SAMPLE CHAPTER

 “Being a refugee is much more than a political status. It is the most pervasive kind of cruelty that can be exercised against a human being. You are forcibly robbing this human being of all aspects that would make human life not just tolerable but meaningful…” – “Human Flow”; an Amazon Original Movie, directed by Ai Weiwei

During spring break in April of 1966, Wessal’s mother asked her to join her in the family room.

“Sit down, Wessal,” she said. “I have some news for you.”

Wessal sat on the sofa next to her mother.

“Is everything all right, Yama? Is Yaba okay?”

“Everything is fine, my dear. I just want to tell you that my brother wants to talk to us about your cousin.”

Wessal’s mind connected the dots.

Her mother said, “But before they arrive, I want to talk to you about your father’s brother and his son.”

Wessal tried to control her breathing. Two marriage offers. One from the son of an uncle on her mother’s side, the other from the son of an uncle on her father’s side. Her cousins were nice. Older than her by almost a decade, but good men. And nowhere near marriage material.

“Yama, I don’t want to talk about—”

“Wessal, we need to hear them out. You know how these things work.”

“Yama, I . . . I can’t even think about it.”

“It’s just as difficult for me, Wessal, dear. It will be a slap in the face of whoever you turn down.”

Wessal got up and walked out the front door.

“Wessal,” her mother called after her, “where are you going?”

Salima was in her bedroom when Wessal burst in.

She blurted, “They’re making me marry a cousin!”

“Which one? The cute one?”

“I don’t want any of them, Salima!”

“Why not? Who do you want?”

“I want to use your phone. I need to call my friend Nadua.”

Late that evening as Abe was scrubbing down after a day of assisting with surgeries in the operating room, Nadua walked into the scrub room.

He greeted her and said, “You coming on shift or going off?”

She said, “I just got a phone call from Nablus.”

“What happened? Is my mother okay?”

“It was from Wessal.”

He stopped what he was doing, looked at her, said, “Is she all right? You seem worried.”

“Let’s talk in the lounge.”

“I’ll finish up and meet you there in five minutes.”

Nadua walked out.

Abe shrugged out of his scrubs and hurried into his street clothes.

Six minutes later, they were sitting at a table across from each other in the doctor’s lounge.

“Both of them are her cousins,” Nadua was saying. “One from each side of the family.”

Abe looked at her, said, “Did she . . . does she want . . .” His words trailed off, his mind numb.

She said, “All that matters, Abe, is that they have each made formal marriage proposals to her. And both of them are pressing her to accept.”

“Nadua, I have just a handful of weeks before I finish my last year and I . . .” he stopped, his mind racing. “This is pretty sudden,” he said.

“Sudden? Abe, she’s twenty-four. She’s been available for at least six years.”

“What am I supposed to say when my home address is Askar Camp 1, Nablus, West Bank, Jordan, when two suitors who are—”

“Abe, do you love her?”

He looked at her, said, “This is an Arabic country in the Middle East, Nadua. A Muslim, Islamic culture. Love has nothing to do with it when—”

“I asked you, do you love her?”

“ . . . Yes. I love her. But I have nothing to off—”

“Then go get her, Abe. Because, by Allah, she loves you too. You are not a refugee, Abe. You are not that little boy the IDF pulled out of your bed eighteen years ago and marched to the camps. In six weeks, you are a doctor, a surgeon. You won the biggest scholarship in the history of the nation of Jordan. You are a teacher, a gentleman, a respected scholar with two degrees—one of them a terminus degree in medicine. If you don’t go get her, you will lose her. You need to make a decision, Abe. Now.”

* * *

Abe arrived at Wessal’s house at five o’clock the next morning. The driver parked and Abe bounded up the forty-four steps above street level in a sliver over six seconds just as the ummah began blowing and the adhans began their call to morning prayer.

Before he could knock, the door suddenly opened and Wessal’s brother Hisham stepped out followed by Nizam.

“Abe!” the brothers called out loudly in unison over the sound of the prayer reverberating off the mountain walls holding the Nablus valley between them.

“What are you doing here?” Nizam asked.

Hisham added, “Are you going to mosque, brother?”

“I am going to propose,” Abe blurted.

“You are going to where?” Nizam said over the ummah.

“To propose.”

Hisham said, “What would you like to propose?”

“No, I mean—” just then, there was a lull in the adhans and the ummah before Abe could lower his voice—”I am going to propose marriage to Wessal!”

He shut his mouth quickly and cringed, but it was too late. His proposal was already echoing off of the silent white limestone buildings and ricocheting to the other side of the valley and back again.

Hisham and Nizam broke into wide grins and pulled Abe to them in a three-way bear hug.

Wessal’s mother stepped out of the door in her nightgown and bathrobe, smiling.

Wessal immediately appeared behind her, pulling a coat over her nightgown, pressed through them at the front door, and stood nervously in front of Abe. Their eyes sparkled like teenagers in love.

Inside, the rest of the family gathered in the family room. Abe followed them in and stood before them.

He announced to them, “I love Wessal. I will provide for her, I promise. Right now, I do not have money for the traditional dowry, but I—”

Her mother cut in, beaming, “Do not to worry, my son. We are happy with you marrying our Wessal if she is willing.”

She looked at Wessal.

Abe looked at Wessal. He said, “Will you—”

Wessal smiled and nodded and said yes before he could finish the last two words.

Her father said, “We are so happy! Now we don’t have to choose between her two cousins and cause family problems forever.”

Hisham said, “And I am happy to have you as a brother because I will not need to pay a doctor for anything.”

Nizam said, “And I’m happy to have you as a brother because now I won’t be the shortest brother in the family.”

The family laughed.

Wessal’s mother said, “Abe, have you told your parents?”

Abe looked at her blankly for a moment, suddenly that timid boy again at the thought of Hammudah’s anger when he heard the news.

He said, “No. Not yet.”

Wessal said, “May I come with you?”

“No. This is something I must do myself. But I will return today before I leave for Beirut.”

“Beirut?” she said. “Can’t you stay for a while?”

“No. I have to get back to the hospital. I have tests all this week and I’m on call. I graduate in two weeks.”

He looked at her. He wanted to hug her, hold her in his arms, touch her cheek, run his fingers through her hair. He’d imagined it a thousand times.

But it would have to wait.

He smiled at her, nodded at them all, and turned to go.

The family stood smiling at one another as the sound of his footfalls faded down the steps.

They heard his footfalls stop halfway down.

They heard his footsteps on the stone steps as he treaded back up.

Wessal’s mother began to tear up as she sputtered, “He already misses her!”

Abe’s head popped in through the front door and he said, “Can somebody give me a ride to Askar Camp? I think the driver went to mosque.”

Dawn was pushing aside the twilight glow by the time Abe arrived at his family’s home in Askar Camp. He had solved a family dilemma for Wessal and her parents, but he knew this conversation would not go quite so happily.

Hammudah was just stepping out the front door when he saw Abe get out of the car with Hisham at the wheel.

“Yaba,” Abe greeted his father.

“What are you doing in Nablus, my son? Summer vacation isn’t for another three weeks, is it not?”

“No, Yaba. I have other news.”

Inside the tent a few minutes later, Abe stood before Hammudah and Amina, who were seated on a new couch Abe had bought them the previous summer, and told them he had proposed to Wessal Nabulsi.

Amina gasped and abruptly put a hand over her mouth as if Abe had slapped her.

Hammudah leapt from the couch and erupted. “You did what?”

“Why?” Amina cried out. “That girl is from a big city. She’s no good for you, my son.”

Hammudah said, “You will choose someone from your own family, from Lydda.”

“The only family members we have from Lydda are living in this camp, Yaba. And I will not marry any of them.”

Hammudah said, “You must take somebody from this family, not from Nablus!”

“We cannot accept Wessal,” Amina said.

Abe looked at his mother and said, “Yama . . . I hope someday you will accept Wessal as my wife.” He looked at his father and added, “I have made my decision.”

“We will do nothing for you and her,” his mother said bitterly.

Their anger was a wall. A deep family wound had been ripped open.

Abe knew why they were angry. He had not only chosen to marry a stranger but had also excluded his parents from the entire process. He had disrespected his parents. It was not their custom. It was not proper. But it was necessary.

His mother begged, “There are so many girls here who want to marry you, my son!”

Abe said, “I chose Wessal because I love her. I want to be independent of these rules, . No matter what you think. She will be my wife.”

“But how could you do this to us, my son? You have disrespected us.”

“Yama, please try to understand. I had no time to discuss it with you. And you know you would have never agreed to my marrying Wessal anyway. I did what I had to do. I have always chosen carefully in every step of my life. And I have chosen well each step. Now I have chosen well again. I love her. And she will be my wife.”

“This is not the will of Allah. You must leave, now, Abed,” Hammudah said with a thrust of a thick finger toward the door.

Abe strode out of the house. His twelve-year-old sister Wafáa followed him.

Outside, Abe got in the car. Wafáa stood at his window.

She said, “You will come back, won’t you, Abed?”

“I must live my own life,” Abe said, putting his hand on hers on the window jamb. “But I will always be your brother, no matter where I go. I will not forget you. Tell your brothers and sisters.”

She kissed his hand. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead.

What tattered fabric that remained of his strained and cracking

refugee family was now irrevocably torn.

His father appeared at the front door of the house and glared at Abe. He called Wafáa inside. She went in. He pulled the door shut.

Abe got in the car and he and Hisham drove away.