Wild Thorns by Sahar Khalifeh

Author:Sahar Khalifeh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Interlink Publishing Group Inc
Published: 2011-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

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* The reference is to three Palestinian villages in which massacres of civilians were committed in 1947, 1948, and 1953 respectively.

† Muloukhlakhim: ‘dirty’ in Hebrew. The expression ‘dirty Arabs’ is a common racist epithet.

Basil had trouble opening his eyes. There were many faces staring down at him. He raised a hand to ward off a slap in the face, and the movement sent pain through his body mercilessly like an electric current. He shut his eyes tight, and the tears came as he thought of his mother and of Adil … They’ll beat me again, he thought. I spat in their faces and shouted, ‘Revolution! Revolution until victory!’ Oh, victory demands a high price! He gritted his teeth and groaned.

A hand gently rubbed his aching shoulder. Opening his eyes and staring up into the sea of faces, he settled on one he knew well. ‘Salih!’ he shouted eagerly.

Then he fainted again. He was gently stroked and fed tea from a spoon, and his face was wiped with a wet cloth. Someone shouted encouragingly, ‘Congratulations! You can take it! And more! Come on, up you go, Basil, you’re a man now!’

Gradually life seeped back into his body, and hope and pride surged within him. So I’ve become a man. No teacher will ever dare to call me ‘boy’ again.

Sitting up on the mat he told them the latest news from the outside world, and they listened eagerly. The Habash house had been demolished and the Hawash house shelled. It was said that Abu Ammar, Yasser Arafat himself, had been with the guerrillas. Many Israeli soldiers had been killed and the patrol cars had carried away dozens of injured. The guerrillas had escaped to the East Bank; some had been killed and others captured. As for Basil, they’d put a sack over his head and taken him to their headquarters, but he’d spat in their faces and they’d beaten him badly.

‘May you live to get the same again, Basil! Prison’s for men, you know.’ ‘We’ll have a party for you such as the world’s never seen.’ ‘Hold your head up high and never let it fall. Prison’s for men, Abu al-Izz!’

Abu al-Izz, eh? Is that who I am, ‘father of glory’? That’s really great! I’ve become one of them for sure. How fantastic to be the ‘father’ of something, something to look after, to protect, to take pride in. Abu al-Izz! A great name. The finest thing that’s ever been said or ever could be said.

The conversation went on for a long time. He got to know all his comrades, who treated him with great respect and called him Abu al-Izz. The title filled him with pride. A superb name, the finest name of all!

Salih asked eagerly, ‘What about Adil? And your father, and Nuwar? Have you seen my family? How are my mother and Lina?’

‘Adil’s fine. Father goes from bad to worse. Nuwar’s in a bad way—she’s always crying.’

He stared apprehensively at Salih, and then whispered, ‘You love her, don’t you?’

Salih looked down and didn’t answer.

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