LITMIR.BIZ

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it was a beautiful March morning. Ideal weather for fruit picking. Isra had recently pruned the fig tree that leaned against the house in preparation for the summer bloom. Beside it grew two slanted almond trees, beginning to flower. Isra watched Adam’s eyes widen as he admired the scenery. Grapevines covered the balcony, and he traced his fingers across a cluster of buds that would swell into grapes by summer. From the look on his face, she wondered if he had ever seen a grapevine before. Perhaps not since he was a child. She wanted to ask him so many things. Why had they left Palestine, and when? How had they made it to America? She opened her mouth and searched for the words, but none came.

      There was a wrought-iron swing at the center of the balcony. Adam sat on it and waited for her to join him. She took a deep breath as she settled beside him. They could see the graveyards from their seat, both dilapidated, and Isra blushed at the sight. She hoped Adam wouldn’t think less of her. She tried to take strength in what Yacob always said, “It doesn’t matter where you live as long as your home is yours. Free of occupation and blood.”

      It was a quiet morning. For a while they just sat there, lost in the view. Isra felt a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t help but think of the jinn who lived in cemeteries and ruins. Growing up, Isra had heard countless stories of the supernatural creatures, who were said to possess humans. Many of the neighborhood women swore they had witnessed an evil presence near the two cemeteries. Isra muttered a quick prayer under her breath. She wondered if it was a bad omen, facing a graveyard as she sat with her husband for the first time.

      Beside her Adam stared absently into the distance. What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t he say something? Was he waiting for her to speak first? Surely he should speak first! She thought about the interactions between men and women she’d read about in books. Small introductions first, personal tales next, then affection grew. That was how two people fell in love. Or at least how Sinbad the Sailor fell in love with Princess Shera in A Thousand and One Nights. Except Shera was a bird for most of the story. Isra decided to be more realistic.

      Adam turned to look at her. She swallowed, tugging on the edges of her hijab. His eyes lingered on the loose strands of black hair poking out from underneath. It occurred to her that he had not yet seen her hair. She waited for him to say something, but he only stared. His gaze moved up and down, his lips slowly parted. There was something in his eyes that troubled her. An intensity. What was it? In the glassy tint of his gaze, she could see the days of the rest of her life stacked together like pages. If only she could flip through them, so she knew what was to come.

      Isra broke his gaze and returned her eyes to the graveyards. Perhaps he was only nervous, she told herself. Or perhaps he didn’t like her. It was reasonable. After all, she had never been called beautiful. Her eyes were small and dark, her jaw angular. More than once, Mama had mocked her sharp features, saying her nose was long and pointed, her forehead too large. She was certain Adam was looking at her forehead now. She pulled on her hijab. Perhaps she should bring out the box of Mackintosh’s chocolates Mama saved for special occasions. Or maybe she should brew some chai. She started to offer him some grapes but remembered they were not yet ripe.

      As she turned to face Adam once more, she noticed his knees shaking. Then, in a flash, he zoomed closer and planted a kiss on her cheek.

      Isra slapped him.

      Shocked, she waited for him to apologize, to muster up something about how he hadn’t meant to kiss her, how his body acted of its own accord. But he only looked away, face flushed, and buried his eyes between the graves.

      With great effort, she forced herself to look at the cemeteries. She thought perhaps there was something between the graves she could not see, some secret to make sense of what was happening. She thought about A Thousand and One Nights, how Princess Shera had wanted to become human so she could marry Sindbad. Isra didn’t understand. Why would anyone want to be a woman when she could be a bird?

      “He tried to kiss me,” Isra told Mama after Adam and his family left, whispering so Yacob wouldn’t hear.

      “What do you mean, he tried to kiss you?”

      “He tried to kiss me, and I slapped him! I’m sorry, Mama. Everything happened so fast, and I didn’t know what else to do.” Isra’s hands were shaking, and she placed them between her thighs.

      “Good,” Mama said after a long pause. “Make sure you don’t let him touch you until after the wedding ceremony. We don’t want this American family to go around saying we raised a sharmouta. That’s what men do, you know. Always put the blame on the woman.” Mama stuck out the tip of her pinkie. “Don’t even give him a finger.”

      “No. Of course not!”

      “Reputation is everything. Make sure he doesn’t touch you again.”

      “Don’t worry, Mama. I won’t.”

      The next day, Adam and Isra took a bus to Jerusalem, to a place called the US Consulate General, where people applied for immigrant visas. Isra was nervous about being alone with Adam again, but there was nothing she could do. Yacob couldn’t join them because his Palestinian hawiya, issued by the Israeli military authorities, prevented him from traveling to Jerusalem with ease. Isra had a hawiya too, but now that she was married to an American citizen, she would have less difficulty crossing the checkpoints.

      The checkpoints were the reason Isra had never been to Jerusalem, which, along with most Palestinian cities, was under Israeli control and couldn’t be entered without a permit. The permits were required at each of the hundreds of checkpoints and roadblocks Israel had constructed on Palestinian land, restricting travel between, and sometimes within, their own cities and towns. Some checkpoints were manned by heavily armed Israeli soldiers and guarded with tanks; others were made up of gates, which were locked when soldiers were not on duty. Adam cursed every time they stopped at one of these roadblocks, irritated at the tight controls and heavy traffic. At each one he waved his American passport at the Israeli soldiers, speaking to them in English. Isra could understand a little from having studied English in school, and she was impressed at how well he spoke the language.

      When they finally arrived at the consulate, they waited in line for hours. Isra stood behind Adam, head bowed, only speaking when spoken to. But Adam barely said a word, and Isra wondered if he was angry at her for slapping him on the balcony. She contemplated apologizing, but secretly she thought she had nothing to apologize for. Even though they had signed the Islamic marriage contract, he had no right to kiss her like that, not until the night of the wedding ceremony. Yet the word sorry brewed on her tongue. She forced herself to swallow it down.

      At the main window, they were told it would take only ten days for Isra to receive her visa. Now Yacob could plan the wedding, she thought as they strolled around Jerusalem afterward. Walking the narrow roads of the old city, Isra was overwhelmed by sensations. She smelled chamomile, sage, mint, and lentils from the open burlap sacks lined up in front of a spice shop, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked knafa from a nearby dukan. She spotted wire cages holding chickens and rabbits in front of a butcher shop, and several boutiques displaying myriads of gold-plated jewelry. Old men in hattas sold colorful scarves on street corners. Women in full black attire hurried through the streets. Some wore embroidered hijabs, tight-fitted pants, and round sunglasses. Others wore no hijab at all, and Isra knew they were Israeli. Their heels click-clacked on the uneven sidewalk. Boys whistled. Cars weaved through the narrow roads, honking, leaving a trail of diesel fumes behind. Israeli soldiers monitored the streets, long rifles slung across their slender bodies. The air was filled with dirt and noise.

      For lunch, Adam ordered falafel sandwiches from a food cart near Al-Aqsa Mosque. Isra stared at the gold-topped dome in awe as they ate.

      “Isn’t it beautiful?” Adam said between mouthfuls.

      “It is,” Isra said. “I’ve never seen it before.”

      Adam turned to face her. “Really?”

      She nodded.

      “Why not?”

      “It’s hard getting here.”

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