Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz Read Free Book Online

.” 
    “Caspian?”said Ruthie, rolling her eyes. “Caspian is a baby book. Read it to Shai.” She gave a truculent shake of the head, but then turned a pleading look on Farida. “But can you tell me more about what it was like when you were a little girl? You know how much I love your stories, Grandmother.”
    “Oh, fine.” Farida’s smile lit up her face, and she nuzzled her nose into Ruthie’s cheek. “How can I refuse those gorgeous eyes and that adorable nose? Okay. So which story do you want to hear today?”
    “Umm . . .” Ruthie thought for a moment, then said, “Maybe you can tell me about Noa’s mother, Aunt Violet. I love to hear about the silly things you used to do together. Okay?”
    “Alright. You’re the boss, Munchkin.” Farida saluted her granddaughter. “I will tell you anything you want to know. In fact,” she said, placing her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Today I’m going to tell you about a very special person’s Bar Mitzvah.”
    “Whose Bar Mitzvah, Grandmother? Whose?”
    “It’s someone you don’t know.” Farida led Ruthie to the bulky living room sofa. “Did you know that Grandmother Habiba had a son named Edward?”
    “You mean Grandmother Candy, with the funny nose?” asked Ruthie.
    “Yes.”  Farida smiled. “Grandmother Candy, who always has candies in her purse. And you’re right, she does have a funny nose. But,” she said, “don’t ever tell her that—she’d be very offended.” She wagged her finger at Ruthie, half joking and half threatening.
    “Okay, I promise,” said Ruthie. “Now can you please get on with it?”
    “Alright,” Farida began. “I’ll start by telling you who Edward was, then I’ll tell you about his Bar Mitzvah. Deal?”
    “Deal,” Ruthie said, her eyes shining.
    “Edward was Grandmother Habiba’s son,” Farida said. “He was older than me. Now I know you’re going to laugh”—she took Ruthie’s hands in hers—“he was two or three years older than me, but I was his aunt, and he was—what’s the word? my nephew. This must be very confusing. Listen,” she said. “I’ll tell you how it happened.” Ruthie’s hands nestled in her grandmother’s. “In Iraq, people got married very young, and they had children very young, and sometimes”—she shot Ruthie a serious look—“not often, but sometimes, your best friend can also be your uncle. A mother and her daughter can even be pregnant at the same time . . .” Farida laughed, and Ruthie looked at her, completely befuddled. “That’s how it was with us. We weren’t even the same age—he was older than me, but I was his aunt. Does any of this make sense to you?”
    “A little bit,” giggled Ruthie. “Grandmother, are you saying you wanted to marry your nephew?”
    “I wanted to, yes, but it didn’t turn out that way.” Farida sighed. “I know it must seem strange in this day and age, but that’s how it was back then. Sometimes people married their relatives. There were families that preferred it that way; they knew the groom, they knew his mother and father. It was just easier—do you see?”
    “A little bit—it doesn’t matter, just go on, Grandmother. Tell me about Edward.” Ruthie didn’t care about lineage; she was just happy to be so close to her grandmother.
    “Everyone called him Eddie,” said Farida, “because Edward seemed like a long name for a little boy. He was my very best friend. He was fun . . . or, as you say, ‘cool.’”
    “But Grandmother,” said Ruthie, cocking her head. “You once told
    me that Violet was your best friend.”
    “Yes, you’re right. Violet was my best girl friend.” She stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “But Eddie was my best boyfriend.”
    “Okay. Now I get it. Now . . . oh, whatever, just go on.” Ruthie nuzzled closer.
    “Eddie was smart, and as handsome as a Swede,” said Farida, her face lighting up like that of a ten-year old falling in love for the first time. “He