Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead

by Julia Navarro

  When Anisa came into the room, she found Mohammed and Marinna next to each other, without seeming to notice each other, as if there were a wall between them.

  Later on she said to Wädi that Mohammed should have asked Marinna to leave. Wädi’s reply disconcerted her: “My Aunt Aya would not have allowed it.”

  Anisa did not understand the strange relationship between the Ziad family and the people of Hope Orchard. It was not that she did not sympathize with Miriam or poor Sara, or even Marinna herself, but she thought that friendship reached its natural end in circumstances like this. It was not possible to maintain the fiction that the friendship would not be damaged. “They have their dead, and we have ours, and for all that we want to forgive each other they always stand between us,” she said to Wädi. But Anisa had the impression that he was listening to her without paying any attention to her arguments.

  It was on April 13, four days after the Deir Yassin massacre, that a group of Palestinian Arabs attacked a medical convoy of Jews trying to get to the hospital at Mount Scopus on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Of the one hundred twenty people in the convoy, only thirty-six survived. The rest were murdered. The attackers were as brutal as those who had attacked Deir Yassin. But they added the extra cruelty of taking photographs of the bodies.

  Wädi was distributing the photographs among the guests at Omar Salem’s house. They were upset because the Haganah had now taken back Kastel; to this they had to add the Deir Yassin massacre, which had provoked hundreds of Palestinians to flee and leave their houses so as not to experience a similar fate.

  “These photographs stain us all,” Wädi said, as he watched the guests one by one turn their heads away from the images.

  “The attack on the Mount Scopus convoy was the response to Deir Yassin,” Omar Salem said.

  “And what will they do next? And how will we respond? Will we pull each other’s eyes out on the streets of Jerusalem? Will we kill their wives and then have them kill our children? Enough!” His shout made them all jump.

  “What are you saying?” Omar Salem’s question was a challenge.

  “That we should stop this madness, that we should sit down to talk, them and us, without any intermediaries. If we have to fight, then let us fight, but we should fight like men, face to face, leaving the women and children out of it,” Wädi said, once again scandalizing Omar Salem’s guests.

  Târeq, husband to Naima, Wädi’s sister, stood up to his brother-in-law.

  “There are atrocities committed in every war. How can we prevent them? You have been a soldier and you know that sometimes revenge is the only option.”

  “I would like to know why men stationed in Ain Karim did not come immediately to the aid of Deir Yassin,” Wädi asked, confusing his interlocutors.

  “When they heard about the massacre there was nothing they could do,” one of the men replied.

  “We all understand the pain you feel for the loss of your Uncle Yusuf. He was a friend to us all and you know I put more trust in Yusuf than in any man. But pain should not cloud our understanding, much less make us weak. We have to fight to expel them from our land,” Omar Salem stated.

  “My uncle is dead, and Rami’s wife is dead.”

  “Allah is showing mercy to your Aunt Aya,” Târeq reminded him.

  “She has only just recovered consciousness, and she cannot stop asking for her husband and her son,” Wädi replied.

  “She will be proud of them, they are martyrs and we will not forget them,” Omar Salem said emphatically.

  “My aunt would prefer to have them alive.”

  “We have met to try to halt the massive exodus of our brothers,” another guest reminded him.

  “We can’t do anything, people are scared after the Deir Yassin massacre,” another of those present said.

  “In any case, they will all return. When the Mandate comes to an end and the British leave, then we will expel the Jews; Egypt and Syria, Iraq, even King Abdullah have all either promised to help us or will have no choice but to do so.” Omar Salem seemed to have no doubts about what would happen.

  “We shall see,” Wädi replied.

  Mohammed had kept quiet while his son spoke. He wasn’t listening to him, not to him or any of these men. He had spent nights planning revenge. He was no longer young, and he no longer had the strength he once had, but he was still strong enough to do what he had to do. He had discovered where two of the men lived who had carried out the Deir Yassin massacre. These two assassins would pay for the sins of them all.

  As soon as he had sketched out his plan to Wädi, his son had tried to dissuade him. Sometimes he asked himself how it was possible that Wädi was able to overcome his desire for revenge. He had taught him that on occasion men had no choice but to respond to aggression in kind. Omar Salem had been right to say that the massacre of the doctors and nurses was the payment for Deir Yassin. An eye for an eye. It said so in the sacred book of the Jews. But he did not think that collective vengeance was satisfactory. He couldn’t sleep at night, because the faces of his nephew Rami, his nephew’s wife Shayla, and his brother-in-law Yusuf appeared before him, calling for vengeance.

  He couldn’t sleep that night either, not even with the help of the infusion that his wife Salma had prepared to help him. He heard the whispering voices of Wädi and Anisa, who must have been talking about the disgrace they were forced to bear.

  “At least we’re not hungry,” Mohammed thought. Ever since the Palestinian Arab forces had cut the highway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem the city had been cut off, at least for the Jews, who were suffering the effects of hunger. But he had too much pain in his heart to feel sorry for them. He had been a soldier and he knew that war brought hunger and misery along with it. But he was somehow comforted to know that Hope Orchard still had enough to eat. Kassia had dedicated part of the fields to fruit and vegetables meant for the inhabitants themselves, and Marinna still carried on cultivating them.

  Wädi went to the school as soon as dawn broke. He had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed.

  He found Brother Agustín with a cup of coffee. He seemed absorbed in something, as if his mind were miles away.

  “You’re early, do you want some coffee?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “They are fighting everywhere, and the noise of the shooting keeps us awake. Fewer and fewer children are coming, their parents think that not even the children are safe.”

  “What will happen when the British leave?”

  “I don’t know, Wädi, I don’t know. The Jews are settling themselves firmly on the land that the United Nations gave them, and they are showing that they can fight.”

  “They are doing more than that. They are occupying positions in places that will in theory be ours if the partition takes place. I’ve told our leaders that we should at least talk to them about the division of the territory, but they don’t listen to me, they think that just saying what I say is treachery.”

  “And Anisa? What does your wife think?”

  “She is loyal, but she doesn’t understand me either. She thinks that we have to fight and that if we do then victory is assured.”

  “And you don’t.”

  “Just like us, they think that this is their homeland and that is a stronger force than reason, so they will fight to stay here. Also, after the suffering of the war, after facing the extermination camps, they are more convinced than ever that they should have their own homeland, a place that belongs to them and from which nobody can expel them. If you had heard Sara . . . Ezekiel’s wife was a survivor of Auschwitz, she had looked into the depths of hell and had decided that she would die fighting never to be subject to anyone’s whims ever again. She was from Thessaloniki. Sara would have killed anyone who tried to force her out of Palestine.”

  “You know, I’m impressed by your ability to put yourself into
another person’s skin, to understand what makes people behave the way they do. You can beat your enemies only if you are capable of thinking like them, if not then you end up fooling yourself.”

  “In spite of this, I will fight alongside my people even though I don’t think I can do much good. I will fight to the death because the partition is the fruit of an injustice perpetrated by the United Nations against the Arabs. What worries me is that we might lose everything.”

  “That won’t happen. You might even win. It is not written anywhere that you will never be able to defeat the Jews. Syria, Iraq, Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan . . . There are a lot of countries that will not allow the partition to take place,” Brother Agustín said, trying to cheer his friend up.

  “You are wrong. You are wrong.”

  The fighting grew worse with every day that passed. Jews and Arabs fought for every inch of ground, sometimes what had been taken by one side in the morning belonged once again to the other side by the afternoon, but no one gave in, and the bitter exchange of territory would begin anew.

  One afternoon Anisa came to the house crying, and Salma was worried. Mother- and daughter-in-law got on well with each other and the life they shared had helped their affection to become more sincere.

  “What’s happened?” Salma asked worriedly.

  “They’re going . . . Lots of people are going. I’m scared about what might happen when the British leave.”

  “I heard that someone named Yitzhak Rabin took over Sheikh Jarrah. Omar Salem lives there, I don’t want to imagine how humiliated he felt to see the soldiers of the Haganah taking over his neighborhood. But my husband told me that the British expelled him and that part of the city is ours once again.”

  Mohammed came into the room where the two women were talking. Anisa greeted him with respect. Mohammed was the kind of man who commanded respect. It was not that he was not a friendly and concerned father-in-law, but there was something in his way of looking at you that she didn’t understand.

  “We are strong in the Old City, we won’t allow them to take control of it. The Jews are defending the western part, but I hope that this won’t last long,” he explained to the two women.

  Mohammed had been fighting for Jerusalem for days. He had not been able to stay out of the battle that was raging for control of the city. The British had tried to maintain order but it had been impossible. Both sides were fighting for high stakes, so both Arabs and Jews had ignored the attempts of the soldiers of General Alan Cunningham to keep the city peaceful.

  “Time is running out,” Mohammed murmured to the two women, who were extremely upset to see him leaving the house with a pistol stuck into his belt and a rifle in his hand.

  Neither Salma nor Anisa knew that Mohammed was going to look for Wädi. His son was also fighting—he had accepted that this was one of those moments in which fighting or dying were the only options to defend what was theirs.

  That night Anisa would tell Wädi that she was pregnant, and both would ask what the future held for the child yet to be born to them.

  They were both worried about what would happen on May 14.

  “What we’re going through now has nothing to do with what will happen when the English leave. Maybe you and my mother should go to my sister Naima’s house in Jericho. You will be safe there.”

  But Anisa rejected Wädi’s suggestion, she did not want to flee, and she begged all her acquaintances not to do so either. She was convinced that this would give their enemies an advantage.

  “If we go it means we’re giving up, we’re leaving the terrain open for them. We have to stay and defend our land, our homes. I will stay with you and if we have to die, then we will die, but we will die fighting,” she said to Wädi, who could not help but admire her bravery.

  Aya did not want to live anymore. She was not even cheered up to know that her daughter Noor and her son-in-law Emad were safe in Amman. She could not stop crying for the loss of her husband and her son. In her feelings for Yusuf she had not felt the passion that she imagined to be a companion to love, but theirs had been a calm and solid marriage. Yusuf, an attentive and sensitive husband, had done whatever he could to make her happy. She had never had any cause to blame him for anything, she blamed herself for not loving him as he deserved to be loved.

  But if the absence of Yusuf hurt her, the absence of her son Rami was unbearable. She could not accept that she would never see her son again, that she would never hold his hand again, or kiss his forehead, or share any of her worries and concerns with him.

  Her chest hurt when she thought of Rami, and the pain spread unbearably all over the rest of her body. She said that she would prefer not to have survived. Her daughter Noor had her own life.For all that losing her father and her brother might hurt her, she also had a husband and children to live for. Also Noor, by nature quiet and discreet, had an inner strength that allowed her to overcome any situation.

  Mohammed had refused to allow them to go back to their house in Deir Yassin. He knew that if Aya went back she would be unable to bear the pain. Also, Salma had shown herself willing to accept her sister-in-law, whom she was sincerely fond of, and so, when Aya was allowed to leave the hospital on May 12, Mohammed, along with Wädi and Anisa, took her back to his house.

  Aya cried when she saw that Salma had prepared her old room for her. Anisa insisted that Aya sit and rest while Salma made her some tea and offered her some pistachio cake. They drank their tea and spoke about the latest events, although Anisa would have preferred that Mohammed and Wädi had not worried Aya with so much bad news.

  “We have lost Haifa. Thousands from our side have crossed into Lebanon. Others are escaping as best they can in fishing boats. We have not been able to keep a city we have lived in for centuries. Damn the partition!” Mohammed exclaimed.

  “I don’t know why the United Nations gave Haifa to the Jews,” Anisa said.

  “The partition is mad, they haven’t taken anything into account, not even which places have more Jews living there and which have more Arabs. The Jews have been very clever and ever since they knew that Haifa would be assigned them they have been on the offensive. Now our men are leaving their houses. Who knows if they will ever be able to return,” Mohammed said regretfully.

  “They say that there are only three or four thousand Arabs left in Haifa. There were more than seventy thousand before,” Wädi added.

  “Allah protect us! We can’t allow them to throw us out of our own homes!” Anisa exclaimed.

  “The Jewish troops took Safed yesterday, today they were fighting in Beisan and they already hold the St. Simeon Monastery in Katamon. They have control of Tiberias and Acre,” Wädi continued.

  “We have also recorded our victories, they still don’t control the road to Tel Aviv, and the Jewish colonists in Kfar Etzion were successfully attacked, we had the help of the Arab Legion,” Mohammed interrupted.

  “The worst is that so many thousands of families are going into exile,” Salma said, shuddering to think what might become of them.

  The news that they told one another filled them with sorrow. It was only two days until the British mandate would come to an end, and they were all scared about what might happen then.

  That night Salma heard Aya crying, and Wädi and Anisa whispering to each other. She couldn’t sleep either. She knew that Wädi, just like Mohammed, could not stop himself from fighting, and that now the moment had come when they could not hesitate, or think of the Jews as the friends they had been before. There was nothing they could do apart from win or lose, and losing meant more than losing their lives.

  Mohammed forbade the women from leaving the house on May 14. Wädi had gone out around dawn into the Old City, where everything was closed. Brother Agustín was waiting for him at the school.

  “What are you doing here? No children will come today. You should prepare to fight. Can’t you hear the noise
? The British are leaving with their tanks and their trucks, and as soon as they leave the city then the Jews will do what they can to take it.”

  “And what will you do?” Wädi asked.

  “Nothing, I will stay here and wait until tomorrow.”

  Wädi left the school and headed back to King George V Avenue, down which the British troops were at that moment marching. People crowded together in silence in the street. Suddenly he felt a hand closing on his arm.

  “We need to take hold of all the places that were in British hands,” whispered a man whom he recognized, having seen him at Omar Salem’s house.

  Wädi agreed. He would fight. He had not been given any other option.

  Scarcely had the British left the city than the Haganah tried to take control of every inch of land that had been abandoned by them. Wädi knew that his father was fighting somewhere in the city, just as he was. It was not until late in the afternoon that he heard the fatal news. He had fought until he felt exhausted, when some men arrived, shouting, at where they had been fighting. What they said left them not knowing what to do.

  “Ben-Gurion has announced the creation of the State of Israel,” one of the men said angrily.

  There was a moment of sadness that quickly changed into anger and indignation. They had fought all day trying to keep the enemy at bay. But now they were not confronting a group of Jews, but something that they all realized was a serious threat—a state.

  Night had fallen by the time he was able to return home. Anisa was helping Mohammed with a flesh wound in his shoulder. Wädi was alarmed to see how pale his father was.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve removed the bullet,” Anisa explained.

  He did not ask what had happened. Mohammed had fought just as he had and Allah had protected both of them.

  “Ben-Gurion has announced the creation of the State of Israel,” Wädi told them.

  “Yes, and Truman and Stalin have both acknowledged it,” Mohammed informed him in his turn.