Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead

by Julia Navarro

  “Father, I will support you in any way I can, but don’t ask me to leave the school. I am happy teaching the children and I am happy working in the print shop as well.”

  “Maybe Yusuf would be interested,” Salma suggested.

  “Yes, I’ll speak with him.”

  But Mohammed was not able to convince Yusuf of the benefits of buying the quarry.

  “I am too old to go on adventures. I could give you the money you need to buy it, but I will not take part in the business.”

  “You would not have to do anything, simply be my partner,” Mohammed explained.

  “No, it doesn’t interest me. I know that your sister Aya will be upset when she hears about my negative answer, but this suits me; Omar Salem trusts me and I have no need to dedicate myself to a business I know nothing about. If you decide not to buy the quarry, I can at least speak to the man who does want to buy it. He is a friend of Omar Salem’s, I know him well, and I am sure that he will appreciate your work.”

  When Anastasia came back to the quarry two days later, Mohammed and Igor explained that to their great regret they could not buy the quarry.

  “I thought as much, but it was my obligation to offer it to you. You have been good and honest workers all these years. If anyone deserves to have the quarry it is you, but I understand that if your children don’t want to work here then there’s no sense in your taking it.” Anastasia gave each of the men an envelope, shook their hands, and left.

  Mohammed was lucky. Nabîl, Omar Salem’s friend, after looking at the accounts and speaking to the quarrymen, decided that he would not find anyone better than Mohammed. As for Igor, he disposed of his services. From now on it would be his own son who took charge of the men who drew the golden stone, the sacred stone of Jerusalem, from the earth. Igor said goodbye to the men and thanked them for the many years of work they had shared. Some of the men had kind words for him, others said goodbye with indifference. It was not easy for Mohammed to see Igor go. He knew that Igor was sunk, would be lost without his job of the past decades. Igor had put his best into the quarry. When Jeremiah died and he took charge of it, he had doubled its income. They shook hands without speaking.

  “And what will he do now?” Salma asked her husband.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t dare ask him.”

  “I will talk to Ben,” Wädi said.

  “Yes, talk to him, he must be worried about his father.”

  On November 29, 1947, all the Palestinians, Arabs and Jews alike, were listening to the radio. The United Nations General Assembly had gathered to vote on the plan for the partition of Palestine proposed by its delegates.

  Wädi had called together Ben and Ezekiel and his cousin Rami to hear the UN’s decision. Rami had said that maybe it was not a good idea for them to meet up on that very day, but Wädi had said that “if we are not capable of being together on this day in particular, then we cannot be together ever again.”

  They met in a little café in the Old City whose proprietor was a Palestinian Christian, a friend of Brother Agustín. Brother Agustín was in the café as well, talking with two men whom Wädi did not know.

  After midnight, the radio announcer said that they were going to give the results of the vote: Resolution 181 had received thirty-three votes for (including those of the Soviet Union and the United States), thirteen against, with ten abstentions, including the United Kingdom. Palestine would be divided in two, and Jerusalem would be placed under international control.

  The silence in the café was absolute. Everyone felt stunned. The Palestinian Arabs were shocked by the body blow, the division of what they considered to be their land by the United Nations. The Jews were shocked by the fact that they had realized their dream, the recovery of their forefathers’ land.

  Ezekiel and Ben looked at each other in joy, but refrained from hugging each other in public, much less from shouting out their happiness. Wädi and Rami were so distraught they couldn’t speak. They had not thought that there could be any other response, but when the decision became a reality they were stunned, incapable of reacting.

  “The future begins today,” Ben said, looking at his friends.

  “Your future and our humiliation,” Rami said.

  “We did not know how to make our case,” Wädi affirmed.

  “It’s the fairest result,” Ezekiel said.

  “Fair? No, it’s not fair. Some delegates, people who know nothing about Palestine, came here, spent a couple of weeks going around, and opted for the Solomon solution: dividing Palestine in two. Where is the justice in that?” Wädi replied.

  “You and we both have the same right to this land, we should be able to share it. Until now we have done so; maybe this is a new opportunity,” Ezekiel insisted.

  “Yes, they’ve given you the opportunity to have a state at our expense,” Rami interrupted.

  “Palestine was not a state, it was a part of the Ottoman Empire, and it was not a state before that. What are we talking about, Rami?” Ben was trying hard to control his anger.

  “Yes, we’ve argued about it before. According to you, Palestine doesn’t belong to anyone, it belonged to the Jews two thousand years ago, and then the Romans and other invaders until the Turks came along and then we passed into the hands of the British. But we were here, it doesn’t matter who the overlords were,” Rami replied.

  “And we were here too,” Ezekiel reminded him.

  “Do you know how many Arabs there are in Palestine? I’ll tell you, more than one million two hundred thousand, and how many Jews? I’ll tell you that as well, six hundred thousand, including all the immigration that’s been taking place. Fifty years ago you weren’t even half the population here.” Rami had raised his voice.

  “The United Nations has put us on a collision course. We are headed for war,” Wädi said.

  “No, that would be mad! Why can’t we share the land? If we don’t, if we can’t live with one another, then we will have failed. War is not an option.” Ezekiel seemed distraught by the turn the conversation was taking.

  “I don’t know how we can avoid it. I am sure that your leaders are already preparing for a confrontation, to defend this scrap of land that the United Nations has given them.”

  “There will be no confrontation if you accept Resolution 181,” Ben said.

  “You know we can’t accept it.” Rami seemed tired.

  Brother Agustín interrupted. He had only needed one glance to see the tension among the four friends.

  “I’m sorry, Wädi,” he said, patting him on the shoulder.

  “I know,” Wädi replied.

  “I have been saying as much to my Arab friends for a while, that it was a big mistake to ignore the diplomatic solutions. The Jewish Agency went on a diplomatic offensive and won the war. I grew tired of saying to your leaders again and again that it was a mistake to look down on the UN delegates, that they should meet with them, that it was not enough to have right on your side, but you also needed to defend your side with arguments.” Brother Agustín seemed truly disgusted.

  “We will oppose the partition,” Rami said.

  “It’s no use, there’s no way back. The Jews will take the piece of land that is given to them and will create their own state. It’s better if you accept reality,” Brother Agustín said.

  “Reality can be changed,” Rami said, trying to hold back his anger.

  “No, you can’t change a UN resolution, what’s done is done. It’s better to accept it, the alternative would be worse.” The friar seemed to be in no doubt about this.

  “Worse? Worse for whom? You can’t tell me that we have no other option, that we have to accept that they will expel us from our own land. What about the Arabs who live in the fields and cities that will be Jewish territory? Will they have to leave their homes, the land that their forefathers cultivated? You think that we should l
et them rob us and also turn the other cheek.” Wädi had also raised his voice.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m on your side, but this doesn’t stop me from seeing things as they are. It is up to all of you to make sure that there is not a confrontation, which can only bring more suffering. It would be a mistake.” There was little room for hope in Brother Agustín’s voice.

  “Allow us to be mistaken, in that case,” and Rami, saying this, got up and went to the door.

  Wädi caught up with him and took him by the arm, asking him to return.

  “You knew this could happen, and that is why we are here with Ben and Ezekiel. I feel as cheated as you do, but we mustn’t lose our heads. The friar is right, we made a mistake, our leaders didn’t give the UN the respect it deserved, and the Jews convinced them to support their cause.”

  Rami sat down again. Ezekiel and Ben had not left the table, and the friar was with other people elsewhere in the café. Meanwhile, people were crying in houses all over Jerusalem: some for joy, others for sorrow.

  “The Americans have betrayed us.” Mohammed’s affirmation was full of disappointment. Like so many Palestinian Arabs, he had trusted that President Truman would follow Wilson’s policy of supporting the Arabs.

  “We are alone, Father, we have always been alone. The Americans defend their interests just as the British do. Don’t look elsewhere for people to defend us, we have to defend ourselves,” Wädi replied. He had found his father waiting for him impatiently, wanting to discuss the UN resolution.

  “Yusuf is at Omar Salem’s house. They are waiting for us.”

  “It’s very late, Father.” Wädi was very tired and he had to get up the next day to go to school.

  “Do you think anyone can sleep tonight?”

  “What will we do? Speak, speak and argue among ourselves . . . I am tired of wasting words and not getting anywhere.”

  “If we don’t go then they will be offended.”

  “You should have gone yourself instead of waiting for me . . . I don’t feel that I can do this; I will come with you if you want, but don’t ask me to stay once we get there. It is very late, and the school will open tomorrow, whatever the UN has decided.”

  He did not insist, but accepted that Wädi should walk with him. However, when Mohammed came back from the meeting, he found Wädi sitting in a kitchen chair with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “You were right, Father, tonight is a night of vigil.”

  There would be no peace between the two communities from that night, November 29–30, 1947, onwards.

  Wädi was already at the school when Brother Agustín arrived. He seemed upset.

  “There will be a war,” he said, looking straight at Wädi, who seemed absorbed in copying out onto the blackboard the phrases the children were to copy.

  “I know,” Wädi said, ill-humoredly.

  “And all because of the Foreign Office; orders are orders, even if there are lots of British soldiers who sympathize with the Arab cause.”

  Wädi nodded without saying anything as he finished copying the phrases onto the blackboard. The children were restless, most of them infected by this nervousness that filled Jerusalem and the rest of Palestine.

  “Anisa will come at midday. The widow who lives on the road to Bethlehem has gotten worse. The doctor says that she doesn’t have much time, and has prescribed her some injections to help with the pain. Anisa will give them to her. Can you take her in the car before going to Mr. Moore’s print shop?”

  Anisa arrived later than expected, which only added to Wädi’s bad mood.

  “Brother Agustín says I am to drive you to the widow’s house near Bethlehem,” he said drily.

  “I am sorry I’m late, there were a lot of people in the hospital today. I spoke to the widow’s doctor, and he says that she has only a few days left to live. The poor woman!”

  When they arrived they found the widow with a neighbor.

  “She’s in a lot of pain,” the woman said, “and she doesn’t want to eat anything.”

  Wädi waited impatiently while Anisa gave the widow her injection. When they finally left the building, Anisa put her hand on his arm, inviting him to stop and talk.

  “I’m as furious as you are about the UN resolution to steal half our country, and I will do whatever it takes to stop it.”

  “We will fight and we will lose because the UN will not step back. The Jews have won a great victory.”

  “Do you have so little faith that we will be able to win?”

  “Anisa, I’ve told you, we will fight but the UN will not set things right.”

  “Why are you so negative? Do you think the Jews are better than us? We can beat them.”

  “They are not better than us, but they will defend every scrap of earth with their lives. They want a home, they want a place that, small as it may be, they can call their own, a place that no one can expel them from. They have found that place here.”

  “What are you saying! It’s almost as if you are on their side.” Anisa was scandalized by Wädi’s words.

  “I know them well, I grew up with Jewish children, some of my best friends are Jews, and because I know them I know that this battle will not be an easy one to win. I will fight, I don’t mind losing my life, but I am surprised that telling the truth puts me under suspicion of not being a patriot.”

  “I didn’t say that . . .” Anisa realized that she had offended him.

  “You said it, but in different words. You will not be the only one to reproach me for this. No one wants to hear the truth, and when you speak it you are considered a madman or a traitor. I am neither one nor the other.”

  “I wanted to say something . . . It was me who asked the friar to let us be alone together today. I have something to tell you . . .”

  At this moment, Wädi realized that she had decided to accept his proposal of marriage, but that what he had just said had made her doubtful.

  “I will never lie to you, Anisa, I will never pretend to be what I am not, I will never let myself be carried away by what other people say without reflecting on it. I will always say out loud what I think and I will defend it without caring about the consequences, although that might mean that I am left alone. What I will never do is cheat myself or other people.”

  They looked at each other for a few seconds and then Anisa smiled. Wädi felt relieved to see this smile.

  “I wanted to say that I will marry you, if you still want me to . . .”

  Can you be happy while so many men are preparing for war? This was the question that Wädi asked himself every morning when he opened his eyes. He was happy because he was going to marry Anisa. He was happy because teaching in the school was the peak of his ambitions. He was happy because the Moores treated him like a son. He was happy because his father and mother were in good health. He was happy because Rami and Shayla were happy. He was happy because Naima was pregnant again.

  But in spite of all this happiness he still couldn’t sleep. The clashes between Arabs and Jews were continuous. The skirmishes had begun the day after the UN resolution was passed, and they were only getting worse. The mufti of Jerusalem had declared a general strike from his Cairo exile. Riots were a daily occurrence. The victims, on both sides numbered in the dozens.

  Mohammed and Salma had arranged with Anisa’s parents for the wedding to take place at the beginning of the year.

  Salma was worried about what Anisa’s parents and family and friends would say when they discovered that there were a number of Jews among the guests at the wedding, because, in spite of the tensions that were brewing, neither Wädi nor Mohammed had hesitated to invite all the members of Hope Orchard.

  Ezekiel was genuinely happy when Wädi said that he was getting married and introduced him to Anisa. Sara and Anisa seemed to hit it off immediately. Wädi had told Anisa how much Sara had suffer
ed, about her time in Auschwitz, how the Nazis had tortured her, the loss of her children. Anisa had wept at such a fate, so when she met Sara she was immediately predisposed to like this young Sephardi Jew.

  Miriam and Marinna were so friendly that Anisa felt a little overwhelmed. Only Igor seemed to be entirely indifferent. He had grown even more taciturn since he had lost his job at the quarry. He spent almost all day working in the olive groves, but pruning the trees did not make him happy.

  Marinna had made a fig tart in Anisa’s honor, and Miriam had made coffee and tea. Neither Mohammed nor Salma had come with Wädi and Anisa to Hope Orchard. Mohammed felt uncomfortable when he met Igor, and his discomfort stretched out to cover all the people who lived at Hope Orchard. The UN vote had deepened the gulf between them, for all that they pretended not to notice.

  “It seems like Sara and Anisa have hit it off,” Wädi whispered to Ezekiel.

  “I’m surprised, I have never seen Sara so happy. She never stops talking and you know that’s not what she normally does,” Ezekiel replied.

  “It’s good for her to have a friend her own age,” Wädi agreed.

  Anisa had never thought that she would get on so well with a Jewish woman, but the truth was that little by little she and Sara had become inseparable. Sara seemed to trust Anisa more than anyone else and it was not odd to see them strolling and gossiping.

  One day Wädi asked Anisa if Sara was happy. She thought carefully before answering.

  “She will never be happy, she doesn’t try to be, she just wants to live in peace and be useful to others. That’s why she helps the refugees who come to Palestine. It has been difficult for her to learn Hebrew, she still finds it hard, and she is worried about the people who arrive facing this barrier as well.”

  “Does she love Ezekiel?” Wädi asked the question that was really worrying him.

  “If she can love anyone then she loves Ezekiel. She is grateful to him for rescuing her and asking nothing in return.”

  “But she doesn’t love him,” Wädi concluded.