In other words, they are also responsible for the commercial boom. Once, before it all began, the Jews preferred to do their shopping in the cities of the West Bank, where they figured things were cheaper, and in fact things really were cheaper there. But since the Intifada began, about fifteen years ago, the Jews began to feel threatened and moved over to the Arab towns and villages within Israel itself, which were a little safer. For all intents and purposes, our village replaced two cities, Qalqilya and Tul-Karm. So as the condition of people on the West Bank got worse and worse, things were looking up for Israeli Arabs. The houses being built were unlike any we’d seen before. Businesses flourished and luxury cars could be seen outside almost every home in the village.
Besides the workers you could find hundreds of former West Bank and Gaza inhabitants in the village, people who’d managed to get Israeli citizenship once the Palestinian Authority was set up in the territories. In the past they had collaborated or had worked with the security forces, and they were now given a place to live in Arab villages within Israel, for their own protection. The local residents objected at first to the idea of harboring these traitors, but they soon discovered the economic advantages of hosting the new inhabitants. The Israeli government rented homes for them and paid well, and their purchasing power was nothing to sneeze at. Those people weren’t being handed over; they were legal, after all, just like us.
The second Intifada was quite a problem. It undermined the whole economy and led to a deep recession, which affected everyone. Besides, the Jews were much less comfortable about driving into our village because of all the stories about the Islamic Movement and all the news programs that harped on how the Arabs were helping the terrorist organizations. Border Patrol squads had begun late-night raids. They’d swoop down on the warehouses and construction sites and detain workers who were defined as illegal. Now the mayor and the inhabitants of the village were volunteering to do this job for the state.
My father told us that all the heads of families had attended the meeting at the town hall. Some, the ones who were always opposed to the mayor, were opposed again, just as they’d object to building a new school simply because they were in the opposition and because of the long-standing animosity between families. But once the mayor explained that there was no choice, that if things went on this way for one more day there would be no drinking water left, they backed down. It turned out that the water pumps had stopped functioning when the power was cut, and that there was unlikely to be any water in the pipes by tomorrow morning. The mayor told everyone that this was why the sewage system wasn’t working, and that pretty soon all of the homes would become stopped up, and people would have to start taking a shit outdoors, the way they used to long ago. He said that although people still had enough to eat, there wasn’t enough money in the banks, so that some families wouldn’t even have enough for bread. And those who did were too late, because there was no food left in the stores.
“And what did you say, Father?” I wanted to know.
“I said that we should go to prayers and that by tomorrow it would all blow over, but if there was no choice, there was no choice. Because we’re not like them, we can’t last long. This isn’t Jenin, everything here is Israeli — the banks, the electricity, the water, the sewage, even the milk we drink comes from the Israeli dairies. We can’t last more than two days here. If it goes on for a week, people will starve to death. They’ll get dehydrated, they’ll get sick.”
“But who said the workers were the real reason for it all?”
“What else could they want? What other reason could there be? It’s only the workers, they’re the reason for it all.”
My younger brother wants to know how the Communists reacted, and for a moment he’s taken aback at his own question, but Father hardly notices and says that they objected at first, of course, because we’re all one nation after all, but then they agreed too. And they weren’t the only ones. “In the end, the decision was unanimous. Even the Islamic Movement agreed. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen to them? If there were any who were wanted, they’d be detained, but they’d have been detained sooner or later anyway, in one of the raids. The ones who’d merely come to work would be taken back to their own villages. It’s not as if we’re pushing them into prison. Believe me, within two days they’ll all be back here as if nothing happened.”
We finish eating and there’s a lot of meat left. Mother says it’s a shame, and that if we want any more food today, we should come back.
9
I go home with my wife and daughter. My wife says it’s not right to hand the workers over, that they have it so tough and that every time she sees them she feels sorry for them. The villagers have no compassion, do they, as if they don’t have little children of their own and families to feed. What are they supposed to do now? Starve to death? My daughter goes back to sleep. My wife gets into bed and announces she’s going to sleep for an hour or so, if she can possibly fall asleep at all in this heat with no air-conditioning. She says that if handing over the workers means we’ll be able to turn the air conditioner back on, she’s in favor, and she laughs. She doesn’t take things seriously enough. Sometimes I envy her for the way she just accepts everything, just takes things for granted. In truth, nothing ever fazes her. She behaves as if everything is just going to be okay, and I realize there’s no way I’ll ever be able to share my anxieties with her. I’m sweating and I feel sticky. For a moment I consider getting in the bath, but I decide to wait. Mustn’t waste water now. When I urinate, I don’t even flush the toilet.
My wife falls asleep very quickly. I lie in bed beside her, my arms folded under my head and my eyes glued to the ceiling. I hear Farres, our neighbor. His voice has changed a little over the years, but I can still recognize him calling his children’s names. Farres has an unusual accent, unlike that of most of the people in our village, and his family name is unusual too, but everyone refers to him as Farres the Ramlawi because his family came from Ramla. I’d heard not long ago that Farres had married a girl from Qalqilya and that he’d left Ibtissam. They hadn’t actually gotten a divorce, but she didn’t want to see him anymore.
I could hear Ibtissam, his wife, screaming at him to get the hell out of there. “What are you doing here, you piece of shit? Go back to your bitch.” And Farres, with his accent, shouts that he wants to see his children. “I don’t want to come in, just let me see them. I just want to see they’re okay.”
“Get the hell out of here. Nobody wants to see your face around here. Beat it before I call the police,” Ibtissam yells.
Farres is calling his children by name now. “Muntassar, Haibbah.” But they don’t answer. Only Ibtissam keeps screaming and swearing at him.
When we were little, every now and then a whole family would descend on the village. All of their children would talk with strange accents, and suddenly, in the middle of the year, a new boy or girl would join our school, and we, the students, never liked them, those kids who talked funny. The teachers didn’t like them very much either. In fourth grade we got this kid from Um el-Fahm. Everyone referred to him as Fahmawi. When we were in middle school, there was a girl from Lydda. We called her Lydduya. These kids always hung out together and almost never exchanged a word with anyone else at school.
Everyone said it was the police that had brought them to the village. The Fahmawi, for instance, was said to be the son of a murderer, who’d killed someone in Um el-Fahm and was serving time. The police had moved the whole family because of the risk that someone would try to take revenge. When it came to the girl from Lydda they said her father was a drug dealer who had squealed to the police, so that people in Lydda were out to get him, and that was why the whole family had been moved to our village.