mother and Wisal and Abed and his mother. They took the cans of oil and olives and the half measure of cheese. My mother was stripped of her ring and her earrings and the chain she wore around her neck. We were standing close together. I looked at my mother’s face and saw her lips moving slightly, continuously, and I didn’t know if she was mumbling prayers or repeating verses from the Quran or trembling. I whispered in Wisal’s ear, “Was this the way they took over your town?” She said, “No, they didn’t stand us by the sea. They took us out of our houses to the bus, but they took the women’s jewelry and any money they found on them.”
I was standing at the edge of the group nearest the men. My eyes couldn’t stop looking, hoping for the sight of my father or either of my brothers. I did not see them; I surmised that they had taken off for the mountains or had disappeared into one of the caves. I saw the “burlap bag”: a man standing next to the Jewish soldiers with his head covered by a burlap bag that had two holes in it sohe could see. The officer was examining a paper in his hand and would call the men’s names, and the man would answer or not. If he didn’t answer the “burlap bag” would step forward and point him out; sometimes he would point without any call. No sooner did the “burlap bag” point to someone than they brought him out. They would take a group of men, five or six or seven, and disappear. Were they taking them to the prison in Zikhron Yaakov? We heard the rattle of bullets fired—was the guard resisting? I took Wisal’s hand and she looked at me, as if asking why I was squeezing her hand; she did not ask. The goat came close to me and began touching my feet, but I did not pick her up. Abed said he was thirsty, and his mother told him to put up with it. I said to the soldier, “The boy’s thirsty,” and she answered me with a foul word, pushing my shoulder with the butt of her rifle. The weather was hot and the sun burning, and I wondered why my mother had asked me to put on three dresses, and why I obeyed her. I was dripping with sweat; I wanted to ask her, but I did not. The soldiers shouted loudly, “Yalla, let’s go!”
The procession of women began to move. They led us toward the cemetery. On the way I saw three corpses and then two more, none of which I recognized.
As they were leading us toward the cemetery I noticed that the village had a strange odor, mixed with the scent of the white lilies that grew on the islands and along their beaches at that time of year. I couldn’t distinguish the odor even though it remained in my nose after we left the village. Afterward it would sometimes appear suddenly, days or weeks later, without my knowing where it had come from or why the village had had that odor on that particular day.
At the cemetery two trucks were waiting. Threatening us with their weapons, they told us to get in. One of the soldiers took the goat from me as I was carrying it. We were several hundred women, children and old men, maybe five or six hundred. They crammed us into the trucks, and they began to move. Suddenly I shouted and pulled my mother’s arm, pointing with my hand to a pile of corpses.She looked where I was pointing and shouted, “Jamil, my cousin Jamil!” But I pulled her arm again with my left hand and pointed with the right to where my father and brothers were: their corpses were next to Jamil’s, piled one next to the other at a distance of a few meters from us. I was pointing and my mother was still keening in mourning for Jamil with his mother. The women were wailing and the children were crying, terrified of their mothers’ weeping, while the old men stayed stiff as statues.
The trucks left us at al-Furaydis, at a distance of four kilometers from our village, where we were handed over to the headman, our number was written on the papers, and then we were distributed among the people’s houses. I did not say to Wisal that we
I was standing at the edge of the group nearest the men. My eyes couldn’t stop looking, hoping for the sight of my father or either of my brothers. I did not see them; I surmised that they had taken off for the mountains or had disappeared into one of the caves. I saw the “burlap bag”: a man standing next to the Jewish soldiers with his head covered by a burlap bag that had two holes in it sohe could see. The officer was examining a paper in his hand and would call the men’s names, and the man would answer or not. If he didn’t answer the “burlap bag” would step forward and point him out; sometimes he would point without any call. No sooner did the “burlap bag” point to someone than they brought him out. They would take a group of men, five or six or seven, and disappear. Were they taking them to the prison in Zikhron Yaakov? We heard the rattle of bullets fired—was the guard resisting? I took Wisal’s hand and she looked at me, as if asking why I was squeezing her hand; she did not ask. The goat came close to me and began touching my feet, but I did not pick her up. Abed said he was thirsty, and his mother told him to put up with it. I said to the soldier, “The boy’s thirsty,” and she answered me with a foul word, pushing my shoulder with the butt of her rifle. The weather was hot and the sun burning, and I wondered why my mother had asked me to put on three dresses, and why I obeyed her. I was dripping with sweat; I wanted to ask her, but I did not. The soldiers shouted loudly, “Yalla, let’s go!”
The procession of women began to move. They led us toward the cemetery. On the way I saw three corpses and then two more, none of which I recognized.
As they were leading us toward the cemetery I noticed that the village had a strange odor, mixed with the scent of the white lilies that grew on the islands and along their beaches at that time of year. I couldn’t distinguish the odor even though it remained in my nose after we left the village. Afterward it would sometimes appear suddenly, days or weeks later, without my knowing where it had come from or why the village had had that odor on that particular day.
At the cemetery two trucks were waiting. Threatening us with their weapons, they told us to get in. One of the soldiers took the goat from me as I was carrying it. We were several hundred women, children and old men, maybe five or six hundred. They crammed us into the trucks, and they began to move. Suddenly I shouted and pulled my mother’s arm, pointing with my hand to a pile of corpses.She looked where I was pointing and shouted, “Jamil, my cousin Jamil!” But I pulled her arm again with my left hand and pointed with the right to where my father and brothers were: their corpses were next to Jamil’s, piled one next to the other at a distance of a few meters from us. I was pointing and my mother was still keening in mourning for Jamil with his mother. The women were wailing and the children were crying, terrified of their mothers’ weeping, while the old men stayed stiff as statues.
The trucks left us at al-Furaydis, at a distance of four kilometers from our village, where we were handed over to the headman, our number was written on the papers, and then we were distributed among the people’s houses. I did not say to Wisal that we
Similar Books
