Brian Kenneth Swain

Hanan had already arrived. As Avi walked through the front door into the restaurant, he glanced about uneasily, eventually locating the man he had agreed to see. The two had never met before this evening, and they were, even now, separated by more than thirty feet. Still, Avi had no doubt this was the man. Hanan was sitting alone in a booth in the dim light of the back corner, motionless, staring straight ahead into the empty seat across from him. Avi remained for a moment just inside the door, nervously wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he surveyed the newly rebuilt establishment. Warm oak wainscoting surrounded the roomful of matching tables and arch-back chairs. A half-dozen ceiling fans swung slowly and silently overhead, making invisible eddies in the warm humid evening air. The large open room was decorated with brass railings and potted palms, and along the walls hung original abstract paintings by local Israeli artists.

Only reopened a week or so ago, the restaurant had taken three months to put back together following the bombing. It was fortunate that the detonation had occurred out front on the sidewalk. Had it been inside, there might well have been nothing left to rebuild. And, instead of only three dead, there might have been thirty or more. The papers said it had been crowded that night. There were four more floors above this one, and a bomb of average size could have easily brought it all down. Tonight though, with an hour or so still to go until the peak of the dinner hour, the crowd was light. By eight, Avi supposed, the place would be full. It was astonishing how quickly and easily people seemed to forget.

Avi had spent much of the past week wondering how he would feel when this moment finally came. What would he think of the man? What would he say? This man who had so profoundly yet unwittingly torn his life apart. This man he had never met. There had been only perfunctory conversation on the telephone to arrange the meeting. I think it’s important that we meet. Can you come? Will you come? Yes, I will be there. Still, Avi thought to himself as he began slowly making his way toward the booth, if the old ones cannot talk together and make sense of this thing, then who can? As he approached, Hanan slowly turned his head and looked directly at Avi with bereft eyes. He did not rise from his seat, but extended a tentative hand, accepting Avi’s in a brief gesture of greeting.

“Thank you for coming,” Hanan said, his voice very low, the subtle glaze of his eyes visible only when he faced the light just right. “Will you sit with me? Have a beer?”

“Yes,” Avi replied, sliding into the seat across from Hanan. “A beer would be good.” But no beer would make him forget the events of the past two months.

“I must do it…for the sake of God I must,” Ariella had said, her voice raised above the din of the television show her father was watching in the living room. “What else can I do? Stay locked here in the house all day? Is that what you want?”

“Do not use God’s name for such a thing!” her mother said, raising her voice only slightly. Ariella could not, in her entire seventeen years, ever remember hearing her mother actually shout. Even when genuinely angry, the woman could effectively make her case in neatly whispered tones. “Do you suppose God wants you getting yourself killed over a bag of vegetables?”

“It’s not about the vegetables, mother. It’s about living life. Doing what’s right. Doing the things we have the right to do.”

“But there are safer places,” her mother replied.

“Certainly there are safer places,” the girl responded, setting a bulging paper bag on the kitchen counter. “But the more we flee, the more we encourage what is happening – the sooner it will be until the safe places become unsafe as well. And where does it end? If I stop going, then another will stop, and another, and soon Mrs. Levin will close the shop, and there will be one more victory for the terrorists. And besides, where else can I get such cabbages?” she said with a wry forced smile, extracting two enormous heads from the grocery bag.

This conversation, or some variation thereof, had been taking place for nearly six months, but it had come to a crescendo in the past two weeks with the bombing of the retail mall just two blocks from the produce market. The blast had been so close and so fierce that it had knocked over produce stands at Mrs. Levin’s and other nearby shops. Seven had perished in the mall explosion, including two small children. That day had been a difficult one for Ariella’s family. Around nine that morning the girl had left home to do a few hours of errands, including, her mother assumed, her regular weekly visit to the produce market. When, two hours later, news had come of the bombing, Ariella’s mother had become hysterical, fearing that her daughter might have been in the area. In fact, the girl had been more than three kilometers away, having stopped by the school she attended on Shechem Road.  Ariella did not hear news of the blast for an additional two hours, and only then called home to assure her family that she was fine. Still, with each passing day, and each new attack, her mother grew increasingly worried that one day the phone would ring and the news would not be so good.

“I must do it…for the sake of God I must,” Khalid said, staring intently into the distraught eyes of his younger brother.

“Why sacrifice yourself, when there are so many others,” Amin pleaded, reaching out and holding his brother’s face in both hands. “It will kill mother and father…you know that.”

“In the end they will understand,” Khalid responded with resolved dispassion. “They are believers. And they have raised us to be believers as well. They understand what we are fighting and why. Certainly they will be saddened, perhaps even shocked at first…but they will understand…they will…they must. Tell me – what else could I do with my life that is more important?”

“You realize that you risk the entire family with this,” said Amin, dodging his brother’s question. “There is talk of detaining family members…perhaps deporting them.”

“And can that be worse than how we live?” the older brother asked, throwing his hands to the sides in a gesture intended to encompass the entire dilapidated apartment in which they stood. Khalid, Amin, and their two sisters and parents lived together in a small, poorly maintained two-bedroom apartment on Jerusalem’s east side. Khalid was eighteen – the oldest of the children – and he was within two months of graduating from high school. He had done well – top ten percent of his class – and his parents were justifiably proud. Arrangements had already been made for Khalid to leave that fall for an engineering college in Tel Aviv. Amin was one year younger, and had spent his life looking up to his brother. He too hoped to attend the same college the following fall.

“It’s only by taking such action that we can hope to win back our country,” Khalid continued. He had, during his senior year of high school, become involved with a group of very militant anti-Israeli activists. Unbeknownst to his parents or siblings, he had already taken part in several rock-throwing incidents and acts of vandalism, and had, in fact, been shot once in the leg with a rubber bullet, leaving a scar that he carefully hid from them. “Out-of-towners cannot do this as effectively,” he said. “The burden falls to those of us who have spent lots of time in the Israeli neighborhoods. We are the only ones who can move about without suspicion.”

“Still, I cannot allow it,” Amin responded. “I will have to tell father – it is my duty to the family. Then we will see what he thinks of your patriotism.”

“It doesn’t matter what you tell him,” Khalid said. “My mind is made up. If he tries to stop me, I will simply run away…I must do this…for my soul…for all of us.”

Ariella cried. She picked up her book bag from the floor, setting it upon her shoulder as she grasped the handle to the front door. “You cannot make me do this – not with just a year to go,” she said in a plaintive stammer. “You’re just running…you’re cowards and scared, and you’re running away.” She walked out the door, slamming it violently behind her.  Avi had announced at breakfast that he had accepted a transfer at work and that the family would be moving to Tel Aviv in two month’s time. This meant that Ariella would have to complete her senior year at a brand new high school. She had been predictably upset at the news, and was not assuaged by her father’s depictions of better opportunity, more money, the new and bigger house they could now afford. His tacit omission – that the transfer was also the family’s ticket away from the increasing violence in Jerusalem – seemed to weigh even heavier with Ariella than the change of school.

Avi was, frankly, scared to death for his family. He had friends at the office who had had children and relatives either killed or injured in the past year, and he was determined not to suffer the same anguish. If the worst he had to endure was to be accused of running from the violence, it was a small price to pay. Besides, it wasn’t as though Tel Aviv was completely free of violence either. Yes, it was safer, further from the border areas where the worst attacks took place. But things had escalated to a point in the past year where no part of the country was truly safe anymore. And wasn’t his principal responsibility to do the best he could for his family? Saving the world…the country…that would have to fall to someone else. Still, it was an unfortunate thing to take her away from her friends, and he thought that he understood how she felt. He had had a difficult time even convincing his boss to push out the transfer until the end of Ariella’s school year, but he had persisted and won that debate. This gave her two more months to finish the semester and say her good-byes. He hoped…no, knew…that he was doing the right thing,

*          *          *

“It’s so much better if they never know until it is over,” Khalid said, sipping from his teacup. He was sitting with his brother at a sidewalk café. The Mediterranean sun shone brilliantly, and there was a pleasant breeze that belied the conversation’s gravity.

“And what of me? Would it be better if I didn’t know either?” Amin responded. After several days of effort, he had gradually given up trying to steer his older brother away from his announced course.

“You and I – we are the same,” Khalid said. “We are the generation that must make the sacrifices. Father had his own war, his own time, and what did it get him? Every day for thirty years the box has shrunk a little more, the noose grown a bit tighter. It will be difficult when he learns what I have done. It would be far worse if he knew in advance and felt he didn’t do enough to stop me.”

“And what would you say,” Amin continued, “if I said I aspired to follow your example – to make my own contribution to the struggle?”

“I would say that it is a mistake, “Khalid replied, recognizing the hypocrisy in the statement, and so struggling to make sure Amin understood. “There should remain one son, to look after our parents, to carry on the family name. As you said earlier, there are countless volunteers. There’s no reason to decimate entire families.”

“How much time?” Amin asked, mustering his strength, acting unconvincingly dispassionate.

“Two weeks,” was Khalid’s terse reply, “give or take. It depends on several things – the weather, the police, you know.”

“If I cannot stop you, then tell me how I can help you – how I can help to make it easier,” Amin asked. “Tell me what a brother should do in such a situation.”

“Only stay with me, talk with me, understand what I am doing, feeling, then explain it to them – afterwards…they will require a great deal of explaining. Especially father – he is an idealist. He talks of dialog, compromise, and mutual respect – all of the things our experiences have shown to be futile. He will not understand. But you must make him understand without admitting that you knew. You risk alienating him with such an admission. And it will be important to keep the family united when the time comes. Also, when the day arrives, I would value having someone to pray with.”

“I will pray with you on that day, and all of the days until then if you like,” Amin said. He wanted to be strong for his older brother, but could not help the tightening he felt in his throat, the slight misting of his eyes. “Tell me, do you know others who have done this. Have you talked with them…you know…before…?”

“Only one – the fellow from the bus two months ago. He was very young – too young, and an only son. I tried to discourage him, but the feelings run so strong right now. Still, I saw him…that morning. And he was afraid, I can tell you. He was afraid to die I think…just a little. But he was still more afraid to be seen backing down at the last moment. I think also, when the actual time came, he was quite tentative. And so he was discovered too soon. That is why there were so few casualties. Someone saw and jumped on him. When I do this, it must be to maximum effect. That requires strength and resolution, and you can help me in this. I feel strong now, but it is still two weeks. How I will feel when the day comes, I cannot say, but I know that you will help.”

“And how,” Amin continued, “does a man then live out the rest of his days knowing that he helped his only brother to do such a thing? That is how you can help me – explain how one lives with this.”

*          *          *

“Don’t be too hard on him, my dear. You know he means well,” Mrs. Levin said, placing her hand gently on Ariella’s shoulder. The girl was standing in the produce shop, ruminating over peaches, squeezing first one, then another. She had shared with Mrs. Levin the news of her imminent departure from Jerusalem. “I will miss seeing you, of course I will. But your family is what matters, and you cannot fault him for wanting what is best for you.”

“But what will you do?” Ariella asked, turning to face the old woman. The Levin’s had operated a vegetable shop in this part of town since long before the girl’s birth. The woman was even older than Ariella’s parents, and she had lived and worked in this neighborhood her entire life. When Mr. Levin had passed away some years back, his wife had stepped in without hesitation and had kept things running ever since. It was six days a week, twelve to fourteen hours each day. There was a son, but he was in America in graduate school, and had no interest in the business so far as Ariella knew.

Still, despite the old woman’s incessant toiling, business had fallen steadily over the past year. Some customers had moved away, others simply went out less. And with each new assault, no matter where in the country, another handful of customers stayed away.

“Maybe you could move the shop to Tel Aviv as well,” Ariella said, smiling optimistically. “Better weather, more customers…”

“My dear, you are sweet to worry about me. But I am an old woman – too old to leave my neighborhood, my friends. Besides, what will these people do without good vegetables?” she said, smiling up at Ariella. “You will come again though, yes? Before your family leaves, I mean.”

“Of course, it’s still more than a month away,” Ariella replied, lifting a bag of peaches onto the scale. “I’ll come as often as I can between now and then. And once we’re there I’ll send you postcards to hang in the shop – pictures of the beach perhaps.”

“That would be nice. Maybe you can find some seashells as well,” Mrs. Levin said, smiling broadly, making change for the girl. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll come for a visit in the fall before your school starts. I haven’t been to the beach in so many years.” She stepped from behind the counter and gave Ariella a hug. “Say hello to your mother for me, eh? And go easy on your father – he only wants what’s best for you, you know. He’s a good man.”

“So Saturday it is?” Amin said, staring vacuously across the half-empty restaurant.

“Yes, Saturday…in the morning,” Khalid confirmed. “That’s when the market area will be most crowded. I will have a bicycle and uniform – like one of the market deliverymen. There are many every day in that area.”

“And what if they should stop you on the way?”

“Then I set it off anyway. It is the same with everyone. Even if I kill only one or two, that’s still not a bad day’s work, eh? Still, the opportunity is far greater. With a little luck, I will be one of two attacks on Saturday. They are trying to schedule them to be simultaneous.”

“And how do you feel – now that it is only two days to go?”

“I’m not certain, to be honest. It is a strange thing. I am still resolved. I feel as though I am doing the best thing for my people…a meaningful thing. And yet, I think I am afraid, although I cannot say what of exactly. It’s not as though there will be pain. I probably felt more pain from the wound to my leg than I will feel on Saturday. And I know that I am doing something important…a glorious thing. I suppose the fear is for the people I will miss.”

“But you make the world a better place for those same people, brother.”

“I feel that as well, and it helps,” Khalid agreed. They both sat silently for a long moment, as Khalid gazed slowly around the restaurant, taking it all in. “Have father or mother said anything to you…anything that sounds as though they might be suspicious?”

“No. They don’t know anything. They are too busy preparing for your graduation party. Khalid, listen, it’s not too late to undo this thing, you know. No one would ever know. No one would think worse of you.” Amin forced himself to look Khalid directly in the eyes.

“I would know,” Khalid replied laconically. “I would know that I had a chance to do the one thing that might make a difference – and I let that chance slip through my fingers. Don’t you think I wish there were alternatives?”

“But suicide? “

“It’s not about suicide, Amin. Do you think I’m suicidal? Do you think that I do not enjoy my life? Do you think that all of those men and boys who queue up to do this are suicidal? This is not about suicide – it’s about sacrifice. It’s about stepping up, doing what is required of you – what the situation demands. And in the end, it is an honor to be chosen. That’s what you must explain to father and mother…that their oldest son did the most honorable thing he could with his life. Gave it for his family, his friends, his people.”

“I’ll be back in time for lunch,” Ariella said, looking from the sidewalk up the steps that led to the house. Her mother stood framed in the doorway. After more than a week of sunshine and above average warmth, the weekend had arrived cloudy and cool. It seemed even that rain might come by the afternoon. If so, it would be Jerusalem’s first rain in more than two months. “I need to run by the library to get something for class. Also, Mrs. Levin said she expects to get watermelons today! Can you imagine – watermelons at this time of year. I will bring home a small one. It’s probably all that I can carry.

“See if she has garlic as well,” her mother called, after the girl had already turned and begun walking down the sidewalk. Ariella turned back, waving in acknowledgement. “But only if they’re fresh!” she called even louder to her still waving daughter. She drew a thin shawl tighter around her neck, turned and walked back inside the house, pushing the door to behind her. Her husband sat on the living room couch, sipping tea and watching the late morning news

“Avi, It looks like the sun has given up this weekend. Perhaps you should walk to the market with Ariella. She wants to bring us a watermelon. Can you imagine such a thing? How can she carry a watermelon half a kilometer?”

Avi continued with his tea and his news, only half listening as his wife’s voice trailed off into the kitchen. “She’ll be fine,” he replied without looking away from the television. “She knows to bring something small. We’re only here for one more week anyway. Why buy food that we’ll only have to throw out? He got up from the couch and walked to the front window, drawing back the curtain, peering out for a moment at the graying skies. “Thank God for the rain; the garden can use it.”

“I don’t have any idea what I should say.” Amin’s voice came as a feeble tremulous whisper. The boy had sworn to himself that he would be brave when the time came. Now they were standing together in a small garden a few blocks from where Khalid would go to receive his equipment for the attack. They had left home early that morning, telling their parents they were taking part in a football game across town. Neither had offered the adults any unusual parting words, for fear of arousing suspicion. Khalid regretted not being able to say goodbye, but he maintained a stoic demeanor nonetheless, even managing a small smile on his way out the door.

“You are the bravest man I have ever known,” Amin said. “What you do…it makes me sad beyond words, but it also makes me proud. People will remember the name of Khalid for a very long time, my brother.”

“Thank you, Amin,” Khalid replied, taking his brother’s hands in his own. “You do me great honor saying such things, and by being here with me today. Will you promise me one final favor?”

“Of course – anything at all.”

“When the time comes…later…do me the honor of naming a son after me. And when he is grown, tell him about his uncle. Tell him I did my best.”

“I would have done this without your asking,” Amin responded. “Perhaps,” he added, trying to manage a wan smile, “I will have many sons and they will all be Khalid!”

“My brother, you will have a confusing household. One will be more than sufficient.”

The brothers looked at each other for a long time without speaking. Finally Khalid broke the silence. “Amin, it is time for me to go – we have a schedule to keep,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It has been an honor to have you for my brother…and for my friend. Remember – father and mother. Tell them all that we discussed. Make them understand.” He drew Amin to him and they shared a silent embrace. Separating at last, Khalid looked for a moment more into his younger brother’s moist eyes. “May you know peace, my friend.”

“Go with God, my brother,” Amin responded. “You are a hero to your family and to your people.” Khalid walked out of the garden and around the corner without looking back. Amin stood motionless, waiting until long after his brother had gone. Then he slowly turned his face up to the overcast morning sky, praying that the fast-moving gray clouds portended success for the day and happier times for the future.

*          *          *

The cool late morning breeze rattled the fringes of Mrs. Levin’s awning as the old proprietress stood beneath, bidding farewell to Ariella. The day was growing increasingly threatening and the girl was now thankful she had brought an umbrella.

“We are not leaving until next Sunday morning, so I should be able to come by sometime on Saturday. But just in case, here is our new address and phone number in Tel Aviv,” she said, taking a pen from her pocket and scribbling on the back of a discarded register receipt. She handed the slip to Mrs. Levin, accepting from her the small bag of fruit. The watermelons had gone fast, despite the low turnout of shoppers in the market, and Ariella had only gotten one because the woman had set it aside for her earlier that morning.

“Thank you, dear,” the old woman said. “And don’t forget about those beach postcards.”

“And the seashells…” Ariella added. “I’ll be sure to send them both. Before long, your shop will look like a beach souvenir shop.”

“The bag is so heavy, dear,” Mrs. Levin said, noticing Ariella shift it from one arm to the other. “Are you sure you can manage it? I can have someone bring it around later if you’d like.”

“Oh no, it’s not a problem. The house is only a few hundred meters.” She paused for a moment and then set the bag back down on the counter. “Just in case we don’t see each other next weekend,” she said. Stepping toward the old woman, she bent over and warmly embraced the woman for a few seconds. “I will try to come though.”

The woman smiled up at Ariella, then again lifted the bag into the girl’s arms. “Hurry now, before the rain comes. We will pray that you can make it again next weekend. Be sure to give my best to your parents.”

Ariella stepped from the front of the shop, past the stands heaped high with ripe peaches, oranges, mangoes, and apples. She paused for a moment on the sidewalk, glancing up at the darkening sky. She had been coming here nearly every weekend for more than three years, and she knew many of the faces, both of customers and shop owners. Though she would miss Mrs. Levin most of all, she would miss too the general feel of the market, the familiarity of the place. Despite her earlier words to the woman, she knew in her heart that she would not be back next weekend. There would be so many last-minute things to do at home. And besides, what would be the point of buying fruit just before a move? She supposed then that this would be her last look at the place for a long time.

Glancing to her right, she spied a couple of familiar faces and waved briefly. The bag was indeed a bit heavier than she had thought at first, and she found herself shifting it between arms with greater frequency. Perhaps she would take Mrs. Levin up on her offer of a delivery after all. As she turned back to reenter the shop, she noticed a deliveryman peddling his bicycle toward the shop. It looked as though her timing was good after all.

The bicycle ride was nearly two kilometers, much of it uphill, and Khalid made steady but slow progress toward the market, thanking God for the short periods when the wind was at his back. He peddled dispassionately through the streets of central Jerusalem, keeping a careful but discrete watch for police, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The weather was not ideal for his mission. The clouds would keep some people at home. Still, it could have been worse. At least it wasn’t raining yet. The market would still be quite busy.

The bicycle was old and nondescript, faded blue paint, three speeds. It looked precisely like all of the other delivery bicycles in common use at the market. Also, like those delivery bikes, it was equipped with a large square box that sat above the front wheel, just ahead of the handlebars. The storage box had been painted many years ago with silver paint, but now the edges were rusted, the finish weathered and worn. Though it could not be discerned without careful examination, the lid of the box had been screwed shut. Khalid had never even looked inside. His instructions were simple. Find a proper location. Hold down the small black button mounted on the handlebars for three continuous seconds. This was so it could not be set off accidentally.

Though the day was cool and windy, Khalid was sweating profusely by the time he rounded the south corner of the market’s main avenue. The entire marketplace was more than ten blocks long and the choice of precise location was entirely his. Do not attract attention, they had said. Ride at the same speed as everyone else. Best if you do not stop before pushing the button…just keep riding.

He was somewhat disappointed to see no obvious large crowds. Though there were plenty of shoppers and shopkeepers, they were distributed quite evenly along the avenue. Then, to his right, about fifty meters ahead, a waving hand caught his eye. A young woman, about his age, standing in front of a vegetable stand, smiling and calling out to some friends. The stand had an open front and there were more shoppers inside. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Focusing his gaze on the sign above the shop’s awning, he positioned his right hand near the button and peddled slowly, resolutely, toward the vegetable stand.

“Mrs. Levin,” Ariella called into the rear of the shop. “I think I’ll take you up on that delivery. There’s a man coming just n…”

The first sprinkles of late morning rain had just begun to fall on the marketplace. At that moment, the center of the avenue, and the vegetable stand, and a dozen other shops like it, and the old woman, and the young girl, and two dozen others much like them, all disappeared in one apocalyptic flash of brilliant white light. And with them, a young man who had closed his eyes at the last moment, just as his trembling thumb pushed firmly down on the button.

“How is your wife managing through all of this?” Avi asked, staring into Hanan’s sleepless eyes.

“Not so good,” Hanan responded quietly. “She does not talk anymore. She does not understand how such a thing can happen. How we could not have known…How is it with your family?”

“She was our only child. Things will never be the same,” Avi replied. “Still, in the end, she got her wish. We were on the verge of moving away. Now though, we will stay. If I had moved them away sooner, we would still be together. But I would never have understood the reason she so wanted to remain here. Now that I understand, I am not sure how I can bear it.”

“I have other children,” Hanan said, “and for this I thank God. Still, it is my son who tries to make me understand why someone would do such a horrible thing. He tries to talk as though he is guessing at Khalid’s motives, yet it seems clear that his understanding is first-hand. My son – he was strong-willed, obstinate – even if I had known, could I have stopped him? I cannot believe it. Do you know the thing that now scares me the most?”

“If I had to guess,” Avi said, “I would say you fear for your other son.”

“In a way,” Hanan said, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement of Avi’s insight, “you are fortunate to have no more children. It sounds like a cold thing to say – a thoughtless thing. But this has become a world unfit for children. I will live now every day, waiting to learn that my remaining son has chosen the same path as his brother. And even with such knowledge, what can I do?”

“People say there is no place for dialog any longer. If the politicians cannot talk to each other, then surely families still can. I suppose all you can do is to continue talking with your son.”

“It is too much to ask, but I wonder if it would be helpful to have him meet you as well. Putting a live human face on all of the rhetoric surely would help to make him see.”

“I would be proud to talk with him,” Avi said. “I think that my daughter would have expected no less of me…”

Neither man spoke for a long moment. Both just stared silently down at the new polished wood table.

Finally Hanan spoke one last time. “I am thankful that you chose to come. There are many who would not have even considered such a thing. I am happy also that you have chosen to remain here in the city. I think your daughter would be proud of you.”

“I too am happy that you chose to speak with me,” Avi replied, extending his hand as he rose from his seat. “I think that now it is your job to make your son understand, and any way that I can help would be an honor.”

The two men remained with clasped hands for several seconds. Each did his best to muster a feeble smile for the other’s benefit. Avi took one more cursory glance around the new restaurant, now crowded with customers. He walked through the glass door and out onto the sidewalk, just as the brilliant red evening sun began to dip below the rooftops of west Jerusalem.