Chapter 27

Chapter 271,929 wordsCompleted

Abu Adil is still in the hospital while soldiers sweep every room of the Karmi house. Electronic metal detectors beep nonstop. The troops break through the basement wall, enter the vault, and spend half an hour removing boxes. Adil and his brother Nuwar are arrested, then released after two days of relentless interrogation. On the third day the family receives an order to vacate the house. Men gather in the streets, whispering about the imminent destruction of the Karmi house, the arms cache found in the vault, and the secret guerrilla cell of Basil, Usama, Lina and others. Women climb onto rooftops, watching the frantic removal of furniture—beds, sofas, refrigerator, washing machine—into trucks. Only thirty minutes remain.

Abu Nawwaf, Shahada and Sabir, who missed work at the factory, stay to help Adil move the furniture. No one mentions the recent death of Zuhdi. Abu Sabir, tears streaming, watches from the street; his wife Um Sabir beats her hands together on a neighbour’s roof in distress. From a window of Usama’s mother’s house, Adil’s mother shouts to Sabir, “Tell Adil not to forget the kidney machine.” Sabir runs to relay the message; Adil replies, “Yes, okay. Thanks, Sabir,” and is ordered to help Shahada.

Nuwar, under a soldier’s watchful eye, packs suitcases in her room. Abu Nawwaf whispers again, “Your mother says don’t forget the kidney machine,” and Adil instinctively pushes the thought away, focusing on moving sofas, turning beds, stacking plates, and loading boxes. He repeatedly tells others to take only necessities, to leave the rest to be blown up. A soldier counts down, “Ten more minutes.” Adil’s mind oscillates between saving the dialysis machine and completing the evacuation. He grabs a heavy wardrobe, bears its weight, sweats, and hears shouts from soldiers demanding progress.

When the timer expires, Adil hesitates about the machine. He debates whether to tell the officer, hoping for a brief delay, but fears his indecision will cost his father’s life. In a flash of inner turmoil, he touches the Israeli officer on the shoulder. The officer, recognizing Adil’s humanity, asks, “Did you want something?” Adil, stunned, asks when the house will be blown up. The officer replies, “Now,” and looks at the house as if through mist. He describes the house’s memories—steps, courtyard, marble basins, lemon‑tree evenings—linking them to Adil’s own past and the impossibility of forgetting them. The officer’s face reminds Adil of his father, blurring the line between enemy and kin.

The demolition begins. Men stand at a distance, sad‑eyed, as a deafening explosion shatters the house. Stones rain, women on rooftops ululate, and the lemon tree catches fire in the courtyard. Soldiers in dark cars exude arrogance. Dust, fog, and the smell of lemonwood mingle with the acrid dust. Adil feels a surge of rage, bitterness, and a god‑like impotence, reflecting on the cyclical ascent and fall of his people, on dreams of building an indestructible house, and on the futility of violence. He imagines a world of peace, flutes, grazing sheep, and endless rows of beautiful houses, but the reality is the ruined Karmi home and the dispersing crowd.

After the blast, the men disperse, women crawl down from roofs, and Adil slips away through narrow backstreets to the main square. He watches townspeople resume their daily routines: the town clock ticks, flowers grow taller, the smell of roasting coffee and kanafa drifts, soap‑factory chimneys belch smoke. Vendors shout “Fish from Gaza! Oranges from Jaffa! Bananas from Jericho!” A peddler rattles cymbals; a newspaper boy cries headlines about a “Kissinger solution to the Middle East crisis.” People eat, shop, smile, and life appears unchanged despite the house’s destruction. Adil walks in silence through the square, absorbing the ordinary continuity of his occupied world.