Death Cry- Part Three
January 21st, 2010Waiting ! Waiting, Oh!… I don’t know why it came to me to remember a phrase that was written by hand on a table in on one of the city restaurants. I read it while I was waiting for Sonia one evening… (the best things come to those who wait.) ..the phrase was written neatly. It seemed that whoever had written the note had waited a long time before his girl finally came, so he must have written it slowly while expecting her to come. I laughed and felt the hot tears washing my soul. Waiting? Shucks! A wait in which you die every minute for a big warm hug, to throw your head on the velvet shoulders smelling the sweet scent of the swelling bosom.
What a vanity! When would the stab come? How would they thrust it into your stomach??? Sheikh Buddha wouldn’t endure for long, and if he did, they would not leave him alone, they would tear his soul apart until he bought into their game. He would not be able to stand it. I knew him as I know the palm of my own hand, I knew how to read his face and soul perfectly over the last three months. When we decided to start the hunger strike, he agreed at first, but then retreated quickly as if stung by a snake, as if receiving his revelation suddenly. He said the hunger strike is forbidden, it is a slow suicide, and who dies will be thrown into hell on his face!
Did I wait for a long time? I don’t know, but I think they brought him back after four or five hours scratching the floor noisily with his shoes. He sat murmuring his prayers. I asked him no question but I left him to have a rest as I watched him. Surely he knew that I was longing to hear his report. He kept silent for a long time. Never mind! I will wait until he finishes his silent prayers. I am not going to start talking but will let him take his time. After a while, he turned his head slowly to look directly at me; I knew he wanted to torture me by that sullen look, he wanted me to ask, but I will not. He looked at me stubbornly for a long time but finally, he said hesitatingly, as if he was tearing the words out of his lips:
-“They….announced… that… he committed suicide.”
-“How !!!”
-“They…. forced.. me … to hear the radio news.”
-“What!”
-“It …said… that…. a prisoner committed suicide in Jnaid jail.”
-“Damn it ! So fast !!” I said helplessly.
-“ It said also that the authorities formed an investigation committee.”
-“The bastards! How come?”
Buddha said nothing but kept looking at me with his rheumy, scared, weak eyes. ‘What is there behind your languid eyes, Sheikh?’ I thought to myself. ‘What is behind those lashes my dear!! Thousands of questions are already hidden behind those stupid prayers… you are not going to betray me.. their deception was pretty enough to kill us all, don’t crush me more by your wondering look of an old fox!!!’ I cant stand waiting.. it always killed me to wait !!
-“So???” I asked loathingly. I wanted to discover more of the inside space of his mind, to see where I fitted inside it exactly. Then, as if he was forced to confess, finally after an exhausting long round he said crest-fallenly:
-“They… want…. us…. to co-operate with the committee.”
-“So??”
Again, the Sheikh didn’t reply but kept gazing at me, entreating, his eyes glistening with childish tears, until he buried his face in his hands and burst into sobs. Through his sobbing, he murmured poignant cries:
-“What sin did I do to deserve all of this??? What in heaven can I do?… I… want to… get out of here… I… did nothing to be here…”, and again he broke out with hysterical wails.
I interrupted him – and shouted in anguish in his face:
-“Your sin? What do I do then? What did Kifah do? You are coward, for hell’s sake!!”
I felt crushed, I was so miserable, yet burning with internal rage. I felt my heart bleeding, sad to death. I didn’t want to be harsh with Buddha. By Jove, I didn’t want to be any more sadistic to him, but I was raging with fury at him, at myself and the whole world. The blood of Kifah hadn’t dried yet, and they were already bargaining over it. No, never!!… If killing the sheikh could solve the problem, I felt like I wouldn’t hesitate to wring his neck, but he was just like me, thrown here, in this cell, sucking up the dirt of the whole world, feeling the horror creeping into his neck, waking up every night with nightmares of ghosts, skeletons and cut-heads !!!
Time? What is the use of time? It felt like a giant crushing wheel rolling over you to smash your skull, suffocating you, drying your blood, with your chest getting narrower with every passing minute, your eyes rolling in their place until you even lose sense of your own head and your body becomes a useless sack of dirt.
The sheikh became quiet slowly, and stopped wailing as he lay on his face putting his head to the other side of the cell. Finally he was silent. He didn’t move for a long time, his face still buried in his hands. I thought he had fallen asleep, taking a rest for a while from his obsessive nightmares, but then he accosted me with a choked voice as if talking through a pipe, with his face still buried:
-“Be careful, you are their target.”
-“How did you know?” I asked loathingly.
-“I heard Isra saying: ‘that fucken big-mouthed atheist must be silenced.’”
-“So?”
-“I don’t know… I am just warning you.”
-“Damn it… what more would they do?”
Does it matter to take care or not while being in the middle of a battle, Sheikh Buddha? What miserable fate is waiting for you when you jump to avoid a shell only to land on top of a mine? How can you retreat among those hellish tanks heading your way? No!… no dear.. caution has no meaning in the dictionary of the cells, there is only bare confrontation. Retreat means death, escape means suicide. You have to go ahead, always ahead until you get out of the mine-field, or you die, and there your dead body will rot.
To be continued
Sami, the bedouin.
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that very good and intersting thank you for your opinion.