The Almond Tree

by Michelle Cohen Corasanti

  In the middle of the path, Baba stopped and looked around. ‘Son, I’m worried. Your brother, Abbas; he’s so filled with hatred, he can’t be reasoned with.’ Baba whispered the words in my ear. ‘I’m afraid of what he might do.’

  ‘This is all my fault,’ I said. ‘He thinks I’ve sided with the enemy. My marriage is what pushed him over the edge.’

  ‘He’s very confused. I don’t believe he thinks that you’ve sided with the enemy; he believes you are the enemy. It’s been hard for him to grow up in your shadow.’

  ‘Mama is blaming Nora,’ I said.

  Baba shook his head, knowingly. ‘I’ll handle her.’

  Hearing footsteps behind us, we continued on to the tea house.

  In the evening, guests appeared bearing gifts of sheep, goats and wrapped presents. The greeter belted out thanks, while my cousin Tareq registered who gave what.

  ***

  At Uncle Kamal’s house, I stood naked in the middle of the room in a tin tub filled with soapy water. The men sang, clapped and danced around me as they poured cups and pitchers of soapy water over my head. Fadi lathered my face and shaved me, while my cousins washed me with sponges. Baba was outside greeting the guests – I was glad he would be there to welcome Menachem, Justice, Rafi and Motie. My heart felt heavy like a concrete brick.

  When I was clean, the men dried me off and I dressed in a white robe. Mama entered holding a smoking incense burner, which filled the air with frankincense, and blessed me and my marriage. Baba must have talked to her.

  ‘The horse has arrived,’ Uncle Kamal announced, and the men followed me outside joyously clapping.

  ‘Our groom has climbed onto the mare,’ they chanted as I mounted the white horse, which was decorated with necklaces of fresh calla lilies. Baba, Fadi and Hani were directly behind me. We headed towards my family’s house, the men chanting, ‘A horse of Arab blood. The groom’s face is as soft as a flower.’ As I ascended the dirt path to my parents’ home, men dressed in white, tan and grey robes with blazers and cummerbunds, and others in bell-bottoms and silk shirts, lined the road, sidestepping, clapping and chanting. I looked back and saw Mama and Nadia dressed in black robes with red geometrical shapes on the front panel. The women clapped and chanted behind the men. Children of all ages were running and laughing and holding hands with their friends. The boys were in their best clothes; white cotton tops and elastic-waisted trousers their mothers had made. The girls wore brightly coloured dresses of ruffles and lace.

  When we arrived, the men surrounded me as I dismounted. Menachem and Justice waved to me from among the crowd. In the house, Nora sat on the loveseat, her face covered with a golden hand-embroidered veil that was trimmed with gold coins. Mama was on her left, Nadia on her right. Behind them was a sheet with plastic flowers sewn onto it. Baba handed me a sword and I walked to Nora. With its tip, I lifted her veil.

  The women ululated so loudly I couldn’t hear myself think.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ I whispered to her and she gazed at me, eyes wide with delight. Had I chosen her over my brother? From the corner of my eye, I saw Baba and Mama. Menachem was in the corner with Justice, Rafi, Motie and their wives. Nora and I headed out to the velour loveseat with the mahogany carved back in the courtyard. The guests followed us, clapping and singing in two groups. The first group chanted, ‘Our bridegroom is the best of youth.’ The second group responded, ‘The best of youth is our bridegroom.’

  Nora and I sat on the loveseat and the guests danced in front of us. Mama and Baba came over and kissed me on the cheeks. They took Nora by the hand and the three of them began to dance together. Menachem, Justice, Motie, Rafi and their wives were arm in arm with the villagers trying to learn the dabkeh. And it suddenly occurred to me that maybe peace was possible. I wished Abbas could see things through my eyes.

  ***

  Baba played his oud and sang our praises to the beat of the violin, drum and tambourine. Our neighbours surrounded us as we sat on the loveseat at the end of the courtyard, side by side, like a king and queen. They danced in front of us. Mama, Justice and Nadia held hands and danced in a joyful circle. Despite the smiling faces and laughter, I knew Abbas’ absence weighed heavy on my family.

  All the villagers headed to the bottom of the hill. Nora was in a special plastic chair at the side of the road. The men formed a long oval in the road and danced around in front of Nora, jumping and twisting their hips, spinning in circles, clapping and singing. The women sat on the long benches on either side. Every time someone offered a gift, the announcer belted out a blessing of thanks. ‘May Allah bless you and grant you peace!’ ‘May peace always be with you!’ ‘May the Divine pour his blessings on you!’

  ‘Climb on,’ Fadi said. I climbed on his shoulders, and he began to dance with me in the middle of the men.

  ‘That’s enough,’ I said. ‘I must be crushing you.’

  ‘I can’t stop.’ It was like he was carrying the load for Abbas. He kept dancing and dancing, his lean twenty-four-year-old body stronger than I realised.

  It wasn’t until after midnight that Nora and I stood in front of the door to my parents’ house. Everyone behind us, on the hill and road, was holding candles. Mama handed Nora a piece of dough.

  ‘Stick it on the lintel.’ Mama pointed to a spot next to the door.

  Nora looked at me.

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said.

  ‘It will bring you wealth and children,’ Mama said.

  The villagers began to sing:

  We welcome you to enter your home

  As roses and jasmine and flowers bloom

  We pray for the Almighty

  To defeat your enemies and bless you with many boys

  Let everything we did for you become blessed

  And arid land turn green at your feet

  Had I not been shy before your kith and kin

  I would kneel down and kiss the ground at your feet

  Mama bent down and, with a needle and thread, loosely sewed the bottom of Nora’s wedding dress to my robe. ‘This is to protect you from the evil spirits,’ she said and kissed me on the cheek; then she turned to Nora and did the same. Everyone was watching her. The women surrounded us ululating and clapping as Nora and I entered my parents’ house attached by the thread.

  ***

  The following day, Nora and I walked through the village and I introduced her to each of the places that had had an impact on my life, starting with the village square.

  Nora stopped in the middle of the dusty road and turned to me. ‘Where’s Abbas, really?’

  I couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘He’s travelling.’

  ‘Because it is so easy for a Palestinian to take off on a sightseeing vacation through Israel, on his brother’s wedding day, when he can barely walk?’

  ‘This is really none of your concern, my wife.’ I was uncomfortable, there in public, even though no one could hear our conversation.

  ‘He left because of me. Because you married me, didn’t he?’

  ‘Did my mother say something to you?’

  Nora seemed crestfallen. ‘I was right.’ She looked up into my face. ‘You must go and look for him immediately.’

  I started to walk her back towards my family’s home. ‘I can’t; it’s not that easy.’

  She stopped. ‘You must.’

  I continued on, trudging up the hill. ‘Where Abbas has gone, no one can follow. He is underground now.’

  ***

  At the end of the week, I took the bus to Jerusalem. Menachem and I had been invited to give a series of lectures on our work for three days. Nora didn’t want to leave the village. Justice was going to stay at my parents’ house with her. They wanted to practise their Arabic before they left for Gaza at the end of the month. I tried to talk Nora into cancelling her trip, arguing that it was too dangerous there, that she should stay in the village instead, but she refused to listen.

  ‘You know what the Israelis are doing to the Gazans. The worl
d’s forsaken them. I told you before we were married what I was going to do with my life.’

  ‘You can help in other ways,’ I said. ‘Use your law degree. Raise funds. This isn’t the way.’

  ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t go there. I can’t live safe in the US, living a life of privilege, while they suffer and die.’

  What could I say? I’d gone into our marriage well aware of the person she was, but I’d always thought that I’d be able to reason with her. At least I had another three weeks to talk her out of going to Gaza. As soon as I returned from Jerusalem, I’d bring the topic up again.

  CHAPTER 40

  As soon as I stepped into the central bus station in Jerusalem, I heard shouts. ‘Pitzizah!’ Bomb!

  People ran in all directions, fleeing from the threat of a blue backpack left on the bench for the bus to Haifa.

  Fleeing people jumped, cowboy-style, over railings. A toddler in a pink dress and matching bonnet fell. Her mother yanked her up.

  An older man with a cane was knocked down by the rush of the crowds. Out of nowhere, two soldiers appeared and lifted him to safety. Civilians evacuated. Soldiers poured in. I fled with the others to behind the taped-off area.

  A team of soldiers blew up the backpack. Pieces of paper littered the air.

  ***

  I was deep in an article in the Journal of Physics about the development of a new microscope that would probe the density of states of material using the tunnelling current. I needed to understand how the researchers at IBM were trying to develop this microscope that viewed surfaces at the atomic level. I looked at the clock in Menachem’s office. It was only 10:00am. We didn’t have to give our next lecture until noon. I had enough time to finish the article. The lecture we had given the evening before had been a great success.

  ‘Need a refill?’ Menachem held up the teapot.

  ‘No, thanks. I still have some.’

  The phone rang. Menachem answered, and I ignored it. Always too much work to do; not enough time.

  ‘Yes,’ Menachem said.

  It was something in the way he said yes that made me look up. Menachem’s hands started to shake. He almost dropped his full cup of tea, but caught it just in time. He looked at me, and I knew this call was different. Tears poured down his cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, and handed me the receiver.

  I took the phone, worried something had happened to Abbas.

  I held the receiver to my ear.

  Justice couldn’t get the words out. She was crying.

  ‘Ichmad, I’m afraid I have the worst news imaginable for you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘We were protecting your family’s house. The soldiers came. They said your brother was involved with a terrorist organisation. Their bulldozer crushed Nora. She died on the way to the hospital. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  I hung up the phone. I could hear no more. I looked over at Menachem.

  ‘Nothing in my life will ever be right again,’ I said.

  CHAPTER 41

  Later, I found out the details. Nora and Justice had positioned themselves between the bulldozer and my family’s house. They wore fluorescent orange vests with reflective strips that clearly marked them as unarmed civilians; Justice had always kept them in her car. My family had begged Justice and Nora not to put themselves in harm’s way, but they had insisted that the Israelis wouldn’t hurt two American Jewish women. They had convinced my family that they’d be immune. Baba tried to talk them out of it, but they refused to listen.

  Justice yelled to the bulldozer driver through her megaphone in Hebrew to stop. She was always prepared to protest against injustice. Nora was waving her arms in the air as high as she could. There was both an operator and a vehicle commander in the bulldozer. Nora and Justice maintained eye contact with the bulldozer driver the entire time. On-site there was also a commander of the operation watching from an armoured personnel carrier.

  The bulldozer kept coming. It pushed the earth forward and Justice and Nora climbed on top of the mound. They were high enough to see directly into the cab. The bulldozer kept coming. Justice was able to jump out of the way. Nora lost her footing and was pulled under the blade. The bulldozer continued. My family and Justice pounded on the cab’s windows. The bulldozer continued forward, until the blade ran completely over Nora and then it backed up. My family and Justice ran to her. Nora was still alive. She said something about a promise. I don’t know what. Was it a promise to me? A promise to the Palestinian people she so desperately wanted to help? I never found out. Nora was pronounced dead in the ambulance. Nora saved my family’s house. The demolition was cancelled.

  Nora’s parents flew in. They wanted to take Nora’s body back to America, but I convinced them to bury Nora in my village, under the almond tree. Her death must have meaning. Crowds numbering in the thousands, Palestinians and Israelis together, marched through the village holding hands and yelling, ‘Shalom Acshav!’ ‘Peace Now!’ Nora’s body was too mangled to be carried on a board as we did with the other martyrs. We buried her in a pine coffin under the almond tree.

  I was told that I repeated the details of what happened to everyone who asked – friends, family, students – telling of the bulldozer that crushed her small, perfect body. After Nora’s funeral, I took to bed, never leaving my parents’ house. I stayed in the bed that had belonged to Abbas, the only real bed, and it constantly reminded me that I had traded my brother for Nora and now had neither. At the foot of the bed, I placed the portrait that Baba had drawn of Nora and me sitting on the velour loveseat.

  Food seemed without taste. Mama brought meals to me, preparing my favourite foods, but I had no stomach for it. Sometimes she would sit next to me, holding a date cookie or a piece of pita in front of my mouth, trying to cajole me into eating, like she had done with Abbas after his accident.

  ‘Mama, please. Leave me. I’m not a baby.’

  ‘A child is a child, even if he has built a city.’ She squeezed my face gently, between her fingers and thumb. ‘You can’t join Nora, my son. Your place is here. You must eat.’ I would take a bite or two only to secure some quiet.

  Even Baba could bring me no solace. I knew I’d failed Nora. I should have protected her – she was my wife. Yet she was Nora, who wanted no protecting. What could I have done?

  Baba listened and said, ‘Pound the water, and in the end it is still water.’

  Nora’s parents demanded an autopsy and an investigation, but no charges were brought. The Israeli government ruled her death accidental. Justice was there: she told everyone it was no accident. My family said the same thing. My wife was murdered in cold blood.

  When we first arrived at my village, Nora made me promise I would one day write my story. I tried to tell her that no one would be interested, but she was so adamant. Was that the promise she had referred to?

  I wanted to die too. Nothing mattered. But I knew I couldn’t do that to Baba. He had suffered enough.

  At the end of the month, Menachem appeared at our door. I told Baba to tell him I was sleeping, but instead Baba escorted him into the small bedroom.

  ‘When Einstein’s wife was dying, he wrote to a friend that intellectual work would lead him through all of life’s troubles,’ Menachem said. ‘You’d do well to follow his advice.’

  I slowly sat up in bed.

  ‘Take it from me, the only way to overcome the complexities of human emotions is to delve into science and try to explain the unexplained,’ he said.

  Though I wanted to ignore him, I knew his words to be true. I couldn’t ignore Einstein’s example. He was a great scientist. The greatest.

  ‘I’m not leaving here without you.’ Menachem sat on the end of my bed as if he were prepared to take root there.

  I packed my bag and we left that night.

  CHAPTER 42

  Back in Somerville, I packed Nora’s memories into boxes – the picture of her in South Africa waving a sign that read Stop Apartheid Now!; a seven-yea
r-old Nora marching on Washington carrying a We Shall Overcome! sign with her parents; Nora in Los Angeles wearing the ‘P’ in the PEACE NOW that she and her friends had spelt out across their T-shirts.

  I filled two boxes with pictures from the period before I knew her. Those belonged to her parents, so I mailed them to California. I kept the pictures of us together – signing the marriage contract in the justice of the peace’s chambers; in her dorm room; on a bench in Harvard Yard; and all the pictures from our wedding in the village. Those pictures I placed in an envelope in my briefcase. That way, she’d always be near me. I also kept the spoon and the two-spouted jug.

  On September the 17th, 1978, a year after Nora’s death, Israel and Egypt signed the Camp David Accords. Several months later, I was watching news of the Arab League’s summit meeting in Baghdad denouncing the Accords when I spotted Abbas. My brother was on the stairs outside the building. I couldn’t believe my eyes. No one in my family had heard from him in over a year. Communication with any Arab outside of Israel was against the law and especially one who worked for Dr Habash. My family could be exiled, tortured or imprisoned for years. And even if we wanted to contact him, how would we find him? He was underground in the Arab world and we could never go there. But at least we knew he was in Baghdad, and still alive.

  In February 1979, the Islamic Revolution in Iran occurred, and the Shah was ousted from power; then, on March the 26th, 1979, Israel and Egypt signed a peace treaty at the White House. I thought of Abbas, of the anger he’d feel knowing that Egypt had agreed to peace with Israel, especially since it had done so without solving the Palestinian problem as part of the deal. Nora would have been outraged. Even I felt that Egypt had betrayed my people.

  Every morning I got up, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed and walked out of the door. And then I worked. Work was the only thing that gave substance to my life. At first, my attempts to concentrate were fruitless. But I had known sorrow before. Work would be my only salvation. So I threw myself into my research, leaving no time to think about anything else.