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Paradise Lost
by Edna Yaghi
In the land of the
wild honeysuckle where fires of freedom burn in thehearts of the brave
and songs of liberty flow in the minds of the free,
dwelt a humble
nobleman by the name of Sharif. At one time, Sharif sold falafel
near the outskirts of an ancient city in the forgotten country of
'Paradise Lost.' For many years he had been denied all means of
obtaining an education by the Israeli oppressors who shut the
universities and occupied his ancestral home, so he sold falafel.
Habitually, near the side of the road he placed his stand under
the shade of an old cedar tree which spread its branches out as a
partial cover from the intense heat of the sun.
Every day Sharif would
rise at the flush of dawn, just when pink tinged
the purple complexion
of the infant day, gather his equipment and head for the
peripheries of "Paradise Lost." Early mornings brought
the scent of wild honeysuckle and jasmine, when the city was yet
cuddled under the fading protective quilt of night. Wild
pinkish-brown doves and keen-eyed hawks fought for survival in the
stillness of the new day as Sharif plodded to his customary tree
and set up his stand. One particular morning he was feeling
especially depressed. His people were incessantly dying under a
purge of hate. No one was spared death or injury from speechless
babe to the elderly. The prospect of peace had become merely a
phantom for dreamers. As he readied his wares he said to the
winds, which were emancipated, "I can hear the chains of
slavery rattling in the doom of bondage. When will the bonds be
broken and my people be free? Oh Lord, give us strength and
patience to bear our enslavement!"
Soon, the crisp
tantalizing smell of falafel rose to greet the first morning
scents of flowers and leaves devoid yet of the exhausts of thick
smoke that puffed out of the bottoms of cars and buses. The first
customers were small children who rubbed the sleep from their eyes
as they waited for their favorite food. "Good morning,
Uncle," a small voice piped out, "please give me ten
falafel." The hand behind the voice pushed the brown coins
towards the vendor.
"Well, good
morning Laith, my favorite customer. What have you got up your
sleeve today that makes you look in such a hurry?"
He saw the excitement
in the young boy's eyes as the child exclaimed with enthusiasm,
"Oh, Uncle Sharif, I'm making a beautiful kite and today I
shall finish it! In the afternoon I will bring it here to show it
to you. It's going to be a big surprise!"
Sharif chuckled as he
watched Laith run off towards his home, remembering with nostalgia
those carefree boyish days not long ago when he himself had
designed and proudly flown his own kites. The rest of his morning
passed as usual and when the sun climbed high in the pallid sky
and business dwindled to a crawl, Sharif gathered his goods,
packed them neatly together and headed for his mid-day break to
wait for the cool of the afternoon. As he walked, lines of cars
divulged themselves into the city as their black fumes and blaring
horns polluted the ancient atmosphere that had witnessed countless
civilizations and forgotten empires in the place that Sharif had
always known as home, the home of his ancestors from time
immemorial. A lone wild dove glided through the mid-day heat and
then landed on a protruding television antenna on a nearby house.
"Wonder what he's doing out in the hot sun? He should have
more sense and take refuge like me from the heat," Sharif
said smiling to himself as he crossed the threshold of his small
one room hut. He threw his equipment down on the floor and then
himself as well.
"It's so hot. I
think I'll sleep for a while," he said to no one. Soon he
elapsed into a deep slumber.
Much later, cool winds
blew in from the Mediterranean and Sharif once more packed his
goods and headed for his cedar tree. "I feel much better now,
in fact, quite refreshed. At least I'll have the strength to last
until late evening," he said as he trudged along.
Again he set up his
stand and soon the hot oil in which he fried falafel
popped in anticipation
of feeding the hungry. Not long after, Laith approached, tugging
his new kite. "Look, uncle! Do you see how beautiful my kite
is?"
Sharif looked at the
boy's efforts and let out a low whistle. "Yes indeed,
it is beautiful Laith.
You must have spent hours working on it, but I see
your kite is made like
the Palestinian flag. You know how dangerous this can be. If the
Israelis see it, you will be in big trouble!"
"Don't worry! I'm
going to fly the colors of Palestine way up in the sky
where everyone can see
them. If the Israelis destroy my kite, I shall make a new one and
if that gets ruined, then another!" the boy proclaimed.
Sharif heard the
determination in the young voice and saw courage flash in the
boy's eyes, but he knew that courage was no match for brutal
authority. "You must be careful. You don't want the soldiers
to catch you. To them, there is no such thing as a Palestinian
child and they will show you no mercy!"
Apparently undaunted,
the child boasted, "But Uncle Sharif, I can run very
fast!" and without waiting for any more advice, he tore off
down the street and disappeared. Sharif lost sight of Laith, but
then he saw the kite flutter high above the city as winds carried
it to dive and dip high above the heavens as red, green and white
streamers flapped freely in the air. "It looks so
regal," Sharif whispered in awe. His heart beat with pride.
He looked around and saw clusters of people stop and point at the
marvel. He searched for the boy and saw him at a distance on top
of a tall building commanding the kite with gentle jerks and tugs.
All of a sudden, an Israeli jeep broke the silence of victory and
some soldiers shouted at Laith. The boy let go of his prize and
fled like lightening. At first, the kite hovered about but then
without its pilot, dived down and then plummeted towards earth,
catching itself on some electricity wires. The soldiers ran over
to where Shaif stood watching and one roughly shouted, "Hey
you there! Come and get that damn kite off those wires. Get a move
on it!"
While he spoke, he
grabbed Sharif by his collar and threw him down in
front of him. One
soldier kicked him. Another slapped him. A third punched him in
his stomach. They laughed and cursed him. One spat on him. Sharif
wiped the spittle off and slowly walked toward the electricity
pole and began to climb. "Hurry up, you dog! Get that kite
down or we'll shoot you!" one soldier barked.
So he climbed up even
further and reached out to where the kite was tied between the two
wires. He must not have been thinking. He grabbed the wrong wire
and let out a wild scream. The next thing he knew, he was in a
hospital with stumps where his hands and lower arms had been.
Now Sharif sits alone
in his small hut with artificial limbs that do him
little good. He has no
way to sell falafel and make a living any more.
Sometimes he sighs and
says to himself: "God will not suffer us to perish for we
have fought so bravely and earnestly for liberty. But, as long as
we are in chains, then no Arab nation and no Arab citizen shall
truly be free!"
Source:
by courtesy & © 2001 Edna Yaghi
by the same author:
Reproduction in whole or
in part without permission is prohibited.
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