Where the Streets Had a Name (26 page)

‘So?'

‘So her dress will slip! She'll fall! She looks terrified.'

‘No she doesn't. She's laughing. Ahmad looks more worried. Those two guys holding him up don't look as though they have enough meat on them to hold up Mohammed.'

But they don't fall. The lights of the chandeliers shine on Jihan's warm, animated face as Ahmad holds her hands in the air and the crowd chants and claps.

The rest of the night passes like a comet. Samy and I dance every
dabka
. We hang out with my cousins from Ramallah. Nawal is also thirteen and Hakim is fourteen. When we tire of dancing, we grab our desserts and sit at the edge of the hall, away from the crowds of people still feverishly dancing around Ahmad and Jihan.

‘So yeah, we snuck into Jerusalem,' Samy boasts, taking a big bite of his cake.

‘No way!'

‘You didn't?'

Samy nods and gives Nawal and Hakim a casual shrug. ‘It was easy. Jumped the Wall and we were in. We had Israelis with us. Hayaat instantly liked them but I wasn't fooled for a minute. Just ignore Hayaat rolling her eyes there. At least one of us had to be shrewd. I had to break them down first. Assess whether they were from Mossad or the
Shabak
. I know these things, on account of my father. I can detect an agent a mile away. They were okay in the end.'

‘Wow,' Nawal coos and I want to gag.

‘So tell us more,' Hakim says, an awed look in his eye.

Samy picks at a tooth and then tilts his head to the side. ‘Well, we managed to get to the Old City but there was a huge protest. There were tanks and planes and a missile or two.'

‘
Samy!
'

‘Hayaat, you passed out, remember? You weren't in the thick of the action. I never explained the situation fully to you.'

‘No, but Yossi did and he never mentioned planes or missiles.'

Samy gives me a dismissive wave. ‘He didn't want to agitate you any further.' He turns to Nawal and Hakim. ‘After Hayaat lost me—'

‘Excuse me,
you
lost
me
.'

‘Let him finish,' Nawal says.

‘Yeah, Hayaat, we want to hear,' Hakim adds.

I scowl at them and fold my arms over my chest. ‘Fine, go on. I'm always up for some storytelling.'

Nawal and Hakim flash Samy smiles of support. Samy, puffing his chest out, gives me a triumphant look.

‘A soldier grabbed me! Threw a sack over my head and dragged me to a jeep.'

‘What did they do to you?'

‘Did they torture you? We know a guy, Sofyan, who got busted in Jerusalem without the permit. They beat him up badly. What did they do to you?'

‘Tell us, Samy!'

‘I managed to escape. I took advantage of the chaos and slipped away. The soldier must have been new on the job. He didn't tie my hands and feet up. But he did threaten to attach electrodes to my nipples
and
set dogs on me. When he threw me in the back of the jeep and went away to round more people up, I took the sack off my head and snuck out. The air was filled with smoke and the planes were really loud so I was able to escape back onto the streets to rescue Hayaat.'

‘
Rescue me
. What about Yossi?' I shake my head in disbelief but he ignores me.

‘Wow! You're so brave,' Nawal gushes.

‘That's amazing!' Hakim declares.

‘Some questions,' I say. ‘Did the soldier leave you all without anyone to guard you? Did he just leave the jeep open? Are you telling me he wanted to give you some fresh air? And why is this the first time I'm hearing about—'

‘Oh look, they're starting the speeches,' Samy says, standing up. ‘We'd better go. My aunt will have a fit if I'm not at the table. She's really into manners, you know how it is.'

‘Yeah, we do,' Hakim says with a sigh and Nawal nods enthusiastically.

‘Come find us when they've finished,' Nawal says. ‘I want to hear all about how you rescued Hayaat!'

I storm off and Samy follows me, collapsing with laughter.

‘I don't see the joke,' I say.

‘Oh, come on, it was fun! Did you see their faces?'

‘Rescuing me? What are you going to say? You arrived in a Batmobile?'

He claps his hands. ‘They'd probably fall for it! Anyway, the wedding was getting boring. I had to spice it up.'

I grunt and he laughs again.

‘Come on, let's see how far we can take it.'

‘Well, if you get to escape from the jeep I get to drive Yossi's car between two tanks.'

He gives me an incredulous look. ‘That's brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?'

After the speeches, Samy and I combine our efforts and sufficiently traumatise and impress my cousins. When we've had enough, I take a seat next to Sitti Zeynab, leaning my head against her shoulder.

We stare out at Jihan and Ahmad, who are being kissed goodbye by a long line of guests.

‘I'll miss her, the rascal,' Sitti Zeynab says to me and dabs her eyes. ‘But she looks so happy. God grant them happiness and many babies. God protect them and their families and Um Ahmad . . .'

For once I let her continue without interruption.

The evening eventually approaches its end. We have to leave earlier than usual to ensure we pass the checkpoints before they close.

‘
Yallah, yallah
,' Baba says anxiously. ‘We can't risk being stuck in Ramallah. We must return before they close the gate.'

We hold on to Jihan under an inky sky and an array of brilliant stars, tears of joy and sorrow streaming down our faces.

‘Live in Bethlehem,' Mama wails, clinging onto Jihan. ‘Please, Ahmad, don't take her from us.'

‘It's okay, Mama,' Jihan says through tears. ‘We'll . . . visit . . . I . . . promise.'

‘You must! You must!' Mama bursts into a fresh wave of tears and Baba self-consciously steps towards her, wrapping his arm around her.

‘Come back with us!' Tariq screams, clutching onto Jihan's dress. Exhausted at being awake far past his bedtime, he starts to howl, prompting Baba to pick him up. Tariq rests his head on Baba's shoulder and sobs.

‘I'll look after her,' Ahmad says, ‘I promise you all.'

‘We know you will,' Baba says.

‘I'll break you if I hear otherwise,' Sitti Zeynab says and we laugh.

‘Consult me for recipes!' Mama reminds Jihan. ‘And call me every day. Any time is fine, but it's better to call after dinner so I can speak to you without interruption. And Ahmad, I promise I'll send you my pickled cucumbers. I know how much you are deprived of good ones. And—'

Jihan takes a step towards me, leaving Ahmad to deal with Mama. She takes my hands and pulls me close to her. I hug her tightly and she kisses me.

‘You must visit,' she says. ‘I know it's hard but please try.'

‘Of course we will.'

‘And call me. As much as you like. Keep me up to date with all the Bethlehem gossip.'

‘Jihan,' Ahmad says gently, touching her arm. ‘The car is waiting.'

‘And we must start moving,' Baba insists.

Jihan envelops me in a massive hug and I struggle not to cry harder. Then she pulls back and smiles at us all. ‘How exciting!' she cries. ‘I'm married!'

Sitti Zeynab starts ululating and Mama laughs as she wipes the tears from her face. The wind whispers in the pine and olive trees, telling us to let her go.

And eventually we do.

During the long drive back I rest my head against Baba's shoulder, stare out into a star-filled night and think about the last few weeks.

I am thirteen years old and I know what blood is. I know what loss is. I know the smell of a corpse. I know the sound of people screaming in terror as they run away from a tank. I know the dusty clouds left behind a frenzied bulldozer. The Wall will soon be finished. Parts of Bethlehem will be fully deserted. Businesses closed, houses abandoned, streets emptied, schools sliced in half. I'm living in an open-air prison.

But I won't live in despair. Because I'm thirteen years old and this is what I also know. That so long as there is life there'll be love. That I'll learn to love the mirror as surely as I have learned to think of Maysaa and smile. That the past can both torment and heal. That I'll do more than survive. That in the end we are all of us only human beings who laugh the same and that one day the world will realise that we simply want to live as a free people, with hope and dignity and purpose. That is all.

 

I am indebted to so many people for inspiring me to write this book and for sharing their stories with me. First and foremost, to my husband, Ibrahim, without whom my struggle to juggle motherhood, a legal career and writing would have been impossible.

To my father and mother, I thank you both for imbuing me with a sense of justice and passion for human rights. Thank you also for our family trip to Palestine, which profoundly changed my life.

To Mary and Bassam, for your patience with my incessant questions and for reading the first draft of the manuscript. I pray you are able to return to your home in Bethlehem and that you and your children will be reunited with your family.

To Sonja Karkar of Women for Palestine, for your insightful feedback and suggestions on the early stages of the manuscript.

To my father-in-law, for your maps on the 1948 villages, which proved to be of great assistance.

To my sister, for your shrewd proofreading of my earliest drafts.

To the people involved in Australians for Palestine and the Coalition for Peace and Justice in Palestine, for being a wonderful network of friends and comrades in the struggle for justice for Palestine.

To Anna McFarlane and Julia Stiles, for your expertise, wisdom and warmth.

And last but not least, to Sheila Drummond, for your invaluable advice and ongoing dynamism.