The next few months passed slowly. As Rosmerta’s middle expanded, her opportunities to slip away contracted. She didn’t really want to leave right now anyway. While she was pregnant, the women took care of her and didn’t expect her to perform the difficult chores. She still helped with meal preparation and did some light cleaning and that was about it. Mostly, she was required to rest and take good care of Bekir’s child—a boy, he always told her, though she was hoping for a girl. She wasn’t sure why. Girls’ lives were so restricted by customs. Boys had much more freedom. Maybe it was just because Bekir wanted a boy. In fact, no one seemed to want her to have a girl.
“A girl? Why would you want a girl?” taunted Sanya. “Boys will marry and bring women into the house to help us. Girls require constant training. And just when they become useful, they get married and run off to work for some other family.”
Rosmerta tried to ignore her and get on with mixing herbs into a thick yogurt.
Sanya wouldn’t let it go. “Girls are useless. They suck up all your time. Once boys grow up, they go out and help the men to bring home money. Girls need constant attention. They can never leave the house. You have to watch them all the time. Turn your back for a moment, and they make a mess. Say anything about it, and they start crying. They cry and they cry. They won’t stop. They scream and carry on for hours. You can’t stop them. They’re horrible.”
Bekir stormed into the kitchen. “What are you carrying on about? Don’t you ever shut up? I’ve had it with you!”
“You’re drunk again. Where have you been? You know alcohol is forbidden.”
“Oh, shut up, you old goat! You can’t forbid me.” Bekir reached for Sanya’s throat.
She ducked under his arm and stuck out her tongue.
Bekir swung his arm out wide, back-handing Sanya in the face.
Sanya staggered away from Bekir, blood flowing from her nose and mouth. She ran up the stairs, holding her hands to her face.
Bekir turned to Rosmerta. He stumbled, then moved towards her. He looked down at her belly and stopped. “What are you looking at?” he yelled, then stormed back out.
Rosmerta stood in shocked silence. She had never seen anyone drunk before. In spite of all the horrors she had endured, she didn’t think she had seen anyone quite this angry either—especially not someone she lived with. She knew that if she hadn’t been pregnant, she would have been Bekir’s next target. She returned to her yogurt. She was trembling with fear. Sanya didn’t seem surprised to see Bekir like this. Maybe this was normal for him. The more she thought about it, the more scared she became.
Muslims aren’t supposed to drink, but Bekir drank anyway. “You’re drunk again,” Sanya had said, as if this was not unusual for him.
I have to get out of here, Rosmerta thought. I have to get out of here now! It was time to find Boghos and leave. Food…she was supposed to be getting food ready.
From then on, while Rosmerta was helping Ferah prepare dinner, she considered every ingredient. Would this be a good thing to take? Would it spoil before she left? Rosmerta knew she should take beans and vegetables. She was worried about taking meat because someone would notice that. Nutritionally, though, isn’t that what they needed for a long walk?
Then there was the actual deed of stealing. How could she take anything without being caught? Wouldn’t Ferah notice that it was gone? How could she hide it? She would have to slip it into her clothing while Ferah wasn’t looking, then find a place to store everything until the time came. But where? Rosmerta didn’t know where to squirrel away her spoils. Therefore, there was no point in taking anything tonight.
As she tried to fall asleep that night, Rosmerta was furious with herself. For dinner, they had lamb with lentils and yogurt. It was almost the perfect meal, yet she had saved none of it. What was she waiting for?
Something better, thought Rosmerta. Better than lentils? There is nothing better than lentils. They are packed with nutrients. They store easily and are almost indestructible. What could be better?
The next night, Rosmerta helped Ferah prepare lettuce with fresh cut parsley in a sweet dressing with cracked wheat, diced tomatoes, onions, and olive oil. She had decided she would take a small amount of one thing every night. Tonight, it would be cracked wheat. That would be a sensible start. She separated a large pile of wheat into three piles as she’d been taught, making one a little bigger than the other two. When Ferah turned her back, Rosmerta took a cotton rag from under her shift and held it below the edge of the table in her left hand while using her right hand to sweep the excess portion from the third pile into it. She tied a knot in the rag and slipped it back into her shift. Rosmerta’s heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking, and she was sweating all over.
“Are you okay, honey?” Ferah asked when she turned around. “You look terrible.”
Rosmerta jumped and nearly knocked a jug of olive oil off the table. “Yes, yes I’m fine.” She directed her attention to her work, tossing the tomatoes and onions frantically, all the while feeling Ferah’s eyes on her. After what seemed like a very long time, Ferah got back to her own duties and Rosmerta tried to act normal. It was the longest night she could remember since the march.
The next day, when panic began to overwhelm her again, Rosmerta remembered eating bugs and grass and walking through fields of dead bodies. If she had to steal a little food to avoid that, then so be it.
She never got comfortable stealing, but every day it got a little easier. After a week, she had everything they would need except the meat. While preparing lamb kebabs, Rosmerta slipped a few pieces of lamb into an awaiting rag satchel.
“I saw that!” said Sanya, entering the house after fetching water from the well. “Now you’re in real trouble. You have no idea. Salim will be furious. He won’t tolerate stealing, especially not from you.”
Sanya grabbed Rosmerta by the arm and dragged her to Selim. She explained the situation to him while Rosmerta squirmed and awaited her fate. She wasn’t sure what was in store for her. But how bad could it really be? After all she had been through, what could they do to her that would compare to what she had already survived?
After hearing the story, Selim thought about it for a while. He scrutinized Rosmerta. “Is this true? Did you steal lamb from the family?”
Rosmerta nodded.
“Do you understand that meat is very difficult to come by right now? That we need everything we can get just to survive? Do you understand why Sanya is angry?”
Again, Rosmerta nodded.
“I know that you suffered greatly during the deportations. I know that you were deprived of the most basic of necessities. We understand,” he said, glancing at Sanya, “that because of the hardships you have endured you might feel the need to horde food and supplies. But it is not necessary. If we share what we have, there will be plenty for all of us. You are part of our family now, Kamelya. We won’t allow you to starve.”
Sanya snorted in disgust.
“You are Bekir’s wife, therefore it will be up to him to decide your punishment,” said Selim.
“I’m sure he will be fair. Now return to the kitchen and finish preparing dinner.”
Sanya smiled, her eyes sparkling with malice. All was not lost after all. Bekir would see reason and provide the discipline that his errant young wife needed.
That night, over dinner, Bekir learned about her treachery. He stayed calm and informed the others that he would deal with it. Sanya was fuming.
After eating, Bekir followed Rosmerta up to her room. He grabbed her arm and spun her around so she was looking at him. He slapped her hard across the face and pushed her against the wall. She fell to the floor. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled until Rosmerta was on her feet. Then Bekir threw Rosmerta across the room. She slammed into the wall face first and fell down backwards. She scurried back to her feet before Bekir could lift her by her hair again. He punched her in the face and threw her down. He grabbed her hair and pulled her up again. Bekir leaned in close until his nose was almost touching hers and screamed, “Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again! If I ever catch you stealing from me again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Rosmerta said nothing. Bekir slapped her again. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Rosmerta wailed.
“Good,” snarled Bekir. Then he punched her once more for good measure.
Rosmerta watched Bekir leave. Then she collapsed into a heap on the floor.
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A sharp pain in her abdomen woke Rosmerta. She gasped for air and rolled in agony, her knees pulled up to her chest. Ferah heard her scream and ran to help her. She tried to hold Rosmerta steady as she thrashed from side to side. Several drops of blood appeared between Rosmerta’s legs. Her pleading eyes looked at the blood then up into Ferah’s face and back to the blood. Fear gripped her as the spots of blood grew into puddles. A sudden shock of pain ripped through Rosmerta, followed by a fist-sized clot, and then relief.
“You lost the baby,” Ferah said.
The ache in her neck and jaw stopped Rosmerta from responding. Her left eye was swollen and black. She tried to get up. That hurt, too. Bekir’s beating was worse than she had thought.
Then she remembered Boghos. She needed to see him. How long would he wait for her before leaving Aleppo? Was he worried? Would he come looking for her? Did he even know where she lived? She hoped not. There was no telling what would happen to Boghos if he showed up at the house. Rosmerta tried to think of something else. Her hand moved instinctively to her face, bringing back the pain.
“Why?” It was the question that came to her mind most often these days. Why was she in Aleppo? Why was she married to a Muslim man? Why was she even alive? So many had died, yet here she was. Why her? Why not Shushawn? Shushawn was a better Christian then she ever was. Shushawn was dead. Why not her father? Megerdich was a better person than anyone she knew. He was dead. And what about baby Megerdich? What evil could a baby have committed? The baby was dead. And now her baby, too. She didn’t even have time to name him. Or maybe it was a girl. It didn’t matter. Her baby was dead like everyone else she knew.
Except for Boghos, she reminded herself. What if he had already left? Rosmerta began to cry. It was all so overwhelming, and so unfair.