The Haj - Leon Uris [246]
‘Stop it, Ishmael!’
‘I am telling the truth!’
‘I know,’ she cried. ‘Can’t you see! I must get out of the house! I choke in there! At least I have some friends—’
‘But, Nada, these are the same kind of men who got us into this mess. They are leading us into an eternity of bloodshed and horror. They will win us nothing. The only thing they will save is their bank accounts. All these raids are meant to do is perpetuate hatred, no matter how many boys they butcher. And they love it when the Jews strike back and some of our children are killed. They love it!’
‘You don’t have to shout,’ she said, standing and walking away from me. She turned into a path so that we were really forced to look on the sprawl of Aqbat Jabar. ‘Tell me if there is another way. Father tried another way and they destroyed him for it. How long can we go on living down there? What is going to happen to your own life, Ishmael?’
Then I found myself rocking back and forth, hitting the heel of my hand into my forehead. An uncontrollable pain shot up from my stomach to my throat. ‘I am trapped!’ I shrieked. ‘Trapped!’
‘We were always trapped, Ishmael! From the day we were born.’
‘I am trapped!’ I screamed over and over until my own echo frightened me. I was soon numbed.
‘It is true,’ Nada said, ‘I don’t believe all that much in the revolution. But you had better listen to me now, my brother.’
I feared her words.
‘Come, let us go higher and sit where we don’t have to look down on that place,’ she said.
I let her take me by the hand. She was always so agile climbing among the rocks, even barefooted. My outburst had tired me strangely. I hung my head and chewed on my lip.
Nada was extremely sure of herself. ‘You who weep for yourself, now weep for me. I have never been allowed to draw a free breath in my entire life. My mind, my voice, my desires have always been locked inside a prison cell. I cannot walk into the gathering room of our house and speak. I can never, in my entire life, eat a meal there. I cannot walk any farther than the water well alone. I will never be able to read a real book. I am not permitted to sing or laugh when a male is near, not even my own brothers. I cannot touch a boy, even slightly. I am not permitted to argue. I cannot disobey, even when I am right. I must not be allowed to learn. I can only do and say what other people allow me.
‘I remember once in Tabah I saw a little Jewish girl waiting for the bus on the highway with her parents. She carried a doll and she showed it to me. It was very pretty, but it could do nothing but open and shut its eyes and cry when it was hit on the back. I am that doll.
‘Obey ... work ... what is joy! Ishmael? Oh, my beloved brother, I have seen the wonderful bounce of your step as you run off through our fields in Tabah to find the stream or steal a sip of wine. I see you now walk into a room and speak out, even to Father. I see you read. How wonderful to be able to read and not be afraid of being slapped for it. I watched you go to Ramle to school every day by yourself ... get on a bus ... ride away ... and not come back until dark! I remember the times you and your brothers went into the movie house in Lydda and I curled myself into a corner and cried. I remember you riding off on el-Buraq, sitting behind Father, holding on to him, and galloping to the winds. I remember ... I remember. ...
‘I have been molded into a lump that is not supposed to have feelings. My emotions have been controlled and enslaved from the time I was a little girl—shame ... slap ... forbidden ... slap ... shame, shame, shame. Even my body is not my own. My body exists to defend Father’s honor. It is not mine! I cannot use it for any pleasure. And when I am sold into marriage my body will belong to my husband to do