The other woman, the one with the long, dark curls and green eyes, smiled at Samia and stuck her hand out.
“Marhaba,” greetings, “are you Samia?”
“Yes,” Samia replied, shaking the woman’s outstretched hand. The woman’s Arabic was tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.
“Ahlan w sahlan, yaa achti,” welcome, my sister, the pretty woman said. “I am Tina, Rania’s friend. This is Rihab,” she indicated the woman who was opening the door with a key.
“It’s a pleasure,” said Rihab, ushering her into a bright, peaceful room covered in rainbows. Rainbow flags on the mantel, rainbow stickers on the wall, a rainbow umbrella in the corner, and, on the coffee table, a little Palestinian flag with a rainbow triangle instead of a red one.
“What is the meaning of the rainbow?” Samia asked. Both of the other women smiled.
“We can discuss that, and many other things,” Tina said.
Benny’s office door was shut when Rania arrived. She planned to burst in without knocking, as she usually did, but, when she tried the knob, it did not turn. It had never occurred to her that Benny wouldn’t be there. She turned to go, not relishing the smug satisfaction on the receptionist’s face when she asked if he was scheduled to return today.
She was nearly to the stairs when she heard his inimitable voice behind her, saying goodbye to someone. She turned to see a huge man with toned muscles shaking hands with Benny. Before she recognized his face, she recognized his tattoos. Green snakes with red tongues wound their way up one arm and down the other. He had once threatened to torture her because she spoke to a prisoner without his permission. He was part of the dreaded SHABAK, the Israeli secret police. Seeing Benny shake his hand made her teeth chatter.
“You must release Ron Binyamin,” she said without preface, once she had dumped his files on the floor and seated herself opposite Benny’s desk.
“Why should I?” he countered.
“He did not kill Daoud al-Khader.”
“Who did?” he asked, oozing wide-eyed innocence.
“Either you already knew that the day you visited me in prison, or you figured it out because your spies in the villages told you every person I spoke to and every question I asked.” He gave her a hurt look that said, How can you suggest I would spy on you? It only confirmed her belief. “And, if you did not, your Snake Tattoo friend did. I do not need to know which. It is enough to say that it is an internal Palestinian matter, and we will handle it in the way we feel is best.”
For a minute, she thought he was going to argue with her. Then, he set the legs of his chair down and scribbled in Hebrew on his yellow notepad. She waited for him to look up at her. She waited a long time. Finally, she stood up to go.
“You are going to release him?” she asked.
“It’s an internal Israeli matter,” he said, not looking up from his writing. Slamming the door on her way out didn’t satisfy her as much as it usually did.
Her next stop was the police station in Salfit, where her first task was the hardest. Abdelhakim was standing right near the front door, doing the religious man’s version of flirting with the receptionist. The young woman gave Rania an unappreciative stare when she asked if she could speak with him privately for a moment. He followed her into the little, empty office where they kept stacks of pads for note taking and sponges for the little kitchenette. She pulled the door nearly shut, leaving it open a few inches as propriety required.
“I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “I know it was you who convinced Yusuf to free my son.”
“It was Kareem, actually,” he said. “But thank you for your thank you.”
“I am curious about one thing,” she said. “When did you put the gun in the Palestinian American’s house?” She chose to read his surprised expression as grudging respect.
“While you were upstairs,” he said. “We went to place it in the house before the soldiers got there. But then you arrived. We hid in the groves and watched through the windows. When we heard the jeeps coming, we snuck in and left it in the front room.”
“Thank you again,” she said and started to leave.
“We thought he was protecting his brother,” he said. She turned back to face him. “He told us Daoud made improper advances to Elias, and Elias killed him in self-defense.”
“Yusuf also thought he was protecting his brother,” she said. “But his brother did not want his protection. I hope Khaled will love his little sister or brother as much, but more wisely.” A phrase from a long-forgotten English play she had read in college popped into her mind: “One that loved not wisely but too well.”
Captain Mustafa was at his desk. He welcomed Rania by pushing his eyeglasses down onto the flat of his nose and peering at her over the lenses. She sat in the chair opposite his desk, as she had so many times, usually being bawled out over some breach of protocol caused by her impulsiveness during an investigation.
“I finished investigating Daoud al-Khader’s death,” she said.
He looked like he knew that, and doubtless he did. “Did you write a report?” he asked. He half-reached out his hand for it, though she clearly did not have any papers in hers.
“I thought it would be better to discuss it,” she said. She did not point out that, since he had not assigned her the case, she had no reason to write a report for him.
“Daoud was very close with Elias Horani.” He blinked his eyelids once, his version of a nod. “Yusuf Horani killed Daoud because he felt he was a bad influence on his brother.” Another blink.
“The families have signed a sulha agreement,” she said.
“Did the mediator bring up homosexuality?” asked the captain.
“No. Part of the agreement between the families was that no one would speak of the reasons for the crime. But Elias Horani has asked his brother to attend a workshop on the issue with him, at Wahat as-Salaam. I hoped you would talk to Abu Ziyad about getting them the permits to go into Israel.” He closed his lids for a second longer than a blink, but, when he opened them again, she took it as an assent.
“I want to come back to work,” she said.
“For the women’s force?” he asked. Their eyes locked.
“No. The girls are intelligent and, if you can hire them, I will be glad to help train them. But I am a very good detective, and I want to be a detective.” She cocked her chin up and made her expression as defiant as she could muster.
His mustache curved up just slightly. “I will speak to Abu Ziyad,” he said. “I believe it is possible.”
Rania was surprised that he gave in so quickly. Maybe she had not been forceful enough before. More likely, he now felt confident that she had not become a collaborator.
“And one more thing,” she said. He was already looking down at the reports he had been reading when she walked in. He looked up and adjusted his glasses once more.
“In six months or so, I will need some time off,” she said.
Afterword
Murder Under the Fig Tree is fiction. While some of the characters are inspired by people I met in Palestine and Israel, they are all composites and products of my imagination. None of the major story lines are based on actual events, although the election of the Hamas-led government, the subsequent Israeli raids and arrests, and the freezing of Palestinian funds by the United States and Israel are historical facts.
This is a snapshot in time, set in the spring of 2006. Much has changed in Palestine since that period, much of it for the worse and most of it driven by Israeli actions and policies (more walls, more killings, more collective punishment, more economic devastation). At the same time, organizing among Palestinian LGBTQ people has been vibrant and created needed institutions for support and liberation. While the lesbian group in this book is fictional, Palestinian queer organizations do provide hotlines, clubs, support groups, and workshops throughout their country. Palestinian queer leaders have also played an active role in the international LGBT community, consi
stently demanding that their liberation struggles be placed in the context of the Palestinian national struggle for land, recognition, refugee return, civil and political rights, and an end to occupation. They have joined the call by Palestinian civil society for boycott, divestment and sanctions to pressure Israel to honor its responsibilities under international law.
I hope this book has inspired you to want to learn more about the situation of Palestinian queers as well as everyone living in the area. Check out alQaws for Sexual & Gender Diversity in Palestinian Society (www.alqaws.org), Aswat Palestinian Gay Women (http://www.aswatgroup.org/ en), B’Tselem—The Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories (http://www.btselem.org/), or Palestine Monitor, (http://www.palestinemonitor.org/) for further reading.
Huge thanks to everyone who read Murder Under the Bridge and immediately began asking, “When is the next one coming out?” You are the reason I managed to finish this book.
Thanks also to everyone who offered critiques and feedback on part or all of this manuscript, including Amanda Bloom, Andrew Eddy, Blue Murov, Caryn Riswold, Dan Berger, Elaine Beale, Erica Marcus, Fern Feldman, Janice O’Mahoney, Jennifer Beach, Jennifer Worrell, JoAnn Smith Ainsworth, Julie Starobin, Kristina Eschmeyer, Laura Petracek, Lindy Gligorijevic, Michelle Byrd, Miranda Bergman, Miranda Weingartner, Nancy Ferreyra, Radhika Sainath, Richard Friedman, Sasha Wright, Stephanie Carroll, Steve Masover, and Steven Long. Special thanks to Jean Tepperman for your unflagging support, and to Naomi Azriel and Zacariah Barghouti for help with language and culture. Needless to say, any mistakes are mine alone.
I could not have done it without my fabulous editors, Elana Dykewomon and Mary DeDanan, the organizational brilliance of Brooke Warner, Cait Levin, and the rest of the She Writes team, and the artistic wizardry of cover designer Julie Metz. Thanks also to publicists Lorna Garano and David Ivester.
I will be eternally grateful to Hedgebrook for the most nurturing experience of my life.
To all the incredible friends who have supported me in every crazy thing I did, from getting arrested in foreign countries to publishing these books, I love you so much.
It was the late Marilyn Buck who sent me a New York Times article about the formation of a separate women’s police force in Gaza. This book is dedicated to her, who never compromised in the struggle for truth and justice.
About the Author
© Jane Philomen Cleland
Kate Raphael is a San Francisco Bay Area writer, feminist and queer activist and radio journalist, who makes her living as a law firm word processor. She lived in Palestine for eighteen months as a member of the International Women’s Peace Service. She spent over a month in Israeli prison and was eventually deported because of her activism. She has won a residency at Hedgebrook and been a grand marshal of the San Francisco LGBT Pride Parade. She produces the weekly radio show, Women’s Magazine, on Pacifica’s KPFA, which is heard throughout Northern and Central California. Her debut Palestine mystery, Murder Under the Bridge, won the 2016 International Publisher Book Awards (IPPY) Silver Medal for Mystery.
Connect with her at www.kateraphael.com
Glossary
Abbreviations:
Ar. = Arabic
Heb. = Hebrew
fem. = feminine m. = masculine
lit. = literal
abu abui (Ar.) my father’s father
abu imik (Ar.) your mother’s father
achar kach (Heb.) after
achshav (Heb.) now
Adloyada (Heb.) a carnival held for the Jewish holiday of Purim; lit. “until you did not know”
ahlan w sahlan (Ar.) welcome;
ahlan fiik/fiiki Welcome to you, too.
ahleen (Ar.) hello
ahsan (Ar.) better
Aish hon? (Ar.) Does he live here?
aiwa (Ar.) yes
Al Aqsa (Ar.) the mosque on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem’s Old City
Al Haq Palestinian human rights group
Al Hayat Palestinian newspaper (lit. The Life)
aliyah (Heb.) Jewish immigration to Israel (lit. going up)
Al-Khalil (Ar.) Hebron
Allah yirhamo (Ar.) God have mercy on his soul
Allah ysalmak (Ar.) May God grant you peace. (response to al-Hamdullilah assalaam)
Al Quds (Ar.) Jerusalem
ana (Ar.) I, I am
Ana bidish ahki inglisi (Ar.) I don’t want to speak English
ani (Heb.) I, I am
Ani lo reavah (Heb.) (fem.) I am not hungry
anjad (Ar.) definitely
argila (Ar.) flavored tobacco (also
sheesha)
asfi (Ar.) (fem.) sorry
ashara bil miyya (Ar.) ten percent
asirah (Heb.) prisoner
At lo rotzah ochel? (Heb.) You don’t want food?
At re’evah? (Heb.) Are you hungry?
Austrian Hospice A Pilgrim’s guesthouse in on the Via Dolorosa in the Old City of Jerusalem. (“Hospice” is from “hospitality”.)
Awal marra hon? (Ar.) Is it your first time here?
Bab el-Amud (Ar.) Damascus Gate (lit. Gate of the Column)
baba (Ar.) papa
badeen (Ar.) later
bamiya (Ar.) okra
bandura (Ar.) tomatoes
bekafi (Ar.) enough
Bidi atalam Arabi (Ar.) I want to learn Arabic
Birzeit Palestinian university near Ramallah
bissa (Ar.) cat
boi (Heb.) (fem.) come
boi heyna (Heb.) (fem.) come here
b’seder (Heb.) okay
Btselem Israeli human rights organization
chamesh esrei (Heb.) fifteen
dabka a Palestinian folk dance
Dafaween (Ar.) West Bankers
Edward Said Conservatory music school, named for Palestinian intellectual Edward Said, with branches in Ramallah, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nablus and Gaza
esrim shekel (Heb.) twenty shekels
Fanoun (Ar.) artist
Fatah (Ar.) Palestinian political party, cofounded by Yasir Arafat, late president of the Palestinian Authority
filfil (Ar.) pepper
First Intifada Palestinian civil society uprising which lasted from 1987–93
Forty-Eight the territory held by Israel at the end of the 1947–48 war; many Palestinian nationalists refer to Israel as ’48
ful (Ar.) a fava bean dish
habibi (m.)/habibti (fem.) (Ar.) dear one
Hai hawiyyatik? (Ar.) Is that your ID?
haj (m.)/haji (fem.) (Ar.) term of respect for an older person; lit. someone who has made pilgrimage to Mecca
Hakol b’seder? (Heb.) Is everything okay?
hamam (Ar.) bathroom
Hamas Palestinian political movement formed in 1987, during the First Intifada; acronym for
Harakat al-Muqāwamah al-Islāmiyyah, Islamic Resistance Movement
Hamdullilah or
al-Hamdullilah (Ar.) lit. All praise is due to God alone; polite response to How are you?, or a way of indicating you are done eating.
Hamdullilah assalaam (Ar.) greeting for one who has returned safely from a trip, from prison, or survived an injury or illness (reply: Allah ysalmak/ysalmik)
haram (Ar.) for shame
harbaan (Ar.) damaged; out of order
Hasidic a Jewish fundamentalist sect
hawiyya Palestinian ID card issued by Israeli authorities
Hek willa hek? (Ar.) Like this or like that?
Hezb i-Shab Palestinian People’s Party, formerly the Palestinian Communist Party
hijab (Ar.) head covering worn by many Muslim women
Hinei he (Heb.) Here she is
hon (Ar.) here
Iftah, lo samaht (Ar.) Open the door please
Il Ra’is (Ar.) the President
Btihki Inglizi mnih, sah? (Ar.) You speak English well, right?
Andik camera? (Ar.) Do you have a camera?
insh’alla (Ar.) God willing
Inti mi
tjawzi? (Ar.) Are you married?
Intifada il Uwle (Ar.) First Intifada
Ismo Bassam (Ar.) His name is Bassam.
Israelien (Palestinian English) Israeli
Itsharafna (or
tasharafna) (Ar.) Honored to meet you
jahez (Ar.) (m.)/jaheza (fem.) ready
Jamia i-Shabia Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (Palestinian political party)
jamil (Ar.) beautiful
Jawwal (Ar.) Palestinian mobile phone carrier; lit. walking around
jesh (Ar.) (Israeli) army
jid (Ar.) grandfather
jidi (Ar.) goat
jilbab (Ar.) a long coat worn by many Palestinian women
joz (Ar.) husband
kalb (Ar.) dog
Kama? (Heb.) How much?
kamaan wahad (Ar.) one more
keffiyeh (Ar.) a traditional Arab scarf or headcovering
ken (Heb.) yes
khalas (Ar.) finished; stop; enough
Kiif halik? (Ar.) How are you?
knaffe a Palestinian dessert made with cheese, especially common in Nablus
kousa (Ar.) squash
k’tzat (Heb.) a little
kundera (Ar.) shoes
laa (Ar.) no
labneh (Ar.) yogurt
L’an? (Heb.) Where are you going?
Lekhasot (Heb.) to cover
Lo, ani lo reavah. (Heb.) No, I’m not hungry.
Lo bseder (Heb.) Not okay
Lo mevinah (Heb.) I don’t understand
Lo yodaat (Heb.) I don’t know
luuti (Ar.) homosexual (derogatory)
Maat (Ar.) He died
mabrouk (Ar.) congratulations
Machsom (Heb.) checkpoint
Machsom Watch Israeli women’s organization that monitors checkpoints in the West Bank
Ma habe’ayah? (Heb.) What’s the problem?
Ma koreh? (Heb.) What’s going on?
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