they
exclaimed excitedly and inclined their heads in her general direction.
They chatted about their business, the Frenchwoman about her country, theirs and how great
everything French was. Shahira agreed on a number of things because they were true, including how
confident French women were about themselves and their sexuality. Then she heard one of the Arabs
falter, ask the other how to translate a certain Arab word into English.
“What’s that word for lalnan-zahta ?”
“Integrity,” Shahira said, without thinking.
Everyone looked at her and she realized she’d interrupted them. She looked at Hussain, self-
conscious and chagrined to have embarrassed him; Arabs were known to be sensitive about such
things.
The Arab she’d helped out asked, surprised and delighted, “You know Arabic?”
“Yes… na’am.”
The Arabs looked at Hussain, exclaiming why he’d kept his wonderful wife such a secret and
started chatting and asking for her assistance whenever they got stuck. Hussain seemed to be carved
out of marble, speaking only in monosyllables whenever he thought he could get away with it.
Between the French and the Arabic and Hussain’s cold demeanor, it was a long, long evening for
Shahira.
At last, when it was over and their guests departed happily, Hussain asked curtly, “Would you like
anything? Or are you ready to go home, to the hotel?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He nodded and they started towards the car. The drive back was just as frosty as the one from the
hotel.
However, Shahira was no longer feeling guilty or reprehensible. She felt quite irritated. She’d
done him a favor and she’d been good company, what else could she do? She made no efforts to
conceal her irritation; Hussain wasn’t trying to hide his either. That seemed to push him further up the
wall. He was now gritting his teeth.
The children were in bed and fast asleep. Shahira thanked the babysitter and saw her out. Hussain
was silently but savagely taking his tie off, which he threw on the chair, giving her a fuming look. She
didn’t acknowledge his anger, and taking the earrings off carefully, put them back into the box, which
she then placed on a table nearby. He paused, threw her a furious look and turned away. His jacket
came off, just as roughly and was discarded the same way. She sat down on the bed to remove her
shoes.
She waited. He didn’t say anything. So she took her change of clothes and went to the children’s
bathroom to give him some space. She’d taken all of Usman’s tantrums without a word, always
thinking she had to put it right because she must have done something wrong. Those days were far
behind her.
When she came out, she looked at the children for a while and thought of wriggling in with
Shahaan, when she heard a low, barely controlled hiss of fury, “Don’t. Even. Think . About it!”
He was holding the door open, now dressed in his usual pajamas and white crew neck, his eyes
boring into hers. She went past him into their room and lay down on her side of the bed. He followed
and put out the lights. In the thick dark silence, she waited for him to say something. She wanted him
to say anything that would tell her he was not this man who’d throw a tantrum because his wife knew
something he didn’t. She waited a long time.
She was just about to drift off, when suddenly, as if no longer able to stop himself, he whispered
furiously, “You know what? I want to know everything about you right now. Tell me everything.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“W...what?”
“It was embarrassing. I was as shocked as the Arabs.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was important. I had no intention of embarrassing you…”
She couldn’t help thinking of all those times she had ‘embarrassed’ Usman because she had known
something that he hadn’t or when he thought she had upstaged him for some nefarious reasons of her
own. At the end of the day, the male ego
exclaimed excitedly and inclined their heads in her general direction.
They chatted about their business, the Frenchwoman about her country, theirs and how great
everything French was. Shahira agreed on a number of things because they were true, including how
confident French women were about themselves and their sexuality. Then she heard one of the Arabs
falter, ask the other how to translate a certain Arab word into English.
“What’s that word for lalnan-zahta ?”
“Integrity,” Shahira said, without thinking.
Everyone looked at her and she realized she’d interrupted them. She looked at Hussain, self-
conscious and chagrined to have embarrassed him; Arabs were known to be sensitive about such
things.
The Arab she’d helped out asked, surprised and delighted, “You know Arabic?”
“Yes… na’am.”
The Arabs looked at Hussain, exclaiming why he’d kept his wonderful wife such a secret and
started chatting and asking for her assistance whenever they got stuck. Hussain seemed to be carved
out of marble, speaking only in monosyllables whenever he thought he could get away with it.
Between the French and the Arabic and Hussain’s cold demeanor, it was a long, long evening for
Shahira.
At last, when it was over and their guests departed happily, Hussain asked curtly, “Would you like
anything? Or are you ready to go home, to the hotel?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He nodded and they started towards the car. The drive back was just as frosty as the one from the
hotel.
However, Shahira was no longer feeling guilty or reprehensible. She felt quite irritated. She’d
done him a favor and she’d been good company, what else could she do? She made no efforts to
conceal her irritation; Hussain wasn’t trying to hide his either. That seemed to push him further up the
wall. He was now gritting his teeth.
The children were in bed and fast asleep. Shahira thanked the babysitter and saw her out. Hussain
was silently but savagely taking his tie off, which he threw on the chair, giving her a fuming look. She
didn’t acknowledge his anger, and taking the earrings off carefully, put them back into the box, which
she then placed on a table nearby. He paused, threw her a furious look and turned away. His jacket
came off, just as roughly and was discarded the same way. She sat down on the bed to remove her
shoes.
She waited. He didn’t say anything. So she took her change of clothes and went to the children’s
bathroom to give him some space. She’d taken all of Usman’s tantrums without a word, always
thinking she had to put it right because she must have done something wrong. Those days were far
behind her.
When she came out, she looked at the children for a while and thought of wriggling in with
Shahaan, when she heard a low, barely controlled hiss of fury, “Don’t. Even. Think . About it!”
He was holding the door open, now dressed in his usual pajamas and white crew neck, his eyes
boring into hers. She went past him into their room and lay down on her side of the bed. He followed
and put out the lights. In the thick dark silence, she waited for him to say something. She wanted him
to say anything that would tell her he was not this man who’d throw a tantrum because his wife knew
something he didn’t. She waited a long time.
She was just about to drift off, when suddenly, as if no longer able to stop himself, he whispered
furiously, “You know what? I want to know everything about you right now. Tell me everything.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“W...what?”
“It was embarrassing. I was as shocked as the Arabs.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was important. I had no intention of embarrassing you…”
She couldn’t help thinking of all those times she had ‘embarrassed’ Usman because she had known
something that he hadn’t or when he thought she had upstaged him for some nefarious reasons of her
own. At the end of the day, the male ego
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