Mother of Strangers by Suad Amiry

Author:Suad Amiry [Amiry, Suad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2022-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Part III

New Masters

• 23 •

The Day After

(Jaffa, May 1948)

Subhi had not slept for several nights. The sudden collapse of his world, the disappearance of his city, of his people and his beloved, was beyond his comprehension. How could my whole existence be shattered in just a few days? Subhi wondered. In an attempt to cope with his new reality, he kept thinking about the three consecutive attacks: the twenty thousand mortar shells, the train-wagon tactics, and the bombardment of the Jewish militia by the British air force that determined the fate of his city and shifted the course of his life.

The images of the chaotic exodus of a whole town—people fleeing their homes, sleeping on the shores for days on end as they waited for a boat or ships to take them to unknown destinations—kept Subhi awake all night. A strip of nightmarish images had projected themselves on the insides of his eyelids, giving him splitting headaches. Worse were the moans of the elderly, the shrieks of a mother in search of her lost child, the frantic screams of a child in search of his mother. Like a broken record, it all cyclically echoed in his ears in spite of the deadly silence of his long and lonely nights. Though most of the city’s inhabitants had disappeared beyond the horizon of the Mediterranean Sea, like ghosts, their souls were still hovering over the abandoned homes and haunted city.

Their absence seemed to have more presence than their presence.

From the balcony of his grandmother’s house, all that Subhi could see or hear all day and night was the deserted Palestinian homes being broken into. The new Jewish immigrants, whole families sometimes, were now joining in the organized robberies that had thus far been carried out by the Jewish militia. They were going into houses and taking every piece of furniture, to be either carried away on foot or loaded into trucks: whole living room sets, bedroom sets, dining sets, kitchen cupboards, fridges, ovens, Persian carpets, chandeliers, baby cribs, radios, pianos, books, mahogany tables and chairs, and Chippendale chests of drawers. Nothing was left untouched: hospitals, schools, banks, shops, offices, clinics, markets, factories, fishing boats. In addition to the stealing of books and terrified pets, what saddened Subhi most was the looting of brand-new cars, especially the Mercedes-Benzes, the ones he often stopped to admire at the Gharghour Showroom on his way to and from work.

It was the eerie silence of a ghostly city that also kept Subhi’s eyes wide open through the night.

Gone was all he could think, around the clock.

Gone were his family members and his family’s house.

Gone were his neighbors and his neighborhood.

Gone were M’allem Mustafa and his garage.

Gone were the engines Subhi had repaired.

Gone were his job and his reputation as the best mechanic in town.

Gone were all his clients who had been classified as rich, poor, or in between, with three different fees.

Gone was the Islamic Sports Club, where he had played football with his friends.

Gone were the neighborhood boys with whom he had swum.

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