Living Stones

by Lloyd Johnson

  Sami gestured toward them with a smirk. “In our democracy where everyone is equal, it just happens that some are more equal than others.”

  Finally, they arrived at the olive groves surrounding Zabuda. Ashley pointed to some spectacular white towers high on the hill above the town on the other side of the orchards, surrounded by a wall. She had a quizzical frown.

  “Israeli settlements,” Sami explained. “Remember, you’re in the West Bank.”

  As they drove down a small road, a high concrete wall loomed ominously behind the bungalow. They wheeled into the driveway to meet Faisal and Almas, in their early fifties, a farm couple that reminded Ashley of Oklahomans.

  After introductions, Rafiq spoke to them in Arabic, and then Faisal jumped into his old Ford Pinto, inviting the visitors to come right away. The car seats, covered with brown blankets with occasional rips, smelled dusty.

  “Tea will have to wait,” he explained with Sami’s translation. “We’ll be traveling to our olive orchard. It will take about thirty minutes even though it’s only a few meters away, just across the wall. We have to drive to the checkpoint.” He looked at his watch. “It’s already eleven.”

  “Where do we go to get through the wall?” Ashley asked by Sami’s translation as they drove down the dirt road.

  “About fifteen kilometers north of here,” Faisal replied.

  “You have to travel thirty kilometers to get to your orchard? And then thirty back when it is just across the wall?!”

  “We do now, Ashley. I used to walk across the road. Actually they built the road years ago, dividing the property. The house and trees used to be all on one piece of land. The road was no problem however. But the wall—”

  “Why did they put the wall along the road dividing your farm?”

  “I don’t know why except, several years before they built it, they came in and put an Israeli settlement on the hill up there—those tall white buildings. They eventually needed a wall to separate us from the new European immigrants. To keep some of us ‘terrorists’ out.”

  “Who thought up that idea?” Ashley asked.

  “It was Sharon’s idea before he ever became Prime Minister of Israel. ‘Take the high ground.’ ”

  “Couldn’t they put in an opening for farmers like you to get to their olive groves without having to drive around each day?”

  “They could but they don’t.”

  There must be another side of this wall issue, Ashley thought. How would the Israelis explain it? She hoped to make some Jewish friends so she could understand their thinking. It seemed so strange and unjust for Faisal. The wall separated the families from their own land, with Palestinians on both sides. It didn’t follow the border between Israel and the West Bank. So how could it be for “security?”

  Faisal slowed as he neared the checkpoint. An Israeli soldier with a rifle approached. Ashley raised her smartphone and took a quick picture through the front windshield. The guard, who looked like a teenager, took the paperwork and passports of each person in the car and handed them to another soldier, a young woman, who took them into the small office and sat down at a computer. Several minutes passed. She came out and spoke to Rafiq.

  “She wants everyone out of the car,” Sami reported.

  “Stand here,” she ordered. Ashley stood with the men. The first soldier frisked the two older men. They ushered Ashley inside the office where the female soldier patted her down and inspected her purse. She took Ashley’s cell phone and placed it in a drawer in her desk.

  “Why are you taking that?”

  The soldier gave no answer and walked out.

  Ashley followed her, teeth clenched and trembling inside. She spoke to Sami. “Would you ask her in Hebrew to return my phone?”

  Sami did, but received no reply or recognition. Instead the male soldier said something to Sami, who angrily protested in Hebrew. The soldier raised his rifle and pointed it at Sami. He forced Sami inside the guardhouse.

  Ashley climbed back into the car, shaking, and her face white. “Why … what is going on?” Her teeth chattered. “Why did they take Sami away? Is this what you go through every day?”

  Faisal understood some English. “No. They know.” He pointed to himself. Ashley understood that they knew him from his frequent trips to the farm.

  They sat silently in the car, waiting. Ashley wondered what Sami did to cause them to take him away. Why did they take him into the building? Twenty minutes passed with no sign of Sami.

  A car appeared from behind the guardhouse with darkened windows and drove on through the checkpoint. They’ve taken Sami away! She felt faint. Why wasn’t Rafiq doing something? She wanted to ask them, but needed Sami to translate. Maybe it had something to do with her cell phone and taking the picture as they had approached. She shouldn’t have come. She must have caused it. Sami had just defended her. Ashley breathed a silent prayer for him.

  After thirty minutes, Sami appeared with teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. His fists were white-knuckled and he looked like he was ready to explode. “They treat you like an animal!” He spit out the words through clenched teeth.

  “What did they do, Sami?” Ashley asked with a grimace, raising her hands.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, cheeks puffed out in anger. “They took me into a back room. They made me take off my clothes, including underwear, and then walked out the door into the office with all my stuff. I could see through the crack in the door. The female soldier joined the guy in the office, where they went through all my clothes and my wallet. They left me standing naked all that time in daylight with open windows.”

  Ashley stared at the soldiers through the car windows, and then looked at Sami. It seemed so hard, so inhumane. She shook her head. “How can they treat you like that? … What should I do, Sami? They have my cell phone.”

  Sami asked Faisal, and after a short conversation in Arabic, he turned to Ashley. “He says there is no way now, but we should get it back on our return trip.”

  Ashley watched as Faisal and Rafiq strolled into the orchard, gazing up at the olive trees as they discussed something. She and Sami meandered down a small road that looked like a tractor path. He seemed distracted, jaw jutting forward, silent. Not the usual lighthearted and talkative Sami. They found an old wooden shed with open cracks between the unpainted wall boards and a sagging tin roof. Through an open door, an ancient tractor with metal treads appeared rusted. It smelled of oil and old machinery. Ashley discovered a faucet on the shed wall over a stained sink with dirt in it. She tried to wash her hands, but no water came out. They walked to a nearby bank and sat down. Ashley waited quietly for Sami to open up and share his feelings. She knew he needed to vent some of his anger.

  “I’ve been humiliated before by soldiers, and always obeyed as a schoolboy. But this was different.”

  He pounded his fist into his other hand. “Ashley, we are not ‘terrorists.’ ” Sami’s voice cracked. “We are not ‘dirty Palestinians.’ We are people just like they are.”

  Ashley fought tears, swallowing several times, and looked away. She sighed and picked up a small stone, throwing it hard against the shed wall.

  “Why?” Sami continued. “What have we done to deserve this treatment? Can you understand why some of our young people who have no jobs pick up stones to fight back?”

  Ashley remained silent, shaking her head. A tear trickled down her cheek. She herself had now experienced a tiny bit of what it was like to be a Palestinian. These daily occurrences never made the papers at home.

  They walked slowly back down the two-rut road with weeds growing in its center, silently, not paying attention to the cheerful songs of birds. Rafiq and Faisal appeared out of the orchard. Ashley looked at the two men, who obviously enjoyed each other’s company and smiled. She spoke, hoping Sami would translate.

  “You have a lovely grove of fruit trees, Faisal. Do you water them often?”

  “No, we don’t. I used to, when they were younger. Bu
t now we don’t have much water. It’s turned off most of the time. Our friends on the hill up there behind their wall use about eighty percent of it—some for their swimming pools.”

  They all returned silently to the car. Rafiq drove on the return trip. The soldier with the rifle appeared to stop them and spoke to Rafiq, who shut off the engine of the car. Ashley could see through the window the woman soldier who had taken her smartphone, sitting at her desk. Faisal referred to her as a “Sabra.”

  “Sabra?”

  “It means a person born in Israel, not an immigrant,” Sami explained.

  She held a cell phone to her ear. It must be an interesting conversation, Ashley concluded, as they waited and waited. She wondered whether it was her phone. The soldier with the rifle stood in front of the car. The Sabra looked at the car but continued her conversation.

  Sami scowled and looked at his watch. He started to open the door, and Rafiq shouted at him. Ashley noted the soldier had pointed his rifle directly at the door as Sami opened it. Sami closed the door. He turned red in the face and punched the door. He said something in Arabic, words that needed no translation. Another five minutes passed, fifteen minutes altogether since they stopped.

  “Do you usually have to wait like this on the return trip, Faisal?” Ashley said to distract Sami with translation duties before he exploded.

  “Sometimes they seem to enjoy having you wait, but usually only five minutes driving home. They know we are worried about your cell phone,” Faisal replied, turning to the backseat. “So she’s probably in there talking to her boyfriend and watching us sit here getting angry. The trouble is that we can never do anything about it. There’s no one to complain to.”

  “I did take that picture of the checkpoint with the soldier walking toward us with his rifle. Maybe that has something to do with our waiting.”

  “Oh!” Faisal laughed when Sami finished his translation. “They don’t like pictures. That explains the long wait.”

  “What will they do to me for punishment, Sami? I shouldn’t have taken the picture. I feel terrible causing all the trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, Ashley. I’ll go to jail with you and rip up the whole place,” Sami sneered, “No, you’ll be OK. Don’t worry about it. We’re just getting our punishment by waiting.”

  Finally the Sabra appeared, walking slowly, and handed Ashley’s phone to Rafiq through the driver-side window. She said nothing and walked away. The soldier with the rifle stepped aside. Rafiq nodded to him and drove away.

  Ashley turned on her cell phone to check her pictures. The last one was gone. She showed Sami the now final picture. There he stood with his little brothers, Talib and Hassan, the victorious football team. He smiled … at last.

  Chapter 35

  The trip back to Genigar passed quickly except for a short stop at the Israeli border. Almas had dinner ready, rice pilaf with a variety of fruits, olives, and figs. Rafiq explained to her why the trip took so long. She smiled at Ashley, who wished she could communicate directly her appreciation for the dinner and her apologies for causing the delay.

  After dinner, Farah spoke excitedly about Nazareth and the Basilica of Annunciation. “And you must go to the Synagogue Church. It’s the site of the ancient synagogue where Jesus preached as a young man and they tried to kill him.”

  Ashley reached Jim by telephone at the hotel in Nazareth. The tour bus would leave at nine on Tuesday morning. “I’ll try to be there before then, but it depends on Najid’s brother Sami driving me on his way to college. If I’m not there, please go without me, and I’ll hang out at the hotel and stroll around the old city. I’ll stay close to other tourists.”

  “We’ll wait until ten minutes after nine,” Jim replied, “and if you’re not here, we take off for Capernaum on the Sea of Galilee. If so, don’t go too far alone, and stay in touch. Take care.”

  Sami needed to get back to classes, and Rafiq to work, so with an early breakfast finished, Ashley said her goodbyes and thanked everyone. Eight-thirty, plenty of time to get to the hotel to catch up with my friends from Seattle. Sami soon threaded the Pinto through the narrow streets of Nazareth when they heard a loud bang and a repeating thump.

  “Oh, oh. A tire!”

  “Do you have a spare tire, Sami?”

  “Yes, but not a good one. And I’ve never had to use it.”

  She made a quick call to Jim. “We may not make it in time, so please go ahead with your trip. I’ll be careful. Have a great one.”

  With Ashley’s help, Sami found the jack and attempted to raise the right rear of the car. It fell off the jack. They tried again. Sami struggled to loosen the lug screws, then the spare tire needed air. Sami found a hand pump in the car and slowly filled the tire.

  Ashley gave Sami a hug and wiped away a tear. She realized that she might never see him again, and stood in front of the small hotel watching him drive off.

  Walid in dark glasses looked like any resident of Nazareth among the half of the population that followed Islam. He stepped into the narrow street and strolled to a small grove of trees. The old city of Nazareth buzzed with the sounds of tourists and honking taxis. He would be both hidden and able to hear Umar. He speed dialed his friend.

  “Asalam alekum, Umar,” he spoke in hushed Arabic.

  “Asalam alekum. Any good fortune?”

  “No. Are you sure she’s not in the hotel?”

  “Yes. I’ve been in the car here for hours now,” Umar said. “I know she didn’t get on any tour-group bus this morning. I have her picture in front of me and saw no one that looks like her approaching any bus. So I waited and saw her come by car to the hotel after the buses left. An hour later she walked out of the hotel and up toward the old city along with other tourists. Pretty blonde—fit her description in every way and matched her picture. She walked up toward the basilica two hours ago as I told you. You didn’t see her come out?”

  “No, but there is more than one door, so either I missed her or she’s still in there.”

  “That seems unlikely. There’s not that much to see.”

  “I’ve checked the other churches tourists usually visit and have not seen her anywhere.”

  “Well, keep looking, Walid. We’ve got to find her. We missed twice in Bethlehem and can’t fail now. The boss will be very upset if we have to follow her to Jerusalem. There’s a lot of money riding on this.”

  After her shower, Ashley had picked up a walking guide to Nazareth and strolled along with a group of tourists uphill to the old city, passing many shops along the way. She wanted to visit the Grotto of Annunciation, Mary’s family home. Descending the stairs in the basilica, she reached the grotto and the few remaining stones presumably of Mary’s childhood residence. Without the crowds as in Bethlehem, Ashley could ponder the young teenager encountering a frightening angel who told her she would be the mother of the Messiah.

  Ashley ambled down the hill and through shops looking for small gifts she could bring home to friends. She would find a small restaurant for lunch. The tourists increased in number, and she mixed freely with them, overhearing some of their remarks about the best places to go for gifts. Most of the shoppers were women and she lost any concern about being alone as she stayed in the crowd.

  Chapter 36

  Walid continued walking the streets to no avail and then started looking in the shops. As he rounded the corner of a small narrow street, he almost ran into a young woman carrying a shopping bag, peering into an open stall displaying linens. She did not seem to see him as he jumped to the side to avoid a collision. She shouted “Sorry!” over her shoulder without looking back and moved on. Tourists crowded around that particular shop, so he couldn’t see her well as she walked away, but he had glimpsed her face momentarily. His jaw dropped as he fished out Ashley’s picture from his pocket near the switchblade knife. “That’s her!” he whispered excitedly to himself. “I’m sure of it.”

  Walid wheeled around, turned the corner again in the opposite direction,
and sped up to find her. She seemed to have disappeared as he walked fast to catch up. He should be seeing her. He slowed his pace, turned back to gaze in several shops, and finally saw her reaching for some small paintings. She faced the back of the shop and spoke to the single salesperson, a man.

  Walid moved across the street to stand in front of a small restaurant so he could watch from a safe distance. Ashley came out after several minutes, stood on the side of the narrow street, turned her head in both directions, and then looked across the road. Quickly, Walid spun and strode away for a short distance, hoping she hadn’t seen him. When he looked back, Ashley had crossed the street almost to where he had waited, and entered the restaurant. Walid pulled out his cell phone.

  “Umar,” he whispered into it. “I’ve found her. She’s in a restaurant now.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?”

  “Yes, I almost bumped into her. I checked the picture. It’s definitely her, and she spoke a word of English I didn’t recognize.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “No.”

  “At anytime?”

  “I’m quite sure she hasn’t seen me.”

  “Good. What is your plan?”

  “I’ll follow her at a distance. Maybe she’ll go down the street that is dead-end—you know, the one that points right to the hotel, but you can’t get through.”

  “You mean Daoud Street, with all the shops right up to the end?”

  “Yes.”

  “How will you do it?”

  “If she actually goes there, I can wait for her when she discovers she can’t continue. Then if most tourists have left, I can move out quickly behind her. She will never know what happened. The long knife will do its work, quietly. It won’t attract attention like the gun going off. I still have it in my pocket, but don’t plan to use it this time. It will be quick, and I will be gone before anyone sees her on the street.”