Free Three Daughters: A Novel by Consuelo Saah Baehr

random evil. That makes it worse.”
    “You weren’t the master of your fate?” she asked in a soft, sympathetic voice. She remembered that conversation in the beginning of their marriage when he told her laughingly that he would intervene with fate to bring wealth into their lives. As she considered her husband’s once trusting face, now twisted with disappointment, she felt a battle within herself as well. She wanted to believe in him, but it was difficult. Perhaps he was wrong not to go back to his trade.
    She was against his going again, but his dark determination kept her from speaking her mind. A few days later when she saw him gathering more merchandise, she handed him a gun. “My father brought this for you. He says you shouldn’t go again without it.”
    “I don’t want a gun. The idea of killing someone . . . I don’t know. Perhaps it’s better not to have a weapon.”
    “Please, Nadeem, take it.” And when he still hesitated: “Do it because I ask it of you.”
    “All right.” He brought her against him and buried his face in her hair. She became aware of his unique smell and the way he felt against her when they were upright—his shoulder blades, the strength of his arms. It was so seldom that they touched each other outside of the bedroom, even to say good-bye. He took the gun and slipped it inside his wide belt. “I’ll take it because you want me to.”
    In late fall of 1900, the sirocco lasted three weeks. Each morning the clouds collected in dark groups above the mountaintops. On the worst day, the wind formed into columns and coated every surface with grit. Miriam, alone and seven months pregnant, couldn’t shake the feeling that evil was in store. She tried to dispel her anxiety by giving her precious room a thorough cleaning. She removed the furniture to do a better job. She placed the brine pots and store jars out last, covering the mouths with linen and intending to bring them in quickly. She dry washed the smooth walls from ceiling to floor and did the same to the floors, feeling gratified to see the beautifully fitted stones free of dust. She rolled up the straw mats and beat them over a line that Nadeem had strung between two trees in the back.
    In the midst of replacing the rugs, she heard a scream from the courtyard. Khalil, who had learned to pull himself upright and take a few steps, had fallen and skinned his knee. It wasn’t a serious scrape but a pebble had become embedded in the softness of his flesh and removing it caused bleeding and heightened her apprehension. She washed the wound and spent the next half hour restraining him from going outside to dirty it again. She felt less anxious indoors, away from the angry weather, and they lay down together on her bed and both fell asleep.
    As the sun was setting, Nadeem returned from one of his trips. He was more exhausted than usual, dragging one foot after the other as if the next step would be his last. He neared the house and was greeted by a rancid stench so powerful he walked around to find the source. It was the cheese that was causing the worst odor, but the coverings had blown off all the food jars and the contents were covered with a scum of brownish-gray dust.
    “Miriam!” He began calling while still outside. He had never raised his voice to her, but the sight of so much waste appalled him. “Miriam!”
    She awoke disoriented and felt for Khalil, who had drifted to the end of the bed. The bandage was blood soaked and had stained the bed covering.
    “Miriam!” What now? Another accident? She didn’t remember ever hearing that urgent quality in her husband’s voice. The room was still in disarray, rugs half-rolled, the bins in the middle of the room. “Look at this!” Nadeem was holding one of the cheese pots. “Have you lost your senses? Why would you put food outdoors in this weather? What were you thinking of?”
    She couldn’t answer him. A wave of humiliation began at the front of her head and spread