Free Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz Page A

the one with the food. And at first it was really nice. You know how aunts are. They pamper you, feed you, ask about you: what’s going on, when you’re getting married. Then out of nowhere they give you a diary you didn’t know existed and send you home with enough food for a week.”
    “So far it doesn’t sound so bad. What are you complaining about? At least we have Iraqi food, and we don’t have to cook. So she asked you when you’re getting married? For a week’s worth of food, that doesn’t seem like such a high price to pay.” There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and he was smiling. “Wait a second.” He cut himself off. “Did you say a diary? Whose? Yours?”
    “No, Ofir, not mine. It was my mother’s,” Noa whispered.
    “Wow,” Ofir muttered, this time without a trace of humor. “That’s really something.” He hung his head. “So?” he said. “What did it say?” When she didn’t respond, he asked softly, “Did you have a chance to read any of it?”
    “No, I couldn’t bring myself to read it. I don’t think I’m strong enough right now.”
    “I understand,” he said. After a moment, he corrected himself. “Actually, no, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to read it . . . I mean, you don’t look particularly weak. I’m tripping over myself here, but I guess what I’m saying is that you are really a very strong human being.”
    “Thank you, Ofir. You’re a good friend.” She smiled. “It’s just that right now, I feel like my whole life is turning upside-down.”
    “You don’t seem to be standing on your head,” he said.
    “Enough.” Noa was losing patience. “I’m really not in the mood for your humor.”
    Ofir took hold of Noa’s hands, pressed them to his chest, and said, “I understand how hard things are, and to complicate them even further, I will ask you a difficult and enigmatic question: would Mademoiselle Rosen be so kind as to accompany me to a geek party at the moshav next Friday?”
    “Ofir, you are such a character,” Noa said, laughing. “A geek party at an agricultural settlement? I have no idea how you do it,”
    “Look, I made you smile,” Ofir said, beaming.
    “Which moshav ?”
     
    “Up in the Sharon Valley—what, you think it matters which one? All those farming villages look the same to me.”
    “What can I say, Ofir? As tempting and exciting as it sounds, accompanying you to a geek party somewhere up north . . . no, I’m afraid not.”
    “And if I beg you to come with me, then will you agree? The truth is I asked about half the women in the city,” he said, “and nobody wanted to come with me, so as you can see, I’m truly desperate . . .” His smile was hard to resist.
    “Okay, if you beg, I’ll come.” Noa laughed.
    “Well, I’m begging. Should I get down on my knees?”
    “No,” Noa said, “but if you make me a cup of coffee, the way I like it, I’ll call it even.” She couldn’t understand how Ofir always managed to lift her spirits.
    He didn’t mention the diary again, and neither did Noa. She lay awake half the night trying to decide what to do. She put the diary under her pillow, and it felt like her mother was with her, keeping company, watching over her. Noa feared what she might find inside the journal. She was afraid of guilt that might consume her, of discovering a different mother than the one she had known. She wondered if perhaps she should just enjoy her mother’s presence and be content with that. There, under the pillow, lay something that contained her mother’s entire world.
     
    Ehud
     
    The next morning, Noa woke up with a peculiar feeling. It seemed like the diary under her pillow had lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. She stretched her limbs luxuriously and looked out the window at the street below. Warm sun rays caressed her face.
    Noa smiled. She leaned on the windowsill, thinking that the world was beautiful. She had finished her exams and could finally engage in