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Authors: Ibtisam Barakat

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BOOK: Tasting the Sky
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Grandma loved trees with all her heart, perhaps the way I loved Zuraiqee. “They are part of my family,” she assured
me. And she was right. Apple, pear, fig, sumac, apricot, almond, and peach trees stood within yards of her door and seemed healthy and well cared for.
“Are these animals or fruits?” I would ask her, rubbing my skin against the fur of peaches.
“Neither,” she would reply with a laugh. “They are children.” And she would dig her teeth into one to tease me, making me laugh, too. She also kept chickens and rabbits. The pigeons she raised lined the edges of her roof like store awnings.
But the main member of Grandma's family was her own mother, Great-Grandma Jamila. She lived in a separate house, a few minutes away. Like many grandmas, Great-Grandma Jamila had tattoos that adorned the backs of her hands, her chin, and her forehead. She walked bent over and was as wrinkled as a newborn baby. She slept as often as a baby, too. When my brothers and I woke her up by playing too loudly, she called for us to come inside to see her. We did, sitting at the foot of her bed and then jumping on it as though it were a trampoline. She was too frail for our tumbling, but she let us go on anyway, smiling a toothless smile, her large eyes, the unending blue of a summer sky, sparkling with pleasure.
Mother, holding the hand of my sister, soon joined us in Great-Grandma Jamila's house. She announced that Father had gone to the center of the village to invite relatives and friends to the circumcision. Then she asked that we go outside and play.
My brothers and I knew that Mother would soon be
busy talking with Great-Grandma. No one would be watching us. So, against our parents' ongoing warnings to stay away from Bir El-Shami, the three of us agreed to sneak a look.
Bir El-Shami was so deep it never dried up the way other wells did. A fresh spring fed it when the rain stopped. It had a small opening but no cover. A black rubber bucket tied to a long rope lay beside it. Remembering Mother's words—that one's head is heavier than one realizes—we stretched our bodies on the ground before looking down into the well.
The liquid mirror inside reflected our faces. We called out one another's names; the echoes returned to us as though our voices had grown older than we were. We dropped tiny pebbles into the well. The water blinked like an eye, ripples spreading out like leaves of a giant cabbage.
Then, suddenly, Mother's voice reached us. “Where are the children?” she shouted. There was no answer. But we knew that soon she would discover us and chase us away from the water. We dangled our heads as low as we could, our bodies feeling lighter, our heads heavier and heavier.
Mother's voice came closer, calling out our names. But the water called to us even more loudly. We lay silent, our minds spread into two worlds, until suddenly Mother's steps were right beside us. Trembling with anxiety, we seemed to lose our balance. Unsure what would follow, we held on to the edge of the well, continuing to gaze into the water. Now I was afraid and wanted to cry. When Mother finally spoke to us, it was in a strange, quiet voice. She begged us to remain
still. We obeyed. And then she helped us move away from the edge to safety.
Trailing behind Mother, we whispered to one another, trying to capture in words the feeling we'd had while staring into the water. But there were no words. Only silence could express it.
Mother was so grateful we hadn't fallen into Bir El-Shami that instead of scolding and hitting us she reached out and drew us to her—holding us tight. We no longer needed her warnings that many people had fallen into and died in wells. Now we saw the danger.
Zuraiq seemed to sense something strange as Father walked toward him. He leapt, stood far away amid the rocks, and looked ready to run farther. Had he overheard the news my parents had announced just minutes ago—that he would be killed for the circumcision feast?
“No!” my brothers and I had shouted at once. “You promised to keep him for us. You promised,” we reminded our father.
We bombarded him with questions, pummeling him about not keeping his word. “I did,” he insisted. “I did not sell Zuraiq to anyone.” He protested that he could not afford to buy all the necessities for the feast and the celebration. But the feast, the celebration, and the circumcision meant nothing in comparison to Zuraiq. He was part of our family.
“You must say goodbye to Zuraiq and bring him to the shed,” Father instructed. He knew we were the only ones Zuraiq would listen to.
We looked at one another and then, without a word, ran fast and furiously toward Zuraiq, yelling: “Flee! Forever! Never come back to the knife that awaits you.” But Zuraiq must have thought we were playing. He stepped nimbly toward us, his ears flapping against his cheeks as he shook his head and brushed against our open hands.
“Go!” I begged Zuraiq to save himself. Rushing ahead of him, my brothers hoped he would follow them. And I ran after Zuraiq to make sure he kept moving. When we were far away from the house, the three of us suddenly reversed direction, charged away from Zuraiq, and threw pebbles at him. But that did not discourage him from running after us as though an invisible string existed between him and us. It became clear that it was impossible for us to make Zuraiq flee. Our only hope was to make our father change his mind.
Standing apart, we shouted that we wouldn't come home until he assured us he would not kill Zuraiq. Throwing his arms up in the air in agitation, he laughed, then turned to Mother. “They must think they're the children of a king if they believe we can afford to keep a goat as a pet for all its life.”
“But you're the one who promised them,” she chastised.
“I wanted them to be happy, if only for a while,” he pleaded. “My own dad would never have let me keep a goat
as a pet, even for a day.” He picked up a pebble and threw it off into the distance. My brothers and I stood, crossing our arms against our chests, hoping our parents would decide in favor of Zuraiq's life.
“I will not kill him,” Father suddenly announced. We leapt up in delight, but we were not going to take a chance in case he was deceiving us.
“Yamma, can you assure us he won't kill him?” Basel shouted.
“I assure you,” she replied. So we ran back into the house cheering, with Zuraiq close behind us.
But the moment Zuraiq was within our father's reach, he grabbed him and put a leash around his neck. He led him out, locked the door, and ordered us to stay inside. We ran to the window. “Why?” we exploded. Father had no answer. He only looked away. Now we realized that we had been tricked.
“Listen,” Mother said, turning to us sternly. “The circumcision date cannot be changed, and before we know it many people will be here for the celebration.”
So this was Zuraiq's last hour? I could not imagine losing him. I felt he loved me more than anyone else. Hitting the wall with my fists and crying at the top of my lungs, I knew I should do something to help him. “Can you keep him alive one more day? I will do all the chores you want,” I bargained with Mother. But her eyes said that it was no use.
When she turned to go outside, my brothers and I
begged her to let us say goodbye to Zuraiq and be with him as he died. Wagging her finger to warn us against disrupting, she opened the door.
We walked to Zuraiq silently, astonished at what we knew would happen in moments. We held his face and kissed him, told him that we loved him, and heard him for the last time bleat his love back to us. Holding hands tightly, we stood, backs against the wall.
Father tied Zuraiq's legs with short ropes, turned him upside down, read prayers over him, and, with Mother's help, severed the head from the body. Blood spurted everywhere. We dropped to the ground, weeping.
“I am sorry I ever made that promise,” Father said. He cursed himself for having done it. But his apology did not change our loss one bit.
Zuraiq's body hung from a tree for hours as Father slowly skinned him. The mother goat, who was locked in the shed, had not seen her son's slaughter, but she hit her horns hard against the door. When she was let out, her eyes were wide and red like wounds. She stretched her chest tight like a bow, raised her head up, and screamed her grief into the sky for hours. I wished I could scream my own pain the way she did.
After skinning Zuraiq, Father ripped open the body. Mother cleaned the intestines, later to be cooked with spices and rice. She set aside the heart, and I held it, a tremble running through my body. I couldn't stop crying.
Mother packed Zuraiq's skin with salt and set it in the
sun to dry. It would make a rug or a winter cover—at least that part of Zuraiq would stay with us for years.
 
On the day of the circumcision, Grandma Fatima and the other women who came early to help Mother scrubbed the floor tiles and window glass till they squeaked like birds under their hands. They hung red, orange, and yellow balloons and shiny paper lanterns from the ceiling. They lined up dozens of borrowed chairs in our front yard.
Sitting on top of the cupboard were baskets filled with pieces of candy glittering in silver and gold wrappers like distant stars. Once the circumcision was completed, Mother would hand me the baskets. It would be my job to make certain every person present got a handful of candy.
The women made
mansaf,
the customary meal served at weddings and circumcision celebrations. On a large tray called
seder,
they spread fresh flatbread, layered with yellow saffron rice. They soaked the rice and bread with
jameed
yogurt, then topped it all with meat, pine nuts, and almonds.
Our Nabi Samuel and Beit Iksa relatives, other relatives who lived in Jerusalem, Father's co-workers and friends, Mother's friends and clients all began arriving at our home. The old men wore long traditional garments resembling dresses and covered their heads with black-and-white
hatta
scarves.
The women lined their eyes with dark kohl; some painted their lips and nails, and all of them wore black dresses colorfully embroidered with endless stitches, each
the size of a sugar granule. It had taken Grandma months of work to embroider hers. The women compared the time it took them to complete a dress. They also compared the thickness and artistry of their golden dowry bracelets and jewels. The wealthier women had gold bracelets covering their arms from wrist to elbow. Mother owned only six bracelets, one pair of earrings, and a necklace.
The moment each woman guest arrived in the yard, and before she reached the door, she ululated, making a loud trilling sound, to announce that she shared our joy. Women already inside the house replied to the newcomer with similar cheers, and their sounds merged into a thundering song that reached up to the clouds.
When most of the guests had arrived, a man in the garden beat a drum, calling everyone to dance. Men and women raised their hands in the air, waved handkerchiefs, snapped their fingers as they tapped the ground, then stomped with their feet. They swayed their shoulders with delight, moving left and right in a circle.
Young children flooded to the center and danced till they were exhausted, only to get up and dance again. Maha was with them, happily running in and out of the circle like a baby clown. I leaned against the door, one moment looking at the dance circle, the next closely watching my brothers.
They were inside the house, trying every chance they got to charge toward the door. They begged to go outside for a moment, but the growing crowd guarded them lest they disappear before the arrival of the man who would circumcise
them. What was going to happen? No one would explain anything to me. Confused, I knew I would understand only after the circumcision was done.
Then, suddenly, a voice from outside rose above the crowd. “Abu Qazem has arrived.” The dance circle now became like a mad hive, and the songs sharpened.
Abu Qazem walked in a hurry, carrying a black leather briefcase. Everyone greeted him cheerfully. Father met him with a welcoming handshake, and led him to my brothers. I followed them as the trilling intensified, becoming one long siren call. Seeing Abu Qazem, my brothers kicked and pushed with all their might, trying to get out of the house. But the crowd blocked their path.
Muhammad was taken aside in order not to see while men pinned down Basel and removed his clothes. Basel screamed for help. I was stunned. Did they want to harm him? I shouted that they must stop, but Grandma quickly reached over and closed my mouth. I bit her hand.
The men pushed down on Basel's chest to make certain he could not get free or see what was about to happen. But I was seeing for him. Now that he was no longer able to make a noise, his mouth frothed like a boiling pot of milk on a stove.
The women joined in singing high rounds of praise.
The circumcised boy,
His precious tears are
Soaking his sleeves.
Hand him to his mother.
The circumcised boy,
His precious tears
Are a string of pearls.
Hand him to his father.
But Father and Mother were watching as Abu Qazem took out a steel rod. He used it to measure the length of foreskin that he was going to snip off. While carefully working his scissors, Abu Qazem commended Basel for his courage in enduring the pain of this ancient ritual. “Enduring pain makes you a man,” he said.
Blood gushed into Abu Qazem's hands. He disguised the bleeding with Mercurochrome and swiftly wrapped it all with many layers of gauze.
He now turned around for Muhammad while half the crowd gathered to comfort Basel. I watched in shock as Muhammad was forced into circumcision.
“Give away the candy,” Mother said, nudging me as Abu Qazem rose to leave the room. But I wanted to give candy only to Basel and Muhammad. I threw it all on them like confetti while relatives and guests leaned down to kiss them and put money under their tear-soaked pillows.
The food was served first to Abu Qazem; then everyone squatted around the large platters and ate. I could not eat anything, nor could my brothers, and by the end of the day, Zuraiq had disappeared.
In the days that followed, Basel and Muhammad put on loose dresses, washed their bodies with cool tea, and screamed in anguish each time they felt the urge to urinate.
They looked so helpless. They spoke mainly with each other, for they had shared the same loss.
I felt alone. Zuraiq was gone. And suddenly Basel and Muhammad seemed to have been taken from me, too.
School was going to start soon, and I would walk and take the bus with them every morning. But my excitement about going to school with my brothers had dimmed. Everything seemed different now.
BOOK: Tasting the Sky
4.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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