Sami and Meisoun crossed the dining room. She linked her hands demurely. They were allowed to be together in public before the wedding, but they had to behave with reserve. Sami stopped at the table next to Omar Yussef’s to greet his family friends, grinning sheepishly when they joked about the cast on his arm. He caught Omar Yussef’s eye and his smile wavered. The schoolteacher turned away. Meisoun kissed Maryam. As she hugged Nadia, she quickly appraised Jamie King and spoke to Omar Yussef. “So, ustaz, it seems I’m to be relegated to your third wife.”
Omar Yussef’s face grew hot.
Sami bent to kiss Ramiz and Zuheir, muttering quiet greet-ings. He sat beside them, hunched forward with his eyes on the tablecloth and his broken arm hidden beneath the table.
The poor boy’s ashamed that he isn’t working on Ishaq’s case, Omar Yussef thought.
Maryam dropped a crisp chip of fried flatbread onto her plate, clicked her tongue and folded her arms. “The yoghurt in the huwarna is too thin,” she said in English.
King leaned over the small plates spread across the table. “Which dish is that?”
Maryam pointed at a shallow bowl of plain yoghurt, dotted with tiny dark pods. “All you have to do is wash the mustard seeds and put them in the yoghurt. How difficult can that be? They didn’t even add the slightest bit of mint.” She wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t help smiling as she explained the local food to the foreigner. “I always put fresh mint in my huwarna just before I serve it, to give it a little extra flavor.”
Omar Yussef scooped some of the yoghurt dip onto a bread chip and crunched it in his mouth. “Ignore her, Jamie,” he said. “It’s really quite good.”
Maryam glared.
“It’s not as good as yours, of course, darling,” he said, in English. Then he switched to Arabic. “Nadia, tell your Grandma that she’ll starve in Nablus if she refuses to eat the rotten food in this restaurant.”
Maryam lifted a small dish of greens and spooned some onto King’s plate. “Jamie, try this. It’s jarjeer. It’s a very traditional part of Palestinian meals. It’s a leaf that in English I think you call ‘arugula.’ To make the salad, you add lemon juice and this purple ground spice, which we call sumac. I don’t know what it is in English.”
King ate appreciatively. “It has a very zesty taste.”
“The lemon highlights the fresh flavor of the arugula leaves,” Maryam said.
“Jamie, they say this salad makes a man vigorous in bed,” Omar Yussef said with a laugh. “Which is why Maryam hasn’t given me any.”
Maryam dropped the dish of jarjeer on the table in front of Omar Yussef. “Eat it all, and see if I care,” she said.
Nadia sniggered and blew some of the cola she had been drinking out of her nose, which made her fall to the table in a fit of giggling. Omar Yussef watched her and chuckled. He stroked the back of Maryam’s hand and smiled at her until she, too, laughed.
Zuheir picked at a few spoonfuls of baqdounsiyya on his plate. The seething intensity with which he avoided looking at King seemed to draw the American to him.
“And what kind of salad is that one?” she asked him.
Zuheir barely looked up as King pointed to his plate.
“Chopped parsley and sesame paste,” he mumbled.
Maryam leaned toward him. “And what else?”
Zuheir gave a reluctant smile. “Salt and olive oil and lemon juice, Mama.”
Maryam bowed, proudly.
“Zuheir, when we spoke earlier over coffee, our conver-sation was all about politics,” King said. “I forgot to ask if you also live in Bethlehem.”
Zuheir sucked on his bottom lip and glanced at his father. “I’ve been living in Britain for some years, studying and teaching,” he said. “But I’m returning to the Middle East now. I’m going to teach in Beirut.”
“I love Beirut. It’s a wonderful city,” King said.
“Westerners always love Beirut. That’s its problem.” Zuheir pushed his plate away. “In reality, it’s full of all different kinds of extremists. I hope that by teaching there, I can do something to reduce their fanaticism.”
“Why not do the same thing here?”
“My father is the one who’ll have to deal with the Palestinian extremists.”
Sami looked sharply at Zuheir.
“What are you trying to say, Zuheir?” Omar Yussef said, through a mouthful of baqdounsiyya.
Zuheir lifted his eyebrows. “The Palestinians have isolated themselves once again, and you’re the only one who wants to lie down in the filth so they can step to safety on your back.”
“If we’re dependent on the strong back of our dear father to save the Palestinians, then may Allah protect us all,” Ramiz said. “He’s no bodybuilder.” He laughed and reached for the hummus.
Zuheir and Omar Yussef watched each other silently, as the waiter removed the salads and brought the grilled meats of the main course.
“Do you have any vacancies for a business graduate at the World Bank?” Maryam touched Jamie King’s arm and pointed at Meisoun.
Ramiz shook his head. “Mama, don’t let the World Bank steal away my new partner.”
“I’m going to open a franchise of Ramiz’s cell phone business in Nablus, after my wedding,” Meisoun told King.
“Great. Where did you study?”
“In Cairo. I intended to obtain a higher degree, but the border between Egypt and my family home in Gaza was closed because of the intifada. I had to find work in a hotel in Gaza City.”
“That’s too bad.”
Meisoun smiled. “Not so bad. That’s how I met my future husband. Otherwise, I might have married some puffed up little Pharaoh in Cairo.”
“But at least Cairo’s not a war zone.” Ramiz slapped Sami on the shoulder.
“If a woman doesn’t choose the right husband, she creates her own war zone.” Meisoun lifted a finger to scold Ramiz. “Sami and I will have peace, no matter what troubles engulf Nablus.”
“So when’s the big day?” King asked.
“Friday. But it isn’t a big day quite like the American weddings I’ve seen on the television,” Meisoun said. “It’s a big party.”
“But no religious ceremony?”
“Some religion, but we already made our vows to each other.”
“The main thing was getting her father to agree,” Sami said.
“Evidently her father said yes.” King raised her glass of juice as if in a toast.
“Well, he didn’t actually say yes. He gave Sami sweetened coffee.”
Nadia took Meisoun’s hand to signal that she wanted to explain. “When a man goes to ask permission to marry a woman, the host serves coffee at the end of the visit. If the coffee is sweetened with sugar, it means the family agrees to the marriage. If it’s bitter, the answer is no.”
“I guess that’s an effective signal.”
“Everyone prefers sweet coffee. Except Grandpa. He always drinks his coffee bitter.” Nadia made a sour face at Omar Yussef.
King excused herself after the coffee at the end of the meal. As the American left the dining room, Omar Yussef noticed Khamis Zeydan crossing the lobby. The police chief swayed and rested his shoulder against the door of the restaurant. He took a big, rasping intake of breath through his nose, coughed up some phlegm and spat on the floor. The waiter glanced at him nervously.
Omar Yussef touched Maryam’s arm. “I’ll see you upstairs, after you’ve finished dessert,” he said. He raised his eyebrows toward Khamis Zeydan. Maryam followed his sign and her lips parted in pity.