03.

December 26th, 1947

 

It has, officially, been three days since the letter claiming Father's death.

We still wait for his body.

Mother had been given days off until Father's body arrived. Bilaal though, had to keep working.

Mother hadn't been taking things well. She locked herself in her room for the last two days. We had eaten leftover Sfiha, pizza bread.

 

Today would be the day that Father would come home. We were waiting patiently. I watched as Janine and Emad play in the yard. It was currently, nine in the morning. The outskirts were bustling with life. I watched as Janine and Emad played, shrieking and screaming in happiness.

 

Suddenly, Amr, my neighbor, came up. I watched as he asked me if I was okay, I nodded in response. He took a seat next to me and he asked me all sorts of question. I didn't answer him though. I just waited patiently for Father's body to arrive.

 

It was twisted, in a way. I was sitting in front of the house like a child even though I was 18 and almost an adult. It was as if Father was still alive and I was waiting for his return.

 

It was, more of less, one in the afternoon when I heard loud noises from the sky. I turned my head up, looking for the source. Nablus had always been a quiet, safe city, untouched by the war. So, I was quite shocked when I looked up to the skies and saw that there were fighter airplanes in the sky.

 

I ushered Emad and Janine inside and took cover. I shouted at Mother, but she was too far away. I waited in anticipation for the first bombs to land. The ground shook as the first bomb landed and exploded. It felt like it came from the left, somewhere near where Bilaal worked at.

 

My hands flew to hold Janine and Emad, who were both crying, closer. Waves of bombs kept crashing down on Nablus. We curled up in a ball, waiting and praying the bomb didn't hit us.

 

We finally emerged from our house that was burned in the side. It was sunset, and the sun dimly lit the rubble that lay strewn, everywhere. Automatically, I ran where Bilaal worked, desperately calling his name. I saw a few dead bodies, friends of Bilaal's. I couldn't bear to see their faces.

 

I stopped when someone responded to my calls. I ran back and tried finding the voice. It came from somewhere amongst the rubble. I looked everywhere for him, throwing broken pieces of houses and shacks and rocks elsewhere.

 

A hand shot up form beneath it, and I screamed in shock. I reached for the hand and threw everything beneath it away. The rubble made way to my brother's face, dirty with dust and dried blood.

 

"Bilaal?" I asked.

 

"Haneen," he stated my name, voice trailing off. His eyes lulled back and I quickly called for help.

 

 

Bilaal was taken to the nearest hospital in the inner city. Luckily the bombs only hit the outskirts of the city. Many people died, ones that Bilaal and Mother knew personally. Bilaal's leg had been trapped under a huge rock; he had broken a lot of bones on his right leg. Luckily, it was only for 6 months, but Bilaal had to endure another 3 months of leg therapy.

 

The night after, while Bilaal was in the hospital, I heard a knock on the door. Answering it, I was greeted with a man in his late 30s. He had a bushy moustache and beard.

 

"Assalamualaikum!" the man greeted me.

 

"Waalaikum Salam,"I replied. He tried to look inside the house. "Yes, what is it?" I asked him, slightly annoyed.

 

He cleared his throat and looked professional again, "May I see the man of the house?" He said, eyeing me down. I bit back a scoff and called Mother.

 

He was surprised when Mother came, and I overheard snippets of the conversation.

 

"Ma'am, the city is asking one man in the family to come to the army," the man said.

I couldn't hear the rest, but I heard Mother say that the only man in the house is dying in the hospital.

What she said had shocked me. How could she say something so brutally honest with no emotions?

 

The man gruffly nodded, before saying something in a threatening voice, "See to it that someone joins the army. Or else this little family must leave Nablus."

 

"Goodbye, Sayedi," Mother slammed the door down on his face.

 

I bounced out of my hiding place behind the wall. "Mother, I'll go!" I said. Mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, ignoring me completely.

"No lady shall go and fight a man's war. Proper women stay and wait for their husbands arrival," she said and turned around.

 

I frowned at her, and ran outside, trying to catch up with the man.

 

"Sayedi! Sayedi!" I shouted for the figure walking away. He looked my way with annoyed eyes.

 

"What is it?" he gruffly asked.

 

"Sayedi, I would like to join the army," I said. He let out a heart full, condescending laugh and crossed his arms.

 

"Little Miss, the army does not except girls," He said, though I stood a head taller than the short man.

 

I rolled my eyes and stormed away. I marched to the nearest tent set up by the army.

I asked to be included in the army, but was met with laughing.

 

In rage, I grabbed a knife and threw it away. Immediately, I was met with silence. I looked to where I had flung the knife and saw that it was nailed deep into the wood of the tent.

 

The soldier nearest to it tried to pull it out. He couldn't. I stormed out of the tent, still in anger.

 

A hand pulled me back and I glared at the person. It was an old man; he had sharp eyes and looked to be around his 50s.

 

"Miss, you have immense strength and great aiming, but you lack experience," he said, slowly letting go of my arm.

"I will teach you the correct ways," he finished. He walked away and I followed him, a bit confused on what to do.

 

We spent all night practicing, and the next night and the next. I had to escape from Mother, and the only was to go at night.

 

Weeks passed and Bilaal was discharged from the hospital, and did leg therapy at home. His right leg had grown weak and he couldn't walk for long.

 

One night, the old man asked me to come the next day, before twelve o'clock. I contemplated, and decided to come.

 

Upon arriving at his tent, I found it crowded with soldiers, and the old man was wearing his uniform. He was a general. Several other generals sat with him.

 

I walked in, carefully. The old man's eyes stared at my figure. "Haneen," he said. All eyes were on me now, and I stood in the middle of the tent.

 

He walked over to me and showed me to swords and knives, things I had used while practicing.

 

"Haneen, do your routine," he said. I carefully placed my hands upon the knives I usually use.

 

"O-okay," I shakily replied. I walked to the center of the room, dropping the sword and knife. I took a deep breath, and looked up. In my eyes, there was no one here but the old man.