saw him, the way she did when she thought of Fadee.
Fatimah said nothing. Then she burst into tears.
âListen to me, girl: youâre an orphan and this is for the best. Youâre not a child anymore, youâre sixteen, a young woman already . . . And youâll remain right here with us.â Fatimah was crying, and Mr. Mitri got up and patted the shoulder of the weeping Fatimah to comfort her.
Â
After that, everything happened very quickly. Mahmudâs sister came over and said Fatimah had to wear this white headwrap from now on. Then they took her to his brotherâs house, which was full of people she didnât know, and Mahmud sat next to her in the middle of the room. There was music, and everybody drank juice and ate sweets. Then everyone left and Fatimah returned to the building with him. When they entered the caretakerâs quarters, Fatimah stood expectantly as Mahmud closed the door behind them.
âTake off your clothes,â he ordered, and he turned out the lights and started to undress. Fatimah felt so scared her joints ached. He came up to her, clapped his hand over her mouth and started hitting her. Then he started circling around her, bobbing up and down on his feet and striking her. She tried to scream but his hand was still clamped over her mouth. She was ready to get down on her knees and kiss his hands, why was he hitting her so hard, and with that stick? Then he threw her to the ground, and began ripping off her clothes ... she wanted to tell him not to tear them . . . she would undress by herself, she knew what a man and a woman did when
they were married! But he just tore them off, raised her up toward him and, grunting and moaning, pushed in his thing. Despite the searing pain she felt, she didnât utter a cry - how could she, anyway, with his hand over her mouth - but she wanted to tell him to let go, so she could breathe. But he didnât. And that thing, oh God, the pain, the unbearable pain, it hurt so much . . . then slowly, gradually, his hand let go of her mouth, and he started stroking her, first her body, then her face. And the pain changed . . . she began to feel something similar to when Fadee held her hand once . . . except that it burst. The feeling sheâd had then was bursting in her now . . . and Mahmud seemed to be spinning around, it felt like everything was spinning around her. She closed her eyes at this sensation she had never experienced before, and when she opened them again she could make out his darkened face in the shadows. At that moment, she wanted to glue herself to him, to keep the thing inside her throbbing - she really wanted him now - but he pulled out.
Sitting up in bed beside her, he lit a cigarette and started to hum. Now she felt embarrassed, so she got up and asked him to get off the sheet. But when she tried to take a step, the soreness spread all the way down to her feet. Still, she took the sheet into the bathroom and came back to the bare bed.
He was still humming . . . But then he threw his cigarette to the floor, gathered her into his arms and started over again. This time she didnât feel any pain: it was different, he was different. This man, Mahmud, was tender now, kissing her face and neck . . . she wanted to kiss him back, but she felt shy . . . afraid somehow . . . and so she lay in his arms, lips closed and teeth clenched . . . And when he climbed off her for the second time, he didnât light a cigarette, he just rolled over and went to sleep.
And that is how she became Mahmudâs wife, and her name became Fatimah Fakhro. And even though he was no different than before the wedding, now she found him attractive - she wanted him to come to her in bed, and longed for the darkness to fall.
Why then did she begin to dread the nights and loathe the man when he climbed off her? Why did the pain return - she didnât dare tell anyone about it - and her belly start to swell? Children, thatâs why.
Fatimah said nothing. Then she burst into tears.
âListen to me, girl: youâre an orphan and this is for the best. Youâre not a child anymore, youâre sixteen, a young woman already . . . And youâll remain right here with us.â Fatimah was crying, and Mr. Mitri got up and patted the shoulder of the weeping Fatimah to comfort her.
Â
After that, everything happened very quickly. Mahmudâs sister came over and said Fatimah had to wear this white headwrap from now on. Then they took her to his brotherâs house, which was full of people she didnât know, and Mahmud sat next to her in the middle of the room. There was music, and everybody drank juice and ate sweets. Then everyone left and Fatimah returned to the building with him. When they entered the caretakerâs quarters, Fatimah stood expectantly as Mahmud closed the door behind them.
âTake off your clothes,â he ordered, and he turned out the lights and started to undress. Fatimah felt so scared her joints ached. He came up to her, clapped his hand over her mouth and started hitting her. Then he started circling around her, bobbing up and down on his feet and striking her. She tried to scream but his hand was still clamped over her mouth. She was ready to get down on her knees and kiss his hands, why was he hitting her so hard, and with that stick? Then he threw her to the ground, and began ripping off her clothes ... she wanted to tell him not to tear them . . . she would undress by herself, she knew what a man and a woman did when
they were married! But he just tore them off, raised her up toward him and, grunting and moaning, pushed in his thing. Despite the searing pain she felt, she didnât utter a cry - how could she, anyway, with his hand over her mouth - but she wanted to tell him to let go, so she could breathe. But he didnât. And that thing, oh God, the pain, the unbearable pain, it hurt so much . . . then slowly, gradually, his hand let go of her mouth, and he started stroking her, first her body, then her face. And the pain changed . . . she began to feel something similar to when Fadee held her hand once . . . except that it burst. The feeling sheâd had then was bursting in her now . . . and Mahmud seemed to be spinning around, it felt like everything was spinning around her. She closed her eyes at this sensation she had never experienced before, and when she opened them again she could make out his darkened face in the shadows. At that moment, she wanted to glue herself to him, to keep the thing inside her throbbing - she really wanted him now - but he pulled out.
Sitting up in bed beside her, he lit a cigarette and started to hum. Now she felt embarrassed, so she got up and asked him to get off the sheet. But when she tried to take a step, the soreness spread all the way down to her feet. Still, she took the sheet into the bathroom and came back to the bare bed.
He was still humming . . . But then he threw his cigarette to the floor, gathered her into his arms and started over again. This time she didnât feel any pain: it was different, he was different. This man, Mahmud, was tender now, kissing her face and neck . . . she wanted to kiss him back, but she felt shy . . . afraid somehow . . . and so she lay in his arms, lips closed and teeth clenched . . . And when he climbed off her for the second time, he didnât light a cigarette, he just rolled over and went to sleep.
And that is how she became Mahmudâs wife, and her name became Fatimah Fakhro. And even though he was no different than before the wedding, now she found him attractive - she wanted him to come to her in bed, and longed for the darkness to fall.
Why then did she begin to dread the nights and loathe the man when he climbed off her? Why did the pain return - she didnât dare tell anyone about it - and her belly start to swell? Children, thatâs why.
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