Chapter 13. Return
Return
Haifa becomes progressively darker as they near the city. The storm clouds that were beginning to look menacing over Nazareth now loom right over them—visible even in the darkness—as Haifa parks in front of Rania’s apartment.
“Perfect night for some shay,” Rania says, shifting in her seat to look at Haifa.
“Yallah, then.” Haifa exits the car and jogs around the other side to help Rania out in the rain. She leans on her arm.
The inside of the stairwell echoes with muffled rain. Rania fumbles with her keys for a moment, but when they step inside, her home is quiet. Haifa checks the bedroom, where Marina is sleeping peacefully. She closes the door gently.
“Is Khaled still here?” she whispers to Rania.
She nods. “In the other bedroom.”
“We should also probably sleep. It’s already midnight.”
Rania nods and then pauses; for a moment there is only the sound of rain splashing against the windows.
“I loved your mom,” she says finally. There is a catch in her voice—Haifa looks over and Rania’s eyes brim with the same wetness that the city cries with. “I—”
“Oh, auntie.”
“I loved your mom. I loved your mom.” Rania takes a shuddering gasp in as she gives in to her sobs. Standing alone, crying, Rania appears like a vulnerable young girl. The windows shake slightly in their frames with the wind. “I loved your mom. I loved your mom.”
“Khalto.” Haifa walks to Rania and pulls her in for a hug. She wishes she knew if it was appropriate to call her habibti or hayati; the etiquette stalls her tongue, though terms of love are all she wants to say.
“I loved your mom.” Rania reaches up to brush the tears from her eyes. She looks down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s go to sleep.”
Haifa walks her to the bedroom and pulls down the nightgown hanging behind her door. She pauses, then gives her a kiss on the forehead as she would for Marina, as she places it in Rania’s hands.
“Good night, Rania.”
“Tisbahi ala kheir,” she says. May you wake up to good news.
Thunder claps in the distance, and Marina’s lungs burn on waking. She gasps in the darkness, but she can hardly hear her own inhales over the fierce booms. The tiny watch alarm stops beeping as she clicks the side button to silence it. She checks the time: 2 AM.
Peeling back the blanket, she only needs to put socks on, as she has been dressed since the evening, when Khaled brought them back in a silent car.
Marina tiptoes to the living room, where Haifa’s light snores can barely be heard above the din of the storm.
It offers perfect cover as she slides the keys into her pocket and slips into her shoes, quietly locking the door behind her.
Marina needs no map to recall where she is going. Her lungs heave as she climbs the steps into the city, half racing, half jogging. Tariq’s body is buried below the earth; atop him lies the bitter salt. In her head echo his cries: “Help me. Help me. Help me.”
All around her, the last of the vehicles of the evening are clearing away and doors are shutting behind people as they seek shelter from the storm—it is only Marina who stays on the street, her legs stumbling over one another. The only light comes from the streetlamps.
“Marina!” A voice yells to her from the street, and she turns. Khaled’s face is pale with nerves as he sits in his grandmother’s idle car, waving Marina over.
The rain begins to fall. It’s quiet at first, but as soon as Marina crosses the street and gets inside, it hammers her skin with a force that can only come from the sea. As she slams the door shut behind her, the world becomes muted for a brief second.
“What are you doing here?” she says, panting.
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here!” Khaled’s mouth is set in a grim line, but it lifts a little.
“I—”
“I knew it.” He slams the steering wheel. “You’re such a bad liar. I knew you were going to go find his grave.”
“Well.” Marina fumbles for an excuse and throws one hand in the air nervously. “Now that you’re here, do you know where we can find a construction site?”
Khaled laughs, a forceful exhale out of his lips. “Are you serious? You really want to go through with this?” He gestures to the storm. “Look around you.”
“Fine. I’ll just go myself.” Marina grabs the door handle, but Khaled locks the doors.
“No.” He sighs, and his eyebrows are knit together in concern. “No. You won’t. Are you kidding me?”
Marina unlocks the door. “No. There’s an injustice here.”
Khaled groans and slams the steering wheel again. “Fine. I can at least drive you, if you’re going to be so determined.”
“Thank you,” Marina says. Khaled nods and shifts the car into drive. They slowly inch up the street, both searching in the midst of the sheets of rain for orange construction cones.
The wind whips powerful gusts, dangerously swaying traffic lights held up by thick wire; lights flicker in bursts and flashes, illuminating the dark, hungry night as the power shifts in and out; rain pours in a never-ending torrent, a sheet of water that slams against the windows and pavement.
The storm is here.
“I think that’s one! Over there!” Marina yells at Khaled over the sound of rain cracking against the car.
He says something back but Marina can’t hear him. Shoulders hunched over the steering wheel, he pushes forward as gingerly as he can through the flooding streets. The orange cones become clearer as they drive closer.
“I’ll go check!” Marina yells. She pushes against the car door at the same time that the wind pushes against her; as soon as it’s just cracked open a few inches, a gust of wind shoves the car door back onto her hand and slams her ring finger inside.
Khaled climbs over her, reaching both arms forward to force the door open.
Marina frees her finger and there is no pain.
Adrenaline courses through her veins instead of blood.
She rushes through the small opening Khaled has made for her and all of a sudden, the wind and rain and storm have her in their clutches.
They clamor against her, her steps belabored against the full force of nature.
The wind asks her to keep her eyes closed, but she can’t—squinting, with water pouring off of her hair and eyelashes, she searches the construction site for a jackhammer. A glint of silver flashes against a flickering streetlight.
She doesn’t need to check that the street is empty—they truly are the only ones left outside now. Marina waves with her arms and points to the jackhammer, hoping Khaled can see her and understand. Her clothes begin to weigh heavily on her limbs, sinking her with their watery burden.
Marina grabs the handle and pulls, but the metal doesn’t have any traction against her skin in the rain. It’s heavy. She lifts it up from its body and nearly runs right into Khaled.
“Let me.”
The wind has abated slightly, and it is now only the rain that pours on them, like a well has tipped upside down over the city.
Khaled lifts the jackhammer and they run back to the car together, water flying from the tails of their clothes behind them. Marina gasps as she sits back in the car.
“Did you see? No cord!” she exclaims, sitting back with an exuberant grin over her face.
The jackhammer being a battery-operated handheld feels like a sign from the universe to keep going.
Her wet hair plasters itself to her headrest, and cold water seeps through the unexposed part of her neck.
She looks down, realizing just how wet she is.
“I’m sorry. I’ll help you clean your car tomorrow. ”
Khaled smiles grimly. “If you make it to tomorrow without being arrested.”
“Do you see the streets?” Marina gestures widely to the empty, flickering city. “This is the perfect night to do it!”
Khaled just shakes his head silently as he inches forward, following Marina’s directions. The parking lot—the mass grave—comes into view. She suddenly sobers as they park beside it.
“I can’t come with you,” Khaled says, looking at her.
“I know.”
His gaze holds her for several seconds. Neither looks away.
“I’ll help you carry the jackhammer to the site. Then I have to wait here.”
“Okay,” Marina breathes, but she knows he doesn’t hear her over the storm outside.
Khaled cradles the tool in his arms like a baby as they both half run, half walk to the empty parking lot. There is one working streetlamp here, and its yellow light comes in strobes of broken rain droplets that scatter over their somber faces.
“Oh, my god.” There, in the same spot that it was earlier that day, is the pile of salt. Even now, with rain and wind and storm, it still stands. Not a single grain is left out of place. Marina walks over to it and points. She looks up at Khaled. “Tariq.”
He stands beside her, looking down, his eyes wide.
“Hey!” A barking sound bites through the wind and stabs Marina’s ears. She looks up, muscles immediately tense.
A pair of Israeli soldiers walks toward them.
Marina glances at Khaled, whose face is rigid with panic—she grabs the jackhammer and, fingers stumbling, feels for the switch and turns it on and there, the rumbling power courses through her arms and she holds it steady over the pile of salt; the wind whips at her face, stealing breath right from her lungs and yet she has never breathed better—all of a sudden there is air, an abundance of oxygen that fills her lungs despite everything.
The soldier yells again. They both run toward her. Khaled grips her arm. One of the soldiers raises his gun.
Sleep drifts in and out of Haifa’s hand that night. Her mother had returned to her. Told her to go home. And Haifa went home—to Rania’s. She would go tomorrow, she rationalized. The storm would be too much tonight.
But now, lying on the couch, eyes wide open, Haifa wants to fulfill her mother’s wish.
Go home.
She wants to go home.
Haifa sits up, stretching out her neck, and moves to check on Marina. As she opens the door, a flash of lightning illuminates the room.
The bed is empty.