“And have you spoken to Kassia?” Ahmed asked.
“No, I haven’t dared. I know she’s angry, and is having a bad time of it seeing her daughter suffer, but I’m sure she will understand our reasons. My mother says that Kassia is a very practical woman and that she will realize that the best thing is for Marinna not to see Mohammed again, at least for a while.”
“Yes, Zaida may be right and . . . Well, I’ll try to speak to Jacob. I hope he wants to hear me out.”
But Ahmed did not find a moment to talk to Jacob and let a few weeks go by, until one afternoon he decided that he had to take control of the situation. When he got back from the quarry, he went straight to Hope Orchard. He sighed when he saw the house that Samuel and his friends, with his help, had built years ago among the olive groves. He looked around and was pleased to see the old olive trees, pruned and now bursting with olives. The Jews had made a good business out of the olives, taking them to the press where they got the greeny, slightly acidic oil that the citizens of Jerusalem so liked.
The door was half open, so he pushed it gently and coughed to announce his arrival.
He took a step backwards when he saw a woman and a young man he did not know, and the rest of the inhabitants arguing heatedly. It was Kassia who saw him first, and he noticed how a shadow crossed her face.
“Good evening, Ahmed,” Kassia said in a tone of voice that was not as cordial as usual.
“I didn’t want to bother you . . . I’ll come back later, I see you have guests.”
To his surprise, Ariel turned to him with a smile. Ahmed thought that this was the first time he had ever seen him smile.
“Welcome, let me introduce my wife Ruth and my son Igor.”
Ariel took hold of Ahmed’s upper arm and led him into the house. He couldn’t leave now, for all that he wanted to. The woman he had called Ruth took a step forward and held out her hand.
“So you are Ahmed, I know about you and your family from my husband’s letters. I hope I will meet your wife Dina soon, and your mother-in-law Zaida, as well as your children. I think that Igor is the same age as your son.”
Ahmed felt very dull, he didn’t know what to do with the hand that Ruth was holding out to him. He didn’t like the European custom of treating women, even unknown women, with so little formality.
“I’ll come back some other time,” he insisted.
“Ruth and Igor have arrived only a few hours ago from Jaffa. I can’t believe that they are here. It has been very hard being without them, you who have a family can understand that,” Ariel said.
Then he offered him a glass.
“Drink,” Ariel insisted. “Let’s drink a toast to my family.”
Ahmed didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to snub him. But he couldn’t ignore the Koran’s precepts against alcohol either.
“Come on, Ahmed, your people drink herbal liquors and claim that they are medicinal, or help with the digestion. This vodka that Louis and I make is medicinal, so drink it with no fear of sinning,” Ariel said, making a slightly conspiratorial gesture.
Ahmed barely touched his lips with the liquid that was as transparent as water but smelled and tasted so strong. With every minute that passed he felt worse and worse. Ariel, dry old Ariel, was friendly, as was his wife Ruth, a short and plump woman with no distinguishing features except for her open and frank smile. Her hair was chestnut, her eyes were chestnut, her hands were small and her skin was weather-beaten. As for the son, Igor, he looked like his father, tall and strong, with the same fierce gaze, maybe a little friendlier. But it was not they who made him feel upset, it was Jacob and Kassia’s silence, Louis’s indifference, and worst of all the sight of Marinna leaving the room as he came in.
But Ariel felt too happy to pay attention to how uncomfortable his friends were feeling. He hadn’t seen his family for four years. He told Ahmed that they had decided that he would be the first to go to Palestine, not just to escape the tsar’s police, but also because Ruth’s father was extremely ill. She had looked after him until the final moment of his life. Now, happily, the family was once again together.
Ahmed listened carefully to what Ariel told him, and took his leave as soon as he could.
“I’ll come back some other time,” he said, making as if to leave.
“But what did you want? Do you need something?” Ariel asked.
He overcame his shyness and looked at Jacob.
“I wanted to speak to Jacob, but it’s not important.”
Jacob looked at him and then at Kassia, who turned her gaze away as if there were nothing that Ahmed could say that she would find interesting. It was Louis who spoke next, disconcerting both Jacob and Ahmed.
“Well, I think it would be good for you to talk. It’s better than carrying on as we are at the moment, with everyone uncomfortable and awkward. The sooner we face up to the problem, the sooner we will be able to solve it, and we can only start to solve it by talking.”
“Please, Louis, don’t tell us what we need to do!” Kassia protested.
“And what, are we to spend the rest of our lives not speaking with Ahmed or his family? We are all cross with him, better for us to say it outright and for him to explain his attitude to us and, most importantly, to our dear Marinna.”
Neither Ahmed nor Jacob were men who liked conflict, and they were both upset to find themselves in this situation. Ahmed decided to listen to Louis’s recommendation.
“Yes, I came to talk, but you are celebrating today and I don’t want to spoil your happiness. If Jacob wishes it, then I will come back tomorrow.”
“Yes, it would be better,” Jacob said, relieved not to have to have a conversation with Ahmed in front of all his friends.
The next day, as he was working in the quarry, Ahmed could not stop thinking about how he would breach this subject with Jacob. He didn’t want to offend him, but neither did he have any desire to lie to him. He would be firm in his decision to prevent any relationship between his son Mohammed and Marinna, and he didn’t care if Jacob understood or not.
Perhaps this was fated to happen, perhaps he did not devote all his attention to the job in hand, but he placed too large a charge of dynamite in a segment of rock that he was to blast into several fragments, and it exploded with such force that a chunk of rock struck him, crushing one of his legs and causing him so much pain that he felt himself about to faint.
Jeremiah ran to where he was lying, and managed with the help of two other men to get him out from among the rocks.
“Get the cart! Come on, don’t waste time! We have to get him to Jerusalem!” Jeremiah ordered the nearest men.
At first, Ahmed felt he would be unable to bear the pain that he felt in his leg, then he was terrified when he saw that not only had the leg swollen up, but it was also turning dark purple. He couldn’t move his arms either, and he felt blood running from a wound in his head. It was hard for him to breathe, but he did not cry out or complain. He kept quiet, conscious of the men around him, looking at him. He was the foreman and he had to set them an example; other men had suffered accidents on previous occasions, although he was proud of saying that he was so well organized and so careful that he could avoid situations like the one that had caused his accident.
They took him to a Syrian doctor who had established his practice years ago just outside the city walls, near the Damascus Gate.
The doctor’s face was unmoving as he carried out his examination. Ahmed feared the worst.
“Your knee, tibia, and ankle are all fractured. I’ll see what I can do.”
The doctor made him drink a liquid that was bitter but that after a few minutes drove him into a semi-conscious state in which he could vaguely hear the instructions the physician gave his assistant. He felt them immobilizing his leg, and had he been able he would have complained about the movements they subjected it to as they t
ried to line the bones up correctly. He thought he heard, through the mists of sleep, someone say that he would never walk properly again, and that if his leg continued to take on that purple color then he might even lose it.
He woke up hours later with dry lips and a sense of vertigo... His temples were throbbing madly and the pain in his leg was unbearable. He tried to move, but without success. His leg wouldn’t respond, and the rest of his body seemed to be shriveled up. He could not use his voice. He grew scared, and asked himself if he were dead. But no, he could not be dead if he still felt so much pain. He looked around him, and was relieved to see Dina at his side, with Aya next to her. He tried to sit up, but he didn’t have the strength. Dina seemed to realize the effort he was making, and took his hand between hers.
“Aya, go and find the doctor! He’s waking up.”
Dina came closer and wiped his forehead with a damp cloth.
“You’re alright, you’re alright . . . Don’t worry . . . You’re alright. You need to rest. The doctor will give you something to take the pain away and let you sleep.”
Ahmed did not want to carry on sleeping. He wanted to open his eyes fully and look at the world. He preferred pain to feeling nothing. He didn’t know if Dina could hear the words that came from his lips.
“I . . . I . . . You’re here . . . What have they done to me?”
And Dina explained in a tiny little voice that the doctor had opened up his leg to put the bones back in their right places and that he had bled a lot, that he had been about to die but had been saved, and that he would never walk as well as he had before. His leg would drag, but at least he was alive. And he shouldn’t worry, Jeremiah was a good boss and had promised that if he lived he could still count on work at the quarry.
Aya came back with the doctor, who asked him how he was feeling and then examined him.
“It will take a while to get better, and as for walking . . . You will have to get used to dragging your leg, but at least there is no gangrene. Allah has been merciful.”
The doctor told him that he was still not allowed to move, and that it would be a while before he would be allowed to go home again. He also praised Jeremiah.
“He threatened me with the most horrible fates if I cut off your leg. He ordered me to give you the best possible care. He will pay for everything, and he has come to see you every single day.”
Ahmed found out from the doctor that along with the leg injuries, he also had several broken ribs and had suffered a bad blow to the head. And one of his arms was badly bruised. It was difficult to explain how he had managed to survive.
Just as the doctor had said, Jeremiah came round to see him. His worry about his foreman’s condition was clear from his face.
“I still can’t work out how you could have put so much dynamite in that charge, you could have blown up the entire quarry, and us along with it.”
Ahmed wanted to apologize, but he barely had the strength to talk.
“Don’t speak, when you get better you can explain how it happened. But it was clear you were distracted that day, your mind was elsewhere. Your wife didn’t know how to explain it.”
The biggest surprise was the visit of Ariel, Jacob, and Louis. The three men were moved by his situation.
“Don’t worry about the farm, your nephews Jaled and Salah are helping Dina. We’ll give them a hand as well.”
Ahmed didn’t know what to say to express his gratitude. Dina had already told him about the help his neighbors had given, even Kassia and Marinna had offered to help in any way necessary. However, as Dina explained it, Kassia had been extremely serious when she had come to the house to find out what had happened. And Marinna hadn’t said a word, and would only respond to Zaida’s questions.
No, he could not allow this silence to rot the relationship between his family and the people who lived at Hope Orchard, and although he didn’t have much strength, he decided that now was the time to broach the subject.
“I wanted to explain to you why I am worried about the special friendship between Mohammed and Marinna . . . ,” he started to say in a very faint voice.
“Come on, Ahmed, now is not the time! You should get better first, then we can talk about it,” Jacob interrupted.
“Thank you for your concern, but we can’t drag this out any longer. We have to talk, and however bad I feel, it will be worse if we don’t say anything.”
Jacob shuffled uncomfortably from side to side, and Ariel and Louis kept very quiet.
“I know that my son loves Marinna, he should love her as a sister, given that they grew up together, but it appears that he loves her as a woman. I believe that . . . well, I believe that Marinna feels the same way, and while I couldn’t be happier if my son were to marry a woman like Marinna, virtuous, modest, a hard worker. . . It cannot be, my friends, it cannot be unless Marinna converts to our faith, and I know very well that this is impossible. I have asked my son not to be selfish, not to nourish a relationship that can never lead to a marriage. Marinna will never be a Muslim, and Mohammed will never convert to Judaism. The two of them are young, and can get over the bitterness that a situation such as this must necessarily provoke. But it is best for them, and best for all of us. I never want my refusal to countenance this relationship to be seen as anything against Marinna herself, I am truly fond of her and would like nothing more than to be able to call her daughter . . .”
Ahmed did not know what else to say. He felt his cheeks turning red under the inquisitive gazes of these three men, who listened to him in silence, so still that they seemed not to be breathing.
He shut his eyes. He was tired and his forehead was burning, but his hands were damp with sweat.
“So you believe that religion is an insuperable barrier,” Jacob mused.
“Don’t you? What alternative is there if they wish to live decently?”
“We must be able to not let religion form an impenetrable wall, the cause of sadness and bitterness to two young people who love each other. What kind of God would we believe in if we thought that he would not allow two honorable and good young people to love one another?” Jacob asked, to Ahmed’s shock.
“Are you going to question your God? It’s blasphemy . . . I . . . Your strength is in the Bible, ours comes from the Koran.”
“Do you really think that Yahweh or Allah are worried about two young people falling in love? Would not the opposite be the case? How long are we to permit religion to separate us, to cause us to look down on people who don’t share our beliefs? We ran from Russia to avoid persecution not just because we were Jews, but because we wanted a different world, a world where all men were equal, where they all have the same rights and the same duties, where no one is persecuted no matter whom they pray to, and no matter what they think. A world without God, or at least a world without a God in whose name people fight against each other. And this is a world in which Mohammed and Marinna could love each other,” Jacob said.
“But this is a world that doesn’t exist. I couldn’t be happy in a world without God; I’m sorry, Jacob, I . . . I don’t understand you. You are Jews, and you have come to Palestine saying that it was the land of your ancestors, and at the same time you deny your God. I cannot understand it and . . .”
“And you feel bad in the midst of all this blasphemy,” Louis stated.
“Allah is all-merciful and knows the darkest corners of the human heart. All I want to do is comply with the precepts that inspired the Prophet and to be a good Muslim. This world you speak of . . . I’m sorry, I don’t think it will ever become a reality. It goes against human nature.”
“We are socialists, and so this is how we behave. Have we ever not treated you as an equal?” It was Louis who spoke, and his voice had become serious once more.
“I have nothing to complain of. My family’s fortunes changed the day I met your friend Samuel Zucker. You have always been
fair with us, you have never asked for anything you would not ask of yourselves. And you have shared whatever you had. It is God’s law that we help those who have nothing and stretch out our hand to the weakest among us. And we have given as much as we have received,” Ahmed replied.
“Yes, it was thanks to you that we were able to become farmers. I had never seen an olive other than on a plate before, and I didn’t think it would be so difficult and backbreaking to bend and gather the harvest. You have given us a lot and taught us a lot. Hope Orchard is only possible thanks to you,” Louis admitted. Ariel agreed.
“So we have all obeyed our principles and our beliefs and behaved like righteous men,” Ahmed insisted.
“Why can’t we allow Marinna and Mohammed to decide for themselves? Why must we condemn them?” Jacob asked aloud, without addressing anyone in particular.
“Because some things are good and others are not. If Mohammed and Marinna decided . . . decided not to obey the tenets of our religions, then a day might come when both of them regretted it. I wonder, would my son respect Marinna forever if he were not married to her? He could keep her as a concubine, but would Marinna be happy? Would she respect herself?”
“A concubine! What are you saying? Never!”
“Please, Jacob, let us not allow our children’s confusion to make it impossible for our families to understand one another. They are young, they will get over it. Marinna will find a nice Jewish boy and Dina will find an appropriate wife for Mohammed. My son knows what his duty is and will accept it, for all that it hurts him to separate from Marinna. In a few years the two of them will laugh about this childish infatuation.”
Ahmed was sad when his friends left. These men who called themselves socialists had torn God out of their lives and had replaced him with another deity they called “Reason.” He felt sorry for them: How could they not understand that nothing in the world could exist unless it were inspired with the breath of God?
Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 26
