master.
‘Don’t tell me any more,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear.’
‘You must, Abed. I must tell you everything. I told my parents it was a boy from another town. They were horrified and said my life was over. I was nothing more than a whore. Had I been Muslim I would probably have been killed. Had I told them the father was an Israeli soldier nothing would have saved me. But I loved him, Abed. You were not born without love.’
Abed screwed his eyes shut.
‘You are the son of an Israeli soldier,’ she continued, gushing out the truth after holding it prisoner for so long. ‘By the time you were born he had had to leave Gaza. But he did not desert us. He came to see you many times when you were a baby. He held you in his arms and caressed you with love. Every time he came here he risked his life just to see you.’
Abed clenched his fists so tightly they began to shake.
‘We both knew in our hearts it was hopeless. We could never be together. He could not get me out of Gaza and obviously he could not stay. And he could not keep coming to see you. It was more and more dangerous for him each time, and for you too. There are those who would have killed you if they found out. You were two years old the last time he saw you. He brought you some presents and you played together while I kept watch from our secret place. I have never seen him or heard from him since that day . . . He is the one who sent us money all those years. You have no father in England.’
He kept his back to her while she wept, her face in her hands.
After a long silence between them, she looked up at him. ‘Abed?’
He could not answer or look at her.
‘Abed . . .You cannot join the Jihad,’ she cried out in desperation.
Abed spun around to face her, his eyes on fire, and then headed for the door. She lunged forward, throwing herself to the floor to grab his foot but missed. ‘Abed!’ she cried, her face in the dirt, but he was gone. She sobbed uncontrollably, repeating his name.
Abed walked to the front door and paused before opening it, exhausted by what he had heard. He gripped the handle wishing he could rip it off its hinges and throw it aside. A million thoughts were spinning inside his head and he was unable to grasp any one of them. He wanted to beat his head against the wall and knock the memory of what his mother had told him out of it. He unbolted the door, pulled it open and stepped out into the centre of the street facing no-man’s-land as if in hope that a sniper would see him and take his shot. He was breathing as if he had run a mile at full speed. He wanted to tear open his chest and rip out his Israeli heart, for the heart comes from the father. And then he screamed so loud it rocked his feet. It wasn’t a word, just a despairing yell until he was breathless. When Abed was spent he remained panting where he stood. Abed’s mother lay where he had left her, holding her hands tightly over her face.
He did not hear the running footsteps behind that stopped short of him, but he recognised the voice.
‘Abed?’ It was Ibrahim. ‘Abed. What is it?’
Ibrahim came around to face Abed, afraid to touch him, as if he sensed some evil had taken hold of his new friend and might attack him too. ‘Abed?’ he asked once more.
Abed shook his head. Ibrahim looked towards noman’s-land, concerned with their exposure in the middle of the street.
‘We should leave here, Abed. It is dangerous.’
Ibrahim raised his arms to take hold of Abed’s shoulders but Abed knocked them away. He turned from Ibrahim, and walked up the street towards the car. Ibrahim looked at the open gate to Abed’s house, at the light glowing inside, and could only wonder what had gone on between Abed and his mother.
Abed spoke to no one for a long time, not even Ibrahim, other than when necessary. In the early hours of the morning, before first light, they passed through the tunnels of Rafah into Egypt and several days later arrived in Lebanon by boat and then on to a secret base camp