Chapter 8

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April 18th, 1:00 p.m. The Upper West Side, New York City

This chapter is dedicated to neighbor Doron Maresky, whose knowledge of Israeli-Palestinian relations was extremely helpful.

Sabir entered through the grand wrought-iron, lion-clad gates of the west entrance of the ColumbiaUniversity campus and made his way to Dodge Hall, which housed the School of Fine Arts. He didn't need to walk inside because he spotted Adalet. She wore etched blue jeans and a light blue Columbia sweatshirt on the lawn in front of the building with two of her friends.

He stood on the lawn about thirty feet from her, then she caught his gaze. At first, she did not recognize the man staring at her and held a confused look on her face for a moment, then she nodded in recognition. Adalet excused herself and ran to him for a kiss and long embrace. He had long since eschewed the Arabic aversion to public displays of affection with the opposite sex. By traditional standards, an enlightened terrorist, indeed. And besides, this is America where the women dress like whores. He had to admit he did not dislike it, in spite of the cultural inhibition against exposed female flesh. When he was a teen, he and his friends would spend time after school bragging of their sexual exploits that never occurred.

In English, she said, "It has been too long. Are we safe?"

Her warmth was a welcome sensation that conjured up the memory of prior encounters with her. "I took care of my friends back home. Not to worry, my beloved."

"They said--" she spoke with wide eyed excitement when he pressed his two fingers against her lips.

"In the mother tongue," he said in Arabic.

They were never supposed to be together, but fate had another plan in mind. Like him, Adalet grew up on the West Bank, but they never knew each other until the tragic chain of events that had brought them together. Adalet's father, Sidayim Ramli, a man of stocky build with hair graying at the temples, was a teacher at Sha'ar Bin Salehl high school in Bil'n, a village twenty miles northwest of Jerusalem. An impassioned anti-Semite who conducted his classes as a recruitment tool to further the resistance, he was instrumental in supporting Abdullah Abu Rahmah in leading protests against the Israeli government years ago. He taught in a dimly lit undersized classroom with oversized school desks and deteriorating walls that leaked water during the rains, and pontificated on why the Jews were not only impure but that Mohammed's curse put upon them would condemn them to a fiery death. It was ironic that Sidayim's rhetoric was tame when measured against the like-minded politicians and terrorists of the day.

Sabir came to understand that the Arabic language was rife with wicked hyperbole. Frighteningly real to the outsider, but strangely comforting to his people—a way of keeping the dream alive. All the Arab leaders knew this. Sidayim did not follow through with actions but Sabir had forgiven him for it. In fact, he respected Sidayim because his rhetoric was directed solely toward Israel, the only true enemy in their shared opinion.

At only sixteen years of age, after having been taken in by Sidayim's charismatic rants, Sabir, like several of his classmates, yearned to join the Islamic Jihad. He never knew his father, who died of tuberculosis in the camps when Sabir was only two. Sidayim was the perfect paternal replacement.

Adalet, like most other Palestinian girls of the day, dressed in traditional clothing, more ornate and colorful than that of the women of their more prosperous neighbors. They did not need to cover their faces, thereby calling themselves 'progressive'. Yet, young women still were not permitted to work outside the home and needed escorts when traveling alone.

Sabir first laid eyes on Adalet during a lecture given by her father at a local community college. Five years his junior and still in high school, she had come with a couple of her friends. Her honey shaded skin and almond shaped eyes drew his attention. Knowing he could not publicly approach her, he had to find a more clandestine way of doing so. The cultural divide between their families was steep but as far as Sabir saw it, not insurmountable.

Adalet, through Sidayim's exalted position, was able to live in a one-story single family home made of white stone. Although not considered luxurious by western standards, the fact that they had their own kitchen, sitting room, bathing room, and small bedrooms, denoted the Ramli's enhanced social status. Sabir and his family were camp rats, whose home consisted of small cement-block huts with corrugated metal doors and roofing. Their 'kitchen' consisted of a metal grate placed over a charcoal pit, and thin mats for beds. As for bathing and washing clothes, a large metal drum was used.

He knew early on that the quickest way to Adalet's heart was through Sidayim, who called sporadic nighttime meetings with his former 'students' to discuss strategies for beating back the uninvited West Bankers, as he put it. Now seen as a dutiful soldier at only nineteen in the Palestinian struggle to evict and destroy these Jews, Sabir and Sidayim's respect for each other grew stronger.

One night after other boys dispersed following one of their meetings, Sabir made his appeal.

"Adalet is not taken, is she?" he asked.

Sidayim was quick to recognize where this was going, but opted to challenge him, his black mustache twitching with mock annoyance. "Now, why would you want to know about that?" he said with a gentle smile.

Sabir said, "I only asked because..."

"You like her, eh?" Sidayim asked, wearing a crooked grin and a raised eyebrow.

Sabir nodded repeatedly without a word, accepting that his feelings for Adalet were no longer secret.

"You do realize that she has lofty aspirations that you do not have?" Sidayim asked in mock accusatory fashion. "And that she may not be interested in such a camp rat of the likes of you?

"I did not mean—"

Sidayim stopped the charade. "No need to say it, Sabir. You have my permission to see her, in the customary way and places. We do understand each other?"

"Of course. I have never felt this way about a girl before."

"You must promise me one thing—that you will look after her. She is my only one."

The political tension in the West Bank had risen to an all-time high. Some within the PA wanted to work with the Israelis. Sidayim, of course, would have none of it. His position in the Palestinian Authority enabled him to expose those people and his speeches had promised no less. It was known that the West Bankers despised him. So on the day he was abducted and found dead the following day floating in the Jordan River with a bullet through his brain, the press assumed that the Israelis killed him, although it was never proven. Sabir wept for the first time.

Adalet was forced to work part time while going to school to help support the family. Her older brothers were imprisoned for terrorist activities, so the onus was on her and her mother to run the household. It was only a matter of time before they lost their home and thus their social status. The only hope for her was the college savings Sidayim had stashed away for her.

That was not the end of it. Israeli settlers broke into her home while she was alone studying 'to finish the job'. It infuriated Sabir that a Jew had so brutally violated her when he had never gotten the chance to bare his soul to her. So with the help of his brothers, he and his friends tracked down each of those responsible and beat them to a pulp.

Sabir was now her hero and had been ever since.

In English, she said, "You should know that your new friends already called me. They will call me if they need me."

"Let us hope it won't come to that. But if it does, I'm sure that you will put on the performance of a lifetime for them, my habibti."

* * *

Jared waited just inside the Central Park entrance on West 72nd Street, now closed to vehicular traffic. He wore a casual button down shirt and jeans, with a shoulder bag. The entrance was flanked by two wooden trellises, looking like natural covered bridges adorned only with twig sized vines, it being too early in the season for any ivy to show. He got Kate's attention with a wave as she arrived with the gift box clenched in her hand. He walked toward her and when he leaned in to hug her, she tensed up and pulled back, sensing the apprehension as she pulled back both lips.

"We really need to talk." Her quivering jaw and labored breathing were something Jared hadn't noticed before.

"Hey, I have your stuff," he said, pulling out a paper bag that contained several small baggies of gold tinted powder.

She grabbed it out of his hand and quickly stuffed into her purse. Kate eyed him with incredulity, with the glowering eyes of admonishment. "Not here, Jared. Jesus, what is wrong with you?"

Wishing he hadn't been so careless as to ignore her discomfort, he said, "I'm sorry. My bad."

Kate stammered. "Jared, I think...that we should ...go our separate ways. You know?"

Frowning, he pressed her for a reason. "Hey, where is this coming from? I know you're stressed, but—"

"I really want to be with you but I don't think that you really want to be with me. I mean, our relationship so far is based on these." She grasped her purse.

"But I really want to see you. That's what you want, right?"

Flinching as if he'd poked her on the forehead, she replied, "Is that what you want, Jared? I just can't believe you."

The information he'd been tasked to retrieve would still be locked away in Frugeré's confidential lab notes and most probably in Kate's head. His only option was to save face. "Kate, don't let Vanessa tell you what to do with your life," he said in the most serious tone he'd ever taken with her. "I can only imagine what burden you must be carrying right now. I can see it in your face."

For a moment, he thought she might cave, hoping that she'd finally realize that her priorities and allegiance to Vanessa had to change. He noticed her hands were quivering, seemingly not knowing what to do with them.

Kate shook her head. "We just can't continue this 'thing' that we have. Whatever 'this' is," she said, holding up her arm and rocking her wrist to and fro between them, index finger extended. "I'm sorry, I just can't." Her jittery voice was struggling to spit out the words.

After a moment, she composed herself. "I appreciate what you shared with me. That's why I thought you might like this," she said, glancing down to her purse as she pulled out the box. She leaned forward and gave him a harmless peck on the cheek, then whispered as she drew close to his left ear, "You still have my number when you have more stuff for me, okay?"

He had to acknowledge her honesty, their relationship was a sham, even if Kate didn't know the truth of it. Yet, he would be damned if Kate would be drawn into Vanessa's disease.

"You don't have to put up with her," he repeated, sounding less like a jilted boyfriend or even a jaded social worker, but rather as a concerned sibling.

"I gotta go. Good luck, Jared," she said with a chilled edge.

"No, wait!" he started, but Kate had already turned away and headed for the sidewalk. He wanted to run after her but didn't want to make a scene. Her gait turned into a steady saunter until she reached the curb to hail an approaching cab. After she entered and closed the door, the taxi started off. Through the window, he saw her throw a quick glance back at him, then turned forward as she punched a number on a burner phone before bringing it up to her ear.

Jared found himself standing alone with nothing he could report back to his contact. He couldn't help but sense that Kate had wanted to impart something to him. She may have been too frightened to share the information in a public place. Perhaps the answer, he thought, was wrapped inside the box.

He sat on a nearby park bench, removed his shoulder bag and then unwrapped his gift. When he opened the unmarked white box, he saw a folded piece of white lined paper wrapped in dark blue crumpled tissue. Jared carefully unfolded it, only to find that it was completely blank. Holding the sheet in his hand, his fingers ran over what seemed like a thin film of dust on it, only then realizing that the white powdered substance had stained his fingertips, like flour. Before he knew it, his fingers turned beet red. Jared didn't know what was happening.

Jared, overcome with panic, stood up and started to run toward Central Park West, dropping the box as the deadly sheet of paper flew out, blowing away in the swirling spring time wind. He broke out into a sweat and became extremely nauseous. He lost his sense of balance as he stumbled forward to the curb, his run deteriorating into a drunken stumble. When he started crossing the street, he lost all sense of reality and reason, and finally his balance. Then his heart jolted to a painful, sudden halt. The last thing he heard was the earsplitting sound of screeching brakes of the oncoming truck right before his corpse struck the blacktop.

Two different events occur less than 50 blocks from each other. What do you think was Sabir's role in what happened in Central Park? What do you think Adalet's roll will be in all of this?

Copyright © 2016 by Alan Field. All Rights Reserved.  



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