Love in a Torn Land by Jean Sasson

Author:Jean Sasson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781118110935
Publisher: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Published: 2011-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

Joanna and Sarbast on day 1 of their honeymoon in Serwan.

Joanna and Sarbast on day 5 of their honeymoon.

I laughed, more excited and happy than I had ever been in my life. I knew in my heart that I belonged with these good people. I had come home.

Yet I could barely take my eyes off Sarbast. To me, he was still the most handsome man in the world. But he did look different, no longer the dashing young man I had fallen in love with. He seemed in need of a good night’s sleep. He had grown a full beard. His hair was even longer, and those curls of his were completely tangled. I felt a rush of anticipation, as I thought that soon I would be free to tousle those curls with my hands. I had wanted to pull on those curls for ten years. Soon, my chance would come.

Then I remembered my own shabby appearance. Although I had planned on looking as pretty as possible, when Zakia spotted my large suitcase, she had firmly snapped her fingers, ordering that it be taken away. She explained that such a piece of luggage would create dangerous curiosity at the checkpoints.

I was told that I could carry only one change of clothing, one plain nightgown, and a comb, which were put into a worn and torn plastic bag. The rest of my belongings would come to me on a mule within the next few weeks.

Another blow came when I was told to wash my face clean of all the makeup and to pull my long hair into a bun. Zakia held my hands aloft for a few minutes, admiring my beautiful nails that were polished and painted to perfection, saying that while she had never seen such elegant fingernails in her life, they must be cut off.

“Joanna, if one soldier at the checkpoint spots these stylish nails, he will instantly know that you are not a mountain girl.”

I could hardly bear to watch as those clipped long nails fell down to the table top, where they were gathered up and tossed into a bag of trash.

The worse was not yet over. Zakia furnished me with a plain navy blue dress, a black robe, a dark scarf, and a worn pair of plain flat slippers. I was told that it was imperative for me to look the part of a poor village girl.

Never had I dreamed that I would have to wear the veil and cloak again in my life. I was only glad that Sa’ad was not there to witness my humiliation. I struggled not to weep.

I did not want to greet my new husband in such attire, but Zakia was unmoving on those points. She was not willing to risk her own life if I was so foolish to flaunt my Baghdad sophistication. I saw her point.

I looked at Sarbast and whispered, “I’m sorry your bride had to come to you,” and I looked down at my dress and slippers, “in this.

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