had envisioned, she’d received a cranky, colicky boy who spit up the precious few ounces of milk his mother had made, then howled for more. Each day, Miriam guided her short, tender nipple into his mouth and each day he remained unfulfilled. He screamed and gnawed on his fist. After a week of the noise, Miriam gave him to a wet nurse.
Everyone was waiting to make a fuss—the first grandson—but Khalil didn’t do well with strangers. Even his father made him cry, but that was to be expected, for Nadeem was away for weeks at a time. Miriam washed the baby, swaddled him neatly, rubbed his limbs with olive oil and salt as her mother had taught her. When he slept she washed his clothes and cooked for the wet nurse.
“Leave him with me,” Zareefa urged her. “Go out by yourself.” But Miriam couldn’t relax, knowing he was capable of crying himself into a rage for several hours.
One day she found Khalil smiling broadly and burst into tears. When the baby saw her crying, his chin began to wobble. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I frightened you. Don’t cry.” She rocked him in her arms and kissed his wet cheeks. He hiccuped a few times and then smiled again.
Not long after, Miriam noticed that when Khalil took his nap in the afternoon, she no longer had the energy to wash and cook. Without intending it she would curl up beside him and sleep, too. After a week of this seductive fatigue, she realized with less joy than the first time that she was pregnant again.
6.
IT’S TIME FOR US TO MOVE.
I n the spring of 1900, the new government road to Nablus reached Tamleh and Ibrahim Abu Shihady initiated horse-drawn carriage service to the Jaffa Gate for a fare of thirty cents. If a traveler brought his chickens and other belongings, the smells together with the motion unsettled some of the occupants and it was common to see ashen faces hanging out of windows. The service was a great convenience to everyone, especially the sick who needed to make the journey to the hospital.
Some workers from Bethlehem who built the government road where it passed Tamleh told of a faraway country called America, where men from their village had gone to make their fortunes and were sending large sums back to their relatives. A few men from Tamleh immigrated to the States and stories of their success caused a painful awakening in some of the young men who were left behind, including Nadeem. He finished the church at Madaba and joined his brother as a guide for the Easter pilgrims, but he was preoccupied. The stories had kindled his ambition.
Miriam was busy with Khalil and the new pregnancy kept her feeling unsettled. The Sisters of Mar Yusef had received four sewing machines from America and invited the neighborhood women to learn to sew. Miriam and Zareefa made European-style trousers, but the pair intended for Nadeem had one leg slightly shorter than the other. “Nadeem loves you,” Zareefa teased. “He’s wearing those terrible trousers.” He wore the trousers every day and Miriam knew she wasn’t the cause of his restlessness.
One night, Nadeem announced at dinner that he was going to build a house for his family. He would put it up himself, he said. His mother stopped eating. “And where do you propose to get the money to pay for this new home?”
“I have enough money to start,” answered Nadeem, deliberately filling his mouth with food. It was the custom for young men to build their homes one room at a time as finances allowed.
“A start? Why start what you can’t finish? And what is a start? A wall? Two walls? What good will that do? You can’t live inside two walls. You must have four. Plus a roof.” She let him digest this information so he could better appreciate her conclusion. “And if there are four walls and a roof that’s an entire room. Not a start.”
“What’s wrong?” asked his father. “There’s plenty of room here.”
“There isn’t plenty of room,” said Nadeem. “It’s crowded and will
Everyone was waiting to make a fuss—the first grandson—but Khalil didn’t do well with strangers. Even his father made him cry, but that was to be expected, for Nadeem was away for weeks at a time. Miriam washed the baby, swaddled him neatly, rubbed his limbs with olive oil and salt as her mother had taught her. When he slept she washed his clothes and cooked for the wet nurse.
“Leave him with me,” Zareefa urged her. “Go out by yourself.” But Miriam couldn’t relax, knowing he was capable of crying himself into a rage for several hours.
One day she found Khalil smiling broadly and burst into tears. When the baby saw her crying, his chin began to wobble. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I frightened you. Don’t cry.” She rocked him in her arms and kissed his wet cheeks. He hiccuped a few times and then smiled again.
Not long after, Miriam noticed that when Khalil took his nap in the afternoon, she no longer had the energy to wash and cook. Without intending it she would curl up beside him and sleep, too. After a week of this seductive fatigue, she realized with less joy than the first time that she was pregnant again.
6.
IT’S TIME FOR US TO MOVE.
I n the spring of 1900, the new government road to Nablus reached Tamleh and Ibrahim Abu Shihady initiated horse-drawn carriage service to the Jaffa Gate for a fare of thirty cents. If a traveler brought his chickens and other belongings, the smells together with the motion unsettled some of the occupants and it was common to see ashen faces hanging out of windows. The service was a great convenience to everyone, especially the sick who needed to make the journey to the hospital.
Some workers from Bethlehem who built the government road where it passed Tamleh told of a faraway country called America, where men from their village had gone to make their fortunes and were sending large sums back to their relatives. A few men from Tamleh immigrated to the States and stories of their success caused a painful awakening in some of the young men who were left behind, including Nadeem. He finished the church at Madaba and joined his brother as a guide for the Easter pilgrims, but he was preoccupied. The stories had kindled his ambition.
Miriam was busy with Khalil and the new pregnancy kept her feeling unsettled. The Sisters of Mar Yusef had received four sewing machines from America and invited the neighborhood women to learn to sew. Miriam and Zareefa made European-style trousers, but the pair intended for Nadeem had one leg slightly shorter than the other. “Nadeem loves you,” Zareefa teased. “He’s wearing those terrible trousers.” He wore the trousers every day and Miriam knew she wasn’t the cause of his restlessness.
One night, Nadeem announced at dinner that he was going to build a house for his family. He would put it up himself, he said. His mother stopped eating. “And where do you propose to get the money to pay for this new home?”
“I have enough money to start,” answered Nadeem, deliberately filling his mouth with food. It was the custom for young men to build their homes one room at a time as finances allowed.
“A start? Why start what you can’t finish? And what is a start? A wall? Two walls? What good will that do? You can’t live inside two walls. You must have four. Plus a roof.” She let him digest this information so he could better appreciate her conclusion. “And if there are four walls and a roof that’s an entire room. Not a start.”
“What’s wrong?” asked his father. “There’s plenty of room here.”
“There isn’t plenty of room,” said Nadeem. “It’s crowded and will
Similar Books
