Read Online In the Language of Miracles by Rajia Hassib - Free Book Online

speech about finding peace? I’ll bet you they’re only doing this to remind people of what happened. To turn them against you more and more.”
    Nagla let a shirt she was holding drop on the bed, looked at her mother. “Has Samir been talking to you?”
    â€œNo, of course not,” Ehsan quickly answered.
    Nagla searched her mother’s face, her eyes narrow.
    â€œThe man means well,” Ehsan went on. “He only has his family’s best interest in mind.”
    â€œBest interest? You really think going to that memorial is in our
best interest
?”
    Ehsan waved one hand. “I’m not talking about
what
he’s trying to do, but about
why
he’s doing it.”
    Nagla walked over to her nightstand and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer. Her mother watched her.
    â€œDon’t smoke inside, Nagla. You know how much your husband hates that.”
    Walking over to the window, Nagla opened it and pulled the screen out before lighting a cigarette. “I always do, Mama.” She inhaled the fresh air before puffing smoke out the window. “He never notices.”
    â€œHe probably does. He just doesn’t want to annoy you.”
    Nagla snickered. “Yeah, right. Because he’s so obliging. Did you ever wonder how come smoking indoors became harmful only after
he
quit smoking?”
    â€œHe’s probably trying to get you to quit, too. Don’t be so hard on him. He’s a good man, Nagla.”
    â€œI thought I was the only nice one?”
    â€œDon’t be smart with me, girl.”
    Across the backyard, Nagla watched the edge of Summerset Park, the lush trees covering a plain that moved toward a gentle slope down to the park. Years ago, she heard of a woman who bought a house near a cemetery just so she could see her son’s gravestone from her back porch. Back then, she had thought the idea touching. Now she was baffled at how the woman could withstand the daily reminder.
    â€œYou really shouldn’t contradict him so often, Nagla. He’s still the man of the house.”
    â€œContradict him?” Nagla turned to face her mother, keeping the hand holding the cigarette dangling out the window. “I merely mentioned that going to that service was probably not the best idea—which, by the way, you agree with me on, even if you won’t say so. I was being respectful and considerate. I should have said that this was the worst idea ever. Even worse than that time he went and talked to the reporters.”
    â€œYou can’t say stuff like that to a man. What do you think he’ll do, say,
Oh, sure, honey, you’re right and I’m wrong
?”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he say that?”
    â€œAre you crazy? Your husband?” Ehsan shook her head. “You’ve been living in America for too long. You think our men are like theirs. Your father,
Allah yerhamoh
, would have cut me up in pieces before he would have let me challenge him so.”
    â€œNo, he wouldn’t have.”
    â€œYou didn’t know him.” Ehsan shook her head. “A real man. They don’t make them like that anymore.” Her voice rang with pride as a faint smile curled her lips.
    Turning around, Nagla leaned out the window, smoked in silence. Of course her mother would compare Samir to Nagla’s father, and of course her father would win—at least in that context.
    Nagla was five when her father died. The only distinct memory shehad of him was of being lifted in the air and swung around the room, her hair flowing sideways as she looked down on his smiling face. Everything else she knew of him came from her mother’s stories, which Nagla had found as fascinating as the Indian action movies she used to watch as a child with their exotic colors and spontaneous dance routines. Years ago, Nagla’s oldest brother had deliberately and quite mercilessly cured her of the fascination she had harbored with the