Daughters of Iraq Read Online Free Page B

old, sat by the table and rolled the dough into tiny balls. They were making s ambusak bejiben , a cheese-filled pastry. Later, they’d fill some of the dough with dates and sprinkle it with sesame seeds. The sweet smell of these yeast cookies, or baba, would fill the room. The women fell silent as they concentrated on their tasks. Both focused on their own work, engrossed in their own thoughts.
    “From everything you’re telling me,” Noa said, returning to the topic of Farida’s sleeplessness, “it sounds serious. Maybe you should try warm milk. Or deep breathing, like they do in yoga.”
    “Nothing’s going to help,” Farida said, “it’s awful. Ya’allah ,forget it. There’s no point in discussing it.”
    “Well, if we’re pouring our hearts out,” Noa said. “If we’re talking about truth and feelings . . .” She spoke slowly, eyes averted, concentrating on her work, as if rolling little balls of dough was the most important thing she’d ever done. “I’ve been very unhappy lately. I don’t know what’s going on.”
    “As soon as I saw your face in the doorway I knew something wasn’t right,” Farida said. She raised her arms, then put her hands to her cheeks and shook her head from side to side. “My girl, a blessing on your head, why are you sad? What’s missing in your life? Maybe you should live with your father again? Maybe leaving home wasn’t such a good idea? You had everything you could ask for living there. And now you’ve left your father all alone. I’ve been saying for a long time that living by yourself in that apartment was a mistake.” She wagged her finger. “If you lived at home, your father could take care of you. He could cook and do your laundry. What’s so great about all this solitude, anyway?”
    “Maybe, Aunt Farida. I’ve thought about it; we’ll see.” Noa was losing patience. She hadn’t come to be lectured, and she certainly hadn’t meant to upset her aunt. She drew a deep breath. “It’s not as simple as you think. I miss Ima so much—every day I long for her more,” she said, eyes on the table. ”I’m asking myself questions, and I’m not getting answers. Do you understand?” Noa finally lifted her head, searching her aunt’s face. “I keep asking myself, where is she when I need her? I know it makes no sense.”
    “Not everything in life makes sense, Noa’le,” Aunt Farida said. “It is what it is, as the young people say,” she added, half smiling.
    “But do you understand? I feel like she disappeared too soon, like I don’t know enough about her, her family, you, your childhood. Ima didn’t talk about growing up. And I have my own feelings of guilt,” Noa said, pointing to her heart. “I feel like maybe I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.” Her voice was soft, and she spoke fast, as if worried she wouldn’t be able to speak if she slowed down.
    “What? Why are you tormenting yourself?” This conversation was hard for Farida, and she distracted herself by putting all her energy into rolling the dough into little balls. “You were in the army when your mother got sick. What could you have done?”
    “It’s true. I was in the army.” Noa looked her aunt in the face. She took a deep breath and forced herself to examine the whole truth, all at once. Let it all out , she told herself. Don’t keep anything inside your aching heart; tell Aunt Farida the whole thing before she has a chance to stop you. “I was in the army, but I was selfish. I should have asked to serve closer to home, but instead I ran away, ran from the sickness. I couldn’t stand watching her body deteriorate. Her beautiful face looked more and more sunken every time I saw her, like her eyes were about to meet, like her cheeks were stuck together. I couldn’t abide her trying to convince me everything was fine, that she was strong. I knew there was no chance she’d make it. It was just a matter of time. I can’t live with these thoughts all the