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When, afterward, I had sat on
    a mat to eat and felt foolish myself, I realized why the women
    had found Selma’s and Alwiyah’s first venture at table
    amusing. Traditionally, to eat alone, served by one’s host, is
    an honor, but Selma, sensing my discomfort, was doing things
    my way. She nibbled a bit of meat, taking a spoonful of this
    and that, enjoying herself and the audience reaction hugely.
    Alwiyah did not; she smiled regularly and made polite
    remarks, but was apparently too bound by custom to eat a
    mouthful.
    The table was covered with ten or twelve different dishes:
    kebab and grilled kidneys; a salad of hard-boiled eggs,
    potatoes and beets; half a chicken in tomato sauce; mashed
    greens; two kinds of rice, one topped with a crisp crust, one
    mixed with nuts and raisins, chopped carrots and bits of
    chicken liver. There was a pitcher of watered yogurt to drink,
    and for dessert I was offered a soup plate of heavy white
    cornstarch pudding with an odd, but not unappetizing, flavor.
    “It is rose water,” said Alwiyah.
    Every time I paused, Alwiyah would urge me to eat more,
    but I finally laid down my spoon.
    “You have eaten nothing,” scolded Alwiyah, and Selma put
    another kidney on my plate. But I was determined, and in spite
    of haranguing from the women (a matter of form, I discovered
    later) I stood up and we returned to the bedroom where the
    servant brought the washbasin and ewer again.
    The crowd had already gathered for the second round, and
    the air seemed more relaxed now as I successfully finished
    washing. We were just beginning to nod and smile at each
    other again when the sound of a man’s voice outside sent the
    women and children scurrying away like a flock of frightened
    chickens. I was left alone in the room with Selma, who
    hurriedly donned her abayah and ran out the door, leaving me
    alone in the room.
    I had no idea what was going on, or what was expected of
    me. Should I, too, don my abayah? Should I leave? Should I
    get under the bed? Before I had time to rise, Selma was back,
    rummaging in the cupboard for a heavy rifle and a full
    cartridge belt, which she handed out the door. The man’s
    voice said something else, and she returned to me.
    “The sheik and your husband are going partridge hunting,”
    she said. “Do you want to go home now or stay until they
    come back? Do stay,” she added.
    I wasn’t sure what arrangements were involved, but staying
    seemed the easiest course of action. The man’s footsteps died
    away and in a moment the women and children trooped back
    in and Selma took off her abayah once more.
    “Ahlan, ahlan wusahlan,” they repeated.
    The silence was broken by the arrival of the servant with a
    tray of tea glasses. Selma served me herself, and then offered
    tea to Kulthum and to Bahiga, the other wives of the sheik.
    Both were much older than Selma: Bahiga light-skinned with
    big wide-open gray eyes, her face beginning to show wrinkles,
    Kulthum wrinkled and old enough to be Selma’s mother.
    “Where is your mother?” Kulthum asked. I told her she was
    in America far away, and when Selma repeated this in a better
    accent, the women clucked in sympathy.
    “Poor girl,” they said. “Poor child.”
    To be alone without any of one’s womenfolk was clearly
    the greatest disaster which could befall any girl. I rummaged
    in my wallet … unfortunately no picture of my mother, but I
    came on one of Bob and handed it to Kulthum. She seized on
    it and passed it around to the other women, who examined the
    picture from every angle and finally pronounced him hilu
    [handsome].
    “But why didn’t he let your mother come with you?”
    persisted Kulthum. I was at a loss to explain, but Selma
    interrupted with another question.
    “Do you have any children inside you—here?” she pointed
    to her stomach.
    “No.”
    “No?”
    I said I had only been married for six months.
    “Enshallah , you will have one soon,” said Kulthum, and
    patted my hand.