It was all so confusing. She had hoped coming here would clarify what she needed to do to find Daoud’s killer. Instead, it had opened up ten, twenty, a hundred new possibilities. She couldn’t think with the music blaring like that. She pressed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
When she got back to the table, a woman with long, flowing, black hair and snapping, kohl-outlined, dark eyes was sitting in her chair. She turned and half got up when Rania appeared.
“Asfi,” sorry, she said in Arabic. “Is this your seat?”
“No, stay,” Rania responded.
“Rania, this is my friend Yasmina,” Tina said. “We work together.”
Did some secret signal flit between the two women? Rania’s detective antennae were out of practice. She thought Chloe seemed tense. But maybe Rania was just projecting her own tension onto her friend.
Rania felt a tap on her left shoulder. She looked up to see the soldier standing there, a grim expression in his stone-gray eyes.
“Please come with me,” he ordered.
“What’s going on?” Chloe was on her feet, and Tina jumped up a second later. Yasmina quickly vanished into the crowd.
“Come.” The soldier’s grip on Rania’s arm would leave a bruise. How would she explain it to Bassam?
Chapter 21
“You can’t order us around here. We’re not doing anything wrong.” Chloe protested all the way to the street.
“What is this about?” Rania demanded. She tried to tell herself Chloe was right, but at the same time knew that, while the foreigners had done nothing wrong, she could go back to prison for six months just for being in Jerusalem. The man with the gun said nothing but propelled Rania forward at a half trot. The others panted behind them.
They turned right from the bar and headed into the lights of Jaffa Road. The main street of West Jerusalem teemed with life on this midweek night. Rania started to relax despite the continuing pressure on her arm reminding her that all these people could not, and would not, protect her from an Israeli soldier determined to make trouble for her.
“Hakol b’seder?” Two border police materialized in front of them, bulletproof vests slung over their gray uniforms.
“Ken, hakol b’seder,” it’s fine, the soldier said. “I found them near Jaffa Gate. I am taking them to the Russian Compound for questioning.”
Rania’s heart seized her throat. The border police gave her captor their blessing and moved on. The young man quickened his pace even more. She could see the three spires of the Russian Compound’s Trinity Church just in front of them. Nearby, she knew, was the brown stone police station where many had been tortured. I have nothing to hide so I have nothing to fear, she chanted silently, putting one foot rapidly in front of the other to avoid tripping.
“In here,” he finally said. This was not the Russian Compound. It was a dark stone structure with no door, barely more than a hut, on the edge of Mamilla Cemetery.
“Sit,” he said, releasing her arm. There was no furniture in the little hut. She was not going to sit on the dirt floor.
“You have no right to hold us,” Chloe said.
“I am not holding you,” he said. He crouched down on his haunches as if to show that he was no threat. The three women remained standing.
“We can go? Then why did you kidnap us from the bar?” Chloe demanded.
“I need to talk to you.” He was looking at Rania. “Why were you asking questions about Daoud?”
“I am trying to find out what happened to him.”
“Don’t you believe that the army killed him?”
“Should I?”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “My name is Lior. I knew Daoud for five years. We were in a summer camp together in Germany.”
“Abraham’s Garden,” she said.
He nodded. “We became friends the first day. Daoud was…he was like a light in a dark room. You could not be sad when he was present.”
What a nice thing to say about someone, Rania thought. Bassam was like that.
“Was Daoud gay then, too?” she asked. All three of the others smiled. She felt tears biting behind her eyes. “What did I say?”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “It’s just…gay isn’t really something you become. It’s something you learn about yourself.”
“I see,” Rania said. She didn’t have any idea what Chloe was talking about, but this was not the time or place to sort it out.
“Did he know that he was gay at that time?” she amended.
“Yes. He always knew. He was the one who helped me come out.”
“Come out?”
“To let myself be who I am. To tell others.”
“When you say he helped you, do you mean…?”
He shook his head. “We were not lovers.”
Rania didn’t know whether to believe him, but she didn’t know if it mattered.
“The Palestinian guys at the bar,” Lior said, “why were you asking them about Daoud?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“They were afraid that you were with the Palestinian police,” he said. She took in a breath too quickly and coughed violently for twenty seconds. Chloe pounded her back until it subsided.
“Sorry,” she said. “Why did they think that?”
“I don’t know.”
“They think the police care so much what bars they go to, that we would send someone to Jerusalem to track them?”
“Then you are with the police?”
She had said “we,” she realized. “Not anymore,” she said.
“Then why are you asking questions about Daoud?”
“I told his family I would try to find out what happened.” That was true. No matter that the family didn’t seem that interested in knowing.
“It might be better,” he said thoughtfully, “to let them believe he was killed by the army.”
“Are you saying he was not? You just said you didn’t know.” Her police instincts were kicking in.
“I don’t know. But I knew Daoud. He would not have gotten into a confrontation with soldiers.”
“People saw him arguing with them,” she said. “They said he stopped the soldiers from shooting at kids who threw stones.”
“Sure, that’s like Daoud. He had a big sense of justice. But that they came back and killed him for that? Even you must see that that doesn’t make sense.”
Though she bristled at the “even you,” she had to agree that it would be highly unusual. Unusual, but not unheard of.
“Did you see Daoud the day he died?” she asked. She doubted he would tell her if he had been one of the soldiers Daoud fought with, but she might as well ask.
“No, I was supposed to. We were supposed to meet for coffee in Abu Dis, but he called and said he couldn’t make it. He was going home for his cousin’s engagement party, and he said he had to go up early. He had a boyfriend up there, and there was some kind of trouble between them.”
“He told you he had a boyfriend in Kufr Yunus? Do you know who it was?”
“No. And I don’t think he was from Kufr Yunus, but he was from somewhere near there. Before Daoud got the apartment in Ramallah, they would sometimes use my place in Tel Aviv to meet.”
“You let them use your place, but you never met the boyfriend?”
“No. Daoud said the guy was from a very religious family, and it would be dangerous for anyone to know he was gay. He wouldn’t tell me anything about him, even his first name or what village he came from. But I have an apartment in the city, and I am away at the army all week. So, I figured Daoud might as well use it. I gave him a key.”
“That was very nice of you.” Would a soldier do such a thing for a Palestinian? It was hard to believe, but so were many things she had learned this week. “Do you think one of the young men I talked to tonight was his boyfriend?”
“Please,” Lior said. “I told you I don’t know, and I don’t. But do not make trouble for those guys. It’s hard enou
gh for them as it is.”
“I have no interest in making trouble for anyone,” she said.
“I’ll go now,” he said. He straightened up, grimacing from so much time squatting down.
“Wait a second,” Chloe stopped him. “You brought us here. My friend can’t afford to get stopped by border police walking around West Jerusalem at night. You need to take us back to Damascus Gate and get rid of anyone who tries to ask questions.”
“Okay,” he said. “I better look like I’m arresting you then,” he said to Rania. He reached for her right arm.
“Take the other arm,” she said. “One of you already hurt that one.”
He twisted her left wrist gently behind her back, and they exited together.
“Wait,” she said. “Could you take me to the Bethlehem Road instead?”
“You’re not coming with us?” Tina asked. Rania had planned to spend the night at their apartment in Ramallah, but now she craved her parents’ house. She needed to think about what she had seen and heard.
“I’m so near Bethlehem; it’s a shame to waste a chance to see my parents,” Rania said. “They get up early, so I should be there for breakfast.” She wasn’t exactly dressed for the Camp, but no one would see her at this hour, and she would find some old clothes in her childhood room.
They walked through the now quiet streets of West Jerusalem, past the Citadel and Emek Refaim, to the edge of the Bethlehem Road. Fortunately, she saw a taxi coming toward them and waved it down.
“Do you need money for the cab?” Chloe asked.
“You’re sweet, but I can manage,” Rania said. Probably she should have let them pay. At this hour, a private cab to Aida would cost her as much as a week’s groceries. She would just have to scrimp for a while.
Chapter 22
Rania slept badly. She was unused to drinking alcohol and kept waking up with a vague feeling of unease. She got up at six in the morning and went downstairs, thinking she would make breakfast for her parents. But her mother was already putting the oil in the pan for the potatoes.
“Why are you here?” was her mother’s welcome. The kettle was boiling, and Rania busied herself making tea.
“I had an errand in Al Quds,” Rania replied. “I finished too late to get transportation back.”
“You were working?”
She had not told her parents that the police didn’t want her back. Her father was so proud that his daughter was the first woman detective in the whole north. She didn’t want to break his heart with her fall from grace, even though it was not her fault. Besides, she had been working. She just wasn’t sure who or what she was working for.
“Yes.”
“Good,” her mother said. “Put some maramiya in the tea.”
“Mama, I already put nana.” She always drank her tea with mint. She had forgotten that her parents preferred it with sage.
“Put in both. Maramiya is better for the morning.”
“You like maramiya better all the time.”
“Whose voice is that?!” Her father burst into the kitchen and caught her in a bear hug. She nuzzled her face against his shirt, breathing in the faint smell of lavender her mother put into her olive oil soap. Life felt so uncomplicated here, among people who loved her just as she was. Though, if that was true, then why was she avoiding telling them she had been laid off?
She moved out of her father’s embrace and sank into one of the heavy, upholstered dining room chairs that had been part of her mother’s dowry. Every object in this house looked preserved, no different from the day she had walked out of it to her own wedding.
“What’s wrong, yaa shatra?” her father asked. She smiled. Only her father could get away with calling her a clever little girl.
“Nothing’s wrong, Baba. I’m just tired.”
“You are always tired. You work too hard.”
“It’s hard work. And I want to do it well.”
“You have always done everything well.”
That’s right, she reminded herself. I always did everything well. If I can’t go back to the police, I will do something else well.
“Go help your mother,” her father instructed. She obediently got up and went to take the plastic cloth her mother was fishing out of one of the myriad built-in cupboards. She spread it on the floor and smoothed out all the air pockets. Her mother placed the heavy tray laden with tea, labneh, fried potatoes, zaatar, and bread in the center. Rania went to the kitchen for small tea glasses and poured for her parents.
“You’re not having tea?” her father asked.
“I prefer coffee in the morning.”
Her mother shook her head. “Make some if you want,” she said.
“That’s okay, I can wait until later.” She nibbled on a fry. “No one makes potatoes like you, Mama.”
“Your sister does,” her mother answered. “So would you, if you had let me teach you. But no one could ever show you anything.”
Rania and her father exchanged half smiles. Perhaps the special bond she had always had with her father was the reason she had ended up working with all men. Was that why she was now reluctant to train a group of women? She stashed that away to think about later. She had never wanted to be one of those women who was threatened by other women.
Maybe it was the thought of working with a group of women that led Rania to wander toward her old friend Samia’s house after her parents left for work. When Samia answered the door, her hazel eyes didn’t quite seem to register who Rania was. But when Rania leaned in to kiss her cheeks, she reciprocated.
“I was afraid you would be at work,” Rania said.
“I took the day off. I wasn’t feeling well.” That would explain why her frizzy, brown hair was oily and uncombed and her pullover looked slept in.
“Can I come in?” It wasn’t polite to ask; if someone didn’t invite you in, it meant it wasn’t a convenient time to visit. But she and Samia had been friends since high school, when they both joined the Fatah Youth Organization in the early days of the First Intifada. They had been among the first girls recruited.
Samia held the door open for her. The house looked like it had not been cleaned in a decade. Ashtrays overflowed on every available surface.
“Samia, what’s wrong?” Rania asked.
“It’s nothing. Just a headache.”
“Have you had it for a year?” Rania couldn’t restrain herself. She bustled around the room, picking up trash. She went to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink until she found a bag to put all the garbage in. When she was done with the living room, she started on the petrified vegetables in the refrigerator. Samia watched her from the doorway, but made no move to help her in her industry.
“Samia, tell me what’s going on.”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
She deserved that. She had not visited in years. She told herself they had drifted apart, but really it was she who had drifted. Samia had never been the same since her torture and imprisonment. Rania had already been married by the time she was released, but she had come back to visit her. Samia had pulled up her shirt and shown her the scars on her breasts, where the soldiers had carved Stars of David with rusty knives. She had shown off the cigarette burns on the inside of her thighs. Now, thinking about the beating she had just gotten in prison, Rania’s stomach ached with shame at having run away from Samia’s pain.
“Samia,” Rania said slowly. She was just starting to piece something together. “Why didn’t you ever get married?”
“Why do you ask about that? Who would want to marry me, huh? Look around.”
“But you were not always like this. You had more energy than any of us.”
“Had. I don’t now. I can barely get out of bed sometimes.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You knew. You just didn’t want to know.”
“It’s true, I didn’t. But now I do. I was in prison.” Rania went to the sink and filled a bowl with soapy water.
&
nbsp; “I heard,” Samia said. “So, now you feel guilty.”
“A little, yes.” Rania began swabbing out the refrigerator. Maybe she could wipe away her guilt at the same time.
“The only reason I was not arrested when you were was that our friends protected me,” Rania said. “Faisal and Alam, remember them?”
Samia barely nodded. “Faisal was in love with you,” she said.
“And Alam with you.”
“Just my luck, to attract the one who would end up dead.”
“Would you have wanted to marry him?”
“Why not? He was nice looking.”
“You never seemed interested.” The refrigerator was sparkling white now. At home, she would replace all the food neatly on the shelves. But here, there was nothing to return to it.
“Let me take you shopping,” Rania said.
“You don’t think I can shop for myself?”
“Of course you can. It doesn’t appear that you do.”
“I’ll shop, I promise. Look at me, I’m not wasting away.” Samia had the same curvaceous body she had had as a teenager.
“What I was going to say,” Rania started again, “is that when the soldiers would come to arrest the kids who threw stones, Faisal and Alam would grab me and hustle me into the house. They used to tell me I was special, that I had a contribution to make, and it would not be from prison.”
“And you see, they were right.”
“What I see now is that I was only able to make that contribution because of them. Because they chose me. I always wondered why they protected me more than they did each other. But it never occurred to me to wonder why they didn’t protect you.”
Murder Under the Fig Tree Page 16