Daughters of Iraq Read Online Free Page A

turn into a prince? I like that idea. Now that I think about it, most of the men I’ve known were frogs, too. A couple were princes, including your father, God protect him. Do you know I saw him yesterday at Uncle Anwar’s house? He is a good man, your father. I hear he’s taking a class in geography, and sometimes you two meet between classes?”
    “That’s true,” Noa said. She picked up her fork and took a bite, surprised and relieved the Barak conversation was over. “We do meet from time to time, and it’s great we have new topics to discuss. He’s quite the student,” she said. “He never misses a lecture. You won’t believe his latest kick: he wants to earn a doctorate in geography— Ima ’s field—and complete her research.”
    “Are you serious? I had no idea. Good for him,” Farida said.
    “You know, it’s really nice to see him there,” Noa said. “He’s smiling again. He looks much younger.”
    “Good,” Farida said, “very good. I’m happy for him. It’s time he started looking for a wife, don’t you think?” She grinned.
    “It is time, but you know how it is. At that age, it’s not so simple.”
    “Tell me about it!” Farida said. “I’m in the same predicament.”
    Noa felt uncomfortable. It would be difficult seeing her father with another woman. “So what’s new with you, Aunt Farida?” Noa looked at her aunt’s large hands. “Look how rude I’m being, I haven’t even complimented you on your delicious okra. The crust is amazing. Gute , gute ,like my grandmother would say. Just how I like it. We’ve been talking about me this whole time. What’s going on in your life? How are Sigali and the kids? I haven’t seen them in ages.”
    “Bless God’s name forever and ever, may his name be blessed, I can’t complain,” Farida said, staring at the kitchen ceiling and shaking her hands toward heaven. “Look, I’m keeping busy, as you can see. I couldn’t even make it to the hairdresser, and tomorrow Sigali’s taking half a day’s vacation and bringing the kids for a visit. Can you believe that Ruthie’s in second grade already? You should see this little slip of a girl reading and writing like the devil. And Shai is in his last year of preschool, driving his teacher crazy. Did you know he has a male teacher this year?”
    “What? A man teaching preschool?”
    “That’s right. You don’t need breasts to enter the profession anymore. He’s a fantastic teacher,” Farida said. “He takes the kids on nature walks, teaches them plant names. He knows all the songs, and on Pesach (Passover) he taught the kids how to stomp grapes and make wine.”
    “Nice,” Noa said, impressed.
    “But while we’re on the subject of me,” Farida said, “it’s not easy living alone. The days are one thing, I keep busy, but the nights . . .” She tried to recline, but her corpulent body slid forward on the seat, and she couldn’t get comfortable.
    “I can’t fall asleep at night,” said Farida. “The nights go on forever—they have a beginning, but no end. I go to bed as late as I can, I watch the late shows, and I still can’t fall asleep. I wander the house like a sleepwalker. I have no idea what’s going on . . . maybe it’s my age or the approach of summer . . . maybe it’s the heat.” She looked at Noa’s plate. “You ate everything, a blessing on your head—come, let’s clean up and start baking.”
    Aunt Farida stood and walked to the counter, which was covered with delicious food. She bent to pick up the huge platter that sat beside the neat rows of spices; her house dress rose, reavealing a pair of thick legs. She rummaged around one of the shelves for the baking implements she’d had for so many years. After clearing the table, Farida put down the yeasty dough that had already risen. Taking pleasure in its appearance, in its very presence, she rolled it into a log and split it into two pieces, one of which she gave to Noa. The two women, one young, one