The Woman From Tantoura by Radwa Ashour Page A

“Where are my father and brothers?” She did not answer the question. She was absorbed in gathering things in a hurry. Wisal’s mother was doing the same. Then we found ourselves standing in front of the house, and I asked again. She said that they were on guard duty and would catch up with us when things became clear. I asked her what she meant by “when things became clear,” but she didn’t answer. It was strange—my mother who wailed in anxiety over her boys in Haifa seemed like another woman, giving orders, managing the affairs of her small flock withresolution and speed, even though I didn’t understand the logic of this management. She gave me a four-liter measure of white cheese to carry and took a can of oil, and Wisal’s mother took a can of olives. I did not understand, so I asked, “All this cheese and all this oil and olives, what will we do with them?” She did not answer.
    We left the house. My mother closed the gate and locked it with the large key. It was strange for me, as I had never seen the door of our house locked ever, nor had I seen the key; it was of iron, large, and my mother turned it in the lock seven times. She put it in her bosom. Suddenly my mother noticed that I was carrying the little goat kid whose mother had died, and she asked, “Why are you carrying that goat?” I said, “I’ll take her with me.” She did not comment. She announced, “We’ll go to the house of my uncle, Abu Jamil.” We walked toward his house, my mother and Wisal’s ahead of us, each carrying a can in one hand and a bundle in the other, with me, Wisal, and Abed behind them. Wisal was holding her brother’s hand in one of hers and in the other carried a square iron box with the papers they had brought with them from Qisarya; I was carrying the goat in one hand and the cheese container in the other. We arrived at Abu Jamil’s house. The sound of explosions and the rattle of bullets came to us from the east in the direction of the school, from the direction of the tower in the north, and from the direction of the jail in the south. Umm Jamil insisted that we eat breakfast; she repeated that it would be a long day and that we didn’t know what would happen. She gave each of us a flat round loaf and said “Eat!” None of us said that we weren’t hungry or that it was the middle of the night and not time for breakfast or lunch; rather we ate, complying with her order, which was firm and decisive. The shelling increased. Abu Jamil said that it was coming from the west. “It seems that they are striking from the sea also.” He made his ablutions and began to pray. We heard the cocks crowing, then the dawn chirping of the birds; then we heard footsteps and three armed men burst into the house and drove us to the headman’s house. They were threatening us with their riflebutts and firing over our heads. On the way we saw the blind Hasan Abd al-Al and his wife Azza al-Hajj al-Hindi lying near their house surrounded by a pool of blood, then we saw the body of another person I didn’t know. Abed began to cry aloud. I let go of the goat and picked him up; he wrapped his legs around my waist and put his arms around my neck. I couldn’t see his face to know if he was still crying. The goat kept walking behind me.
    They drove us to the beach and divided us into two groups, the men on one side and the women and children and some old men on the other. It was the first time I saw female soldiers: women wearing a military uniform and bearing arms. They spoke to us in Arabic and began to search us, one after the other, taking any money or jewelry they found on us and putting it in a helmet. Every time the helmet was filled they emptied it onto a large blanket stretched out on the sand. The woman soldier didn’t notice the goat but she noticed the rings in my ears as she was searching me. She yanked them out, and blood flowed from my ears. I wiped them with the edge of my dress. The soldier moved on to search my