The Shahid's Widow

by Danny Bar

Running from his hunters had turned him into a hunted animal. He felt trapped inside a circle of predators closing in on him from every direction. If it were in his hands, he would have carried out the attack immediately.

  “Better to suffer for an hour and put an end to all my misery than continuously undergo this never ending suffering that burns my body like fire,” he told Yasmina more than once. His physical condition deteriorated as well, his body became emaciated and the passion in his eyes had turned into a cold and blank gaze.

  “Lately, it seems he’s even lost interest in me,” Yasmina had told Amos during their last meeting, “even when he is passionate, he no longer manages to have his way with me, if you understand what I mean,” she remarked with a blush.

  “Ahlan wasahlan, where did the dove roam?” she welcomed Jamil kindly.

  “Me? A dove? Perhaps a black raven circling the skies in search of death,” he answered dryly.

  “And why is that?” she teased him.

  “Because my soul has grown tired of this miserable existence. I have never done anything good, neither for myself nor for others, I have only brought death to others, and forced it on Issam as well, Allah have mercy on him.”

  “Why Issam? Didn’t he go to his death willingly?” she asked him angrily.

  “No, Yasmina. I was the one who convinced him to become a Shahid. Day and night I held onto him. He loved you, the poor thing, he did not want to die. He told me how happy he was with you, how content he felt that he would soon finish his studies and get back to being close to you. Those were the words that sealed his fate.”

  “Why?” she cried out in pain.

  “Because I was jealous of him, I have envied him since we were children. He was the smartest pupil, the child everyone loved best. Polite, respectful. While I was his opposite. My parents never heard a single kind word spoken about me. Only complaints. My father beat me up more than once. Finally, I was convinced that I was good for nothing, an ignorant with no work and no future, perhaps now I can finally prove to everyone how wrong they were. Now do you realize why Issam had to go?”

  “He was your cousin!” she struck his chest with clenched fists. “Curse the mother who gave you birth, you bastard!”

  “I know, I always was one...”

  “I always asked myself what caused him to become a Shahid. After all, he repeatedly told me that he loved me. He dreamed of the day in which he would finish building his own house. He did not even get the chance to fully enjoy my body; that was what he told me the last time he was here. I have often asked myself how come he had given up on all that.”

  “He didn’t, on the contrary,” he answered her coolly, “I took him to see the Imam and the latter brainwashed him. He promised Issam that after he became a Shahid, your life would be better. The organization will care for you and you will lack for nothing. That was all he cared about, the rest did not interest him at all.”

  “Curse you, and curse the religion in whose name he died. Don’t you people have any fear of Allah?” she screamed, no longer able to control her reactions,” You sent him to his death. Didn’t you have any pity for your own uncle, his father?”

  “At first I pitied my uncle; I knew how great his pain would be. That was why in the beginning I planned on falsely accusing Issam so the Israelis would arrest him.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, I planned to hide explosives in your yard.”

  “And then?” she marveled.

  “I would have someone spread a rumor about it at the village café, and from thereon the story would quickly get to Abu Ghazall’s ears.”

  “You are insane!” she raged and clasped her hands together helplessly.

  “I knew that Abu Ghazall would fall into that trap and arrest Issam.”

  “And what stopped you?”

  “You! I wanted you for myself.”

  “You are sick, Jamil.”

  “True, my love for you has maddened me, it overcame the blood that tied me to Issam. Each time he came for a visit and enjoyed your body, he had the look of a man who tasted the cream floating on the morning milk.”

  “If only he knew the real reason you sent him to his death,” she said bitterly.

  “He never will.”

  “And what good did it do you? You are following in his footsteps.”

  “I have earned you; your body is Allah’s gift for his believers. I roam the mountains and dream of your white breasts, the sight of them maddens my mind. I can’t fall asleep during the nights because of the pain claiming my body. I dream of your flat stomach that reminds me of a field waiting to be plowed. In front of my eyes, I always see the farj, your black pubic hair that islike a grove of ancient olive trees.”

  “Enough, Jamil.”

  “Yasmina, I know I mustn’t stay in your house, all my instincts tell me to run away, you can’t trust anyone nowadays. Abu Ghazall is known to have caused sons to betray their own fathers.”

  “Who is this Abu Ghazall? Is he the man who came into my house with the soldiers?”

  “Yes, a man of the Mukhabarat. He is extremely dangerous exactly because he is so likable. People do not hate him enough to refuse his offers to draft them, and he knows exactly when and how to bring these offers up. He says the right words when the man in front of him is weak, then waits with the patience of a Bedouin until the poor thing falls into the trap he so wisely set for him.”

  “And do you know who the people he works with are?”

  “If I knew that, I’d slit their throats.”

  “May Allah keep us safe from them.”

  “You should be wary of them too, Yasmina. They may be sniffing around your house to look for me. I’ve often left your house and imagined I saw people lurking here.”

  “Then perhaps you should leave and hide in the mountains?”

  “I could never give you up, even if it costs me my life.”

  “I will never be yours,” she hissed venomously.

  “I don’t need you to be mine any longer. Soon, I will be nothing but a puddle of blood and bones, but at least I will know that I have tasted your body, whose taste is like pure olive oil.”

  “Tell me, was your mother blessed when you were born?” she insulted him. “Poor Issam, he went to his death like a hero, unaware of the fact that you wanted him to die just so you could put your hands on his wife.”

  “He did not go to his death like a hero, Yasmina, you should have seen how he begged for his life,” he imitated Issam’s pleading voice, “he was scared, he wet his pants when he saw the bodies scattered on the road.”

  “Enough!” she screamed at him.

  “He held my hand and pleaded for his life.”

  “Stop it!” she screamed.

  “He could barely stand on his feet. I pushed him hard, I humiliated him, I knew his honor was important for him, and deliberately insulted him to make his blood boil with rage. I remembered that he was like that even as a child, when he had raged and was angry and no one was able to calm him down.”

  “And you, the great hero, just stood aside and watched everyone getting killed. Where was your honor? In your pants?” she cried out.

  “I relinquished it that time, but soon, I will become a Shahid and win great honors.”

  “You are dreaming.”

  “And what is wrong with dreams?”

  “They mix with reality in your head. You are delusional.”

  “You hate me, Yasmina, but never mind, it’s not important to me anymore.”

  “No, Jamil, I do not hate you. Hatred is an emotion I reserve for human beings.”

  29

  In the morning, Amos had his weekly meeting with the district coordinator. Glasses of Turkish coffee rested on the table and, as always, the two discussed all the operational challenges on the agenda.

  “What about Amar
?” the district coordinator asked.

  “Went on a trip to Bethlehem with Sniper. The Operations unit followed them there to make sure he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity and disappear on us.”

  “And how was it for him there?”

  “This was his first time in a city. He just couldn’t stop staring at every girl on the street. Well, you know how different they are from the girls in Gaza. Then he told Sniper that he wanted to be with a woman,” said Amos with a smile.

  “And… did he take him?”

  “Of course, to Rasmiyah, the prostitute,” said Amos.

  “Yes, I know her,” the district coordinator replied and began to show marked signs of discomfort.

  “I’m not sure that Sniper himself was able to keep his hands off her this time…”

  The district coordinator suddenly turned silent and appeared lost in thought. He began to feel a burning sensation spreading in his chest.

  “Damn, she knows him.”

  “Knows who?” Amos was surprised.

  “Sniper, he was the one who led us to the squad responsible for the deadly suicide bombing in Jerusalem.”

  “So? What does it have to do with her?”

  “The squad members were arrested in her house,” he said with growing panic, “and they know who turned them in.”

  “What do we do, then?”

  “Arrest her!”

  30

  Over the course of the past few days, the noose gradually tightened around Jamil. Double agents working with the Israeli Shin Bet provided him with information that Abu Ghazall was constantly on his tail and knew of his every move. He did not believe them at first, and had even killed one of them with his own hands, fearing he was attempting to trick him and lure him into Abu Ghazall’s trap. Only after receiving the same information from several sources did he realize that he had made a mistake. He did not show remorse, after all, he considered all betrayers as deserving death, even if they had changed their ways.

  He decided to act quickly, before Abu Ghazall’s long arm could reach him. In the dead of night, he sat down and wrote the following missive to the organization headquarters:

  “The number of my men is rapidly dwindling, and the last of them, A’mer, had paid with his life for betraying me. This would be the fate of anyone whose loyalty will seem questionable to me, even if I later find out they were innocent. Allah’s command is above the life of any individual. We will uproot this foul cooperation of our people with the nefarious Zionists, may Allah curse them. Unless we put the fear of God in those betrayers, we would never be able to continue with the struggle.

  I intend to check all the people surrounding me, and will put a bullet in their heads without a trial if need be, because Allah decreed that they should die. Only those who will remain with us at the end of the road will be worthy of embarking on the Jihad, the holy war, and with Allah’s help will bring us all the fruits of victory.

  I repeat my entreaty to take out Abu Ghazall as soon as possible, he is posing a threat to this entire operation.”

  Jamil was surprised at the speed with which the reply from the Jordanian headquarters had come. It was that very same afternoon that Yasmina handed him the missive sent from Jordan and containing an unequivocal order:

  “Kill him!”

  The special weapon for carrying out this operation will be sent to you in the next few days.”

  Yasmina took a picture of the missive and sent it to Amos. It caused great agitation at the Shin Bet headquarters and an urgent meeting was held at the head of the service’s office.

  “What are you suggesting?” the director asked.

  “Transfer the weapon to Jamil,” Amos suggested, “otherwise he’ll suspect Magic Flute. Furthermore, Jamil might get the weapon by other means that we won’t be able to control.”

  “We can’t possibly allow him to get his hands on another weapon,” the head of the Shin Bet said with concern, “but I’m equally concerned about giving him this one.”

  “There’s another way of disrupting Jamil’s plan,” the head of the Operations team interfered in the discussion and everyone present turned their heads to look at him.

  “What do you mean?” Amos asked him.

  “I have a simple yet complicated idea,” he replied and presented an outline of his plan, “it will cost you a new car for Amos.”

  “I wouldn’t mind replacing my Mazda, everyone in the area already recognizes it,” said Amos happily.

  The head of the Shin Bet liked the idea and instantly approved the plan.

  The meeting attendees dispersed and went their separate ways. Amos drove to the hotel to meet with Yasmina. The security team had already taken positions in Halhul and waited nearby to pick her up. Yasmina finished her workday at the sewing factory and walked toward her pickup point. She glanced behind her back and recognized the Israeli Shin Bet vehicle slowly advancing toward her.

  A moment before reaching out with her hand to open the vehicle door, she noticed a man standing on the other side of the road and removing the baseball cap on his head several times.

  Yasmina tensed up – that was the agreed upon sign that someone was following her!

  She naturally turned her head and walked away from the vehicle without anyone noticing her do that. After that, she continued on her way, went inside the pharmacy until she calmed down and exited to roam the town streets.

  Next day, Amos updated her that Jamil had followed her from the moment she left the sewing factory to the moment she arrived back home.

  “Do you think he knows?” she asked with concern.

  “I can’t say, but we mustn’t underestimate Jamil, Yasmina. Go to the pharmacy at once, buy some headache pills and always keep them in your bag. Who knows? He might try and test you one of these days.”

  While speaking with Yasmina, the secretary signaled Amos that he had a call waiting for him on the other agent line.

  “I’m on the phone,” he whispered to her angrily.

  “He says it’s urgent.”

  “Who?”

  “Sniper.”

  Amos hurriedly said goodbye to Yasmina and switched to the other line.

  “A’mer is dead,” Sniper told him.

  “When?” asked Amos.

  “I don’t know, I drove to his hiding place this morning and couldn’t see him. I took out the gun and started to carefully advance toward the cave, where I found him lying with his face on the ground in a puddle of dried blood. His body was riddled with bullets, his head too. Ya Abu Ghazall, what can I tell you, he still had a surprised look on his face.”

  “What did you do with him?”

  “I covered him with rocks,” answered Sniper in a broken voice.

  “Shukran,” Amos thanked him, “we’ll take care of it.” Then he called his superior and reported the new development.

  “Was Rasmiyah arrested?” asked his superior.

  “No, they couldn’t find her in her house.”

  “Call border control and check if she’s crossed the Allenby Bridge to Jordan.”

  Five nerve-wrecking minutes had passed before the officer in charge of the border crossing told him Rasmiyah had exited the terminal five minutes before and was supposed to cross the bridge in a minute or two.

  “Stop all traffic; as soon as she passes the middle part of the bridge we won’t be able to arrest her, anything beyond that point is already considered Jordanian territory!”

  The border control officer rushed to his vehicle and quickly drove toward the bridge. From afar, he could see a bus rattling the wooden rails of the bridge. He got out of the vehicle, ran past the bus and blocked it with his body, standing just a few inches before the white line marking the border between the two countries.

  A great agitation could be seen on the other end of the border crossing. Jorda
nian soldiers ran to the middle of the bridge with their weapons drawn to try and get to the bottom of that unexpected commotion.

  “This is still our territory,” the officer told them firmly and removed them away from the middle line.

  Two soldiers brought Rasmiyah off the bus and cuffed her. Under heavy guard, she was taken to the interrogation room in Jerusalem.

  “Morris,” a Shin Bet specialist in terrorist interrogation, welcomed her into a small room with bare walls.

  “I don’t think I really need to introduce myself,” he said as she entered the room.

  “I don’t think I need to introduce myself either,” she said cynically and shook her head from side to side like a belly dancer, “there are many men who know who I am.”

  She wore a colorful dress that complimented her full-bodied figure. Two gold hoop earrings adorned her ears, thin gold bracelets rested on her wrists and jingled with her every move. Her lips were lavishly covered in red lipstick and her eyes were heavily made up.

  “May I sit down?” she asked while already heavily dropping into the chair, crossing her legs and exposing her thick thighs, “To what do I owe the honor?” she continued with the sarcasm.

  “Rasmiyah, we both work with people,” he said and looked into her eyes, “you of all people should know that everything comes with a price.”

  “Aha…” she continued to chew the gum in her mouth.

  “Buy your freedom by telling us the whole story,” he suggested.

  “And what do I get in return?” she asked.

  “You’ll get a reduced sentence, just like last time.”

  “Deal. First we sign, then we talk. I won’t give anything before the money is in my pocket, that’s the way I run my own business. I like to settle the terms when the man is still aroused. Once he gets what he wants, he’s gone with the wind,” she chuckled, then signed, lit a cigarette, uncrossed her legs and began to talk.

  “It was early evening. My last customer had left five minutes earlier. I thought I’d get some rest, because that time of day all the men hurry home to their wives. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I opened and saw two men, a young one with the face of a child and an older one with a dark complexion. The older man pushed the younger one inside.