26

I went to the vineyards looking for Rabie. I had hoped to find him there. In my mind he was part of the farm, the gray mare, and the grove of olive trees. Then there was the last encounter, when we sat on the rock on top of the hill, as the sun was setting and he was kissing my hand and my forehead, asking for forgiveness and telling me he would go away. But where to? All the workers and the peasants who cannot find work in the nearby countries come here, to Palestine. The British opened the port and flooded the country with merchandise and produce. The Jews established the kibbutzim and organized the fields and the institutions for a huge project, bigger than us. The landowners and property owners still employed laborers and peasants; there was work for everybody. But Rabie traveled overseas and had forgotten me. Didn’t he say that he would leave this land in search of work and a future? Maybe those were just words, and once he regained his senses he would find out that there was no place for him except in Sanour, at my uncle’s. I might find him in one of the vineyards or at the stable. I went around, roving like a butterfly in search of light.

It was afternoon and my uncle wouldn’t return from the mosque until night. He would not change his daily schedule; he told those who informed him of our arrival that he wouldn’t return until after the evening prayer. So we had lunch and dessert, and I helped Hasna wash the dishes. When the two older women went to take an afternoon nap and Hasna left to supervise the workers, I went out looking for Rabie.

I reached the rock, but I did not find him there. My heart had made me hope he would be there, but he was not. I sat on the rock, watching the view we had seen together the last time we met.

It had totally changed. The fence of the Jewish settlement was much closer to the pond and the field of lilies. The pond was not as white as cotton anymore; it had turned green. Winter was over, and with the arrival of summer the water had slipped underground, transforming the field of lilies into a field of vegetables, grains, and edible produce. Water was replaced by a green field.

I was sad and I cried because the world had changed but my heart remained the same. Spring was over, the flowers were dry, the weather changed, and love ended, leaving me nothing but tears and grief over the past. On the horizon, the Jewish settlement was getting closer. I saw their fences and poles, which far surpassed Hasna’s installations. The Jews were setting fences and we were setting fences, and the field of lilies remained without a fence, in a no-man’s-land.

The field of lilies was a collectively owned land, a public domain for the inhabitants of the village. They usually planted it at the beginning of the summer and shared the grain it produced, each according to their efforts and their needs. People were worried that the government would seize the land—considered public land—and pass it on to a Jewish settlement, as it had with all the coastal settlements, and the land at the foot of the mountains.

When Hasna explained the situation during lunch, I did not pay much attention. I was thinking of Rabie and the possibility of meeting him or hearing news of him. However, now that I was sitting on the rock, I looked at the land and became aware of the changes in nature and the surroundings of the farm. In the past, the lilies had filled the pond, which turned as white as snow. At sunset, the white used to turn lilac and the water would reflect red glittery rays. There was also Rabie, and it was spring filling us with an overflow of emotions and yearning, teenage love and dreams. Now, however, the feelings had waned and love had receded, buried like the dried water.

The setting sun left only dark shadows over the farm, as dark as the universe. The lights of the settlement were visible and much closer, and so was the fence, but to me the universe felt smaller, much smaller.

I saw Hasna climbing the hill, coming in my direction. She had lost weight and looked taller, with a narrower waist. As she was coming toward me with large graceful steps, as graceful as the gray mare or the stallion, I understood my uncle’s love for her, and I envied him because, in that sphere, I was alone.

She sat beside me on the rock and I smelled the odor of the vegetation and the muddy earth. I heard her make two or three comments, about the workers, the poles of the fence, and the agriculture. I was not really listening, but she suddenly got my attention when she said in a low voice, as if confessing a major sin, “Rabie was sitting in your place two weeks ago.”

I was taken aback, and I opened my ears to hear more, but she remained silent, looking at the horizon. A few seconds later, she said, as if talking to herself, “Rabie is in Jerusalem.”

“Does he work in Jerusalem?” I asked hopefully.

“Rabie joined the revolution.”

“Which revolution?” I asked, surprised. “Is there a revolution for us in this country?”

She smiled as she stared at me, then said in a strange tone that I did not at that time understand, “The revolution is back, but your uncle . . .” She fell silent. I did not understand what she meant. I asked her once more, “Is Rabie in Jerusalem? How did you know?”

She did not reply, and I started crying quietly. She put her arms around my shoulders and said with compassion, “You will soon forget him.”

I turned toward her in order to understand what she meant. I wanted to know if her reply was the result of her experience or simply a word of consolation and an act of kindness. But she turned her head away from me and looked into the distance and whispered, “This is normal. We all forget.”

I asked, careful and curious, “What about you? Did you forget?”

She did not answer and kept her face turned away from me. I waited for a long time, staring at her profile, and saw it darken with shadows. She kept looking away, avoiding my gaze. She stood up abruptly, like an unruly horse, shook her dress, and adjusted the scarf on her head. She remained standing, waiting for me. As I did not move, she gave me her hand. I took it, and we walked together as the sun was setting.