ‘Everyone, you said?’

  Marwan nodded. ‘Shareef included.’

  Omar rubbed his eyes. No need to make a big deal about this now. He had bigger battles to fight. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘You give Shareef what he deserves, make sure he can’t wear the shirt he has on again, and we will be even.’

  When they reached the warehouse, Omar broke a couple bones in addition to the ones in Shareef’s left hand. Every time Shareef wailed out, Omar told him they needed him to look like he had been pulled from under a bus. They fed him the concocted story with all its details. Omar left to meet Waleed as planned, and Marwan drove Shareef to a clinic in a nearby town, a half hour away from Damascus.

  Waleed gave the thumbs up to move forward, having won over Sameera’s elder brother. Close to Waleed’s age and probably prepped by his wife through Huda, the man had an open mind and was able to convince his father and brothers to give Shareef the benefit of the doubt, aiming to protect the family reputation. Waleed had to invent another lie to answer the question of why Shareef hadn’t phoned in his accident to either family. Omar never found out what nonsense Waleed came up with, thanking his lucky stars for his brother-in-law’s imaginative mind.

  After Friday noon prayer, Omar stood behind Shareef, a firm hand grasping his right shoulder while he signed the marriage contract. The whole ceremony was rushed. Sameera’s father insisted they hold it at their local mosque, where every man in the neighborhood witnessed the event. Word got around about Shareef’s accident and his poor physical condition. Eyebrows were raised at the unusually large dowry Sameera’s father asked for. The fact that its payment was deferred for a later time also made big ripples in the gossip pond.

  Some people said Sameera’s father was gaining a fourth son, a respectable young man with a decent future ahead of him. And some admired the father for not burdening Shareef with an immediate dowry as a means of giving thanks to God for sparing his life after the accident. Others commended the family for hurrying the wedding, showing consideration toward Uncle Mustafa’s delicate health. People speculated and then congratulated.

  But Omar knew having the dowry deferred was like handcuffs on Shareef’s wrists, a debt payable on demand. If not delivered whenever requested and Sameera’s family went to court, Shareef would be jailed until he came up with payment. Shareef was locked in the marriage for a while. Unable to pay his debt, he wouldn’t be able to divorce Sameera in a couple of months like he had planned. Her father had made sure of that. Omar didn’t blame the calculating man. Served Shareef right for his reckless actions.


  Satisfied that his main mission was accomplished, Omar took a solemn and subdued Shareef home. He checked on Uncle Mustafa, changed into his uniform, said his goodbyes, and made it back in time to the academy. He never imagined he would find the backbreaking training a welcome relief.

  18

  One year later, 1967

  Standing at full attention in his crisply pressed uniform, Omar received his graduation documents in the private office of his general commander. A star pinned on his shoulder strip designated him Second Lieutenant. No ceremony. No proud family members around. He was granted a special leave five days before the rest of his class. Circumstances called for the exception. Omar had a funeral to attend. His superior officer had informed him of Uncle Mustafa’s death that morning, giving him but few minutes to absorb the shock before his documents were stamped, including orders to report in two weeks for his assigned station.

  Marwan was waiting for him outside the main gates. Accepting Marwan’s condolences in silence, he shook his hand and got into the car. He stared ahead, hoping his friend would not try to engage him in conversation. Conflicting emotions competed for room in his chest, constraining his ribcage and making it difficult for him to breathe right or to work his throat to say anything. He had earned his star, but Uncle Mustafa was gone. What else was there to say?

  ‘Waleed and Shareef are arranging for the burial before noon prayer.’ Marwan laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘They’re waiting for you to be involved in washing and preparing the body. It was the deceased’s wish.’

  Omar closed his eyes. The privilege of a blood son. An honorable duty, which explained the exceptional release he was given. Even after death, Uncle Mustafa proved to be a true father to him. Omar rested his head.

  ‘It seems Shareef is too shaken to do anything useful.’ Marwan gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before he dropped his hand. ‘My sister tells me ever since Shareef brought Sameera home, he has been acting a bit strange.’

  ‘I know.’ Omar’s voice sounded odd to his own ears.