Rise, Let Us Set Out from Here (Story of the Issue)

— 2 —

No sooner had his talk reached this point than she cried out at him, tormented and gasping:

— Stop, Fawwaz!... For God's sake, stop!... You are tormenting yourself with these thoughts, and tormenting me!...

— I did not mean that, Nahla... nor any of it!... But what is to be done, when I am as I am, and this world is as it is?!... I was driven from my country as hundreds and thousands were driven out, and I lost my family, my home, my livelihood, and everything I had; then I came to this country a refugee, as hundreds of thousands of refugees came... And when I thirsted and hungered, when I went barefoot and naked, I went to the people and said to them: O people, I have a mind that thinks, a tongue skilled in speech, a hand that can handle pen and ledger... I have braided sinews and brawny forearms that long to swing the pickaxe, and a firm, strong back glad to carry loads, hoist lintels, and shoulder bridges... so will you not give me work?!... But I found nothing but scowling faces, lips turned down and pursed, and fingers that pointed only in mockery, contempt, and gloating!... So what am I to do?!... Shall I be content with these narcotic doses that are handed out to us at the first of every month or the last of every month?!... Shall I be satisfied with this kind of existence, deceiving myself while all people deceive me, living as the beasts live, existing as the rocks exist?!... What am I to do?!... Tell me!... Shall I stand by the roadside and beg from those going and coming?!... Or break into houses?!... Or kill?!... Or...

Before he could finish his words, or she could try to silence him, there reached her the call of her friend the watchman, as the two of them neared his hut of boughs:

— Turn aside into the vineyard, you two, turn aside!... I picked the apples yesterday!... Wouldn't you like to bite into an apple, or two, of Abu Mus'ab's apples?!...

— Thank you!... We are coming to you, uncle, Abu Mus'ab!...

Fawwaz said this, waving his hand; then he called out, gazing at the top of the hill, over which the wind of the vineyards had begun to blow:

— Blow!... O wind of the vineyards, blow!... And tell us of the vineyards of the South!... What news of our home?!... Have they picked the apples?!... Have they boiled the pomegranates down to molasses?!... Have they pressed the grapes?!... Have they dried the figs?!...

And when he saw her nestling against him, weeping on his shoulder, he went on, lacing his hand in hers, as the two made for the hut:

— This world is small, Nahla, however big it grows!... And the biggest world a man has is his country, his home, his family, and his friends!... And were it not for you, Nahla... were it not for you...

★

Nahla buried her face in his sleeve, drenching it with her hot tears and covering it with her burning kisses; and when she lifted her face a little to smile into his, there appeared to her through her wet eyelids that hut squatting on the summit, Abu Mus'ab standing near it, and behind it clouds dyed the color of roses and sweet basil!...

She turned toward those roses and sweet basils as they sprinkled across the dome of the sky, as though afraid of falling upon those trees and rocks that stretch and sprawl in turn over the hills, or of tumbling onto those green orchards waking in the long, level plain, or of scattering over those red tiles and ash-colored domes as they bid good morning to the calm blue bay!...

And there passed through her hearing — while she still hung upon the blue of the sea that joins the blue of the horizon and vanishes into the blue of the sky — there passed through her hearing the tremor of a flute coming from afar. She turned, and there was Mus'ab, mounted on his she-donkey, climbing the winding path toward his father, the tune of his flute sweet and tender as it used to echo on those sweet mornings in sweetness and tenderness, but for something that tinged it, now like wounds, now like leaping and loftiness, so that it seemed to issue from her heart and then return and echo within it, as though her heart were a deep furrow, or an abysmal valley forever widening and narrowing, reminding her of the voice of Fawwaz whispering about her in revolt, reminding her of the face of Fawwaz stirring restlessly about her in agitation, when he used to tell her of the thoughts turning in his mind for reviving the spirit of struggle in the souls of the refugees — and behold, his thoughts became words, and his words became deeds, and behold, between one night and its morning he was leading hundreds and thousands of refugee men and women, along the length of the path and the orchards, across the roads and streets and squares, having raised tatters of shirts on sticks, or rags of dresses, making of them banners

stained with letters and words of blood; and when they reached that quarter where they were accustomed to gather when those doses were distributed, he stood among them, on a wall there, and began to storm through them as the wind storms through wreckage and debris:

— O sons of my homeland, and O its daughters!... O you to whom nothing remains of it but shreds!... Here I am, returning to it!... Returning to gather up its shreds and take it back!... Who among you will go with me and return?!...

And from amid that wreckage and debris rose a crying voice, saying:

— I!...

And echoing shouts burst forth:

— We!... We!...

And insistent, clamorous cries surged:

— All of us!... All of us!... All of us!...

And his stormy voice went back to thundering among them anew:

— Then begin with yourselves, as I begin with myself!... This measure of flour... this scoop of milk... this tin of meat... this handful of lentils... these rations... these narcotics... these poisons they make us swallow every month... I will not touch them this month, and you shall not touch them!... Rather we shall try to live, so long as life is decreed for us, without them!... Perhaps then we shall feel our thirst and our hunger, feel our nakedness and our bare feet, and know with what humiliation we have been humbled!!!... This humiliation fastened upon us by the great powers, by the hospitable neighboring countries, and by all our uncles on both sides, our kinfolk and dependents — who fell upon us, trampled our bread, fouled our water, burned our clothes, and wrought havoc in the very heart of our home... then drove us outside and set about making an example of us, spitting in our faces, raining palms and slippers on our heads, stabbing our backs with bayonets and daggers and knives, draining from us the last drop of blood, and saying, after all that: Poor things!... Give them relief!... Give them a dose of medicine!!!...

A surge of voices, shouts, and cheers rang out, mingled with sharp applause; then he resumed his speech with a cool vehemence:

— O sons of my homeland, and O its daughters!... O its young men and its young women!... O its old men and its old women!... My humbled homeland and yours needs other medicine than this that I have swallowed and you have swallowed!... It groans with pain, and it calls to you with the wind of the South, with the clouds that rise now from the land of the South, and with the birds that soar hither from the sky of the South!... For our homeland is not healed by promises, while we are far from it, nor by threats, but by return, by resurrection, by martyrdom!... How long, then, this slackness, this faintheartedness, this slumber?!... when the night is about to be routed... and the morning...

He had scarcely uttered that word when a whistle shrilled, followed by a few shots. She looked up, clinging to Fawwaz, while those raging, rebellious throngs looked up too... and there was a squad of police storming the square, then

surrounding the place, advancing toward Fawwaz; and when they reached him the officer ordered two of his band, saying:

— Arrest him!...

Fawwaz shouted at him, putting her aside from him with both hands:

— And on what charge do you arrest me?!...

— On the charge of a breach of security!...

Security?!... And what security it is!... Does your honor know what the word "security" means?!!!...

He said this half in laughter and half in mockery, but the officer had grown furious and his patience was spent; he repeated his order, and another man joined the two policemen, and together they set about shackling Fawwaz's hands in irons, while a group of the refugees grappled with a party of police who came hurrying to the rescue. When they had gotten hold of Fawwaz and begun driving him off to prison, he said to her — like a fire consuming itself — as they tore her from him and threw her to the ground, weeping and trembling:

— Do not despair, Nahla, and do not let these ruffians frighten you!... For soon I shall return... and the morning, Nahla... is not far off!...

★

Nahla moaned, sobbing, as she gathered herself up from amid the trampling of feet and the stammering of throats; but she quickly realized that she was rising from a stone on which she had been resting, for there came to her a boy's voice, quavering amid the fall of hooves and the ringing of a bell:

— Good morning, Nahla!...

She turned, and there was Mus'ab drawing near on his mount, swinging his legs and waving his flute. She answered him, forcing a smile like his:

— And a thousand good mornings, Mus'ab!...

— Have you seen my father?...

— No... and why should I see him?...

— You haven't seen him?!... Then hurry... you must see him!...

— And what must is there in that?!... Is there something important?...

— I don't know, but he told me yesterday to pass by you, and I forgot... All I know is that he went to the market yesterday, and I think he mentioned something about the police... and the prison... and Fawwaz...

— Fawwaz?!...

— So I recall...

— And what... what did he say?!...

— Don't be afraid... he is well... Hurry!...

And off they hurried, he chiding his donkey, she urging on her feet. When he got a little ahead of her he said:

— Will you ride?...

And she said to him:

— I am faster than you!...

— Will you race, then?!...

She laughed, but her face quickly darkened as she raced him up the slope; the path seemed long, so long it might never end, then seemed short, so short it seemed already ended, while she wavered between this flood and this ebb, wishing at one moment she could fly to the summit, wishing at another she could fall back, and wishing most moments of all that she could stand where she was — for who knows, perhaps by flying she would be hastening a joy, perhaps by falling back she would be putting off a blow, and perhaps she could neither hasten a thing nor delay a thing, but only beg a reprieve from whatever things were decreed for her!... And when she came at last to the tune of the flute timed to the ringing of the bell and the fall of the hooves, and drew near the hill on which the hut squatted and the apple orchard sprawled, all the clouds and the branching curves and the light-sashed horizons vanished from her sight — all but one gush of cloud, in which there were wounds, and leaping and loftiness, and defiance, revolt, and agitation!...

But hardly had she seen that gush in the sky, then felt it in her depths, when the voice of Abu Mus'ab reached her:

— Welcome!... Welcome!...

She rushed to him, asking eagerly:

— Did you see him?!...

He answered, chuckling, as he walked her toward the hut:

— And could anyone but me have seen him?!...

— And how is he?!... Did he say anything?!... What did he say?!...

— He told me he is counting the hours and the minutes and the seconds, and that he would sell his whole life for one second in which he might set out with you!...

— But...

— Listen...

He said this, cutting her off; then he resumed, seating her on a heap of grass and sitting down facing her:

— Listen, my child!... Yesterday I went to the market with a load of apples, and another basket a friend had asked of me. I sold the load, then went looking for my friend and did not find him; I was at a loss, and stood hesitating, not knowing whether to take the basket to the market or carry it back to the vineyard. But I looked about me, and there I was in front of the police station, and Fawwaz came to my mind...

And I said: this basket is his, and he deserves it more than anyone. So I went up to a policeman who was there, asking to see a relative of mine; he directed me to ask the officer, so I went to the officer and asked him. At first he objected; then, after preambles and postscripts, and the gift of half the apples — red as girls' cheeks — he gave me leave, and I followed the jailer from passage to passage, from corridor to corridor, from vault to vault, until we reached Fawwaz's cell...

She interrupted him, wiping away tears that had started from her eyes:

— Woe is me!... Where have they put him!!...

— All cells are like that!!... And if only you had seen him, snatching up an apple — and gladly would he have snatched them all!... But I put him on oath, saying: "Have you ever tasted, Fawwaz, anything finer than Abu Mus'ab's apples?..."... And he answered me... do you know what he answered me?!...: "Your apples are fine, Abu Mus'ab... but our apples are finer!..."

She laughed along at Abu Mus'ab's laughter, then said, wiping her wet cheeks:

— That is he!... Always just as he is!...

— And how much he asked me, after that, about the vineyard and the season, about the folk of the shanties and tents, about your father and your mother and Nahla... yes... Nahla of the heart and the eye and the lips!... Then he said he would not stay a single day in this country when they release him, as they promised him, soon — nay... and I do not know what he wished to say, for the jailer's patience gave out and he began taking me back the way he had come... And when I passed the officer and repeated my thanks, he told me, as I crossed the doorway — guess what he told me!...

— What?!...

— He will be out of prison within these two days!...

— Is it true?!...

— On condition that he leave the country within twenty-four hours... or less!...

Scarcely had she heard this from Abu Mus'ab when she fell upon his hands, kissing them, weeping for joy; then she sprang up from her place, wanting to dash off. He said to her, rising and pulling at her hands:

— And where to?!...

— To my family!... I must go back!... I have not yet filled my jar... and perhaps... perhaps he is coming now!...

— God willing!... But... let me pick you an apple... two apples...

He said this, then hurried toward the orchard, just as Mus'ab's shout reached her as he came down from the hut:

— Look!!!...

She looked to where he was pointing with his finger and with every limb of his body, and there was Fawwaz coming up the path... yes... Fawwaz... in his flesh and blood... with that countenance of his like a gush of morning!... And there she was going down the path... yes... going down it... light as wind and cloud and mist, so that she fancied she was in a dream, or that his phantom had visited her as it used to visit whether she slept or did not sleep — had she not seen him running to her as she was running to him. And when she opened her arms to him and vanished into his arms, she buried her face against his chest, breathing in the scent of his clothes, then gazed up at him with longing and eagerness and tenderness, murmuring in laughter, murmuring in tears:

— Fawwaz!... Fawwaz!... Fawwaz!...

And when she felt his lips setting fire to her lips, then soothing her cheeks and lulling her eyes and her brow and her hair, she heard them whispering at her ear, his eyelids brushing her face:

— I came straight to the shanty... and found your parents asleep... so I thought you were at the spring... then I said, perhaps she...

His words were cut short by Abu Mus'ab's call from above:

— You forgot your apples, Nahla!... Has your taste become like his... so that you no longer find them fine?!...

She answered him, laughing up at him, then stirring in Fawwaz's embrace:

— Your apples are fine, uncle, fine!... But our apples are finer!...

And Fawwaz said, drawing her to him, turning toward the countryside rich with the shadows of sunrise:

— The morning has broken, Nahla... and I have no more than hours!...

She answered, turning to where his soul clung to the cloud pouring in from the South, as if in it there were something like wounds, or something like leaping and loftiness, or something like defiance, revolt, and agitation:

I know!... Abu Mus'ab has told me everything!...

— This corner of the world is narrow, Nahla!... I am departing... will you come with me?!...

— To the ends of the earth!...

— Nay, to our earth!... That other corner of our country!... Rise, let us set out, Nahla... rise, let us set out from here!...