Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead

by Julia Navarro

  “You will obey, Mohammed, you will do as I did and as my father and his father before him.”

  Ahmed turned around and walked out. He needed to breathe. He didn’t want this conversation to turn into a confrontation with his son. Mohammed had to obey. The best thing would be for him to go back to Constantinople as soon as possible to continue studying law. The more time he spent away from Marinna, the sooner he would forget about her. Even so, he would try to find a moment to talk to Jacob. He was ashamed to do it, but this was not a burden he could lift himself.

  The next morning, before heading off to the quarry, he went to Hope Orchard. He found Kassia crying and Ariel looking downcast. Neither Jacob nor Louis were there.

  Ariel told him the bad news. Abraham Yonah had died the night before. The old man had been ill for months, scarcely able to get out of bed, and death had come for him as he slept.

  “He was a good man,” Ahmed murmured. He had truly appreciated the old Jewish doctor.

  “He tied us to you,” Kassia said, without being able to restrain her tears.

  “Jacob and Louis have gone into the city. Marinna has gone with them. We will go later, there’s work to do,” Ariel explained.

  For the rest of the day it took all of Ahmed’s strength not to burst into tears. He was scarcely able to concentrate on his work, but Jeremiah, always demanding, did not say anything: He too was mourning the loss of Abraham.

  Ahmed and Dina joined the funeral procession that took Abraham to the tomb where he would sleep through eternity. Dina cried and held Kassia, and Mohammed did what he could to console Marinna.

  Muslims and Christians alike took part in the mourning. Abraham Yonah had a great reputation as a doctor, but above all he had won the sincere affection of everyone he treated. He never charged a single bishlik to those who could not pay, and his patients were made up of everyone from Jerusalem, Muslims and Christians alike, as well as diplomats and travelers who were passing through the city.

  Yossi, Abraham and Raquel’s son, was devastated. His wife Judith tried to console her mother-in-law, but she was sunk in a silent sea of tears. Not even little Yasmin was able to comfort her grandmother.

  Yossi would have liked to have had more children, but Judith had not become pregnant again, so Yasmin was his only joy, as she had been for Abraham and would be for Rachel. Yasmin liked being with her grandfather, and had insisted he teach her how to be a doctor; he had smiled, and in spite of Rachel’s protests had shown the girl what he could, complaining all the while that she would never be able to be a doctor like he was. Yasmin was more or less the same age as Marinna, and they saw each other a lot.

  Ahmed was sincerely appreciative of Abraham’s family, as well as of all the inhabitants of Hope Orchard, but the Jews in general worried him. More and more of them kept coming to Palestine, buying land from anyone who would sell it. In the beginning none of the main Arab families seemed too worried at this constant immigration, and rumor had it that some of them, the Husseini, the Jalidi, the Dajani and others, even did business with the Jews. He had heard that some of them were even associated with the Valero family—Sephardi Jews and bankers.

  Recently, Ahmed had begun to go to meetings of a group of men who were worried about the future of the arid land on which they had been born. His brother-in-law Hassan had taken him to the first meeting.

  Years before, Hassan had made his fortune, first in Beirut and later in Constantinople, as the business manager for his patron, a rich Jerusalem merchant.

  Jaled and Salah, Hassan’s sons, had studied at a Christian college in Beirut where they had been taught, among other things, to mistrust the Jews. Some of the priests at the college had complained that the Jews, as they said, had killed their God, a God who, as Jaled explained to his father, was none other than the Jewish prophet Jesus. But if the priests did not hide their anti-Jewish prejudices, neither did they hide their sympathy toward the Arabs, among whom every now and then they managed to win a convert.

  When Hassan decided to leave Constantinople and return to Jerusalem with his family, he first made the pilgrimage to Mecca. There he met a group of men who were supporters of Husayn ibn Ali, the governor of Hejaz, a province of the Ottoman Empire in Arabia.

  Hassan was impressed when he met Husayn, impressed by his white beard, as white as the tunic he wore, and by the dignity it conferred on him. Husayn was the sharif of Mecca, a descendant of the Prophet.

  The sharif’s friends wanted to know if Hassan would work with them toward their dream, the dream of building an Arab nation, free from the Turkish yoke. Husayn would be the new caliph, the man who would govern all the peoples of Islam.

  Both Ahmed and his brother-in-law Hassan were disappointed by the results of the revolution carried out by the group of Turkish officers who were called the Young Turks in the West, but who called themselves the Committee for Unity and Progress. They had awakened great hopes, but in the end no improvements had occurred, at least in this corner of the sultan’s empire.

  Also, Hassan believed that the new rulers of the Empire were not behaving like devout Muslims.

  Every Friday the group met in the mosque, and after prayers they stayed to discuss things.

  “The Jews are arming themselves,” Hassan complained. “A friend in Galilee has told me that there are groups called Hashomer, ‘the watchman’ and that they are behaving with greater and greater impunity, claiming as an excuse that they need to protect the agricultural colonies from bandit attacks. They cover their heads like the Bedouin and go out looking for bandits across the Jordan. If they get really strong, one day they may want more than they have.”

  “My neighbors are divided as far as the Turks are concerned,” Ahmed explained. “One of them, Jacob, thinks that the Jews should support the sultan. I’ve heard him say that the Jews need to organize themselves and have representatives in Constantinople defending their interests. I think that Jacob himself would like to be the Jews’ spokesman in front of the sultan. I also think that my friends at Hope Orchard don’t have any other desire than to carry on living as they do now, under the sultan’s protection.”

  “I’m worried that more and more are coming all the time. If that happens, then they are bound to end up being the rulers of Palestine,” his nephew Jaled complained.

  Ahmed felt divided, tugged both ways by the ties of friendship and even affection that had grown up between his family and the inhabitants of Hope Orchard, but his brother-in-law Hassan had no doubt that the time had come for the Palestinians to gain independence from the Ottoman Empire. He was convinced that if they achieved this then the new situation would cause a great deal of trouble with the Jews who were little by little taking all the Palestinian land.

  “I don’t think that this is their intention, the only thing they want to do is to work and to be at peace with us,” Ahmed replied without too much conviction.

  “But Uncle, you yourself are an example of how they occupy everything. You have had to share the land you own with these people,” Jaled replied.

  “The land was not mine, it was Saïd Aban’s, and it was he who decided to sell it to them. I can’t blame these Jews for anything they have done to me. They treat me like an equal and have always been respectful and friendly to me and my family. No one has taken anything from me because I did not have anything.”

  “Do you think they have the right to buy our land?” Jaled insisted.

  “The right? All they are doing is buying what other people wish to sell.”

  “Can’t you see what this means?” Jaled shouted.

  “Come on, let’s not argue among ourselves. We all agree on the main points. What we want to do is to stop being a part of the Ottoman Empire and to build a nation for ourselves, the Arabs,” Hassan said, stepping between his brother-in-law and his son.

  “You are too much of a conformist, Ahmed. Jaled is more realistic,” another
man said. His name was Omar Salem, and everyone looked up to him as a guide.

  Ahmed did not dare reply to Omar’s words. The man overwhelmed him. It was not just because he came from a rich family, but also because he knew most of the important people in the sultan’s court in Constantinople, as well as those in Cairo and Damascus, and also the members of Sharif Husayn’s inner circle. Although he never boasted about his position, everyone acknowledged his leadership.

  That afternoon Omar had invited them all to his house outside the Old City walls. Sheikh Jarrah had become a place where the wealthiest families built their homes, and Omar’s house was one of the most imposing. Ahmed felt very small in its luxuriously decorated hall.

  Omar behaved like the best possible host, and tried to please his guests. Every now and then a servant would bring more tea and sweets, as well as pitchers of water with rose petals floating on top.

  “The sultan does not trust these large-scale arrivals of Jews either, and puts more and more restrictions on their presence here. But I agree with my Uncle Ahmed, that our problem is not the Jews but the Turks, the Jews can carry on living with us when we cease to be the sultan’s subjects,” Salah said.

  “But they keep on coming and buying property here. There are now more of them in Jerusalem than us,” his brother Jaled replied.

  “My dear friends, we need to work for our children to be able one day to live in a great nation governed by men of our own blood, men who are pious and respectful of the Prophet’s precepts. Yes, we dream of a great Arab nation,” Omar said, and all the other men agreed enthusiastically.

  “Jerusalem is the least saintly city I know, every day there are more prostitutes in the streets. And some of our men keep Jewish concubines without any shame. The Russians and the Armenians are taking over the city,” Hassan complained.

  “If it were only them . . . Every day more and more foreigners arrive, British, American, Bulgarian . . . Most of them are unbelievers. The worst are the Russian Jews with their devilish ideas. They don’t want to serve or have masters, they don’t go to the synagogue, and they let their women behave like men. The farms where they live and work don’t have any leaders, they claim that they value everyone equally,” Jaled insisted.

  “Well, they say that all men are equal and that no one should have a master,” Ahmed said, proudly.

  “You know that for a fact, don’t you, uncle? You are close to them, the Russian Jews at Hope Orchard,” Salah commented. “They never go to the synagogue, and they don’t keep the Sabbath.”

  When Ahmed returned home, Dina was waiting impatiently for him. She wanted to know about Omar’s house. To satisfy her he had to remember all the details. His wife listened to him in awe.

  These meetings left Ahmed slightly uneasy. He wondered what would happen when the day came that Hassan or Omar thought they would have to do more than just talk. What would they do then? What would he do? he asked himself.

  After hearing his tale, Dina told him how her afternoon had gone.

  “Layla, my brother’s wife, came to see us without warning. She had seen Mohammed holding Marinna’s hand, and was scandalized.”

  “Again! Our son does not respect us. I’ve asked him to keep away from this girl. He’ll cause problems . . . Where is he?”

  “He’s not back yet. I think he stayed to eat at Hope Orchard. I saw them go into the house a good while back. He’s always welcome there. Kassia treats him like a son, and Jacob likes to talk to our Mohammed about Constantinople. You have to talk to him again and look for a wife for him. It’s what he needs, a good woman, young like him.”

  When Mohammed came back, Zaida was asleep at Aya’s side, and Dina had dozed off by the fire.

  “Where have you been?” Ahmed asked without acknowledging his son’s greeting.

  “Kassia invited me to dinner, then I played chess with Jacob. I won both games. He says I’m a good strategist, and it must be true: He showed me how to play when I was a little boy, and now it’s me who always checkmates him.”

  “Your Aunt Layla came to visit,” Ahmed replied.

  “I know, I saw her arrive and pretended I hadn’t. Layla is always poking her nose into other people’s business, and she’s always unpleasant to Kassia and Marinna. She looks at them as if she were superior. She doesn’t hide that she disapproves of everything they do.”

  “And what about what you do? Do you think that your aunt could approve of your behavior?” Ahmed replied.

  “My behavior? What have I got to be ashamed of?” Mohammed held his father’s gaze, ready to defy him.

  “You walk around hand in hand with Marinna. She is not engaged to you. Do you want everyone to spread rumors about her?”

  “Spread rumors? What rumors could they spread? I’ll stand up to anyone who says a word against her, even if it is Aunt Layla.”

  “We have already spoken about Marinna and we will not argue any more about her. Your holidays are over, you will go back to Constantinople tomorrow.”

  “There are still several days before classes start.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You will leave tomorrow. Pack your bags.”

  “Father, are you throwing me out of the house?”

  “No, I just want to protect you and all of us from something worse. You have to accept that Marinna is not meant for you. If need be we will leave this house and this farm and look for another place to live. I cannot confront Jacob or the others, they are the owners of this patch of land. You leave me no other option than to lose everything, is that what you want?”

  Dina watched them worriedly. She felt a dull ache in her chest when she watched her husband and her son arguing. Yes, she felt for Mohammed’s pain, she would have liked to have pleased her son and worked on wedding plans with Kassia, but it could not be.

  She would have liked to have married for love, but in her case the love came after the marriage. She barely knew Ahmed when her father had announced that he had come to an agreement with Ahmed’s parents. The families organized the betrothal without them, and both of them accepted their parents’ plans, which in the end proved to be sensible. Ahmed was a good man, a caring husband and careful to take her opinion into account. He had never had eyes for other women. She had also been a good wife and a good mother. She had given him four children, even though only two of them, Mohammed and Aya, had survived. She still wept for little Ismail. The other one, who had been stillborn, did not affect her in the same way. She had not even been allowed to see his face.

  “Your father is right,” she dared to say, although she knew she shouldn’t interfere in a conversation between two men.

  “The day will come when men are not separated by religion. We share this land, Mother, we share it with the Turks, the Jews, the Armenians, the Russians, with everyone who comes to Jerusalem, believing it to be the holiest of all cities. Do you know that there are lots of us with Jewish wives? Some of them hide it. They don’t get married, of course, the law does not allow it, but do you know how many aristocrats have an odah where they spend their time with women of all different faiths and nationalities? The son of al-Husseini, the mayor, lives with Persephone, one of the most beautiful women in the whole of Jerusalem. Have you ever heard of her, Mother? I’m sure you have. She’s Greek, and sells milk as well as shares her bed with the mayor’s son. Do you want to hear more?”

  “Enough! How dare you tell your mother these stories? We don’t care how other people behave. Pack your bags, you will leave as soon as the sun comes up.”

  As soon as dawn was breaking, Mohammed went to Hope Orchard. He ran into Kassia and Ariel, who were milking the goats. Kassia woke Marinna and she came into the room with her hair tousled and her eyes filled with sleep. They said goodbye without being able to keep themselves from crying.

  After that day, Ahmed noticed that his landlords were uncomfortable whenever they saw him. They were polite t
o him, but Kassia didn’t go to his house to chat with Dina and Zaida, as had been her custom, and Jacob barely nodded when he saw him on the path between the orange trees that led to his house. Ariel was as taciturn as ever, and as for Louis, he was incapable of hiding how upset he was. Ahmed was afraid of running into Marinna, even though she did all that she could to avoid seeing him or his family. Aya, whom Marinna had treated like a little sister, asked her mother what was happening.

  “I went to see Marinna. She didn’t pay me much attention, she sent me away and said she was very busy. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She’s always been so nice to me . . .”

  Dina lowered her head and said nothing, and it was Zaida who tried to claim that nothing important had happened.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, we all have bad days, and worries we cannot share with anyone else. Try not to bother Marinna for a while and you’ll see, she’ll soon be back to normal.”

  “But grandmother, has anything happened that you’re not telling me?”

  “No, my dear, it’s not that, but sometimes it’s good for people to keep a distance between one another, for all that they love one another very much. Let it be, and when the time comes she’ll look for you.”

  “So, something is happening and everyone knows about it but me,” Aya insisted.

  Zaida looked at Dina, waiting for her to explain things to Aya. She was only the grandmother and shouldn’t get involved in the more intimate problems of the family. It was not her position to explain to her granddaughter the reason for the conflict with the people who lived at Hope Orchard. She couldn’t say so, but she felt it as a loss that Kassia no longer came to visit them, and she missed those afternoons spent gossiping over a cup of tea.

  As the days went by, the gap between them grew ever larger, and Dina asked her husband to do something.

  “They are our landlords, and our neighbors; if they wanted to they could throw us out of our house just by raising the rent so much that we could no longer afford it. You have to speak to Jacob, he’ll understand why you have decided to separate Mohammed and Marinna.”