by Ibtisam Azem
“Toda. Leila Tov.”
“Leila Tov.”
35
Ariel
Is the fear he feels now that same fear his father felt in 1967, six days before Ariel was born? The fear of total destruction by the fall that could’ve become a fall to the abyss? But that fear was followed instead by ecstasy. His father told him, “We shocked the Arabs on that day, six days before you were born. We thought they were going to throw us into the sea for sure. They would attack us from all sides. But the great surprise was when we discovered that this young country, only nineteen years old back then, didn’t only defend itself fiercely, but somehow became a tiny empire. The ecstasy of victory was unparalleled, and then you came.” Ariel remembers his father’s words very well. He used to return to that reservoir, his chest of memories, whenever he felt his confidence in what was taking place becoming shaky.
He rarely harbored any doubts. He did, once, back when he served in the army. He remembers the terrified faces of Palestinians when they used to surround their homes in the middle of the night to arrest their children and take them to interrogate them. Some of them were so young and he never understood where they got all that stubbornness from. He recalled those looks from time to time after finishing his military service, and when he returned for reserve service in later years.
They were watching a youth standing next to someone his age, throwing rocks at them. “Look at this aggressive mouse throwing rocks at us,” said his colleague. “I’ll show him,” he added, as he looked at the “mouse” through the scope. Snipers were like gods. With a pull on the trigger they decided who could stay alive and who would be expelled from it.
Ariel and two fellow soldiers approached the young man whom the soldier’s finger had decided should fall. When they were close, his breath was still warm. “What brought you here?” Ariel yelled at the corpse. “He’s a boy. Not yet fourteen,” Ariel screamed into the mic that carried his voice to the ear of the soldier who had pulled the trigger. “He didn’t look that young from behind the trigger,” said the sniper.
The dead youth’s friend stood a hundred meters away, his hands full of rocks. He didn’t flee. Fear died inside him and he froze. When Ariel apprehended him to deliver him to be interrogated, he had to drag him to the jeep. He kept looking at his friend’s corpse as the jeep was pulling away. He didn’t shed a single tear and stayed silent. It was a cold silence.
36
Ariel
He shook the dust off his feet, put his shoes on, and carried his black bag on his left shoulder. There was a heavy presence of police cars and a large number of tanks and military vehicles heading north on the main street.
He saw three buses full of settlers, heading south to Jaffa, pass in front of him. What will they do now? Will they turn against secular citizens? The spectacle worried him. Using his cell phone, he searched the internet for any news about the subject. He walked along the shore from Tel Aviv to Jaffa to catch up with them and see what was going on.
He stood in front of the Hasan Beg Mosque, which was by the shore on his left. The Ottoman style of the building, which was surrounded by all these luxury hotels, looked conspicuous and incongruous. Do the hotel residents ever wonder about the mosque? He crossed the street to the other side. The mosque’s outer gate and its door were both shut. He looked at the security camera hanging above. He climbed the iron gate, jumped over, and landed on his right foot. He felt a slight pain as he climbed the steps and tried the door handle, but it was locked. He shook it and knocked forcefully. He waited a bit and then put his left ear closer to the door. He thought he heard a rattle. He tried to open the door again. He went down the steps and went around. Why did he stop here? A beautiful building can be built in this huge courtyard without demolishing the old mosque, he thought. It can be left there. It might happen soon. He looked again in Jaffa’s direction. He called the army’s media office, which had announced earlier that it would stay open twenty-four hours in the coming days. He inquired about a response to his request to accompany the army as they enter Arab houses in Jaffa. They assured him that his request had not been processed yet, and they would e-mail him as soon as a decision was made, probably in the next few hours. He put his cell phone back in his pocket. He climbed the main gate to exit the mosque and walked toward Jaffa. He waved to the few cars passing by, hoping that someone would stop and give him a ride to the next intersection. A police car stopped and asked him what he was doing outside at that hour and in these circumstances. He identified himself and asked the policeman to take him along. The policeman hesitated, but then agreed to take him to the main square.
37
At the Gates of Umm al-Gharib
He remembered that interview he had conducted with one of the settlers from Ofra, the first settlement in Judea and Samaria, as he calls the West Bank most of the time. He wondered if one of them is there. He was surprised that he enjoyed talking to the settlers. He appreciated their love for the place and their notion about the importance of Zionist presence on the land of biblical Israel. He understood what they wanted, but he still had disagreements with them. They believed that the modern state cannot be complete without a soul and a spiritual life. And they were the soul of this state by settling the promised land. He wrote an article back then based on those interviews and was criticized by some because its tone was receptive to the settlers. However, despite not agreeing that their presence there is necessary, he saw them as farmers, determined to fulfill a dream that lived for more than three thousand years. He held on to that idea as he sat in the back seat of the police car trying to see the buses heading to Jaffa. The road took less than five minutes. The policeman didn’t want to make small talk, and Ariel wasn’t persistent in his questions.
The incoming settlers’ buses were blocking the entrance to the main square. Ariel stood behind the throngs at first, watching the spectacle. Then he moved forward slowly. Most of them were young, some pale, others were combing their long beards, as if preparing to devour their prey.
“Good morning all. Good morning to our free and sacred land. We have arrived in Jaffa and our brethren in Jerusalem are standing outside many houses there to enter as soon as the army allows us to do so there and elsewhere in the promised land.”
Voices thanking God for his grace billowed, chief among them that of their red-cheeked, soft-spoken leader. His white shirt and blue blouse couldn’t totally hide the excessive fat he carried. His graying beard bestowed some solemnity.
“What is important now is that I hope you don’t clash with the police. You know the world is watching us. Let’s pray to God for these blessings.”
The security forces had set up checkpoints on many roads and were heavily present around al-Sa‘a Square and Palestinian areas. It was four forty-five in the morning. More than twenty-four hours had passed since the disappearance. During this period the police had searched the houses of many of the disappeared. Some of them and some border security personnel were astonished. Others seemed satisfied. They didn’t find a single drop of blood. They were relieved that the army either wasn’t responsible for the disappearance, or it had executed it perfectly. No trace of anything except the disappearance.
Nothing in those houses indicates that their inhabitants had planned to leave them. TVs were still on in some of them, as if being watched by ghosts. Plates and tables were full of food, but the chairs were empty. When the officer in charge of the security force at the Jaffa gate saw the throngs of settlers heading toward him, he felt anxious and ordered them to stop.
Ariel was finally able to get through the masses and reach the officer to talk to him. He couldn’t get his approval to accompany one of the units. Suddenly, he heard a sharp voice behind him addressing the officer. It was the settlers’ leader. Ariel turned around, like a camera, and absorbed every sound and sight in the place
“Our religious duty in this sacred country obliges us to enter these houses to pray in them and reconsecrate them.”
The officer tried to calm the leader at first, and explained to him that it was a closed military area and it could not be entered without authorization. But the leader’s tone became more aggressive and threatening. The officer yelled and asked them to go back to where they came from, otherwise he will fire at those who disobey orders. He felt this last sentence might cost him a lot. As soon as he finished, some of the settlers’ fingers were gripping the weapons they were carrying.
He hurried to calm things down. He told them they would be allowed to pray there, but without entering the houses. He radioed central command asking for more troops. Some settlers formed rings and danced. A stormy sea of humans, chanting, praying, and celebrating that this land was pure now.
Ariel left Jaffa and the voices and songs of the settlers going up to the sky behind him and went to Tel Aviv on foot.
38
Ariel
Ariel wished there’d been an elevator so he could avoid climbing the stairs. He’d walked a lot already and was tired. He got to the third floor and stood before Alaa’s door. He rang the bell. He didn’t know why. Then he slipped the key in the lock quickly. The light was on in the living room. His heart leapt as he craned his head in and called:
“Alaa? Alaa? Are you there?”
But then he remembered that he himself had left the light on before leaving. He walked inside the apartment nimbly and cautiously, scanning it with his gaze. He entered the bedroom and placed his bag next to the bed. He sat on the little sofa facing the bed. He turned the lamp on and remembered that he had to buy a light bulb for the one that is out in his apartment.
He noticed the jasmine next to the bed, right under the window. He didn’t remember seeing it before then. Alaa was fond of Jasmine and used to talk about his grandmother’s house and how it was full of Jasmine pots. He went over the day’s events. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, as if to listen to the night’s silence.
He got up and took out his laptop from his bag. He lied down on Alaa’s bed and rested his back on two puffy pillows. He flipped open the laptop to check the news. He e-mailed some links to himself to read the articles in the morning. He got out of the bed and went toward Alaa’s stereo. There were two shelves of CDs above it. A lot of jazz and blues, as well as Um Kulthum and Fairuz. He heard these tunes at times when he passed by Alaa’s door. There was some classical music too. He chose Rimsky Korsakov.
He took off his shoes and made himself more comfortable. He tried to expel the thoughts crowding his head as he listened. Music makes the world more serene and less complicated. He regretted, for the thousandth time, that he didn’t continue his piano lessons. It would’ve made his mother very happy.
He is too tired to go up to his apartment on the fourth floor. He almost dozed off. It feels like he hasn’t slept in ages. Maybe two hours of sleep will reinvigorate him. He set the alarm next to Alaa’s bed to nine in the morning. Fearing that there might be an electricity outage, he set the alarm on his cell phone as well. He took off his clothes and felt the fatigue and insomnia pulsating in his whole body. He fell asleep right away and his snoring was so loud it competed with Korsakov.
39
Ariel
The radio woke him up too early. Alaa had set it automatically to eight. Ariel was so tired he didn’t understand everything the female announcer was saying. His head was spinning. He thought something must be off when he heard her say that the government has issued a decree stipulating that all residents register themselves in the nearest office. It also asked those living abroad to reregister with embassies.
He stayed in bed for a few minutes looking around with half-shut eyes. The jasmines were up too and their scent filled the room. He shook off fatigue and got up. He stood before the old wooden cabinet to the left and looked for a clean towel. All the towels were black. He smelled the biggest. It was clean.
He took off his pants and left them on the floor and went to the bathroom to take a hot shower. Some of the rings holding the shower curtain to the silver bar had detached. He liked the purple color of the shower curtain and floor mat. The soap and the washcloth were the same color. Before jumping in, he put the shower curtain rings back in place. It made him feel good. The warm shower helped shake off his sleepiness.
He reached for the black towel, dried his body, and then wrapped it around his waist. He got out of the bathroom and took his apartment key from the small nightstand next to the bed. He should’ve thought of getting clean clothes before taking the shower. So he headed to his apartment. He closed the door without locking it.
40
Ariel
He put on black underwear, a sky-blue shirt, and jeans. When he was about to go back to Alaa’s apartment, he figured it was probably better to take a small bag and put whatever he needed in it so that he could stay there the next two days.
He packed two T-shirts, a pair of shorts, pants, and three pieces of underwear. He put in his mint-scented shampoo, toothbrush, and floss. He wasn’t sure why, but he added a pack of condoms he found in the small cabinet in the bathroom. He took the food in his fridge and put it in a small grocery bag he preferred to use instead of those environmentally unfriendly plastic bags that were everywhere.
He locked the door climbed down the ten steps. He looked back at his door twice to make sure it was shut. Then he remembered the newspaper. He left the two bags next to the door and went down quickly to the ground floor. As he had hoped, the newspaper was is his mailbox. That made him smile. He stood to scan the headlines and then climbed back up to the third floor.
In the temporary apartment, as he called it, he tried to feel somewhat at home as he waited for the unknown. So, he put the feta, bread, black olives, and sausage in the fridge. Then he went to the bedroom and put the newspaper on the small round table next to the green reading sofa. He placed his other stuff on the edge of the bed and put his dirty laundry in a plastic bag. He took the tiny bag with toiletries into the bathroom and arranged its contents on the brown shelves. He went back to the green sofa, turned on the radio next to the bed, and opened the newspaper. Then he called Itzik. While on the phone, using a pen, he marked some article titles with an X to read them.
“Itzik, how are you?”
“Hi Ariel. Nothing new under the sun.”
“How can there be nothing new under the sun? Don’t you have some information about the disappearance and who is responsible for it? Is there anything about Titi’s speech today? What of the news about these measures and the registration? I don’t understand the reason behind them. Is it conceivable that these measures are taken, and you still don’t know where the Palestinians have disappeared? Tell me the truth. Are the army and intelligence services somehow responsible for the matter?”
“All these questions! Calm down just a bit! The initial survey of camera footage and phone calls up till now shows a lot of strange things. But we have to analyze the data and solve the puzzle. As of now, there is no proof that we are responsible for what is taking place. At least that’s what my sources confirm. It is reassuring, but we have yet to get detailed reports from the security and military intelligence. And you know that they live in their own world, as if they are states in and of themselves. The prime minister held closed meetings with the heads of apparatuses, but not much is known. We’ll see.”
“Come on. Do you honestly believe that? We’re talking about around four million people disappearing overnight. What is going on? Do you really believe that we’re not involved, or at least know about the matter?”
“Why do you think we’re responsible for everything that happens to the Palestinians in this world? I’m telling you all I know in all honesty because you know how close we are and what your father meant to me.”
“Ok. Fine.”
“If I get any new information, I’ll call you right away. Why don’t you just sit at home and enjoy it. Let’s be honest now. What’s happening solves all our problems. You know I’m not a believer, but perhaps this is divine intervention
.”
Ariel laughed and said,
“We, Zionist atheists, are an off bunch. We don’t believe that God exists, but we believe he performs miracles on our behalf. He doesn’t exist, but we still believe he promised us this land, and now he’s gotten rid of the Palestinians for us!”
Itzik laughed and then they said goodbye. Ariel was perplexed. He looked at his e-mails, reading the subject lines and only what appeared to be urgent. He clicked on Matthew’s message, which was urging him to submit today’s article by one in the afternoon, Tel Aviv time. He browsed Twitter and Facebook, looking for new posts and news. Then he went to the Palestinian pages he visited the day before and then to those of some Israeli and foreign friends to see if there was anything new.
The pages of Palestinians who live in the country had no posts, but they had many comments from people all over the world, asking their friends to come out and say something. Some were losing patience. The two questions that were repeated were: “Where are you? What happened to you?”
He went to the kitchen to drink water, make some coffee, and eat. There was only Turkish coffee in Alaa’s kitchen. He was too lazy to go back up to his apartment to bring his coffee maker. He put three spoons of coffee in the pot and poured water and stood waiting so it wouldn’t boil and spill over the stove. Alaa used to put the white cheese his mother made in jars on the shelves. Ariel got a plate to put a few pieces on. He added slices of tomatoes, cucumbers, and some of the spicy olives his mother made every year. He heated some pita too. He brought the coffee he made just the way Alaa does and went to the bedroom. He sat on the small sofa, picked up Haaretz, and started reading.
41
Ariel
Haaretz dedicated most of its pages to what was taking place in the country, of course. The title of the first op-ed was “Where did they go?” The second one: “Have All Our Problems Been Solves Once and For All?” The bottom half of the page had a photo of Galit, a soldier standing in a confident posture that combined femininity, strength, and liberty. She was in military fatigues with her machine gun over her shoulder. Her wavy blond hair was pulled back and her green eyes were smiling like her pink lips. The title was “The Mask Falls and Samir, the Druze, is Exposed: Interviews with Soldiers on the Battle Front. More on page 6.”