Yasmine turned, gesturing around her. ‘The kids are having a great time.’
As we left the zoo, Khaled asked if we could make a couple of stops on the way home. The van would be very useful in an errand. Outside the zoo, several vendors had set up a neighbourhood market. One of them sold an array of starter plants in peat pots. I recognised most of the produce from the many gardens Yasmine had loved and coaxed into cavalcades of vegetables which we gave to neighbours and colleagues. Khaled pulled a ragged wallet from his backpack.
I put my hand over it. ‘Your money is no good here, son. What do you need?’
‘Some tomato, courgette, aubergine, cucumber, mint and sage plants, please.’
***
Once we were back in the car I asked for directions and Khaled told me that this is where his errand started. The plants weren’t for his family.
We stopped in front of a building on the outskirts of the city. The walls bore gaping cavities in the stucco.
‘During the invasion, the soldiers took over this family’s house, wrecked their furniture, punched sniper holes in their walls.’ Khaled opened the back of the van. ‘They left behind bullet casings and stinking waste bags – the troops’ portable toilets.’
What a good kid Abbas had raised. Even with all his anger, he must be a good father to have a son so kind. We entered what was left of the home. They had cleaned up the rubble, but left the graffiti. Some was in Hebrew, but much was in English: Arabs need 2 die, screamed one wall. 1 down, 999,999 to go said another, and scrawled on an image of a gravestone were the words Arabs 1948–2009.
Five kids lived there alone, it seemed. Khaled and Yasmine placed the plants where the oldest, who seemed to be about twelve or thirteen, showed them, near the front door.
***
The van ride home was quiet. I had planned to invite Abbas’ family to dinner at the hotel. I’d hoped to show them there is more to life than suffering, but somehow I just didn’t feel like that was completely true at the moment. So I didn’t interrupt the silence.
CHAPTER 54
That night, Menachem called.
‘I can’t get him out,’ he said. ‘I even spoke with the Prime Minister.’
‘Why not?’ I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.
‘His father works for Hamas,’ Menachem said. ‘Believe me. You’ll never be able to get him out.’
***
The next morning Khaled was waiting for me in the restaurant. He was wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap and jeans. He could have been any teenager, anywhere, as he took the earplugs from his Walkman out of his ears.
‘What are you listening to?’ I asked.
‘Eminem,’ he said. ‘I love rap. I hope you don’t mind me coming over. I wanted to hear more about your research. I had a dream you were my advisor.’
Yasmine and I sat at the table with him. His eyes were filled with hope. I had to tell him. ‘I have very bad news,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t get you the visa. I’m so sorry.’
He deflated before me like a balloon. His eyes filled with tears and they spilled over onto his cheeks.
‘Perhaps some time in the future, when things cool down…’ I didn’t believe it myself. He clearly didn’t.
Yasmine slid to his side, stroking his hair. My impotence paralysed me. How could I have filled him with false hope? Who did I think I was? That I was somehow better than my kinsfolk here? That I could magically solve their problems? All I had done so far was cause pain. I had to find a solution.
‘Let’s brainstorm,’ I said. ‘Maybe there’s a way out. I mean, they sneak food and supplies into Gaza; maybe we could sneak you out.’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could suck them back in.
Khaled wiped his eyes and looked up at me. ‘You mean through the tunnels?’
‘Do they sneak people out through them?’ I said.
‘My neighbour goes through them every week. He has a curable cancer and there’s no chemotherapy in Gaza.’
‘Why don’t we look into that option?’ I said. ‘But first we need to speak to your father.’
Khaled shook his head. ‘First let’s find out if it’s feasible and then, if it is, we’ll ask him.’
I thought of how I’d waited until after the maths scholarship exam to tell Mama. If I had asked before, she wouldn’t have let me go. ‘That sounds reasonable,’ I said.
‘Can we go there now?’ he asked. ‘To the tunnels?’
Yasmine, Khaled and I got into our rented van and I drove us to Rafah.
***
The stores in Rafah were filled with smuggled goods at exorbitant prices – baby food, medicines, computers, bottles of water. In the storefront windows were pictures of tunnel martyrs clutching spades and drills. It looked very dangerous.
I looked at the prices. ‘How do people afford these things?’
‘They have no choice.’ The storeowner shrugged. ‘It’s so expensive to smuggle anything in. They have to pay the Egyptians, and then there’s the cost of the tunnel.’
‘Let’s go and see the tunnels ourselves,’ Khaled said.
I agreed, but I had already made up my mind. All these dead men – I couldn’t allow Khaled to risk his life.
We passed Nijma Square in the centre of Rafah. Tables of TV sets, fans, blenders, refrigerators and other electrical appliances were set up. Moving west towards the border were boxes of cigarettes, giant sacks of potato crisps. We passed the warehouse that sold the tools used to build the tunnels – shovels, rope, electrical cords, pickaxes, hammers, nuts, bolts and screws in all sizes – before we reached the entrances. People were selling wares out of wheelbarrows, calling out to us as we walked by.
Lurking under a complex arrangement of tents and jerry-built shacks along the border between Gaza and Egypt was Gaza’s lifeline, a network of tunnels.
A man introduced me to his boss, who showed me the different kinds of tunnels. They varied in size, shape and purpose and were built in varying levels of sophistication. This only confirmed what I had already decided. There was no way I’d risk my nephew’s life. We saw fragile ones with dirt shafts and narrow openings, and we saw wide wood-enforced passageways. Although the latter were less likely to collapse, they could still be bombed.
‘Why does that entrance descend gradually to the tunnel?’ Yasmine pointed.
‘It’s for livestock,’ the tunneller said. ‘It’s easier on the cows and donkeys. Otherwise they’d have to be hauled out by a generator-operated pulley.’
Khaled laughed. ‘I’ll dress like a donkey and go through this one! My mother says I’m stubborn as a mule.’
When we didn’t joke with him, he knew something was up. I told him that it was too dangerous; that I refused to allow him to try and sneak out through the tunnels. The light in his eyes went out.
‘I can’t put your life in jeopardy,’ I said.
‘What life?’ he asked. ‘I’m already dead.’ He looked at my face, searching for some mercy. ‘How do you think your life would’ve turned out had you not been allowed to study?’
I thought back to when I was expelled from the Hebrew University. I remembered how dead I’d felt inside; how trapped.
‘Listen, we can stay longer.’ I was trying to sound cheery. ‘I can tutor you.’
He walked up to the dreary wall before us where posters of martyrs were hung. He didn’t say a word, only pressed his hand up against a picture of a young boy who was smiling and looked full of life. Perhaps a birthday portrait. All of us knew he was dead or his picture wouldn’t be there. In a way, it was worse to see him as he was when he was alive. Then, he’d had hope.
‘Just take me home.’ Khaled turned sharply from the poster. It was startling to see how much he looked like the boy in the picture. ‘Why does it matter? Sometimes I wish … I wish I was brave like them.’
‘Like who?’ Yasmine asked.
‘The martyrs,’ he said. ‘The martyrs refuse to allow Israel to make their deaths as mean
ingless as their lives.’
‘There are many peaceful ways to fight,’ Yasmine said.
‘Your father went to prison for helping a freedom fighter.’ Khaled looked directly at me. He turned from the wall and we began to walk away as a group. He looked back and then set his face forward as we walked. ‘I’m sure you were proud of him.’
‘My father would be the first one to tell you that there are other ways to keep the cause alive,’ I said. ‘He’d tell you to focus on your studies and forget about politics.’
‘I’m a prisoner in my own city. I can’t do anything about it. What I need is freedom.’
‘The world is always changing and only God knows what will happen,’ Yasmine said.
‘God doesn’t exist,’ Khaled grunted. ‘The Israelis control our future.’
CHAPTER 55
Khaled called the next morning.
‘I was wondering if I could bring my family to your hotel for lunch. I wanted to celebrate,’ he said. ‘I think I found a way out of Gaza. I have an interview this afternoon. I thought it might be good for my family to see that there is still hope – I felt that when I was at the hotel.’
‘Of course you can bring them,’ I said. ‘Nothing would please Yasmine and me more. Who do you have an interview with?’
‘I want it to be a surprise,’ he said. ‘We can celebrate when I’m sure. Do you mind if I come over a little earlier? I wanted to hear more about your research. It might help my interview.’
‘Come over now,’ I said.
‘Oh, and please don’t tell my father. I don’t want to upset him until it’s official. He just thinks I’m going to a wedding.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ I said. I could feel my whole body relax. Yasmine and I had been worried sick about him since we left the tunnels. Finally, something good was happening.
***
Abbas, his wife, Yasmine, Khaled, four of the grandchildren and I gathered around the largest table in the restaurant and watched the waves crash from the window. It was strange to see Abbas and his family in their worn-out clothes eating off china with silverware and crystal water goblets. Only Khaled fitted in. He had completely transformed himself for the interview. He was dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and tie. His hair was nicely cropped, his light beard gone and his body looked like it had been scrubbed. It truly did appear that a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. I prayed his interview would go well.
We ended the meal with almond cake and Arabic coffee.
‘Let me see your cup,’ I said to Khaled. I was going to read his future the way Mama always read ours. I looked into the bottom of the cup, but all the signs Mama had taught me showed that his future was black.
‘Your future is bright,’ I lied.
He smiled and suddenly I felt like there was hope for him. I was a man of science. I didn’t believe in superstitions. Khaled looked over at Abbas with love in his eyes.
***
The videotape was dropped off in the middle of the night. Abbas and his wife rushed to our hotel because they didn’t have a video player. We hovered around the TV, knowing that it was the worst news we could imagine, yet somehow all hoping without words that it would not be.
An image of Khaled appeared. He had a black and white kaffiyah wrapped around his neck. In one hand he held a machine-gun pointed up and in the other was a script. His hand was shaking.
Yasmine dropped hard into the closest chair, in shock. Mayada began to weep silently.
‘I’m doing this not to enter paradise or to be surrounded by virgins. I’m doing this because the Israelis have left me no choice.’
Mayada and Yasmine now cried openly. Yasmine moved to the grieving mother’s side, embracing her. They wept together.
‘I’m doing this to advance the Palestinian cause. I’m doing this to further our resistance. I’d rather die with hope than live a life of imprisonment. I’d rather die fighting for a just cause than be trapped in hell on earth. This is my only way out. There is no freedom without a struggle. The Israelis must understand: if they imprison us, they will pay a price. I can only control how I die. Israel’s crimes against my people are countless. Not only do they oppress us, but they have convinced the world that they are the victims. Israel has one of the strongest militaries in the world – we have a few measly rockets, and yet they’ve managed to convince the world that they need protection from us. The world not only believes their lies, it also supports them. They have forbidden me from using my mind, so I must use my body, the only weapon left to me.’
The video became fuzzy and I thought we had lost the picture, but in a few seconds it returned.
‘To my beloved parents: I apologise for saying goodbye in this manner. I know how much you have suffered and I hope that you will be proud of me.’
He lowered his gun.
‘Baba, please give Uncle Ichmad my notebook. It’s in the bottom drawer of my dresser under my trousers.
‘Until we meet again, I bid you farewell.’ The video went dark.
‘What have I done?’ Abbas buried his face in his hands, sobbing. ‘This is all my fault. Did I let him think that I wanted him to be a martyr?’
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘He knew how much you loved him. No one has any doubt that you would rather take a dagger to your heart than see him hurt.’ I hugged Abbas. For the first time in fifty years, he hugged me back. Poor Abbas. He was blaming himself when I knew it was my fault. I had given Khaled hope in his hopelessness and it had made his life unbearable. I was so naïve to have thought that I could help him with my connections.
I had killed my brother’s son.
CHAPTER 56
When my mobile phone rang, I awoke with a gasp, my heart banging at the walls of my chest. The room was pitch-black except for the clock on my nightstand: 3:32am. I groped for the phone. The receiver slipped out of my hand onto the floor.
Someone else must have died.
Only a week had passed since Khaled’s funeral. He had detonated the vest early. They said it was a malfunction, but we knew it was because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to take innocent people with him. Of course, he’d still taken some – his whole, innocent family was suffering.
Now, any late-night phone call was reason for alarm.
‘Hurry, answer it!’ Yasmine’s voice had an edge of panic. Neither of us had had a decent night’s sleep since Khaled’s death.
I grabbed the phone. Abbas was dead, I was sure. His death would break Mama’s heart.
‘Yes,’ I said, a bit too loud. ‘What is it?’
Yasmine turned on her lamp. She was sitting up, bug-eyed, a mirror of my fears.
‘Is this Professor Ichmad Hamid?’ a man asked in a polite voice. His accent was unfamiliar.
‘Yes,’ I said, fear in my voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Alfred Edlund.’
My heart dropped. I knew his name from somewhere. Was he a friend of my son Mahmud’s from Yale? This couldn’t be good, not at this hour.
‘Who is it?’ Yasmine asked.
‘Is Mahmud alright?’ I held my breath.
Yasmine gasped and rocked back and forth.
‘I don’t understand,’ the man said.
‘This isn’t about my son?’
‘No. I’m the Secretary General of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.’
I looked over at Yasmine and held up my hand. ‘No one’s hurt,’ I whispered.
‘Professor Hamid, are you there?’
‘How did you find me?’
‘Professor Sharon gave me your number.’
I sat up straight as the importance of this call sank in.
‘I’m calling on behalf of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.’
Menachem and I had been nominated for the Nobel Prize each of the last ten years. But who would call at this hour?
‘I’d like to inform you—’ He paused. ‘—on behalf of the Royal Swedish Academy, we’re pleased to announce t
hat you and Professor Sharon will be this year’s recipients of the Nobel Prize in Physics.’
I had no words.
‘Your teamwork in discovering how to measure the magnetic anisotropy in individual atoms was an extraordinary breakthrough. It led to the discovery of new kinds of structures and devices that will play a major role in the development of the new generation of electronics, computers and satellites.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’d be honoured, of course.’ I could hear the flatness in my voice.
‘What’s going on?’ Yasmine gripped my arm. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘We’ll present you with the Nobel Prize in Sweden at the Stockholm Concert Hall on December the 10th.’
‘I’m in Gaza right now,’ I said. ‘I’m quite honoured, but I won’t be able to attend.’ I couldn’t leave Gaza, not so soon after Khaled’s death.
‘Since we aren’t awarding the prizes until December, we can communicate about your options before then.’
‘What kind of call is this?’ Yasmine pulled on my arm. ‘Who is that?’
‘I’ve examined your lifetime’s research and I’m very impressed. You’ve greatly contributed to the advancement of the human race.’
‘Ichmad, tell me!’ Yasmine said. ‘I must know.’
I hung up.
‘I won a Nobel Prize.’ My voice lacked enthusiasm.
The sound of the phone ringing again startled me.
‘What’s going on? Who’s calling now?’ said Yasmine.
‘It’s about the prize,’ I said. The phone, I knew, would not stop ringing until I answered. I grabbed the receiver.
‘I still remember the day you told me you had a better way. And to think I almost ignored you.’ Menachem’s voice choked.
We had worked so hard for this. I didn’t want my personal pain to bring him down. He had been calling every day to check on me.
‘To think how much I used to hate—’
‘Do you have any regrets?’
‘Only that I didn’t see the truth from the start.’
As soon as I’d put the receiver down, the phone rang again.
‘Hello. Is Professor Hamid there?’ a man with a Spanish accent asked.
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