by Danny Bar
“Of course!” Amar enthusiastically admitted. “What man doesn’t?”
“But you are still a child, you don’t even have a mustache,” Sniper teased him.”
“After I die, I won’t even know what to do with all the virgins waiting for me in heaven,” said Amar embarrassedly.
“Don’t believe all this drivel, no virgins wait for you there.”
“But the Imam promised,” Amar got angry and turned his back on him.
“It is all just kalam fadi, ya Amar, empty words.”
“Who should I believe, then?” Amar asked with desperation.
“Believe only in Allah al Azim, the magnificent.”
“What will become of my family?” Amar drooped his shoulders, tried to overcome his tears and lost the struggle.
“I promise that after you’re gone, I won’t give them a moment’s rest before they support your family, even if it comes from my own pocket.”
Amar thanked Sniper excitedly and kissed his hand.
“Sniper” drew his hand away embarrassedly, “Let’s learn how to shoot,” he said and placed the dismantled parts of the pistol on the ground. “This is a barrel, this is a trigger and this is a magazine.” He picked up a magazine and Amar saw a shiny copper colored bullet at its opening. “You place the magazine inside the weapon,” Sniper said, demonstrating, and before the latter had a chance to follow the movement of his hand a deafening shot resounded in the air.
“Did you see? Now do the same. Just don’t point it at me,” he sent his hand and diverted the barrel of the gun Amar was pointing at him.
Amar fired a single shot, then his face beamed like that of a child who had just received a favorite toy.
“Again,” “Sniper,” instructed and placed an empty water bottle ten feet away. Amar fired, but the bottle remained standing. Sniper laughed heartily.
“Where did the bullet go?”
“There.” Sniper pointed at the sky, “try again!”
Amar tensed every muscle in his body, closed his left eye and stretched his hands until the knuckles of the fists whitened.
The echoes of the shots rolled across the wadi and returned to him with a great noise, as if doubling the number of bullets he had fired. Amar was thrilled.
“Amar is ready for his wedding day,” wrote Sniper in a missive he sent to the organization headquarters in Jordan.
13
The heat brought many of Jerusalem’s residents out to the promenade next to the old British Governor’s house. It was the best place for an early evening stroll. A cool and pleasant wind blew and cooled the air. The promenade offered a unique view of the old city. In the east, the Temple Mount in all its glory, with its mosques and the Western Wall, and in the west the Holy Sepulchre, a sort of flammable triangle constantly threatening to ignite the area into conflict.
Khalil and Yasmina’s leaned on the railing and looked at the magnificent view. Unlike the many intimate couples around them, they were keeping their distance from each other.
“Is this the Al Haram al Sharif?” asked Yasmina with excitement and pointed at the Temple Mount.
Khalil nodded.
“I have been there once with my sisters,” her face filled with sadness when she spoke, “I hardly know them now, as if they are no longer flesh of my flesh.”
“You are indeed different from them,” Khalil surprised her, “you should stay away from them for a while and broaden your horizons.”
“But what about Issam’s family?” she said with concern.
“You are a widow now, free to do as you please. The days of glory celebrating Issam’s death will quickly pass. The visitors will vaporize like boiling water in a pot and will be replaced by a new life of pain and suffering.”
“My heart goes out to his father. Since Issam died, his eyes are ashen and he hardly eats.”
“True, the heart cries out to see his suffering, but his daughters would turn your life into a living hell. You will become a burden to them, Yasmina, and since you did not give Issam an heir, they will end up banishing you from their house. And then what?”
“I’ll just have to wait and see what the future has in store for me.” Yasmina’s eyes roamed far from there, lingering on the Dome of the Rock, then moving on to look at the Judea Desert, tinged gold by the last rays of the sun.
“If you stay, you will become the handmaid for Issam’s mother, and she is sure to make you suffer for the death of her son.”
“What should I do, then, fight against the rigid tradition we were all brought up on?”
“It’s time for this tradition to change as well, just open your eyes and look about you. Reality has changed, the children are the ones who run the national struggle while pushing tradition aside.”
“And that is a good thing? Tradition is also important,” she said defiantly.
“You are right, Yasmina, but not when it is turned into a set of weights tied to the children of our generation who just wants to advance and develop. Just look what tradition has done to women, sentencing them to a callow life of ignorance.”
“I agree with your every word, I share your opinions, but I ask myself whether I would have the strength to break free of all these conventions? I have stretched the limits of my father’s patience to the brim. Poor thing, how much more could I stretch it?” she asked aloud, even though she was now mainly musing.
“We cannot stop the change, I can already sense it. Yasmina, I hate the occupation, but the Israelis have placed a mirror in front of our faces. Did you see their female soldiers? And their women? They are educated, they work, dress elegantly, choose the lives they want to live, even their husbands.”
“Walla?” her mouth gaped with amazement.
“Yes, Yasmina, yes, and you could do that too.”
“But who would want to marry me then? Our men dislike sophisticated women, they fear them.”
Khalil smiled with embarrassment.
“Sorry, I wasn’t talking about you.” She leaned on his shoulder for a brief moment, then recoiled embarrassedly, “Khalil, you are talking to me about a revolution while I am merely talking about bread. How would I provide for myself?”
“Every lock has its key, and we are sure to find it one day,” he soothed her.
His words continued to resound in her long after Yasmina had parted from Khalil. She was thrilled by the thought of leaving the village. Her friends were surprising understanding. She was baffled to hear from them that many women have been doing the same, though most of them were single.
“Leave while you still can,” said Ayesha, “perhaps your fate will be different from ours. We’ve seen nothing in our lives other than husbands who penetrate us like beasts and breed us as if we were Abu Shaaban’s sheep that multiply their number each winter.”
“Perhaps you’ll find yourself a clerk as a husband rather than a farmer,” another chuckled, “maybe he would even read you letters coming from the Palestinian Authority itself.”
The thought of a coming change in her life helped Yasmina overcome the anguish caused by Jamil’s nocturnal visits. She no longer pleaded with him to stop, her body had become indifferent, as if the act was done to someone else. She severed the bond between the body and the soul, but her hatred of Jamil continued to seethe and grow by the day.
Your time will come, ya Jamil, she swore to herself.
Yasmina arrived at Khalil’s house in an agitated state.
Khalil sat her beside him, stroked her face and gave her a soft look, “What happened?” he asked with concern.
“Do you remember speaking with me about the change I need to make?”
“Of course, it was only a week ago,” he laughed.
“Well, today I’d like to put what you have told me to the test.”
“Yalla,” he urged her.
Tears welled
in the corners of her eyes.
“I feel comfortable with you, as if we’ve known each other for years. Even with Issam, Allah rest his soul, I’d never felt so close.”
“The Magic Flute” took her hands in his, “Yalla, Yasmina, out with it.”
“Jamil is staying in my house,” she told him.
“Who?” he pretended not to understand.
“Jamil, the one responsible for the operation in Tel Aviv, he is wanted by the Israeli Army.”
The Magic Flute gasped.
“He came to me after the operation in Tel Aviv, injured, and the doctor treated him in my house,” she apologized, “but he abused my hospitality and forced himself on me in my own house,” she sobbed, “and he keeps doing that. I begged him, I wept for my life, nothing helped. His heart is as hard as Hebron marble, it will not shed a drop of blood even if you stick a hundred daggers in it.”
The Magic Flute embraced her warmly.
“Look at me, ya Khalil, a twenty-year-old widow, alone in this cruel world and fighting every day for her freedom and dignity.”
“I won’t let this man defile your honor ever again, I swear.”
“You are a good man,” she smiled at him. “You know, my face had turned all red when I first saw you in the mourners’ tent, and I couldn’t fall asleep that night,” she chuckled with embarrassment, “since then, I keep seeing your image before my eyes, as if Allah himself told me you are the man destined for me.”
“Yasmina, wait, before you go on, there is something that you must know about me.”
“Not now,” she gently put her finger on his mouth, “we will have all the time in the world,” she whispered and felt his breath on her face.
“Yasmina, wait, perhaps after I tell you my secret, your opinion of me will completely change, there are things that—” he tried to tell her, but her lips already fluttered on his, touching without touching, rubbing against them and retreating, preventing him from completing the sentence.
Yasmina shut her eyes and yielded to the cloudiness that confused her senses when Khalil began to kiss her wildly. His tongue devoured hers. His mouth sank into her mouth.
Her hands wrapped around his head and pulled his golden locks, her lips kissed his face with passion and pressed against his neck. His hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him until he felt the shape of her body through the dress. A pleasant sense of warmth overcame him, rose and spread through his body.
The shirt that dropped off his body embarrassed her. Issam had always turned off the light. This time too, she asked Khalil to close the shutter.
“Why, Yasmina? You are like the moon on its fourteenth day, wholesome, beautiful and beaming with precious light,” he said and gently stroked her body.
She laughed and lay on the bed beside him, placing her head on his chest and looking at him with a smile. He wrapped one leg around her body, thus unrolling the edges of her dress. She hurried to roll it back down her with one hand, while gently stroking his face with the other. Slowly, she turned and lay on her back, with Khalil on top of her. She felt the coarse fabric of his jeans rubbing against her dress until he took them off. Now she did not bother to cover her thighs again. She wrapped her legs around his body and buried her head in his neck. His movements grew more intense, her breath shortened, his body shivered and a storm claimed her body until he finished and relaxed.
A gentle smile spread on her face.
She continued to silently lay in his lap.
Tears sparkled in her eyes and he wiped them with the tips of his fingers, “You’re crying, Yasmina.”
“Tears of happiness,” she whispered to him and kissed his lips. By the time she rose to get dressed, darkness had already begun to descend on the room. His coveting eyes made her cover her body with both hands. Khalil laughed and pulled her back to bed.
“What did you want to tell me?” she asked when they sat on the porch, drinking mint tea and looking at the numerous church domes of Bethlehem. A cool breeze rose from the wadi and the cries of the Muazeen blended with the sound of church bells tolling before twilight.
“I’m not sure you’ll like what you are going to hear,” he cautioned.
“This doesn’t bode well.”
“Yasmina, I am doing things that are intended to help our people, even if you won’t see them as such at first.”
“Yalla, I’m curious,” she urged him.
“I work with the Jews.”
“Jews? You are their agent?” her face crumpled.
“It isn’t like that, Yasmina, you know that I once acted against them, even took part in resistance operations and spent several years in their prisons.”
“Right, many of our people are in their prisons. There is hardly a household that ‘hasn’t had one of its members killed or one of its children incarcerated.”
“Exactly so. Too many. We have all fallen under the spell of our leaders’ slogans while they continue to ride on the back of our suffering, enjoying a comfortable life. We believed in them and rotted in prison for long years. They jetted around the world to convince everyone of our suffering. They do not act in the best interests of our people. As for me, it is only the good of our nation that stands before my eyes. If we want a better future, both sides must negotiate peacefully, without violence or any further victims.”
“But why like that, is there no other way?”
“In prison, I always tried to act like a big national hero! Nothing in there was done without my consent. Many of my friends, once they were released from prison, told me they were tired of the struggle, that they wanted to marry, start a family and raise children. I, on the other hand, decided to continue the struggle to stop this madness and give the more moderate among us a chance to be heard.”
“I won’t hide it from you, Khalil, my stomach is churning to hear this. Had I known about this before, I would have refrained from ever having any contact with you. I would have turned you in to the Palestinian authorities.”
“I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t let me say a word.”
“How could I have imagined this was what you were driving at? I thought you were about to tell me that you have a relationship with another woman.”
“And you find that less offensive?”
“Definitely,” she determined.
“I understand you, Yasmina, I had used to drag collaborators with the Jews to the grove on the outskirts of my village with my own hands.”
“And what makes you any different from such collaborators, ya Khalil?” she asked, withdrawing into herself.
“I’m different, because I have done this of my own free will, no one forced it on me. And if I decide to leave, they won’t stop me. And that makes all the difference in the world.”
“I understand your words, but I still cannot understand your motivations,” she said sadly, “how can one of our own sell his soul to the devil?”
“Look, Yasmina, I could have taken the easy route. Be released from prison and enjoy the comforts of life. But I chose differently, and I won’t lie to you by saying this route is easy, or that I myself do not have difficult doubts and questions. This is the price I need to pay every day. Luckily, I can share my doubts with Abu Ghazall and do not need to hide my emotions from him. He does not force his opinions on me and often gives up once he is convinced by my arguments.”
“And this man, this Abu Ghazall, is he an Arab?” she asked naively.
“No,” he smiled at her, his mood suddenly shifting, “but he is more of an Arab than most Arabs I know. He told me he grew up with Arabic people and that until his death, his grandfather would visit his friends who lived here in the Hebron area.”
“And he speaks Arabic?” she asked with surprise.
“Like a poet,” he smiled at her, “and knows our culture as if he has been a Muslim all his life.”
“How strange,” she marveled.
“He was the only man who visited me in prison for two years and helped me during my most difficult hours, asking nothing in return. Nothing, not even in return for my release. And this was why I joined him.”
“It sounds as if you love him.”
“I love only two things – Allah and you.”
“But who do you love most?” she mellowed a bit and gave him a teasing look. Then she turned serious again. “Ya habibi, you will continue pursuing your own way, while I will continue with mine. We shall speak of it no more. Each will follow his own choices. You must act according to your beliefs, even if they contradict mine. I will continue to respect you, so long as you do not involve me with your actions. Only you will be accountable for your actions before Allah, come judgment day. It is not for us mortals to decide.”
Khalil said nothing and looked at her.
“Ya wali, I forgot about Jamil!” she tensed and straightened her dress.
“What about Jamil?” he turned angry.
“I’m afraid he’ll come tonight.”
“Don’t open the door for him.”
“I can’t. I’m afraid Issam’s parents might see him and there will be a fadiha, a big scandal.”
“By Allah, I’ll kill him if he touches you again.”
“He doesn’t even fear God,” she told him on the way back, then placed her hand on the back of his neck and slowly stroked the edges of his hair. A burdensome silence settled in the car.
The car’s headlights flickered on the winding road descending toward the village. When they reached the edges of a dark olive grove, Yasmina emerged from the vehicle and vanished into the dark.
That night, Khalil lay awake in his bed, haunted by disturbing thoughts. The more frequent they became, the more his anger at Jamil turned to seething rage. He rose from the bed and went out to the porch to get some fresh air. The thought that Jamil had defiled Yasmina’s body anguished him, but the possibility he might repeat this vile act bothered him even more. His fingers clenched into an angry fist. He smashed it against the wall beside him. A thought suddenly passed through his mind. He rose and leaned against on the railing, looking at the shadowy slope below.