Free Three Daughters: A Novel by Consuelo Saah Baehr Page A

like a wash of shameful paint over her body. “I was cleaning,” she offered softly. He looked so dirty and bedraggled she barely recognized him. His eyes looked haunted and the pupils were unnaturally large.
    “Cleaning what? All the cheese for the winter is ruined. All the work for nothing.” He went out of the house and began dumping the contents of each pot, repeating the words a waste of money, a waste of time . Miriam held his arm but he shrugged her off so violently she had to grab his shirt not to fall. “Please wait!” But he wasn’t listening. With unusual strength he was able to lift the largest jars and fling their contents to the winds. Within minutes all of their winter’s stores—the lentils and wheat, the olives and cheese, the olive oil, the pickled vegetables, the beans, the dried fruit—everything was strewn over the parched earth.
    At that time of year, the flocks had been driven far inland looking for ever-vanishing greenery and water. A little later, the milk would be needed for the newborn in the flock. Goat’s milk would remain virtually unavailable until early December. Almost in mockery, the wind changed direction and velvety warmth caressed their skin. Nadeem’s spent anger and fatigue were palpable. It was more than the loss of the food. Miriam wanted to help him but instead—oh, God, almost against her will—she also wanted to make it worse.
    “You’re one to talk of waste,” she began in a breathless voice. “I made a mistake. Khalil was hurt and I became distracted, but I didn’t willfully send merchandise to a stranger with no hope of being paid for it. I didn’t do anything that foolish.” As she was uttering the words, her heart was sinking in sorrow. It was exactly this recrimination that had seemed so cruel coming from Umm Jameel.
    Instead of angering him, the accusation made him calm. “I should not have been so harsh,” he said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have scolded you except that I’m unusually tired and the walk home in these dust storms is almost unbearable. But as for your opinion that I acted like a fool, you’re mistaken. M. Freneau will pay for the merchandise and generously, too. Where I have been a fool is in expecting my wife to have understanding and loyalty. That’s where I was cheated.” With this he walked toward the house. It was only when they were both back inside and she had begun the fire for tea that she saw the gash on his cheek and another on his arm, which was bulging at an odd angle. “You’re hurt.” She sucked in her breath at a loss as to what to do first.
    “I was attacked at Abu Ghush,” he said dully. “Three of them against me, but they didn’t kill me, which is a blessing. However,” he added in a quivering voice, “I killed one of them.” She put his face next to her breasts and inspected the wound as if he were a child. “It needs cleaning.” She went in search of a clean rag and water and dabbed at the wound repeatedly until he cried out in pain.
    “Gently,” he admonished. “No need to scrub it.”
    “ Ya Allah,” she said tearfully. “I’m sorry.”
    He fell asleep as she worked on him and she had to drag him to the bed and arrange him. He slept almost twenty hours, during which she ran in frequently to watch over him. When he had slept himself out, he prepared to walk to Bethel to see if they could still use a mason for the Franciscan building. “I have to go back to masonry, after all,” he said. “I want to live to see our new child.” His voice had the leaden evenness of defeat.
    “You’ll think of something else,” she said reassuringly, but it sounded hollow. “Perhaps at another time of year it won’t be so dangerous.”
    “I have no heart to risk the road,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “It isn’t a good idea for a man who wants to remain alive.”
    Miriam baked fresh bread for his food pack at dawn. She stood on the dusty road and looked after him until he was