***
Time moved forward, further from the days when my family was happy and complete. When the winter rain pounded our tent, I closed my eyes and thought of my cousin Ibrahim’s wedding. I remembered Baba eating the sweet baklava and dancing dabkeh with the other men. I thought of all the weddings at which Baba had played his oud and I wished he could play me one of his happy melodies. Baba loved the rain. ‘It’s good for the land,’ he’d say. ‘The trees need it.’ Even five years after our land was gone, he still rejoiced when it rained.
Now the water leaked into our tent, cold and damp. The ground under us became mud. I pretended we were back in our house listening to the patter of the winter rain on the roof from under our goatskin blankets. But I still felt the cold in my bones.
***
‘Don’t you bathe?’ the Iraqi asked Abbas and me.
‘They’re stained,’ I said, looking at my trousers. Even though Mama and Nadia washed our clothes daily on the washboard, they could never get out the stains.
‘Your feet are a muddy mess,’ the Yemenite said. ‘What are you wearing?’
Abbas and I tucked our feet under us and hid the shoes Mama had made us from an old tyre.
That night, Abbas and I brought home one of the big cardboard boxes that the Jews’ refrigerators came in and covered it in plastic. Mama slept in it outside the tent and awoke dry. Every day we brought home another box until each of my family members had their own.
Each time Abbas and I brought home the Jews’ trash, we endured torment. I didn’t know how much more Abbas could take before he snapped.
CHAPTER 15
The January cold bore into my bones. Mama had knitted me a sweater, but the constant rain soaked it through. Abbas and I were tying in the last bit of rebar in preparation for pouring the fifth floor of an apartment building. Fortunately, the concrete moulds on the floor above protected us from deluge for the moment.
‘Abbas?’ I looked over. My little brother’s teeth were chattering, his fingers trembling. If only I could get him a proper coat. ‘Call for the cement dispenser.’ I wanted to finish prepping the floor.
He glanced at me then turned towards the scaffolding. He walked hunched over, like he was trying to conserve his body heat by reducing his size. Once on the scaffolding, he motioned for the crane to bring the dispenser.
‘Son of a dog!’ the Iraqi shouted. He squeezed the trowel in his hand so hard his fist turned white. Earlier, he had spat on my foot. His phlegm was warm and sticky. When I bent down to wipe it off, he said, ‘Your time’s up!’
Yossi explained to Abbas and me that today was the first anniversary of the death of the Iraqi’s son and that we should ignore him because he wasn’t in his right mind.
I heard the trowel drop and turned to see the Iraqi run at Abbas. Jumping to my feet, I flew across the concrete moulds, but I was too late. The Iraqi pushed Abbas off the scaffold. He fell backwards. His arms and legs flailed. A primal scream pierced the air. Then, a horrible thud.
‘Abbas!’ Within seconds, I was on the ground floor running to him. His body was splayed in the mud. Blood pooled under his head. Rain pelted him.
‘Abbas!’ I bent next to his head, panicked. ‘Get up!’
Yossi lifted his limp arm. I threw myself at Yossi and knocked him backward. ‘Leave him alone.’ Tears mixed with rain as I pinned my boss to the ground.
Yossi didn’t fight back. ‘His pulse,’ he said.
The other labourers pulled me off him and held me back. It was my little brother. My best friend. My responsibility. My failure if he was dead. The rain blurred my vision.
Yossi felt Abbas’ wrist. ‘He’s alive.’ The Israelis went into action. ‘Get the plank! I’ll drive him. No time for an ambulance.’
‘Stay strong, Abbas. Stay strong,’ I shouted over and over again.
Abbas didn’t respond.
‘You’re going to be fine, Abbas,’ I said.
The labourers released me.
The Lithuanian and the Russian placed the plank on the ground next to him. Together, we slid it under Abbas’ body and lifted him into the back of Yossi’s pickup truck. I jumped in next to him, leaning over his head to protect him from the rain, holding on to the side of the truck for my life as Yossi sped on the dirt, then paved roads at a terrible pace. The scenario in the building played over in my mind. I would have set myself on fire if I could have prevented this from happening.
Yossi made the truck fly, but still the ride seemed never-ending. My body rocked forward and backwards as if it were part of the truck. We passed by cranes, buildings partially finished and new homes. Near them were older homes built from mud-bricks and local stone. I maintained my position over Abbas. But, despite my efforts to protect him from the rain, he still got wet.
‘I’m right here,’ I said. ‘I won’t let anything else happen to you.’
***
We pulled into the emergency room drive. Yossi ran inside and returned with a swarm of people dressed in blue pushing a stretcher. They transferred Abbas and rushed him inside. I stayed by his side until they wheeled him through swinging doors. When I tried to enter, a nurse held me back.
‘We need some information.’
‘I’m coming, Abbas,’ I said. ‘Please,’ I told the nurse. ‘My brother’s only twelve.’
‘Let him through,’ Yossi said. ‘His brother needs him.’ The nurse started to follow me, asking about Abbas’ medical history and insurance. ‘Is he allergic to anything? Has he ever had anaesthetics?’ I broke into a run, searching the corridors until I caught sight of him.
‘Where are you taking him?’ I asked the moon-faced man who pushed his stretcher.
‘Surgery.’ Moon-face did not stop. ‘To your left is the waiting room. Get your parents. When the surgery’s finished, the doctor will come to talk to them.’
I caught up and clutched Abbas’ hand. ‘I can’t leave him alone.’
‘It’s not allowed,’ he said. ‘Go get your parents.’
A nurse came out of nowhere. ‘Come, sit down. They’re doing everything they can. Let them get started.’ I squeezed Abbas’ limp hand and whispered, ‘Stay strong, Abbas. Stay strong.’ They wheeled him into surgery.
The nurse guided me to a waiting area filled with people on plastic chairs. A young couple cried in the corner. The woman’s face was pressed against the man’s chest, which muffled her wails. A woman with a face full of creases and a humped back stood in the doorway, her mouth gaping like she was in a trance. An emotionless man with stooped shoulders paced back and forth across the room in five strides. Children pushed each other, bored. I found an empty chair in the corner. Yossi sat next to me.
‘You don’t have to wait with me,’ I said, a little ashamed that I had jumped on him.
‘I need to see how he is. I’m so sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Avee wasn’t himself today.’
‘Who?’
‘The Israeli from Iraq.’
‘My brother didn’t kill his son.’
‘I’m not trying to justify what he did. Avee’s a prisoner of his own hatred.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘People have to learn.’
I would teach Avee a lesson he’d never forget. I would hurt him the way he’d hurt Abbas. My fists clenched at my sides as I imagined how he’d suffer for what he’d done. Then I saw the worried man pacing, and thought of Baba, shackled like an animal. I thought of Mama and my brothers and Nadia, my only remaining sister, alone while I rotted in prison. I thought of the promise I made to Baba. No, I told myself. I couldn’t let my family down. I must rise above.
CHAPTER 16
Where are your parents?’ the doctor asked when he finally emerged from surgery.
‘They couldn’t make it,’ I said. ‘I’m representing them.’
His mouth opened, but he seemed to rethink and paused. ‘Is there some way I could call them?’
I couldn’t hide the worry in my voice. ‘No, just please tell me how he is.’
The
doctor was tall and light-skinned. He spoke like the Russian. A paper mask hung from his left ear.
‘Alright, I’m Dr Cohen. Your brother’s in a coma right now. We have to wait and see if he regains consciousness.’
‘If?’ I asked.
‘The longer the coma lasts, the worse the chances. I fused two broken vertebrae to healthy ones and removed his spleen, which had ruptured. There was a fair amount of internal bleeding, but I think we stopped it. You can see him now. He’s in the recovery room.’ The doctor pointed me in its direction.
Abbas was in the third bed from the door. In the first bed was a child Hani’s size wrapped in white gauze. A veiled woman sat next to the bed. In the second bed was a boy about Abbas’ age with bandaged stumps where his legs should’ve been. A man and a veiled woman sat by his bed. This must be the Arab ward.
Abbas’ body looked smaller in the big hospital bed. Monitors and tubes were everywhere. Bending over the rails on the sides of his bed, my toes barely able to touch the floor, I whispered in his ear, ‘I’m here for you, Abbas. I’m here for you.’ I held his hand with the cannula taped to it. It was cold. Careful not to touch any of the tubes, I pulled the blanket over his shoulders. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. If only I’d run faster, got up quicker, gone to call for the cement dispenser myself.
His skin was dark against the white sheets. ‘Is that better?’ I asked, not expecting an answer, but hoping somewhere inside he could hear me, know I was there. I fought the urge to gently shake him, to try to wake him.
Memories flooded back: how Abbas grabbed on to my leg on my first day of school and wouldn’t let go. Baba had to pry him loose. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be going to school soon enough,’ Baba had told him.
I recalled how Abbas and I had climbed up into the almond tree and watched the Israelis from the moshav farm the land. The engine of the tractor roared as it cut the field into perfect rows. The plough turned over rich black earth. After the first rains, we’d watch the Israelis plant the land. With my telescope, we’d observe the first shoots sprout and then turn into squash, beans and aubergines. In July they’d harvested from first light straight through to dusk dressed in bright colours and sleeveless tops. The hardest part for us was watching them harvest our Shamouti oranges. Those were our favourites, thick-skinned, seedless and juicy. When the wind was strong, the scent of their blossoms in the spring and their fruit in the summer still reached us.
I thought of how Abbas had jumped up and down smiling, his fingers forming the V for victory the first time he played backgammon at the tea house and won. Baba had beamed. Baba. How could I ever tell him about this? No, I decided. I wouldn’t tell Baba. At least not until we knew what was going to happen to Abbas. There was nothing Baba could do for him. How would I tell Mama?
With the chair pulled as close as possible to Abbas’ bed, I leaned against the cold rails, so he could feel me breathing.
‘Abbas, I know it feels good to rest here where it’s warm and dry. You’ve been working so hard. But now it’s time to go home. Please, Abbas, open your eyes. Mama’s waiting for us.’ I squeezed his finger and blew air on his face. Nothing. ‘Do you hear me? You’re sleeping. Things are hard right now, but it’ll get better. Soon Fadi will be working too.’
I opened the bag the nurse had given me with Abbas’ sandals and bloodied clothes in it. I took his left sandal out, uncovered his left foot, slid it on and tied it. I noticed the veiled lady on my right look at me. I did the same with his other foot. I wanted to make sure he could get up and leave when he awoke.
Yossi entered the room. His presence upset me. I wanted to be alone with my brother.
‘You gave us quite a scare today,’ Yossi said to Abbas.
What if Yossi’s presence scared Abbas?
‘Let’s go out into the hall,’ I said. ‘I don’t want Abbas to hear us.’ We walked into the corridor together.
‘Let me take you home,’ he said. ‘Your parents will be worried.’
I leaned against the wall. ‘I need to be here,’ I said. ‘Abbas will be scared if he wakes up alone.’
‘He isn’t going to wake up today. I’ll bring you back in the morning, as soon as your curfew ends.’
‘No, I can’t leave him.’
‘Your parents will be worried.’
‘Give me a moment.’
I walked back and sat in the chair next to Abbas’ bed. ‘Remember that time Mohammad and I wanted to go to the village square and you wanted to come?’ I whispered into his ear. ‘I hid your shoes so Mama wouldn’t make me take you.’ I closed my eyes. ‘And remember that red spinning-top Baba made for you? You couldn’t find it anywhere. I stole it.’ I opened my eyes and stared at his chest as it rose and fell. ‘And when you struggled with your maths problems, I should’ve taken the time to explain to you how to solve them instead of just solving them for you. I’m sorry. But those mistakes are small compared to others I’ve made.’
I forced the words out of my throat. ‘You’re in a hospital bed instead of in school because of me. If I hadn’t got out of bed that night, you’d be climbing up the almond tree, spying on the Jews or practising hitting targets with the bow and arrows.’
Abbas, who was always moving, lay still. What if he never woke up? ‘I didn’t want this for you. Believe me, I’d gladly switch places with you. I wish we could go back to the days when we raced around in the toy cars Baba built for us. If you die or don’t wake up, we won’t recover. We’ll all die with you.’ I leaned over his bed rail and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘First thing in the morning, I’ll be back.’ I squeezed his left hand as I studied him – the scar that cut through his eyebrow, from when I’d tripped him on the school step. I couldn’t bring him home. I couldn’t leave him here. I had no good options.
I walked into the corridor. Yossi was waiting outside the door.
‘I’ll get permits for you and your parents,’ he said.
‘It’s just my mother and me.’
I looked back at Abbas’ door as Yossi guided me to his truck.
CHAPTER 17
The rain pounded me as I slogged through my worry and the mud. The footpath sucked at my sandals, testing the straps with each step. When I arrived at the tent, I could see the sheet hanging from the almond tree. Behind it, Fadi was showering in the rainwater. I stuck my head inside.
‘Where were you?’ Mama was frantic. ‘Where’s the rice?’
She’d asked me to buy rice with my pay. I sat down facing out, removed my sandals and held my feet out in the rain. When they were clean, I crawled in and sat across from her.
‘Where’s Abbas?’ Mama was hard at work, knitting hats. ‘I finished his. Now I’m working on yours.’ She held up Abbas’ hat. ‘These will keep your ears warm at work.’
Nadia fed rice to Hani in the corner.
‘Is he taking a shower?’ Mama asked.
Our eyes met.
She put down the knitting. ‘Did something happen?’
I lowered my gaze.
‘Please, Ichmad, tell me.’
Nadia turned.
‘There was an accident at work.’
She grabbed my arms. ‘Tell me.’
‘He fell.’ I swallowed. ‘From the scaffolding.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Is he dead?’
I thought of Abbas splayed on the ground, a pool of blood under his head.
Mama’s hands gripped harder into my arms.
Words couldn’t capture the regret I felt. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
‘Coma,’ I whispered and stared at my hands. ‘He’s alive. They just aren’t sure if he’ll wake up.’ I looked up at her.
Her hands went to her head. Her mouth was open like she was screaming, but no sound emerged. ‘I must go to him,’ she finally said.
‘My boss will drive us there tomorrow.’
‘He’ll get better if I go,’ she said with absolute certainty. It was as if her saying that made it true.
‘The doctors a
ren’t sure.’
‘Your brother will surprise them all. You need to work.’
‘I have to be with Abbas.’
Her shift from fear and dread to conviction was absolute. ‘We can’t live if you don’t work. And now we’ll have Abbas’ bills.’
‘You can’t go alone with Yossi.’
‘I’ll go with Um Sayyid. Her husband’s in a coma as well. Her son takes her every day.’ And Mama picked up her knitting.
The world should have stopped, but it kept going.
***
As soon as the curfew was over, I walked Mama to Um Sayyid’s tent. She was sat in the back of a donkey cart outside the tent, whilst her son, Sayyid, sat in the front, holding the reins.
‘Um Sayyid!’ I waved my arms in the air.
She looked over.
‘How are you?’ she asked Mama.
‘Abbas is in the hospital. Can I ride with you?’
‘My cart is your cart,’ she said.
I took Mama’s hand and helped her climb into the back next to Um Sayyid. They faced out with their legs dangling.
***
Yossi was waiting for me at the entrance to the village.
‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked.
‘She’s going to visit Abbas.’
Yossi handed me Mama’s permit to go to the hospital. Sayyid pulled his donkey cart next to us and I handed Mama the permit.
***
That day at work, the Iraqi wasn’t there. The Russian came over as soon as I arrived.
‘How’s Abbas?’
‘He’s in a coma.’ I lowered my face and rushed to the cinderblock pile. I filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with cinderblocks and placed them in the large container for the crane to take up to the fifth floor. The rain had washed Abbas’ blood away.
At lunch, I ate my pita and almonds alone. I started to calculate how heavy was the house we’d built the previous month. The weight of the house was a good indicator of the energy used in its construction. I’d need to analyse the heavy and energy-intensive building materials.
The Almond Tree Page 8
