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The Counterfeit Bride

Anna Halabi

    The seat next to Um Rami was finally vacant. Um Nizar had been eying her neighbor all evening, lurking, waiting for an opportunity to approach her. She made her way past the dancing guests, who were swaying their hips to the voice of a Lebanese singer.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an elderly woman in a black dress leaning on her cane and slowly heading towards the empty chair. Um Nizar picked up the pace and shoved her way through the crowd. She almost knocked over a guest, who had just arrived and was greeting the bride on the dance floor.
    “Watch where you are going! Are you blind or just cross-eyed?” shouted the young woman as she peeled off her long, olive green coat to reveal a light blue corset and matching hot pants.
    Um Nizar stopped in her tracks and turned to face the loudmouth. She glared at her. Her eyes slid over the girl’s voluptuous chest down to the orange peel dimples on her thick thighs, bulging from under the embroidered shorts.
    “I wish I was blind! May Allah gouge my eyes out with a hot skewer to spare me the sight of this cow that squeezed itself into a rubber tube,” she retorted. “Put your coat back on, binti¹! Please! Do the world a favor and burn this outfit as soon as you get home. I’m begging you!”
    She rolled her eyes at the dumbfounded guest, stuck her nose in the air and turned on her heels to continue her sprint to the much sought-after free seat.
    When she finally reached the groom’s mother, she awkwardly plopped into the empty chair next to her. The old woman in the black dress, who was now only an arm’s length away, frowned and smacked her lips in discontent. She turned and strenuously shuffled over to the deserted table at the back of the ballroom. Um Nizar gave her a defying stare and turned back to her target.
    “Alf mabrook!² The bride is gorgeous!” she shouted into Um Rami’s ear, trying to appear casual. “I wish the couple a long and happy life together! May Allah bless your son with many children, especially boys to carry his name!”
    “Thank you, Um Nizar, that’s very nice of you to say! Thank you. May Allah send your son a bride as beautiful as a mermaid, inshalla,” replied Um Rami, beaming at her neighbor.
    “Your word in Allah’s ear!” wished Um Nizar, holding her palms up in prayer. “So, tell me, Ikhti³, this girl, Nahla, your daughter-in-law, is she from a good family? I mean, is she polite and obedient or is she chatty and cheeky?”
    Um Rami gave her a quizzical glare, feeling insulted by the question. Subtlety was not one of Um Nizar’s strong suits.
    “I’m only asking – please excuse my manners – I’m looking for a bride for my youngest son,” she explained. “He has a very specific image of an ideal bride in his mind. He wants a blonde girl with sky blue eyes like the European models on TV. She has to have skin as white as the inside of a coconut and red cheeks like shiny apples and thick eyelashes that put out a candle when she bats them, just like your son Rami’s new wife! Mashallah⁴! But of course, the girl’s morals and manners are the most important thing in a bride.”
    “My son asked me for the same characteristics when I was searching for his future wife. It’s very fashionable nowadays, to marry a European looking girl,” answered Um Rami. “And yes, Ikhti, Nahla is very well-behaved. She’s courteous and quiet. She helps her mother around the house and only speaks when spoken to. I wouldn’t have picked her for my son if she wasn’t all that and more.”
    “Yes, Khanum, your son deserves only the best. Nothing less. So, tell me, does she have any younger sisters?” asked Um Nizar, leaning in with curiosity.
    “You’re in luck. She has a younger sister. Nadine. She’s nineteen and her parents are looking to marry her to a suitable young man.”
    “Does Nadine look like her sister? Is she just as beautiful? She must be here somewhere... Point her out for me, would you?”
    Um Nizar’s voice trailed off as she looked around the wedding party, her head turning wildly from left to right like a nervous pigeon.
    “All of Allah’s creatures are beautiful, jarti⁵,” sighed Um Rami, annoyed with her persistent neighbor. “Why don’t you come over on Tuesday for a cup of coffee and some sweets. Then I can give you the family’s phone number and tell you more about them. Let the girl enjoy her sister’s wedding celebration tonight without the pressure of having to impress her future mother-in-law.”
    “Then, inshalla, I’ll come by next week, khanum⁶,” Um Nizar agreed and got up to leave. “Now, please excuse me, I have to greet Um Hassan over there or she’ll think I’m ignoring her. Peace be upon you, Ikhti, and a thousand congratulations for your son’s marriage. Allah bless you both, ya rabb!”
    Her voice trailed off as she disappeared into the crowd, chasing after another potential bride’s mother.
    “Thank you, Um Nizar. May Allah protect you, too,” mumbled Um Rami, shaking her head at the discourtesy.

*****

    “Rami, Habibi, the room is beautiful! HbabbibiH” exclaimed Nahla, as the newlywed couple entered their bridal suite. They had just arrived at the hotel in Kassab, where they had planned on spending their honeymoon.
    “Of course! You deserve only the best, my queen,” replied her new husband Rami. He tipped the bellboy, who had just set the suitcases on the luggage rack and turned to his bride.
    “You should go out on the balcony,” he said. He took her by the hand and led her outside. “The view of the mountains is breathtaking.”
    “Yes, Habibi, it’s incredible. But it’s a bit cold. Let me get my cardigan,” she said and hurried back inside.
    “Ah!” she cried a few moments later.
    “What happened? Is everything alright, Rohi?” asked Rami as he rushed back into the room.
    “Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry. The zipper on my suitcase is stuck and I just broke off my nail trying to open it,” she answered, holding up a long, white fingernail decorated with silver glitter.
    “Oh! Allah, help us! I’ll take you to the hospital immediately. You must be in excruciating pain,” he cried, frantically rummaging through his pockets, looking for his car keys.
    “No, don’t worry. It’s not that bad. It doesn’t hurt at all. There is no need for a hospital,” she assured him.
    “Not that bad!” he exclaimed. “You broke off your entire nail! They torture criminals in prison like that. They tear off their nails with pliers!”
    He stared at her for a moment, confused.
    “How can you be so calm? Why aren’t you bleeding?” he asked.
    He fell to his knees beside her.
    “Show me, Habibti. Show me,” he said and gently took her hand to take a closer look at her injury.
    “It’s a fake nail, Habibi. They’re all fake. They’re glued onto my real nails,” Nahla explained, as she snapped off one nail after the other. “Look. They’re made of plastic.”
    “Your nails are fake?” asked Rami. “Alhamdulillah, you scared me half to death.”
    “I’m so sorry, Rohi. I tend to bite my nails when I’m nervous. They look like those of a six-year-old,” she said, showing her husband her bloody, gnawed off fingertips.
    “Are you disappointed in me now?” she asked bashfully.
    The disgusted look on his face was abruptly replaced by a forced smile.
    “No... Nahla, Habibti, Rohi! How could I ever be disappointed in you, my princess. They’re just finger nails and besides, you have nothing to be nervous about now that you are my wife,” he said calmly, tenderly stroking her arms.
    Rami leaned in to give her a kiss, when he suddenly stopped and gently tilted her chin up.
    “What’s wrong, Habibi?” she asked.
    He looked up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the suite’s ceiling. “It must be the lighting in this room, but your eyes look so much darker than before. They’re almost brown instead of the usual beautiful ocean blue,” he said.
    “Oh! Don’t worry,” she giggled. “I took out my contacts earlier. They were itching and my eyes were watering. I didn’t want to look like I was crying on my first day as Mrs. Rami Attar.”
    “Contact lenses? Were you wearing lenses every time we met?” he asked, taking a step back, away from his new bride.
    “Yes. Why? What’s the big deal? My real eye color is brown, like chocolate. Don’t you like my eyes anymore?” she pouted.
    “No – I mean, yes, of course I do,” he muttered, forcing a smile. “They are beautiful, Habibti. Like two almonds. Brown almonds, of course. What else...”
    He walked around to the side of the bed, changed into his pajamas and slid under the covers.
    “Come, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long evening. Let’s get some sleep, so we can start our honeymoon happy and relaxed tomorrow,” he said. He patted the covers beside him and gave his wife a mischievous wink.
    “Yallah, Habibi, I’m coming,” she said, as she reached into her voluminous hair and removed a handful.
    “What are you doing, Habibti?” he leapt towards her, his legs tangled in the bed sheets as he collapsed at her feet.
    “I was kidding about the sleeping part. You don’t have to pull your hair out because of that. I’m sorry! Just stop! Please!” he begged.
    “Calm down! I’m just removing my extensions,” she said. She held up a bush of curly, blonde hair up in front of him. “See? It’s fake. It doesn’t hurt.”
    “Of course, it doesn’t hurt. It’s fake. The hair, the nails...,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.
    “Come here, Rohi,” he beckoned to her. He got up to stand in front of her. He gripped her head at the jawline and pulled it towards him.
    “And your hair color? It is not natural either, is it?” he asked, staring at the dark roots sprouting out of the top of her scalp.
    “No, I was born with black hair. As black as a crow. But I dyed it blonde for you, Habibi. My mother said you like blondes. Don’t you?”
    “Yes, yes. Of course. You are just what I asked for in a wife,” he muttered, as he crawled back into bed.
    “I am so tired. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore,” he lied and let out a deliberate yawn. “Come, join me in bed and let us start fresh in the morning.”
    He rolled on his side, his back towards her and closed his eyes.

*****

    “It was a beautiful day today, Habibi. Thank you,” said Nahla, as she came out of the bathroom in a white hotel robe.
    “Yes, it was and you are most welcome,” Rami replied. He was sitting on the bed. His reading glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, while he examined a magazine with a serious expression on his face.
    “I loved that restaurant by the beach. The fish was so delicious! Although, I felt sorry for that deaf-mute waiter. He was so friendly but all he could say was ‘uh-uh’,” she grunted.
    “Yes, the poor man. But I actually respect him. He’s making the best of his situation,” he said, finally looking up from his magazine.
    He took off his reading glasses and gave her a worried look.
    “You should have put on some sunscreen before leaving the hotel this morning. It looks like you have a sunburn.”
    “Really?” Nahla gasped. “That’s strange. The sun doesn’t usually affect me.” She turned to the mirror above the dresser to examine her reflection.
    “What do you mean? I’m not red anywhere,” she said and turned to her husband.
    “Your skin is a lot darker than this morning. It looks like you got quite a tan after just one day in the sun. You’re lucky it doesn’t hurt,” he said patronizingly.
    “Don’t be silly,” she giggled. “This is my natural skin color.”
    “Natural? You’re as dark as the Sudanese!” he cried.
    “You’re exaggerating, Rami! I’m not that black! I just didn’t put on my fond de teint yet.”
    “Fondi taaaiin?” he mocked with an angry look on his face.
    “Yes, fond de teint. It’s like a cream you put on your face to lighten your skin tone,” she explained, oblivious to his rage.
    “I know what fond de teint is. I’m not an idiot,” he snapped. “I’m just surprised that you use it. I was under the impression that you, uh – never mind.”
    “All the women use it,” replied Nahla. “I’ll go put some on now, if you want.”
    “No, don’t bother. No need to uphold appearances anymore,” he sighed. “Just tell me. That nose of yours — the one in the middle of your face. Is it natural or has it been modified in some way or another, as well?”
    “My nose?” asked Nahla, shyly. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
    “Of course, I like it. It’s small and cute, like a little cucumber. But I was just wondering if it is the one Allah gave you or is it the work of a surgeon?” Rami persisted.
    “Well ... to tell you the truth, Habibi, it’s not exactly Allah's design. The doctor just straightened it a bit. It was curved like an eagle’s beak! I had to get it fixed,” she said defensively. “Besides, all the women I know had something done somewhere in their face. Nose jobs, facelifts, you name it. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of cosmetic enhancement.”
    “Yes, I know. They usually go to Beirut, where there are more plastic surgeons than grains of sand on the beach,” he muttered and returned to his magazine.
    After a long pause, he looked up again and continued. “I’ll tell you what, Nahla. Let’s cut this vacation short and go visit your mother tomorrow. I’m sure she misses you already.”
    “My mother? I’ve only been gone for two days. I’m sure she doesn’t mind if we spend the entire week here as planned. Our honeymoon just started, Habibi!” she replied.
    “No, I’d rather we head back tomorrow morning. I’m fed up of Kassab,” he waved his hand as if to shoo away her protest.
    “Besides, I’d like to see some old pictures of you, when you were still a girl in high school. So that I can get to know you better and see what our children might really look like,” he snarled. He raised an eyebrow and eyed her suspiciously.
    “That is so romantic!” she said fondly, clasping her hands together at her chest. “I was afraid you only loved my looks. I am so relieved, Rami! I can’t wait to show you my old pictures and tell you stories about my childhood friends and our adventures,” she giggled and snuggled against him on the bed.
    “Yes, I can’t wait,” he mumbled.

*****

    “What a nice surprise! What are you doing back already? You’re newlyweds. You should be enjoying your honeymoon and not visiting your old mother,” said Um Bashar, as she opened the front door.
    She gave her son-in-law the mandatory cheek-to-cheek kiss in the air and glared at her daughter over his shoulder.
    “Don’t worry, Mama,” soothed Nahla, beaming at her husband. “Rami wanted to browse through some of my old photo albums to get to know me better.”
    “Then welcome back! Come in and make yourselves comfortable,” said her mother. She ushered the couple into the living room, where Um Nizar rushed to greet them.
    “Ahleen⁷, Rami, ahleen. A thousand congratulations on your marriage and that gorgeous bride of yours!” she rejoiced.
    “This is Um Nizar. She’s looking for a wife for her son,” explained Um Bashar. “She was so overwhelmed by Nahla’s beauty at the wedding that she asked Um Rami to introduce us, so she can get a good look at her sister, Nadine.”
    “That’s wonderful news!” chirped Nahla. “You won’t be disappointed! She’s beautiful! Not to sound cocky, but we look a lot alike. We’re like twins, just two years apart, not two minutes!”
    Um Nizar, visibly irritated by the interjection, turned to Rami. “Who is this woman, Ibni⁸? What is she talking about?” she asked.
    “I’m his wife, Nahla, Khaleh⁹,” exclaimed the young bride, her eyebrows converging in hurt and confusion. “Don’t you recognize me from my wedding?”
    Um Nizar stared at her in disgust, and then turned back to the groom. “This is your wife?” she asked, appalled.
    “Yes, this is her ‘natural look’,” Rami answered. “What can I say, khanum. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
    “Well, then excuse me, Um Bashar. I have to get going,” she mumbled, as she rushed out into the hallway.
    “Where are you going, Um Nizar? You haven’t met my other daughter, Nadine, yet!”
    “Never mind, Ikhti. I don’t think I’m going to find my son’s future bride here. He doesn’t like surprises,” she muttered, raising a reproachful eyebrow at Nahla.
    She nervously fumbled at the doorknob and yanked the front door open. There was a quick “Ma’al salameh¹⁰,” as she slammed it shut behind her.

 

    1 Binti: literally ‘my daughter’, used colloquially to address a younger woman
    2 Alf mabrook: a thousand congratulations
    3 Ikhti: literally ‘my sister’, a term of endearment used colloquially to address friends about the same age
    4 Mashallah: phrase to show appreciation of someone or something, literally means ‘What Allah wants’
    5 Jarti: my neighbor
    6 Khanum: Madam, a way to formally address a woman
    7 Ahleen: welcome
    8 Ibni: term of endearment, literally ‘my son’
    9 Khaleh: term of endearment, literally ‘auntie’
    10 Ma’al salameh: goodbye, farewell, literally ‘with safety’

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