Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction (34 page)

Samira was scared and she didn’t want to hear anymore, but Fatima would not stop. “Egypt and Syria, Lebanon and Jordan, and our own Arab Legion fighters are getting ready. A bloodbath awaits this country, and the Arab brotherhood advises us to leave.”

Fatima must have seen the fear creeping over Samira, because she added quickly, “
Inshallah,
we will return when it’s all over. We’ll be gone for only a short time. And Samira,” she patted her servant’s hand, “Be assured we aren’t going to leave you behind. You’ll come with us.”

“I don’t know, Sit Fatima. My bones are too old to travel. I’d better stay here and watch over your property.” Tears blinded Samira’s eyes.

Selim asked suddenly, his lips trembling, “Jedati Fatima takes Selim too?”

Neither Fatima nor Samira had paid attention to Selim, who had stopped playing and was listening. Fatima took him in her arms, “Oh, the light of my eyes, the love of my old age, it’s you I’m thinking of first.”

“My Eumi and Abu too?”

“Yes, yes,” Fatima said impatiently. “But this is a secret. Can you keep a secret, Selim?”

The child nodded proudly. But minutes later, when Samira and Selim entered Musa’s house, it was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Suha’s face reflected surprise, followed by fear.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Samira hurriedly said, but Selim continued, “All of us will go, you, Eumi and Abu Selim, too. Jedati Fatima has promised. Only Samira said she’s too old to go. Eumi, please ask Samira to come with us.” He started crying and kicked his feet, “I am not going without Jedati Samira.”

Oh, my sweet angel, you touched Jedah Samira’s heart
. Instead she said, in a harsh voice, “Stop talking nonsense, Selim. Samira will give you a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and you’ll go take your nap.”

It was too late to find out what Suha’s real reason for leaving the house was
, thought. Samira, who didn’t believe her words, that she craved watermelon.
She couldn’t fool me. I’ll have to watch her more closely, especially now. Does she suspect why Fatima wants to leave? Has Musa told her?

I need to talk to someone
, Shifra thought.
Will Musa answer me if I ask him straight out if there is going to be a war? And if he said yes, should I ask on which side he will fight? Maybe there is not going to be a war, and I am only tormenting myself. Then what about the rifle in the shed, and his secret conversations with his mother
?

Shifra hoped so much that the visit with the Schroders would clear up her burning questions. Now while Samira watched her like a hawk, she suspected that it would be too dangerous to try to go there again. She suspected that Samira never believed the watermelon story.

“What happened here?” Samira cried when she walked in and saw the broken fragments of the clock’s glass on the kitchen floor. “What’s gotten into you?” She sounded angry, “You know that you can’t reach that high. Musa is going to be upset.”

“I wanted to clean it and it fell out of my hand. Please, no word to Musa. I am going to the bazaar to Mr. Nathan’s shop. I hope he can replace the glass on the spot. I saw he has all sizes. If you don’t tell Musa, nobody will know,” Shifra answered.

Was Samira convinced
? She looked doubtful, but at the end she said, “If I didn’t have to help Sit Fatima for the guests coming tonight, I’d go with you.” After a second she added, “I don’t know who they are but the
mukhtar
stopped by yesterday and talked to her at great length and asked her to host two foreigners. That’s all I was told,” Samira added when seeing Suha’s eyes open wide.

“It won’t take me long,” Suha assured Samira. “Ask Nur, who has no school today, to play with Selim. I can’t carry the clock and watch him too.”

Shifra never walked so fast. When she reached Mr. Nathan’s store, the shutters were closed. Where could he be? She saw spider webs hanging along the shutters. Anxiously, she went to the back of the bazaar where vendors delivered merchandise. Picking up her
jelebia
, she walked on the unpaved path to the back of the watchmaker’s store.

“God be praised,” whispered Shifra, when she saw the door slightly open. Inside, it was completely dark.

“Is anybody here?” she called, as she stepped in. From somewhere a figure appeared. It was Habib. He rubbed his eyes. “Is this you, Sit Masri?” he asked and immediately bowed,
“Salaam Aleikum, Salaam Aleikum
. I don’t know if I can find a chair for you in this mayhem.”

After Shifra got used to the dark, she saw the broken windows, the overturned working table, and Mr. Nathan’s magnifying glass in pieces, “What happened here, where is Mr. Nathan?”

“Oh, mistress, hoodlums have attacked our store. Fortunately, I was the only one here, and I hid behind a cupboard. They screamed, ‘Where is the Yahud, where is Nathan?’ but when they didn’t find him, they broke what you see, then left.”

“Why, why?” Fear gripped Shifra’s heart.

“Because the Arabs don’t want us,—Jews—here.” Shifra heard Mr. Nathan’s voice. He had entered surreptitiously and now faced Shifra.

“I came,” Shifra started while unpacking the clock, “because I broke the glass and I’m afraid Musa will be very upset with me.” She was almost in tears.

“Dear lady, as you see, they stole most of my tools and what’s left doesn’t amount to much. Habib is helping me with what can be saved from this disaster as I move to my new place in Tel-Aviv.”

“Are you moving?” Shifra asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Of course,” Mr. Nathan’s eyes penetrated hers, “I am not going to stay here and wait to be slaughtered, but you shouldn’t worry for me, Musa Masri’s wife.”

Shifra gathered all her courage, “I need to talk to you too, but….” she glanced in Habib’s direction.

“Habib, come here,” commanded Mr. Nathan. “Do me a favor. Sit Masri needs her clock fixed. Go to Abu-Amir, across the street. I taught him our profession. Tell him that for the money he owes me, I am asking him to put a new glass on this clock. Go right away. Neither Sit Masri nor I have time to wait.”

After Habib left, Mr. Nathan asked, “Does Sit Fatima know that you are here?”

Shifra shook her head.

“I guessed as much,” Mr. Nathan said. He was rummaging inside a broken case and sighed with relief, bringing out two heavy silver candelabras.

“
Baruch Hashem
,” he whispered in Hebrew, then for her in Arabic, “those candelabras belonged to my grandmother. She brought them from Egypt to Morocco, then all the way here.”

“Adon Nathan,” Shifra started hesitantly, “I am frightened by things happening right now. I know I can trust you.” She cried, “I live in a bubble, Musa doesn’t tell me anything. I just found out that Fatima wants to leave the country and take the family with her.”

“So it is,” Mr. Nathan said with bitterness. “
Sauve qui peut
,
P
eople with means are quick to save their skin,” he added. “So how can I help you? What do you want from me?”

Shifra let the
hijab
fall at her feet, freeing her curly blond hair. She whispered in Hebrew, “I was born Jewish. I took the
Al-Shachada
because Musa said it was the only way we could get married. Don’t mistake me, I love him with all my heart, but the same heart tells me not to leave. Please help me. I am scared….”

As she spoke, she saw the surprise mounting in Mr. Nathan’s eyes. He muttered, “My suspicion was correct.” To her, he said, “Young lady, I can’t advise you what to do. It’s too big a responsibility. What about your parents? What do they say?”

“I am an orphan,” Shifra blushed deeply.

“I am sorry,” Mr. Nathan said softly. “I think that you’ll find the answer in yourself.”

He peered through the shutters. “I see Habib returning with your clock.” He signaled to Shifra to cover her head. Quickly scribbling on a piece of paper, he handed it to her. “Here you can find me if you need more restorations.”

Habib entered breathlessly, and Mr. Nathan took the clock from his moist hand. “It’s good to still have a few good friends here, Sit Masri. Habib is one of them.”

Looking into Shifra’s eyes he added, “He’s going to watch over the store for me.”

Shifra bowed her head, “
Shukran
, thank you to both of you.”

She stretched her arms to pick up the clock, but Mr. Nathan objected. “Sit Masri, let Habib carry the clock and see you home. Please convey my respects to Sit Fatima.”

At their gate, Shifra turned to Habib, who had followed her in silence, “Thank you,” she said, taking the clock and squeezing a few piastres into his hand.

“Honored lady, Mrs. Musa Masri,” Habib started timidly. He stuttered. It was clear to Shifra that he wasn’t used to talking to ladies of her status.

Gathering courage, he continued, “If you’ll ever need me, I want you to know that I guard the store day and night. I sleep near the back door.”

Then he slipped away.

4 4

“D
on’t kid yourself, Musa, my boy. The war has already started,” Abdullah said impatiently. “How long are you going to wait before making a decision?” He had called Musa’s office in Jaffa almost daily. Due to Abdullah’s high position, nobody bothered Musa during those calls.

Abdullah’s words echoed in Musa’s head during the monotonous train ride from Jaffa to Jerusalem. Since he was a little boy, he had been in love with trains. His father used to smile when he told him that he wanted to be a train conductor. “You are meant to do better things, my son,” Faud had said.

Now he was at such an impasse. Musa, who considered Abdullah not only his mentor but a second father, was on his way to discuss with him the future of their family.

It isn’t fair, Musa reflected, while the train passed orange groves, some known to him since his childhood; that at my age I have to make such important decisions. In light of the latest events, Fatima, no doubt influenced by Abdullah, was pushing him to leave Jaffa, maybe even the country. But where would he go, to Jerusalem, Ramalla, Aman?

“The Arab High Committee has decided to call for a three-day strike in Jerusalem and other cities,” Abdullah told Musa in one of his calls, “but when I went out into the streets, I found only about fifty people, without a leader, and a lot of chaos.”

On the evening before Musa left for Jerusalem, his mother was visited by the
mukhtar
. He came to ask her to host “two Iraqi volunteers who are coming to fight alongside us, Palestinians. I expect that each of our families will do its duty and contribute to our holy war.”

Fatima’s face turned pale. Musa knew what she was thinking. The Iraqis were known as rough, coarse people, and she had two daughters to protect, especially Nur, who at fifteen was as ripe as a peach. Musa was stricken by another thought too: Suha, his wife, alone at home, while he would be burning with worry at the office. Two households full of women, and he, Musa, their only protector, away from them.

The
mukhtar
had more to say: “The city guard I am organizing needs people like you, Musa Ibn Faud. I know that I can count on you. I don’t doubt your love for your country nor your patriotism.”

The train had left the plain and now, puffing and squeaking, was mounting the hills toward Jerusalem. The skies looked gray,
even the skies seemed to weep for what was happening in this country
. thought Musa. Musa’s mind returned to the scene of his parting that morning. Suha nestled in his arms as if she didn’t want to let go. He felt her shaking slightly as he kissed her. When she asked why he had to leave so abruptly, he pulled away. “It’s a business trip,” he said. “But I’m glad I’ll be visiting with cousin Abdullah, and I’ll steal some time to see Na’ima, Mahmood and their boys.”

She clung to him so lovingly that he was already sorry he was parting.
Could she be pregnant?
As much as he would love another boy, it could not be a worse time. Musa sighed. One doesn’t choose the time to be born, Allah decides these matters. If only he could
find out why Suha seemed so strange lately!
Women are such a mystery
.

Slowly the train entered the Jerusalem station. Musa heard that the British had divided the city into sections, and the train station was in a section controlled by them and close to Bakha, Abdullah’s neighborhood. Abdullah had encouraged him to take the train rather than coming by bus. “Though our Arab rebels control the hills, it’s still safer to travel by train,” he advised.

What awaits me here that I am not aware of already?
Musa asked himself as he entered the rose garden of his cousin’s stately house.

“
Salaam Aleikum
,” Abdullah, with his wife and three daughters, welcomed him in one voice.

“
Aleikum Salaam
,” Musa replied, bowing to the ladies while he bent to kiss Abdullah’s hand. Instead, Abdullah hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Let’s go into my study,” Abdullah said after Musa was served with the traditional sorbet and nana water. “We won’t be disturbed there.”

Abdullah’s voice was serious. “The situation is critical,” Abdullah said, before asking, as usual, about the well-being of Fatima and the other members of Musa’s family.

“We are poorly prepared for war. As I told you, the strike was disorganized; it ended by breaking windows, looting and setting fire to stores on King George and Ben-Yehuda streets. Of course, the Jews were quick to retaliate by blowing up the Semiramis Hotel.”

“Can’t the British control the situation? Their Mandate isn’t over until May. It’s their duty to protect the people.”

“They couldn’t care less. After the British Government announced that they would evacuate their forces from Palestine on May 14, they refused to involve themselves further.”

“What’s most disquieting is the fact that the Mufti wants to command the war from his hiding place in Cairo,” Abdullah
continued “Syria and Iraq dislike the idea of the Mufti calling the shots. King Abdullah of Jordan is in doubt if he’d ally himself with the others. Musa, if the leaders of the Arab countries don’t agree among themselves, we might suffer the consequences.”