The Inheritance

by Sahar Khalifeh

  It was at this point that Abd al-Hadi Bey intervened and found the fatwa for the subject at hand: the realtor would leave the company and in return, he would marry Nahleh. It was agreed that the realtor’s marriage to Nahleh would take place in Amira’s house away from the eyes of the Hamdan family and to eliminate any suspicion about the involvement of the Bey, The realtor didn’t swallow the bait, however, but pretended to agree in order to get hold of Nahleh. He was planning to turn his back on the Bey and the Hamdan family. Nahleh learned of the secret deal in the making and requested her future husband’s share as her dowry, to embarrass the Hamdans. The Bey swallowed the bait and believed firmly that the realtor would end up by leaving and he would then get in.

  When I arrived in Jerusalem I realized that the Bey had Nahleh and the realtor in his pocket, while Futna was taking photos of the signing ceremony. I saw the sheikh and the Bey, Nahleh and Sitt Amira, the photo of Abd al-Nasser and Futna’s father on a wheelchair, hanging on the wall, while Futna breathless, stood behind the camera. I watched the scene and smiled, fearful!

  Said pushed open the door and was met with huge clamor. He hesitated for a few seconds before entering to make out the details of the scene. His shaky eyesight resulting from his weak health and the strong outside light put him at a disadvantage. Nahleh shouted, and I gulped. She was faster than I however, immediately guessing the reason for his visit, judging from his look and the way he pushed open the door. In a split second she stood up and pushed a chair to delay him, then left from the front door and locked it. I was left alone in the kitchen, with the backyard door open while he stood before me in the light but didn’t see me. As his eyes adjusted to the light in the room he said to me, angrily, “You’re with her too? Of course, of course.”

  Then he entered the kitchen and began inspecting its content. There was a blender, a juicer, a microwave oven and a baking oven. He shook his head and repeated the phrase, “Mashallah, mashallah, God be blessed.”

  He slowly opened all the cupboards and broke plates, cups, and glasses. He pulled the china from the shelves, threw it to the floor and caused it to shatter into small pieces, which mixed with the spilled grains and liquids. He later went to the door and began banging on it, and shouting, “Open up, you whore, you bitch.”

  Nahleh asked him to leave and threatened to call the police if he didn’t. She knew, however, and so did he, that there were no police because the country was in a state of chaos without a ruling government or authority. He turned toward me and said, ‘I’ll kill her, you’ll see.”

  He opened one of the drawers, searched its content, throwing everything onto the floor, till he found the biggest knife. He took hold of it and said while waving it in the air, as if trying it, “I’ll do it with this, with this, do you see it? Does she think that there are no men in the family?”

  Had someone told me that I would return to the past through the tunnel of time, I wouldn’t have believed it. The past had become the present with no difference between the two except in the sound and the picture. It was the same-scene and the same action. I said, trying to calm him down, “Take it easy, Said, sit down, we need to talk.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds then he moved away from me, hesitantly. I saw from his look that he wasn’t really and truly angry, but only feigning anger because he wanted to do something and prove to the others that he was capable of doing something.

  He went back to the door, banged on it as it groaned under his weight. There was silence on the other side, and I had the impression that Nahleh had run away and left us alone in the house. Said was stubbornly determined to act, and his anger was mounting, livery time he threw his weight at the door and then collapsed instead of breaking it, his anger grew and he got more upset, blaming Nahleh for the pain in his shoulder. He was sweating heavily and took a few minutes to rest, then returned to hitting the door with all his force; growling, he said, “By God, they’ll both see what I’ll do to them.”

  Suddenly, the door opened and I saw Nahleh standing with a huge gun in her shaky, trembling hands. She was pointing it at us but didn’t say a word and went on staring at us holding the gun. The suddenness of her action startled him, he-was panting and motionless. He moved toward her, causing the gun to go off. The world shook, I saw light, an empty space, circles, and shattered glass falling like snow, then I felt nothing but a sense of peace.

  I wondered how I happened to be in this place, with its low ceiling, its ugly color, an old cupboard, and brown drapes. The view from the window revealed a green fog and tree leaves, while my uncle stood motionless, watching the fog, his head leaning against the windowpane. I was lying in a narrow, miserable bed and about to fall from it.

  The door opened and I heard Nahleh say, “The doctor said that everything is all right, the wound is superficial and Zayna will wake up after the injection.”

  My uncle didn’t respond or look at her, while I floated in the fog of the trees and the green leaves behind the windowpane. There were flying butterflies, a light drizzle, and a silence as thick as a heavy veil. I slowly left my body and the oppressive atmosphere of the place and saw rosy hills swimming in the light, a bright silver light and a sunny glare. My soul rose above the clouds and I began to fly. The door opened again and Nahleh said, “The tea is cold, would you like to drink coffee?”

  He didn’t reply and remained glued to the window giving me his back. The leaves were thick and so was the silence, the covers were white. I drifted back out like a breeze, swimming in the light. There were hills, a horizon, and a slight dark substance in the blue pit forming celestial shapes of unique beauty. What disparity between the two scenes, the internal and the external, between the view seen from the outside and the reality of the place. What a contrast. Silence fell and I went back to sleep.

  I awakened to her sobs. She was sitting on a couch near the window while he stood at a distance, his forehead resting against the window. The fog was thick and the leaves were yellow. She was saying between her sobs, “I was defending myself, why don’t you say something?”

  He didn’t answer and she withdrew into silence. I saw her standing by the door, looking at me, then at him. It was a strange look. I felt as if my heart were about to stop beating. I wanted to fly but I couldn’t. I opened my mouth, then shut it, I closed my eyes but I didn’t dream, I only managed to escape to the wind and the valleys, the almond hills and the art center. Mazen was there and people were coming for the inauguration. There was poetry, singing, music, and storytelling—beautiful stories that the world had told, while I lay down, resting, in silence.

  I opened my eyes and saw Said sitting on the couch, the same big, old couch. He said to me, severely, “It’s all your fault. She wanted to act like Westerners, like Violet, and Helga, and people on television. You saw and heard everything and you didn’t once say, ‘Have some consideration.’ Had you said something she would have stayed put. Is it possible that she should do all this without being held accountable, why is it only us, only me that has to account for the slightest mistake? Why is Nahleh alone exempted? And now look what she’s done, do you like it? Why are you silent?”

  I didn’t turn in his direction and he didn’t look at me. I continued to swim in the silence and the colors of light, the white and the green and a shining light on top of the mountain and the depth of the valley. I saw the Art Center and the bulldozers. Nahleh announced, “Abu Salem is here, he wants to see you, do you want to go down to meet him?”

  He didn’t reply but I heard him take a deep breath. She closed the door, then J heard Said ask, “Do you want to go down? Why are you silent? Say something! Who should be held accountable? Had I done that how would you have reacted? If you want to go down, then go. If you want to patch things up with him do it, I personally don’t care, to hell with both of them. If her brothers don’t care, why should I; if her father doesn’t care, why should I? Neither Kamal, nor Mazen nor you care, why should I care? If you don’t want to talk, then sit down, you won�
�t remain standing. Who are you punishing with your silence? I think you’re punishing me and her with your silence. Why don’t you answer? Say something, talk, move, sit here.”

  Said got off the couch to take hold of his father, but he pushed him with the back of his elbow, hitting his wound and causing Said to writhe from the pain. He screamed and tried to hide his pain but couldn’t. He moaned and gasped and tears ran down his cheeks. He returned to his seat, breathing loudly. He dried his tears, then said, still in pain, “May God forgive you. You’ve always been like that with me, what have I done to you? I couldn’t bear to see you standing, is it conceivable that I sit and you stand? Suppose I made a mistake, why did you remain standing and silent, you wanted to punish someone, who? I did nothing wrong, but she did. She fell in love and ran away with him and married him without consulting anyone. Aren’t we men? Nahleh made a mistake but I didn’t. All I wanted to do was to scare her into fearing us. That’s how people are, one must instill fear in them. Only those who are afraid of you fear you. Why did we fear you when we were young? It’s because we were scared of you. You used to scare us, your hand was faster than thunder. As soon as somebody said a word, a slap landed on his face, I don’t know why. Until now I don’t know why, what did you want, explain to me, I never knew what you wanted.”

  The father whispered saddened and dismayed, for the first time, “I wanted you to understand.”

  His son asked, “Understand what? What?”

  The father shook his head in despair, mystified, and said, “That’s enough, now is not the right time. Sit down and be quiet.”

  Said was furious at his father. He said, “You want me to sit down and keep quiet? All your life you’ve acted like this, all you ever said to us was, sit down and keep quiet, shut your mouth, and then? I don’t know what you want? How do you expect me to understand if you don’t say anything? How could I understand?”

  His father said, desperate and despondent, “And you will never understand.”

  “Damn your religion,” shouted his son for the first time in his life, deeply hurt. Once uttered, the slur burst forth like a projectile and it wasn’t possible to take it back. Said cried like a child. His father turned toward him and commented, “I don’t understand and he doesn’t understand, neither of us understands.”

  He shook his head and stared at the huge man, his bull-like son and mumbled again, “God be praised! I don’t understand!”

  His son shouted at him, “What have I done? Isn’t this what you want? Jaber is not around and Kamal has the patience of Germans, while Mazen runs around like her and more. You’re getting old, who’s left to take care of things? Tell me who?”

  His father shouted back, ‘That’s why you went after her with a knife? I wish I had died, I wish I had lost my sight, I wish I had buried you all before this day! My own children, Abu Jaber’s children, going at each other with knives!”

  The son replied, shouting, “But it was she who shot me!”

  The father sobbed and said, “You fight against each other, against one another, sons of a dog? Against each other?”

  He walked across the room, reached the door and left, alone.

  Abu Salem’s children, both boys and girls, were up in arms, and as the girls usually have nothing to fight with but tears, their brothers volunteered to do what was needed and made up for the difference. The news of the company shares that reached them was overblown. They were told that Abu Salem had written not only those shares in Nahleh’s name, but the lots in the Ghor region, in Anabta, in Sabastiya, and in Nablus, as well. And so it happened that in the middle of the day, disguised men invaded the house, covered Nahleh with a burlap sack, as is done with traitors, and took her to a dark place smelling of blood and decay. They made her sit on the confession chair where traitors face the interrogators before they are tortured, then axed down.

  When the news of Nahleh’s kidnapping reached Abu Salem and he learned that she was a prisoner of the Black Tigers, he applied for an exit permit and went immediately to Amman. There, the city at least had a police force and an army, security, and a government, while here a victim would be buried without even a funeral. Abu Jaber’s children had decided, when they learned about the matter, to hide the news from their father out of concern for his heart condition. As could be expected, Said, whose shoulder wound was still fresh, didn’t sympathize with his sister but called her by the vilest of names and held her responsible for breaking apart the whole family. It was therefore understandable when the other brothers decided to rescue her from the clutches of the Black Tigers they excluded Said from their plan. They kept him in the dark as to their movements, the contacts they sought, and the promises they made to return the shares and the real estate to Abu Salem’s children. They didn’t know, however, how they would actually go about recovering those shares that were already registered in Nahleh’s name. They didn’t know whether the lots in the Ghor, Anabta, and Sabastiya were truly registered in Nahleh’s name. They had the same doubts about his shares in the pumping company and his villa in Nablus. Was it even conceivable that Abu Salem, this weasel, this usurer, would do it? They asked me, but I denied knowing anything about the subject. Who would know what was in the register office but the Bey, naturally, which explains why they ran to the diwan to check with him.

  Abd al-Hadi Bey feared the Black Tigers and consequently refused to say anything. Amira, on the other hand, heard about the incident and requested additional information. Accordingly, she made up her mind to support the Hamdans and stand by them in their ordeal. After all, it was m her house that the marriage contract had been signed, uniting Nahleh to the realtor.

  “There it is then, he left her and ran away,” said Sitt Amira, deeply moved and feeling guilty. Being the second wife in a family with many children has its price. Amira had known it all along. She had lived long enough to have heard many-stories of crimes and scandals. This type of marriage was no joke and she should have known better, considering her age and her experience. Why hadn’t she-advised Nahleh? Why hadn’t she, at least refused, the request of the Bey to have the wedding in her house and under her roof, with members of her family serving as witnesses? She was therefore responsible for what happened.

  The search for Nahleh was launched while she was a prisoner in old Nablus. That place was like the underground, a world where buildings and rooftops intertwined and the labyrinths and narrow alleys were, in the middle of the day, as dark as the night. People living there were used to the humidity, the overflow of the sewer, the dirt, and the moss. There were beautiful but rundown old buildings and backyards, which constituted spots of light in the darkness. They overflowed with poppy, creeping plants, and the weeds of time, and those resulting from neglect or immigration. The old city was abandoned, or rather semi-abandoned.

  During the Intifada the inhabitants escaped the confrontations between the army and the youths, the endless, daily forced entries that oppressed people. Many houses were blown up whenever it was suspected that young men were living in them. At the beginning of the Intifada people gave a lot, they committed unsurpassed acts of courage, and sacrificed a great deal. Everybody, without exception, got fully involved in the battle, but things lasted too long. The situation deteriorated slowly, however, and corruption caused people to withdraw their support. Nothing was left but bitterness and houses locked by order of the army and God’s will. Nahleh was a prisoner in one of those houses, in a vault, surrounded by darkness and ghosts, and the memory of torture endured by heroes and collaborators.

  Said asked, whispering and a little embarrassed by his attitude, “How did you know where she was?”

  No one replied, as the Bey, Kamal, and Mazen were bent over a large map of the old city spread on a tea table. Kamal had brought the map from the municipality for the pumping company project. But it wasn’t very useful without someone from Nablus to guide them through the landmarks of the old city and its secret spots. Said said, trying to cajole them:

  “I kno
w the city very well, I go there to distribute toffee, do you want me to show you around?”

  Mazen looked at him and smiled, thinking that Said was trying to clear the atmosphere. Since Nahleh’s kidnapping and the escape of the realtor to Amman, had been trying to distance himself from any responsibility in the matter. He wanted to prove to everybody that the situation had changed because Nahleh was held prisoner by outsiders, and he was her brother.

  The Bey said, “In old Jerusalem, the Awqaf building is the entrance to the city.”

  Mazen thought about the idea and found it logical and practical. He said, while still thinking, “That’s true, it’s possible that this might lead us to the beginning of thread.”

  Said was upset and said energetically, “We don’t need the Awqaf, the imam, or of this nonsense I know all the grocers in the city and they, in turn, know the well. I know someone who knows every corner, his name is Samaan. Do you want me to take you to him?”

  His father became very angry and said, “Why all this beating around the bush, instead of the grocer and the imam of the mosque why don’t we go to Abu Salem’s house and ask to talk to his children? If they want the shares, we’ll give them the shares, if they want her to be divorced, let him divorce her. Let them take the material gains and give her back to us.”

  Amira agreed, saying, “I agreed with the Hajj, why should we beat around the bush? I and the other women can pay Umm Salem a visit.”

  Mazen asked suspiciously, “And then?”

  She replied with confidence, “She can talk to her sons, and this would be the tinning of the thread.”