A Word For Love Part 18

Imad looked at me. "I'm sorry, Bea. I didn't mean it."

I went over and sat down by Imad on the weight machine. He laid his head on my lap. He had warm breath and a soft mouth, like a garden. There was a little bit of product in his hair.

Imad reached up and pulled my curl. "Arabic hair," he said. "Did I ever tell you, your hair looks like Arabic?"

"It does?"

"Like Leila's hair in the astonis.h.i.+ng text. It always surprised me, in that text Leila hardly has a role, she leaves after the first page, but you feel her everywhere because of the way the words are written. They curl just like her hair."

"Leila had curly hair?"

"That's how I imagine her."

I had always thought of Leila's hair as straight, like Nisrine's. I reached up to touch my own hair. I felt around my ears, to see if it was frizzing.

"Imad, what's the astonis.h.i.+ng text like?"

"Beautiful. Astonis.h.i.+ng, like they say, I can't describe it. Don't worry, you'll see it."

It didn't seem like I'd ever see it. I wanted to, so much.

"Did you cry when you saw it?"

"Bea, I had just come back from London. I was on leave, my father was sick, and I had to decide whether to stay with my father, or go back to London to finish my studies before my visa ran out."

"So, you did cry."

"I cried. In the text, after Leila leaves, Qais wanders around until he finds a shepherd who cares for him. It taught me about love, I guess. Not just romantic love, but other kinds. Family love. That one form of love is dreaming about someone, and another is staying with them."

I looked down at Imad's slick hair, his fine eyes and nose, like a sand hill. In London, did his nose fit in? I thought about Security and all Imad had given up in London, to stay here with his family and students, with me.

"Imad, if you were going to be a person in Qais and Leila,' who would you be?"

"I don't know, I guess the shepherd."

"Really?" Imad had just mentioned him, but still, it surprised me. That was the character Nisrine had given me what seemed a long time ago now, when I was looking. I liked the shepherd, he was a good man, but I still secretly wanted to be like Leila; I a.s.sumed Imad would want to be like Qais.

Imad shook his head. "Qais went crazy for love, and then he lost her. But the shepherd, he knew about friends.h.i.+p. He cared for Qais in the wilderness, and some say he's the one who kept Qais's poems. He stayed with Qais his whole life."

"He did?"

Imad nodded.

A keeper of poems. Someone who knew about friends.h.i.+p. I put this aside to think about later.

Imad asked, "Did you get your ears pierced, Bea?"

"Yes."

He fingered my earlobe, lightly. "I like it. Blue looks good on you."

I didn't have f.c.u.k underwear like Imad liked. I only wore white Hanes that Madame said looked like a grannie's, and Nisrine was always complaining she must bleach. I didn't have nice underwear, and I wasn't graceful the way I imagined Leila was, or Nisrine was, even when she cleaned. But here in this room, on this weight machine, I was all Imad had. And, he was all I had, too, so we kissed.

I opened my eyes. Imad was looking at me, his hand in my hair. Then, because it was soft and warm, we closed our eyes and did it again, and again.

So this was how it felt to be a lover, Leila.

Imad brushed his hand over my neck, along my collarbone, under my chin. "I like you with earrings," he said.

I said, "So does Madame," which made him laugh.

Imad walked me home. He made me promise I'd come again on Friday, even though I didn't have a lesson, so we could go to the National Library together before his interview with Security, to finally see the astonis.h.i.+ng text.

"Really?"

"If they let us in," Imad joked, "maybe I can kiss you in their cage."

I took the stairs up to Madame's instead of the elevator, to try and savor my light, giddy feeling. On my lips were Imad's kisses. On my lap, his moist hair product. In my head, the astonis.h.i.+ng text.

When I got in, there was a message that my mother had called. News of the sanctions and gunshots had traveled all the way to her, and made her worry.

"I keep hearing about unrest," she said when she called back. "Is everything OK?"

"Well," I told her, "Maria left."

"Who's Maria?"

"The other student from my lessons. It's just me in cla.s.s now." When I said this, I couldn't help smiling. I still tasted Imad's kisses. But, my mother took it differently.

She said, "You know, Bea, there's a family reunion in May. You could leave, too."

"I'll still be here in May."

"Yes, I know, but it's a big reunion. Maybe you'd like to come home for it."

"Come home early?"

You're all I have left, Imad told me. We'll see the astonis.h.i.+ng text.

"For the reunion. You can always go back afterwards. Think it over, OK, Bea?"

That evening, the family teased me. They joked again about Imad's English name, Matt, and how it meant dead in Arabic.

"How is he, Allah yerhamo, Bea? Still Matt, G.o.d rest him?"

"I saw Allah yerhamo walked you home today, Bea. He's quite a Qais!"

I said, "My mother has a family reunion in May. She thinks maybe I should come home for it."

And it was Nisrine whose face grew very still, who said, "You mean leave?"

Nisrine had been wanting to leave. She didn't have a mother who allowed her. I felt my embarra.s.sment.

"For the reunion."

Madame said, "You're not supposed to leave until September."

This reminded me of other news. I told Madame, "I have cla.s.s again this Friday."

"Friday?" Madame said. "Friday's a family day. I thought cla.s.s was Tuesday and Sat.u.r.day."

Nisrine was looking soft and still, her face to the window.

Lema shook her head. "What about your tutor, Bea? Matt mat, Allah yerhamo. Where else will you find a dead boyfriend, if you leave?"

IMAD WAS NOT A REAL QAIS, despite what Lema joked. He didn't even want to be. He was steady and kind to me, and I'd liked the warm weight of his kisses.

I followed Nisrine to the bedroom. "Imad kissed me."

"He did?"

Normally, this would be a small celebration between us.

She was thinking of other things. "Do you think you'd really leave, Bea? You're happy here."

I was. I was happy, and she was part of it. I still hoped Nisrine would be happy, too, that things would get better, and we could find a way.

Nisrine said, "Maybe when you leave, you'll take me with you."

"Haha, that would be nice!"

We lay on the bed, and built homes out loud, from our imaginations. In my home, Imad put all his best books. In Nisrine's home there was good food, and family, and Adel's jasmine flowers.

Then she said, "I don't care anymore about houses."

"You don't?"

She sometimes teased by saying things she didn't mean. I thought she was teasing.

"I don't think I'll ever build my house."

"Of course you will."

But, she shook her head. "It's a feeling I have."

I wasn't sure what to say.

"It's just a house, anyway. Why do I care for a pile of cement?"

Why do we care for anything? It is our nature, I wanted to tell her, what we do as humans. I knew that I for one loved strange things, like words and books, but I had never questioned that love, or wanting to love. Why not want? I had never questioned how much I cared for Nisrine.

And, Nisrine had never before questioned how much she cared for Dounia, or Adel, or rebuilding her house. It was a dream for her future, for her child's comfort, the reason for countless mornings, face pressed against the window, a cream-colored rag in her hand, searching for spots. She was beginning to dislike even the future.

I stared at her until she sighed and gave in. "OK, Bea. I'll build my house. Sometimes, I think everything would be all right, if someone would just be on my side for once."

Nisrine had been asking and asking, and Baba had done nothing, and Adel had done nothing, and I had said, Try, Nisrine, as if telling her to try might help her.

And looking back now, I want to step in, stand up, say, I am with you, I'm on your side, let's walk out right now, I'll find a new family for you, or if not a family, then something else, certainly we can avoid what is destined to happen next, certainly together, we can do something-we don't need to wait for Adel, or Mama or Baba, why did we always wait for them?

But, we lived in a small world, where everything we did was watched, by Madame or police or the neighbors. The feeling of being caught is something real: cramped legs, like a cramped mind-over the next weeks, this feeling would increase, we would feel more and more trapped, until finally, we found ourselves so utterly locked in, there was no way out. For this, we paid a very high price.

But, that comes later. Now, in this room, I still believed that love was staying, that as long as Nisrine was here, everything would be OK, that our tragedy would be her leaving.

We returned to talking about kisses. Nisrine wanted to know what Imad's felt like: breathlessness, a deep conversation.

"Bea, what do you wish for me?"

"For you?" I tried to think of all we both wanted. "I don't know, your new house and your son and great lovers."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Pause. "What do you wish for me?"

She thought for a moment. "Freedom, to be who you want in the world. And a G.o.d to put your faith in."

"Thank you."

Nisrine had her G.o.d; she did not have all her freedoms. I had my freedom.

"I want to add on to mine," I said. "I wish that for you, too."