Chapter 5 Like an errant breeze

Chapter 5 in the novel, “Ten Days That Changed The World,” a sequel to an earlier novel called “Stillpoint, a novel of war, peace, politics and Palestine.” Ten Days is in the process of being written. When a chapter is completed it is posted. I hope you find it of interest. Please feel free to share it with friends.

The following information is helpful for those who haven’t read “Stillpoint.” In it we come to know David Tremaine a former philosophy professor now president of the US. We learn also of Travis, a versatile general, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and respected friend. Samara is a young Palestinian woman, friend of the sage Nasir. She helped in a daring rescue and is brought to the US for her safety. She now works as a translator for Tremaine.

Chapter 5 Like an errant breeze.

Tremaine came down the stairs and pushing the door open stepped into the courtyard. The first light of dawn glowed above the horizon. Two horse-drawn carts were parked at the side of the road in front. He could make out the silhouettes of the drivers. Ashraf had told Travis he’d hired a friend and his son for the day.

They’d decided to travel by horse and cart. Ashraf and Hameed both agreed it was safer than traveling by car. “Less likely to draw attention or be targeted by Israelis if an attack comes,” Hameed had insisted, and Ashraf agreed. Tremaine had liked the idea too; much better than being cooped up in a small car trying to weave through traffic. He was looking forward to the day.

He felt the coolness of morning against his face begin to move, stirred by the warmth of the approaching sun. He watched as it emerged above the horizon and struck the tops of the buildings. As the light slid lower, it came bursting through the palm trees across the street.

The road, deserted an hour ago, was now alive. People on foot pushed hand carts. Wagons laden with produce from farms rumbled quietly behind the delicate sound of hooves as the swelling current of humanity moved north toward the city. Tremaine heard the sound of braying and watched as three donkeys passed in single file, carrying bricks stacked in woven baskets on either side. A man walked beside them with a switch guiding the donkeys through traffic.

Tremaine turned toward the table. Ashraf, Hahn Shan and Travis were already deep in conversation. A single candle still burned in an open glass jar. As Tremaine approached, Travis saw him, and pulled out a chair with his foot. “We were just discussing the shooting last evening,” he said.

“What shooting?” Tremaine responded surprised. “What happened?”

“A grandmother and her grand daughter were shot by a sniper last evening, just before sundown.” Ashraf responded. “We knew the Israelis would station more snipers around the perimeter of Gaza so we’d told people to stay at least a mile and a half away. Hameed came by last night and told me what happened. The child had gone too close and the grandmother ran to get her but it was too late. They both died.”

Tremaine shook his head. “I suppose it was unrealistic to hope there could be no loss of life. I’m very sorry.”

“They’ve moved up tanks as well,” Travis added. “It looks as if they’re primed and ready to go.”

“And Hamas?” Tremaine asked.

“Hameed says they’re keeping things as quiet as possible. He thinks people understand the danger the border poses. Other than yesterday afternoon, they were staying clear. The shooting was unfortunate but that’s the way it is. Everyone who lives here knows this. We all hate it but what can we do?”

“It won’t be too much longer,” Travis said. “They’re going to have to act.”

Just then they heard the high pitched sound of drones, coming closer. The first they’d heard since early last night. They watched as three of them came into view and flew north.

Flying high and evenly spaced they’d have a good view of Gaza, Travis thought. None of them appeared to be armed and the fact they were flying so high suggested they were just looking. To everyone’s relief they disappeared without attracting any fire from the ground.

For those living in Gaza drones had become a way of life and as much as possible people had learned to ignore them, but for Tremaine and Travis they were an annoying and threatening intrusion.

Just then, Samara and Sharazad emerged from the kitchen carrying trays of food and coffee. Travis, observant as ever, jumped to his feet and taking one of the trays placed it on the table. Tremaine took the tray from Samara and did the same.

Turning to Tremaine and Travis, Sharazad said quietly. “You’ll like Ashraf’s mother, she’s a good woman, I’ve known her since we were children.” With a slight bow she put her hand to her heart. “Be safe my friends and enjoy the beautiful city. She’s old now, and despite all she’s been through her beauty is still there for those who can see it. Soon I hope she, like us, will be free.” And with that Sharazad turned and went to serve her regulars, all of whom had been quietly and curiously watching. Hammed arrived and took a seat. He knew the kind of breakfast Sharazad made and had no intention of missing it.

Sharazad and Samara had produced a feast. Mashed broad beans with lemon and olive oil, crisp pickles, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, pita bread, eggs, and felafels followed by baklava dripping in honey.

…………

Traffic in Gaza City was at a crawl, and the heat of the noonday sun was upon them. Tremaine had enjoyed the ride. It had been a long time since he’d ridden in a horse drawn cart. The last time had been on the crowded streets of Mumbai. He’d enjoyed it then as he did now. Unlike the carts in India, however, the ones they were now using had car wheels and tires, making them quieter and closer to the ground. Two benches were fastened to a flat deck. A white tarpaulin attached to four corner posts and pulled tight kept the sun off. Tremaine and Ashraf were seated on the back bench, the driver and Hameed in front. When he turned, Tremaine could see the second cart not far behind.

As they approached the city the river of humanity became a flood. The noise had increased too. A car passed them going south, out of the city, its horn blaring. Inside he counted five adults and a child. He was glad Hammed and Ashraf had decided against a car.

At the side of the road carts appeared with vegetables and produce laid out neatly. He caught the smell of rotting fruit and then it was gone. Carts arranged along a shallow parking area formed a small market but the quantity of food compared to what he’d seen in India was much less and the customers far fewer. It confirmed what he knew was true. Food was scarce and expensive.

Before long they moved deeper into the city; buildings became taller, some of them ten stories high, made of white concrete with flat walled roofs. He saw people leaning out of windows and on several buildings they peered down watching the traffic below. On some roofs he could see washing hung to dry. He began to notice gaps between some of the buildings and in place of what must have been homes, great piles of rubble. As they continued they came upon whole blocks where buildings were badly damaged with collapsed floors and walls; furniture pinned under the weight of concrete and twisted pretzels of iron re-bar.

They came to a wide curved boulevard lined with trees. Traffic flowed more easily and there were more cars and motor bikes. Under a stand of palm trees vegetable carts crowded together forming another market. He noticed an infant sleeping on an empty cart as a mother fanned the child with a palm frond. Dogs scavenging for food competed with seagulls and rats.

Turning right they followed a wide road between blocks of buildings and gardens. Tremaine was struck by the beauty of the ancient city and shocked by the level of destruction. Turning left they found themselves on a quieter road before making another right turn toward the sea. The road was less congested but still crowded with horses, carts, and donkeys loaded with bricks and concrete stones. He noticed several people pushing carts. He saw a cart go by loaded high with crushed plastic bottles pulled by a man in harness gripping shafts on either side of him. Tremaine could feel the first stirrings of a breeze. At times it brought with it the smell of the sea, at others the stench of raw sewage. Washing strung between some of the buildings moved as if to some unseen, unheard melody.

As they continued, the road became increasingly rough, and in places rubble from destroyed buildings had spilled onto it. Ahead of them three men were carrying large chunks of cement from the rubble, which they heaved into the back of a cart harnessed to a small white horse covered in dust.

“They’ll use it again to help build new homes or repair the ones that can still be repaired,” Ashraf explained.

The driver slowed. Concrete was blocking the road. Hameed and Ashraf jumped down, Tremaine joined them and with the help of two men passing by, they moved the concrete to one side. “Not much further,” Ashraf said as they climbed back on the cart and continued slowly on their way.

In several places sewage had seeped to the surface and begun to trickle down the shallow incline, sometimes forming in pools. Half a mile further they made another left turn and entered an area comprised of one and two story homes. Ahead of them the road divided in two around a green park with palm trees clustered around a walled mosque. As they approached they could see the wall was badly damaged as was the mosque. One section had collapsed and the dome thirty feet in diameter rested intact on a large pile of fractured concrete and twisted re-bar. Houses on either side of the mosque had also suffered considerable damage, some were abandoned others looked dangerously unsafe, but were still lived in.

Passing the mosque they saw large groups of men with sledge hammers and saws working to cut the twisted metal and break the larger chunks of concrete into pieces small enough to move. The smell of smoke permeated the air. Through one of the openings to his right Tremaine caught a glimpse of the sea. In the distance he saw what must have been a five star hotel towering over the neighborhood. Half way up a large black hole showed where it had been hit. A mile past the mosque the divided road became one again. Not far beyond they made another right turn toward the shore. In the distance he saw the blue Mediterranean fused to an even bluer sky. Traffic had melted to just a few people walking to and from the beach. The sound of the horses’ hooves were now audible, a rhythmic sound against the background hum of the city.

As they got closer Tremaine could see the harbor. A sea wall, built at right angles to the shore, extended outward and then turning, ran parallel to the beach. They continued down a gentle slope before stopping in front of a white two story building with a flat roof and an orange door. On either side of the door were two square windows. Flowers had been placed in pots on two rough pillars of rubble. To the right was a similarly constructed house. On the left stood a large mound of rubble and beyond it, another badly damaged home was still occupied.

“This is it.” Ashraf said to Tremaine as Hameed jumped down. Ashraf and Tremaine followed. Behind them the second cart came to a stop.

As Ashraf approached the house the door burst open and a young boy Tremaine took to be about fourteen years old launched himself at Ashraf.
“Kadeem,” Ashraf threw his arms around his nephew. “Where’s Gramma?” he asked.

“She’s inside,” Kadeem responded as he turned and wrapped his arms around Hahn Shan. “Uncle Hahn I’m glad to see you again, welcome.” Ashraf led the way, Hahn Shan following close behind. Kadeem turned toward the guests now gathered in a semi circle around the open door. Shaking each hand he introduced himself and learned their names. “My Gramma will see you now,” he said, his voice almost formal and with that he ushered them through the door.

They found themselves inside a white walled room, filled with light. A low table stood beneath a large window that stretched to the ceiling. Tremaine thought it must be a child’s table except that it was six feet in length and two and a half feet wide. There was a table lamp and a typewriter on one side and on the other a row of books stood between two exquisitely carved camels. A photograph of Ashraf in a small frame was arranged with others along the back of the table showing the faces of people Tremaine didn’t know. One of them was of a slim elderly gentleman with a kind smile and white hair, dressed in a long dark Arab robe.

Tremaine noticed a short sleeping mat in the corner behind him. A wind-up clock sat on a stack of books beside a pillow. Over the bed a colorful and finely woven blanket had been laid. Turning back to the window he noticed an elegant metal lattice work employing the graceful curves and designs he associated with Muslim art. Through the open window he could see a courtyard that looked over piles of rubble and intact homes. In the distance the Mediterranean, sparkled in sunlight. To the left he could see the harbor filled with a surprising number of boats, of all shapes and sizes.

Shifting his gaze he saw a small vegetable garden enclosed by a low wall and what he took to be a bamboo fence. An arbor stood several feet in front of it. Ashraf and Hahn Shan were talking to a woman, her head covered in a light blue shawl. A white goat was nuzzling Hahn Shan, who’d draped his right arm around its neck.

Kadeem took them through the house and into the courtyard. Ashraf and Hahn Shan turned toward them.

“Come and sit,” Ashraf said and patted the paved stones beside him.

Once seated Ashraf introduced the woman. “This is my mother Jala,” he said.

Before them sat an elderly woman in her seventies. Her dark eyes were bright and alert. Beneath the blue shawl white hair made its appearance accompanied by a radiant smile and the wrinkles that went with it. She placed her hand over her heart, “Welcome to my home,” she said in a slightly accented English, as Ashraf introduced them, one by one.

Tremaine realized how unusual this was — that a woman, a Palestinian woman of her age, would look so directly and clearly at the men before her. Her voice, he noticed was rich and reminded him of amber and honey.

“The name Jala,” Hahn Shan said softly, “means she who has great clarity, she who expresses herself clearly, she’s a much loved Palestinian poet.”

Jala smiled at Hahn Shan and reaching over tapped him on the back of his hand. “Completely unnecessary,” she said scolding him gently. “All of us have our roles to play in life and to my surprise my parents knew mine before I did.”

“Gramma,” Kadeem interjected. “Shall I fetch mother and father?”

“Yes, of course, go.” She waved him away.

“I’ll go with him,” Ashraf said as he got up, “Hahn Shan and Hameed you can come too, and help with the food.”

“They’re going to get my daughter Halima and her husband, Adil,” Jala said, turning back to her guests. “We knew you’d be coming but didn’t know when.” Directing her comment to Tremaine she continued, “Mr. President as soon as you landed in Gaza, we knew Ashraf would bring you here, so my daughter started preparing food.”

Tremaine nodded. “Thank you.”

The goat, no longer anchored by Hahn Shan sidled over to Jala and started to nuzzle her. Jala smiled and taking the goat’s head in her hands rubbed her forehead against its face. “This is Aladdin,” she said as the goat lay down beside her.

“Mr President…” Jala started.

Tremaine held up his hand. “Am,” he said using the Arabic name for mother and pronouncing it Oom, “please call me Tremaine, everyone else does. I’m not one for titles,” he added.

Jala smiled, “Tremaine it is then.”

Suddenly they heard the sound of laughter and voices as the door to Jala’s home burst open. The food had arrived.

Samara and Travis got up and went to help.

Tremaine leaned forward and took Jala’s hands. “We’ll talk before I leave.”

“Thank you.”

…………

Tremaine watched as Aladdin pulled Jala on her skateboard across the sunlit courtyard into the shade of the arbor. Jala held his collar with one hand and used her other hand to guide them. Tremaine followed pillow in hand. He’d learned earlier that Jala had no legs. She’d gone next door to visit her neighbors and as she returned a missile hit the house. Her neighbors were killed and she had nearly died.

After the meal the guests and family members had decided to walk to the beach.

In the dappled sunlight Jala and Tremaine sat across from one another, Aladdin lay comfortably beside them his eyes watching the flow of conversation.

“I want to thank you for coming to Gaza,” Jala began. “You have lifted our spirits and confirmed our hope.”

Tremaine smiled, “I was only part of a much larger conspiracy, all I had to do was get here and that wasn’t hard.”

Jala laughed softly the honey in her voice soothing. “You know my husband Ata, was taken by the Israelis?”

“Ashraf told me his father was taken in the fields not far from the border but didn’t go into detail. He said no-one knows what happened to him.”

“It’s true, we have no idea what happened, whether he is alive or dead. Ashraf said he heard that Ata was being held in an Israeli prison. Accused of conspiracy and threatening the Israeli State. They won’t even confirm they’re holding him. He was the only one taken, only him.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he was captured he was in the fields talking to some of the farm workers. Suddenly a group of Israeli soldiers came racing across the field. Ata was the only one they took and in moments they were back on the other side of the fence.”

“It sounds like he was deliberately targeted. Tell me what happened?”

“Ata had been talking to the farmers about the war Palestinians were going to wage on the Israelis. A different kind of war. He liked to call it a holy war. We realized he had named it well. Soon, we all began to think of it that way. It didn’t take long for the conversation to spread. Like an errant breeze it flowed beneath the palms across the fields, through our cities, around our homes and most importantly into them. After not long it seemed to be everywhere. People came alive. At first there was skepticism, but this war was new, we had tried everything else, and this was completely different. The conversations multiplied into thousands of errant breezes and, as it did, something wonderful happened. It seemed to me that hope replaced skepticism and hopelessness. It didn’t overcome the fear we felt. In some ways I think it made us more anxious.”

“Can you tell me the nature of the conversations you were having — describe them. I know for us there were many conversations but I would like to know what form they took in Gaza. Something has happened here. I felt it first in the silence that followed Ashraf’s speech. I hadn’t expected that. There seems to be a sense of peacefulness in people — calmness.”

“You have described it well. Historically we’ve been a peaceful people but in many ways we’ve been crushed, forced to fight and live in ways unnatural to us. But in this holy war it seemed we could return to our roots, we understood this war. The calmness comes from that place but also from knowing we are giving everything to this war, and I mean everything. It is, for us, our only real hope.”

Jala adjusted herself on the skateboard. “This was Kadeem’s idea.” she said. “He brought it to me one day and asked me to try it. It took time to adjust to it. I kept falling off. But Kadeem stayed with me, day after day. Now I couldn’t do without it. When Ata vanished Kadeem stepped in.” Jala laughed. “He’s going to enter me in a skateboard competition.”

Tremaine watched Jala appreciating her sense of humor and her courage.

“At first,” Jala continued, “we had what I called, source talks: talks where we developed our approach. Ashraf and Hahn Shan were insistent, violence could play no part. If we were to resort to violence of any kind we would surely fail; violence was not an option. Hamas could not see this at first. Hahn Shan pointed out, we are powerless. If it came to all out war, the Israelis would win and we would be destroyed. He and Ashraf helped us understand that our vulnerability, our weakness, was our greatest strength. Members of Hamas had dedicated themselves to serving the people, to offer their lives to protect us, to govern Gaza. They fought for us. The truth is, and we all knew it, no one really wants to die. Who does? Life is precious, a gift from Allah. At the root of Hamas’ violence was a good heart, a caring heart. It was to the heart we spoke. Force does not fair well against rigid beliefs, anyone’s rigid beliefs and we understood that.

“Ashraf showed us how Gandhi and Martin Luther King had worked, the strategies they used and what they accomplished. In the end the one thing we could all agree on was that the conditions we were living under could not continue. In a sense we had nothing left to lose. That meant we could wage a different kind of war.”

“Who was involved in the original source talks besides your son and Hahn Shan?”

“It was just a small group. Dr. Mandur, myself and Ata, Sharazad, my daughter, Halima and her husband Adil. Once we had worked out the central core of what we would and would not do we began to strategize. Hahn Shan told us you would come to Gaza. We didn’t believe him at first but he said he knew you would. This for us was crucial. If you came, the people of Gaza and the West Bank would know they were not alone and there was good reason to hope. Our hope was lifted when you agreed to come. And when you arrived we knew we couldn’t lose. What you are doing is something unheard of. I hope the world is watching because it will provide hope to others who are suffering as we have.”

“The world will know.” Tremaine responded. “The world heard Ashraf’s speech.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know. What’s been going on in Palestine is of such importance the whole world watches, some nations more than others, but the whole world is watching, Jala. As I see it, what happens here is a template for what is to come, a template for how we right injustice, and how we can live together in harmony.”

Jala nodded. “I share this hope too.”

“The injustices against the Palestinians — and that includes my own country’s historical unquestioned support for Israel, has made us the focal point of a great deal of animosity. And that coupled with other Western nations who shared our attitude, has conferred on those who fight against injustice, a sense of legitimacy for their actions.”

“You’re saying that even the violent liberation movements, like our own Hamas would not have come into existence, if your government and other Western nations had been primarily interested in justice, blind justice.”

“Yes, if we had taken a stand earlier I suspect we would not have contributed in some perverse way to the rise of ISIS. To get back to your question. On the USS Ross we have hundreds of reporters. We’re providing them with the most sophisticated links to the outside world.”

Jala sat quietly thinking about what Tremaine had just said. They were not alone. No longer isolated. No longer hidden behind a wall that twisted the truth, the facts of their situation.

Tremaine watched her closely, saw the moisture in her eyes and sensed her relief.

“There are a lot of Palestinians in Israeli prisons. I’ve been told that most of them have never been charged with anything. My husband, I think, is one of them. When the time comes can you help? Ata is in his seventies and I’m worried about him. He is my closest and dearest friend, we have been together for fifty five years. This is no way for him to spend the last years of his life. Can you help my husband; find out what happened to him or if he’s still alive and if he is, help me get him home? He is a good man, very kind and gentle, someone who cares deeply about all people. The only conspiracy he has ever been involved in is his beloved, holy war.”

Tremaine remembered the photo on Jala’s desk. A white haired gentleman with a kind smile dressed in a dark robe. He realized, this was Ata. “I’ll do everything I can,” he said. “If he’s still alive we’ll get him out. I will not rest until he’s free, you have my word.”

Jala reached over and taking Tremaine’s hands held them to her lips. “Thank you,” she said. Tears streamed down her face.

………..

It was late when the horses stopped outside the widow’s boarding house.
Sharazad came out to greet them with two carrots in her hands. “I have food ready and coffee too.” She looked at Tremaine and smiled. “I have tea for you if you would like.” Turning she went to the drivers. “Please join us, you must be hungry.” Then walking to each horse she addressed them by name and fed them the carrots.

Tremaine realized that not only did Sharazad know and love people, she knew and loved animals too.

Here is the link to Chapter 1 “Going to Gaza”

Here is the link to Chapter 2 And the world listened

Here is the link to Chapter 3 Waiting Patiently from “Going to Gaza”

Here is the link to Chapter 4 Destiny — faint beginnings in far away places from “Going to Gaza” http://bit.ly/1ETvElD