Read Online Three Daughters: A Novel by Consuelo Saah Baehr - Free Book Online
Authors: Consuelo Saah Baehr
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You another boy and I another girl.” Zareefa’s voice was high with anxiety. She cared deeply about her standing in the clan.
Umm Jameel, looking flushed and weary, finally sat down. It was a crowded table and everyone became engrossed in eating, with the children scampering in between them. For a moment it was quiet.
“I’ve begun a new enterprise,” said Nadeem suddenly.
“Oh? What is that?” His mother stopped eating.
“I led a Frenchman to Nazareth and he was enchanted with the Mt. Carmel soap. He cabled to send ten gross, which I did yesterday.”
“He sent you money for them?” asked his father.
“Not yet. Just the cable requesting the soap.”
“You sent the soap before he sent the money?” asked Umm Jameel.
“Yes,” said Nadeem. “A letter of credit is coming.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “How could you be so foolish?” said Umm Jameel, pushing away her plate.
“I don’t believe it was foolish,” said Nadeem calmly. “He will pay.”
“Why should he pay? He has no need to pay. He has the soap that he will sell.” Umm Jameel answered her own pointed questions and became more agitated as her monologue progressed.
“He will pay because he will want more soap,” Nadeem answered logically.
“More soap? Why does he have to get more soap from you? He can get more soap from anybody. There are many who will send him more soap. But I can tell you that none of them will send it without getting payment first. He’ll get more soap but not from you. He’ll find another”—Nadeem’s father sent her a warning look, but she continued—“fool to send it to him.”
The silence resumed. Miriam’s face burned with indignation, but to speak in her husband’s defense would be more disruptive. Besides, she, too, thought Nadeem had acted unwisely, though she would never say so. The children, alerted to the tension, chewed slowly and stared. Nadeem left the table and walked out into the afternoon sunlight. Umm Jameel rose and followed. “Yes, fool,” she reiterated in case he had forgotten. “How could you do such a thing? Why didn’t you ask for advice?”
Nadeem reentered the room with his mother behind him. “It wasn’t foolish,” he said calmly. “I know the man will pay. I didn’t act in a stupid way and you can’t speak about something that you know nothing about.”
“We shall see, Mr. Businessman,” said Umm Jameel, but all the rancor was gone from her voice. “All right. Come and eat. It is done.”
“It’s done and we shall see,” said Nadeem and resumed his place at the table and began to eat.
Miriam was glad to return to her uncluttered house with the bundle of extra food that Umm Jameel had packed for her. Three times she opened her mouth to ask about the soap venture, but she closed it again. Nothing good could come from discussing it. She couldn’t clarify her feelings about it. It was exciting to think he would succeed, but she had qualms.
“Aren’t you going to see if there’s mail?” She had waited two weeks to ask the question. The mail came from Jerusalem to Tamleh every other Thursday and was distributed in the village square near the tomb of el Khalil. Those in a hurry went to Jerusalem, either to the Turkish postal building or to the several foreign post offices maintained by the Europeans.
“I won’t wait anxiously only to come home empty-handed,” he explained calmly. “If a letter comes, it will find me.” The days lengthened into weeks and no letter found him.
A month after the Easter season was over, the yellow heads appeared on the grains of wheat. Everyone left home and went to the fields—men, women, children, and babies in their cradles. Farmers reaped simultaneously by law and all willing hands were hired. Nadeem gladly took part, for his funds were depleted.
Miriam’s pregnancy made her feel queasy and sapped her energy, but nearly half the women in the village were pregnant and all of them helped in the harvest.
Umm Jameel, looking flushed and weary, finally sat down. It was a crowded table and everyone became engrossed in eating, with the children scampering in between them. For a moment it was quiet.
“I’ve begun a new enterprise,” said Nadeem suddenly.
“Oh? What is that?” His mother stopped eating.
“I led a Frenchman to Nazareth and he was enchanted with the Mt. Carmel soap. He cabled to send ten gross, which I did yesterday.”
“He sent you money for them?” asked his father.
“Not yet. Just the cable requesting the soap.”
“You sent the soap before he sent the money?” asked Umm Jameel.
“Yes,” said Nadeem. “A letter of credit is coming.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “How could you be so foolish?” said Umm Jameel, pushing away her plate.
“I don’t believe it was foolish,” said Nadeem calmly. “He will pay.”
“Why should he pay? He has no need to pay. He has the soap that he will sell.” Umm Jameel answered her own pointed questions and became more agitated as her monologue progressed.
“He will pay because he will want more soap,” Nadeem answered logically.
“More soap? Why does he have to get more soap from you? He can get more soap from anybody. There are many who will send him more soap. But I can tell you that none of them will send it without getting payment first. He’ll get more soap but not from you. He’ll find another”—Nadeem’s father sent her a warning look, but she continued—“fool to send it to him.”
The silence resumed. Miriam’s face burned with indignation, but to speak in her husband’s defense would be more disruptive. Besides, she, too, thought Nadeem had acted unwisely, though she would never say so. The children, alerted to the tension, chewed slowly and stared. Nadeem left the table and walked out into the afternoon sunlight. Umm Jameel rose and followed. “Yes, fool,” she reiterated in case he had forgotten. “How could you do such a thing? Why didn’t you ask for advice?”
Nadeem reentered the room with his mother behind him. “It wasn’t foolish,” he said calmly. “I know the man will pay. I didn’t act in a stupid way and you can’t speak about something that you know nothing about.”
“We shall see, Mr. Businessman,” said Umm Jameel, but all the rancor was gone from her voice. “All right. Come and eat. It is done.”
“It’s done and we shall see,” said Nadeem and resumed his place at the table and began to eat.
Miriam was glad to return to her uncluttered house with the bundle of extra food that Umm Jameel had packed for her. Three times she opened her mouth to ask about the soap venture, but she closed it again. Nothing good could come from discussing it. She couldn’t clarify her feelings about it. It was exciting to think he would succeed, but she had qualms.
“Aren’t you going to see if there’s mail?” She had waited two weeks to ask the question. The mail came from Jerusalem to Tamleh every other Thursday and was distributed in the village square near the tomb of el Khalil. Those in a hurry went to Jerusalem, either to the Turkish postal building or to the several foreign post offices maintained by the Europeans.
“I won’t wait anxiously only to come home empty-handed,” he explained calmly. “If a letter comes, it will find me.” The days lengthened into weeks and no letter found him.
A month after the Easter season was over, the yellow heads appeared on the grains of wheat. Everyone left home and went to the fields—men, women, children, and babies in their cradles. Farmers reaped simultaneously by law and all willing hands were hired. Nadeem gladly took part, for his funds were depleted.
Miriam’s pregnancy made her feel queasy and sapped her energy, but nearly half the women in the village were pregnant and all of them helped in the harvest.
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