As Jabr sat in his car under the flickering light of the streetlamp on Istaqlal Street, his thoughts raced. The moment had come. The one he had fantasized about in the dark corners of his mind—paying off Al-Bader and Al-Faraj, two men who had kept him tethered to fear and debt. He envisioned their stunned faces, their shock as he handed over the cash—money they never thought he would gather, much less deliver voluntarily. In his imagination, the encounter would be his victory, his moment of triumph.
But this was no ordinary handover, not in the light of day or in the buzzing café where they might later boast of sinking another man. No, he had planned something more intimate, something more pointed. The street at night, catching them as they walked home after their regular community discussion group. Alone. Surprised. Vulnerable. He had arrived early, parked strategically, and waited, a simmering excitement rising within him.
The minutes ticked by until, finally, at 10:30, he spotted them. They ambled slowly up the street, locked in some conversation. Now was the time. Jabr took a deep breath, opened the car door, and stepped out in front of them, ready for his moment of triumph.
But instead of the shock he had anticipated, both men broke into wide grins.
“Jabr!” Al-Bader exclaimed, his voice rich with warmth, like they were old friends meeting after years apart. Before Jabr could respond, both men engulfed him in multiple kisses on the cheek, the kind reserved for close family.
“Jabr, Jabr,” Al-Faraj laughed, clasping Jabr’s shoulders, “we knew you would come through! You’ve finally become one of us, brother. I knew it.”
Jabr blinked, disoriented. ‘What is this?’ His mouth opened, but no words came. They weren’t supposed to react like this. Where was the fear? The humiliation?
Al-Faraj continued, ignoring Jabr’s confusion. “And Jabr, listen, if you’re thinking about taking a second wife, I have just the woman. My cousin—young, beautiful, bursting into womanhood – she’d be perfect for you. She’ll soon be fifteen. We must keep it all in the family now, eh?” His laughter filled the night air.
Jabr stood frozen. His carefully orchestrated moment of triumph was unraveling before his eyes.
Al-Faraj’s laughter died down, and he turned serious for a moment. “You look shocked, my friend. But come now, no need for that. We know everything. Your mother-in-law, Mary, is brilliant. She planned it all. And Akeem? He’s been in on it since the start.”
Jabr’s heart skipped a beat. Mary? What had she done?
“The cash,” Al-Bader gestured toward the two large sacks Jabr had in his trunk, “consider it your wedding gift. We accept it graciously.”
The world spun around Jabr. Wedding gift? That phrase again. Everything was backwards. He looked at the two men, their faces gleaming with satisfaction. “Mary…?” he managed to croak out.
Al-Bader chuckled, “She’s a sharp one, your mother-in-law. We’ve already set up a meeting at the Bank of Kuwait to introduce her to the right people. Don’t worry, she’s got this under control. More than you can imagine.”
Jabr stumbled toward the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out the bags. He handed one to each of them, his hands trembling. The weight of the money felt lighter than the weight of their words.
“Just… don’t tell my wife about Mary,” He muttered, unsure of what else to say. He was grasping for some semblance of control.
Al-Faraj laughed again. “Of course, of course. We know the things wives don’t need to know. We’re all family now. But the court date? That’s still on.”
Jabr blinked. “The court date?”
Al-Bader smirked. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Don’t worry, it’ll be a little… fun.”
Three days later, Jabr found himself standing in the Court of First Instance, surrounded by the very people he wanted to be rid of. Judge Hamdi, a man known for his sharp deals and lack of scruples, presided over the session with a smirk that made Jabr’s skin crawl.
“I need to see all parties in my chambers,” Hamdi declared, his eyes twinkling with the promise of something underhanded.
In the cramped chambers, Jabr stood alongside Al-Bader and Al-Faraj, who seemed entirely at ease. The court recorder was dismissed without a word, leaving them alone with Hamdi.
The judge leaned forward. “I have two propositions,” he said, his voice low. “For 10,000 rupees, from the two of you who hold the debt, I will impose an interest rate of three percent every six months on the principle. The trial will be on continuance as long as you like. Or,” he turned his attention to Jabr, “for the same amount, I’ll delay the trial for a year. You can buy another delay after that.”
Al-Faraj erupted into laughter, his voice echoing off the walls. “You old thief! We don’t need your help, nor will we give you a single rupee.”
Hamdi’s eyes widened, his face a mix of shock and rage. “I can have you arrested!”
“For what?” Al-Bader grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Our friend here has paid his debt in full.”
Hamdi’s jaw dropped as Al-Faraj’s laughter grew louder. “Get out of my court,” the judge hissed, his face turning red.
Still laughing, the two men stood, nodding to Jabr as if nothing unusual had happened. “You see, Jabr,” Al-Faraj said as they walked out, “you’re one of us now. And remember—pick the right second wife, and you’ll truly be part of the family.”
Jabr followed them in silence, his mind spinning. What had just happened? His world, his carefully laid plans, had unraveled. He had thought paying his debt would free him, but instead, it seemed to have bound him even tighter to a web he didn’t understand.
As they his two former enemies proceeded on their way, Jabr realized one thing—this was far from over. And somehow, Mary was at the center of it all again.
Jabr’s qualms deepened as he realized that the matters with Mary and Jomana might be far more complicated than he anticipated. The tension he now perceived centered on his desire to rectify the situation and the fact that others around him, especially Jomana, might not share his urgency.
He drove back to the apartment feeling the weight of so many mixed feelings—thankful for the blessings, but apprehensive about the matters that remained unresolved. The relief of his debts being paid was hollowed out by the growing concern over the situation with Mary. What he thought he was fixing had only worsened, unraveling faster than he could control. His mind replayed the absurd interaction with Al-Bader and Al-Faraj, almost comical in its dysfunction but serious in its implications. It haunted him. And now, he was withholding the full truth from both Jomana and Janiah. He could feel Janiah’s perceptive gaze; she had always been able to tell when things weren’t right. There was so much left to untangle about all this with Dandy too, but that would have to wait. The Mary issue had to be addressed first. But what could he reveal? What should he?
When he arrived back at the apartment, it was quiet. Mary was nowhere to be seen, and Jomana was out shopping. The baby was asleep, and Janiah was busy cleaning, as usual. Yet, something was different—her movements were slower, and tears silently streamed down her face.
“Janiah, what’s wrong?” he asked, moving to sit beside her. “My debt’s been paid. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Janiah wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve but didn’t meet his gaze. “I shouldn’t be sad,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. “There are so many blessings. I should be thankful.”
Jabr reached across the table, gently taking her hands. “You have every right to feel however you feel. What is it?”
She looked away, staring into the distance as if her memories were projected on the apartment walls. “It’s everything, Jabr. I’m old, and I thought I’d seen everything. But now… now it feels like the world’s been turned upside down.” She paused, a silence settling between them. “I remember when your grandparents first arrived in Kuwait, lost and unable to fend for themselves. I helped them. I protected them. Back then, Kuwait was so different—no oil, no cars, no outsiders. We lived in that old house by the sea. Now… now it’s gone, just like that life. Lost to the sand.”
Jabr squeezed her hands gently. “You’ve done everything for me, for Jomana. You’ve held us together.”
She shook her head slowly. “You would have managed without me. I helped where I could, but it’s not the same anymore. Your father, Pliny, my daughter Khadijah, you mother, your brother Fadel… I watched you boys fight like lions, and I was the one who broke it up.” She finally looked at him, eyes gleaming with more unshed tears. “But I’m from a different world, Jabr. I’m part of old Kuwait, the desert, my Bedouin roots. I can’t even drive.”
Jabr gave her a sad smile. “I could teach you.”
Her tearful laughter broke the heaviness of the moment for a second. “Oh, I don’t want to learn,” she admitted. “I’m too old to change. I don’t know my age. I was born on the desert, and they never recorded such things. But it’s not just that. There’s Mary. We can’t ignore what’s happening with her. You know that.”
Jbar froze. “How… how did you know?”
Janiah raised an eyebrow. “It’s obvious. Al-Bader and Al-Faraj are always lurking around like vultures. Where do you think Mary is now? She’s at the bank with them.”
Jabr dropped his head into his hands, feeling the weight of it all. “Does Jomana know?” he asked, dreading the answer.
Janiah shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her. But I don’t think it would bother her much. She’s lived her whole life with Mary doing these things. She might just see it as part of the way things are.”
That thought hit Jabr like a punch to the gut, but before he could respond, the door opened, and Jomana swept in, arms laden with shopping bags. She beamed, setting down her load—a new haul of clothes and decorations for the apartment.
“Look at all this!” she exclaimed; her excitement palpable. “I found the perfect things for the baby, and you won’t believe how cheap it all was.”
Jabr forced a smile as he stood and hugged her, planting a brief kiss on her forehead. “Where’d you get the money for all this? Was there a sale at the souk?”
“No sale,” she laughed lightly. “My mother gave me some rupees. You know how she is.”
Jabr felt his stomach drop. He took a deep breath and nodded toward the table. “We need to talk.”
Jomana’s smile faltered as she noticed the serious tone in his voice. Slowly, she sat, folding her hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”
“It’s about your mother,” Jabr began carefully. “I thought… I thought we’d cut off all the financial arrangements. The illicit dealings. But it looks like she’s back at it again. This time, with the local banks and Al-Bader, Al-Faraj… I don’t know how to stop it.”
Jomana raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. “Why do we need to stop it? It’s her life, Jabr. She’s always had her own way of handling things.”
“You knew?” His voice was low, disbelief creeping in.
Jomana shrugged, her tone casual. “Not for sure, but I suspected. It’s how she’s always done things. I lived with it for years.”
Jbar stared at her, realizing that this was a hurdle he hadn’t anticipated. He had thought that by revealing the truth, they could find a way to move forward together. But here was Jomana, calm and unbothered by the very thing that tore at him inside.
“I don’t know if I can live with that,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Jomana’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t respond. The room seemed to echo with the tension that now hung between them.
By the next morning, neither Jabr nor Jomana had found much rest. They lay in bed, each heavy with unspoken thoughts, when Jomana broke the silence.
“Let’s visit Dandy and show them the baby,” she suggested, her voice thick with the weight of sleeplessness but softened by hope. “He and his wife seemed so contented the last time we saw them. And you said you owed Dandy more than you could ever repay. Maybe it’ll ease your mind and lead to more healing.
Jabr, exhausted and burdened by the thoughts that had been gnawing at him all night, nodded. The idea of visiting Dandy, of being around people who seemed settled and whole, appealed to him more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah… it’s been a while,” he said, the edges of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Maybe more could be settled between him and Dandy. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Ahmadi was blessedly quiet, the endless desert stretching out on either side. They passed a few scattered herds of sheep and the occasional camel, but the newer oil wells dominated the landscape, signaling the relentless progress of the world around them. As they neared the town, Jabr noted how much had changed. The streets were lined with freshly built ranch-style houses, each one a symbol of the new wealth the oil brought in.
When they turned into Dandy’s driveway, they were greeted by the sight of his two children, splashing gleefully in the spray of a garden hose. Bassema, Dandy’s wife, stood nearby, supervising them with a watchful eye. She had adopted the Western-style clothing of her neighbors, her figure sharp and angular, her long black hair tied in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Jabr had always found her presence striking—so far from her Bedouin roots, yet so sure in her transformation. He swallowed hard, unsure of how to greet her.
“Jabr! Jomana!” Dandy’s voice broke through his thoughts. Dandy had just come in from the oil fields, and his worn face lit up when he saw them. “Come on in! I was just about to change, but you know what? Let’s have a barbecue. It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper visit.”
“Sounds perfect,” Jabr replied, grateful for the easy warmth in Dandy’s welcome.
As Dandy disappeared to change out of his greasy work clothes, Jabr and Jomana settled into the calm atmosphere of their friend’s home. There was something about the smell of the charcoal heating up, the sound of the kids laughing in the background—it reminded Jabr of simpler times. For a while, they all talked about light things, family things. But as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Jabr felt the familiar weight returning to his chest. He knew he couldn’t keep holding back.
“Dandy, there’s so much on my mind,” he finally admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “I feel like I’m bursting at the seams.”
Dandy looked up from the grill, his expression relaxed but curious. “Whatever it is, Jabr, just say it. We’re good, you and me.” His forgiveness exceeded Jabr’s expectations.
Jabr hesitated for a moment, then the words came tumbling out. “Dandy, I still haven’t forgiven myself for that mission. East India… I almost got you killed. I was greedy. The Japanese were circling, and I ignored the danger. It’s been eating at me ever since.”
Dandy shook his head slowly, his smile fading into something more serious but still gentle. “Jabr, we’ve been over this. It’s in the past. I forgave you a long time ago, and I’ve moved on. We were both different men back then. And I’m sorry I’ve been stiff with you. I just got carried away over Harlan. I couldn’t keep being angry.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever move on from it, I’m not sure I’m different” Jabr muttered aloud, rubbing the back of his neck. The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable.
Dandy broke it by flipping the chicken over the grill. “Speaking of the past, how’s the debt going? Last time we talked, you were struggling.”
Jabr exhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on the glowing coals beneath the grill. “The debt’s gone. But I didn’t do anything to clear it. It just… resolved itself. I can only say it was the Lord’s doing, not a miracle, but close.”
Dandy raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Well, that’s something to be thankful for.” He smiled as he turned to the chicken, which was starting to crisp up nicely. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat.”
They gathered around the small table outside, Bassema bringing the children over. As they sat down, Dandy offered a short prayer, his voice low and sincere. The children folded their hands, their innocent imitation of their father drawing quiet smiles from the adults.
After they ate, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Jabr found himself speaking again, unable to stop the flood of thoughts. “The debt’s gone, but I don’t know if I can provide for my family the way I need to. The money from the mission… it’s just not enough. I keep thinking, what if I can’t give Jomana and the baby the life they deserve?”
Dandy put down his fork and looked at Jbar with steady eyes. “You’re doing everything you can, Jabr. I know that. Sometimes we just have to trust that things will work out, even when we can’t see how. The Lord’s already taken care of the debt, right?”
Jabr nodded, though the doubt still lingered in his heart. “Yeah. I suppose… the Lord’s got the rest figured out too.”
“He does.” Dandy smiled and reached out, taking Jabr’s hand firmly. “And you’re not alone in this. If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Jabr returned the gesture, taking Dandy’s hand in his and feeling a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders. Maybe he wasn’t as alone in this as he had thought. But one thing sure, Dandy was a better man than he.
The evening closed with Dandy and Bassema. Peace reigned in that place.
Jomana sat in the car seat on the return trip, her right arm resting on the open window, eyes fixed on the desert landscape rolling past. The orange glow of the setting sun softened everything, but inside, her thoughts were etched on her serious, unsmiling expression. The baby’s soft breath filled the silence from the backseat.
“You know, it’s hard to go back to that little apartment,” she finally said, her voice strained but controlled. “The baby and I need more room.”
Jabr’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, though his expression barely flickered. How could she bring this up now? After everything? He sighed, a half-hearted apology slipping out. “I’m sorry.”
Jomana turned her head slightly, not enough to meet his eyes, but enough to signal she wasn’t satisfied. “Are you really sorry? Or have you been so relieved to get rid of your debt that you’ve forgotten me?” Her voice didn’t rise, but each word struck harder than the last.
He blinked, stung by her words but unwilling to let it spiral. Fighting about money—it always came back to money. “Let’s just concentrate on the next few days,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “We’ve so much to be thankful for. We’re debt-free. You and the baby are healthy.”
Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t what she needed. The silence that followed was heavy, like the desert air pressing in.
“But how do we make things better, Jabr? You don’t have a plan?” Her left hand moved to her mouth, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.
A plan? He had no idea where to begin. “In the past, I thought I had a plan,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the road. “But it was all fiction. Something I told myself to keep going.” His voice softened. “It seems too simple to say, but maybe God had the real plan all along.”
Jomana shook her head, staring out the window again. “Sounds like you’re back at church.”
Her words were meant to sting, and they did. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “Alright,” he said, challenging her. “What should I do now?”
“Jabr, that’s your job.” She sounded exhausted, like the weight of her words had taken more out of her than she intended. “Just… take care of us. Like my father did for my mother and me.”
That comparison made his stomach knot. Did she really mean that? He glanced over at her for a second. It had to be the exhaustion speaking, the weight of new motherhood pressing down. Silence fell over the car again.
He didn’t look at her again until the headlights of oncoming cars flickered over her face, catching the trail of a tear on her cheek. He wanted to reach for her hand, but something stopped him. What could he say now?
By the time they pulled into the apartment complex, the tension between them was thick and unspoken. There were more cars in the lot than usual, and music—loud, pulsing Indian music—spilled from the open windows of their neighbors’ apartments.
“The baby’s not going to be able to sleep,” Jomana muttered as she unbuckled her seatbelt, her tone sharp with fatigue. “And neither are we.”
“I could go down to the souk and buy some earplugs,” Jabr offered weakly, but even he knew how ridiculous it sounded as soon as he said it.
“Jabr!” She shot him a look that could cut through steel.
As they walked toward the building, the smell of curry hit them like a wall. Jomana groaned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m going to be sick. I have first call on the bathroom.”
He opened the door, letting her storm past him inside. The apartment felt smaller than ever.
An hour later, Mary burst into the apartment with an excitement that was hard to ignore. “You need to come down and see my new car!” Her voice was filled with a giddy energy, almost childlike in her enthusiasm.
Jomana immediately grabbed the baby, a soft smile lighting her face as she headed toward the stairs. “Let’s go, honey,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway down. Jabr followed more slowly, his face betraying his reluctance. Janiah, ever watchful, brought up the rear with a knowing glance at Jabr.
Downstairs, parked across two spaces, gleaming like a jewel in the light, was a red and white Cadillac Coup de Ville. The car looked larger than life, its polished chrome reflecting the sky, and still without a license plate.
“Oh my, Mom!” Jomana exclaimed; her eyes wide as she took in the sight. “It’s wonderful! I’ve never seen one like it, anywhere.”
Mary beamed; her chest puffed up with pride. “It’s the first one in Kuwait,” she declared, her voice thick with satisfaction. The Cadillac was more than just a car; it was a statement.
They all piled into the leather seats—red and white to match the exterior, the smell of new leather overwhelming. Mary, her hands gripping the oversized steering wheel, revved the engine with more excitement than experience. As they pulled out of the parking lot, she accidentally nudged the curb, startled by the car’s size.
Jomana’s laughter filled the car. “Mother, it’s amazing! It doesn’t even feel like a normal car.”
Jabr sat silently in the back, his jaw tight. He stared out the window, avoiding the excited chatter around him. He could feel Jomana’s eyes on him.
“Jabr?” she prompted, her voice a little too bright. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
His voice came out in a soft murmur. “Oh my, yes.” Then, like a shadow, he retreated into silence again.
They drove for thirty minutes, circling the city, the Cadillac drawing admiring looks and waves from passersby. Jomana and Mary waved back, basking in the attention. Jabr did not. He felt like an outsider in his own life.
When they finally returned to the apartment, Jomana’s mood had lifted, her earlier frustrations temporarily forgotten. Jabr, however, felt heavier with every step he took back up the stairs. Could he contain himself much longer? The questions were piling up, his suspicions gnawing at him.
Later that night, as they lay in bed, he turned to Jomana, his voice low but insistent. “Where do you think she got the money?”
Jomana flung her hands down on the sheets in exasperation. “We’re not going to do this now, are we?”
Jabr sighed, but the silence only lasted a moment. “No, but sometime, we need to.”
Jomana let out a frustrated breath but said nothing more.
The next day, peace had returned between them, at least for the moment. Janiah, ever the optimist, sensed the calm and built on it during breakfast. “I still can’t believe how blessed we’ve been,” she said, her voice warm and steady. “Jomana, the baby, our clean financial balance sheet. And here we are, together, sharing a meal. Jabr’s not in debtor’s prison.”
Jabr, eager to shift the conversation to safer ground, nodded quickly. “Amen to that. We have so much to be thankful for.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jomana smiled too, though hers seemed more out of habit than conviction.
As breakfast ended, Jabr got ready to leave for work. Before heading out, he noticed Mary returning to the apartment, a suspicious glint in his eye. He intercepted her before she reached the stairs.
“Mary,” he began cautiously, “I know Jomana was thrilled with the car. But I need to ask, how can you afford something like that? With the importation fees, it must’ve cost at least 10,000 rupees.”
Mary waved him off with a laugh. “Never mind that. The Bank of Kuwait considers me a prime customer now. It’s nothing for you to worry about, nor for Jomana.”
Jabr’s concern deepened. Could he remain silent? Was it even safe to have her in his home with these suspicions swirling around him? Egyptian authorities had already sniffed out one scheme. What if she brought trouble to them?
Mary disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jabr standing in the dust of her confidence.
Later that day, after receiving his modest paycheck, Jabr decided to do something for Jomana. He called Janiah to watch the baby and invited his wife out to dinner.
At the restaurant, Jomana was radiant in a close-fitting black dress that felt a little bold for Kuwait, but she didn’t seem to care. They sat in the back, tucked away from the world. For the first time in a while, Jabr saw her genuinely smile.
As they ate, the conversation turned, as it always seemed to, toward Mary. Jabr broke the silence first. “Jomana, I feel awful about the confusion your mother has caused us. I want to move forward… but are we together on this?”
Jomana’s smile faded slightly. “I don’t really know what’s going on with her,” she admitted, her voice hesitant.
He sighed, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sure she’s involved in currency exchange again, with a high-profit margin. It’s risky. We need to be careful.”
Jomana’s eyes hardened slightly. “What if she is? What can we do about it? I love my mother, Jabr. That’s all there is to it.”
Jabr felt a knot form in his chest. “Can we leave it there? In peace?” He reached across the table for her hand. “But we must make sure we’re not involved.”
Jomana considered him for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, that works.”
She smiled, placing her hand in his. For now, that was enough. But Jabr couldn’t shake the feeling that this peace was fragile, and the storm was far from over. But he ended the conversation with, “I can be at peace with it if you can.”
