Under the Olive Tree

15. Khamsa T'Ashar

Amani stood in front of the two freshly locked graves. She knew how the two friends within looked because she'd seen their funeral. She'd seen their bodies wrapped in white and decorated with flowers but their faces uncovered when they were carried down the main road in the midst of all the men of the town. She'd never seen a funeral walk before. She didn't know how they were done here.

This time, there were two victims of the Occupational Force—two friends who had been in their car when the bullets broke through one's skull and the others throat, killing them before it rolled to a stop. They funeral began with a prayer in the masjid then carried both bodies to the graveyard in the midst of a large crowd of men who'd clapped and cheered the same goodbye on their way as if they were happy.

When she'd asked Auntie, she'd told her that it was OK to be sad about their deaths. But they had been killed as innocent souls which meant they would be granted an easy entrance to heaven so they should be celebrated. They were lucky, she'd said.

They were God's favorites.

She'd seen Fayza standing in the balcony a few houses up the street, the girl was alone. Her eyes were trained on the faces of the boys who weren't much older than she was. Fayza's expression had been cold, unforgiving, filled with anger and revenge.

A few hours later, the streets were filled with talk of an Occupational police station thirty minutes away that had gone up in flames after youth had bombarded it with explosive Molotov cocktails. Muhsin's absence and return around sunset with his sister revealed to Amani exactly where Fayza had been and why Muhsin had left the bakery in such a hurry.

Now, she stood in front of their graves, reciting the same prayers she'd recited for each grave down the row she stood in. It was darker on this side of the graveyard because they were freshly built and lamp posts hadn't been installed just yet. So she stayed a bit longer to keep the deceased friends company before deciding it was getting too dark. Soon, wolves would fill the land she stood in.

On her way back, Amani came across a figure standing in front of another grave. She nearly ignored it because the ghost liked to move from grave to grave, but a familiar scent brought her footsteps to a stop. She turned to the figure.

She knew that posture. That hair. That thobe.

Amani didn't speak and walked down the row of graves. She stopped when she'd arrived beside him then turned to look forward as he was, her eyes on the name she couldn't quite see in the dim light. "Who are we visiting?" She asked.

"My father," Muhsin replied.

"Oh," she fell quiet. Muhsin remained as he'd been beside her, basking in the silence while watching the grave. When she looked at him, Amani saw the sparkle in his distracted gaze. He looked so... quiet, yet so busy in the same moment. "How are you?"

The delay of his response made her wonder if he'd heard her at all. Just as she was about to repeat her question, he replied. "Alhamdulillah."

She watched him. Amani hated the expression her eyes caught on his face. One of acceptance, of grief, of misery but through all of that, it was the guilt she noticed that stuck out the most. Amani wanted to take his hand and lay her head on his arm so he would realize that he no longer stood alone before his father's grave, but she knew she couldn't. She knew he'd pull away.

He would say she was not his to touch. To hold. Not yet.

"Muhsin...," she whispered.

"Just," he spoke. "Stand here with me. We do not have to speak. You do not need to fill the silence. Just stay beside me."

Amani nodded and turned back to the grave before them. She wondered what Muhsin was thinking, what she could do to end that hurt as quickly as it had come. But things weren't that simple. Not when it came to Muhsin's father.

If there was one thing she knew, it was that.

The night was cool around them, blowing the occasional gust of Mediterranean air in from the distant sea. The tree leaves rustled around them and a wolf howled a few miles away but the wind carried its broken cry through the night until it reached their ears. Amani let herself slip into the night's peace for a few moments because Muhsin was beside her so she could close her eyes without worrying anything would sneak up beside her.

"I was young when he died, not much older than Ezzo is now," Muhsin's voice filled the night around them though it was still only a whisper. "But I remember it like it was yesterday, every moment of it, every sound and smell. Sometimes, I think I'm still there. Like I can still hear his voice. His struggle."

Amani turned to him. Reema had told her that Muhsin's father died from a fall. Occupational soldiers might have pushed him. In reality, nobody knew except the man standing beside her now.

"I was a mess but my mother.... I thought 'how could someone be so unaffected after her husband had been killed?' How could she not shed a single tear? How could she tell him that it was okay to leave us? I hated that she didn't care. I told her that she didn't care. When she needed her oldest son the most, I hated her."

"Don't be like that. It was hard on you," she shook her head.

Muhsin rejected the notion. "It was equally hard on her, but I didn't see it. Not until I heard her crying behind the bathroom door in the middle of the night. When she was sure Fayza and I were asleep, when she didn't need to put on an act, that's when she let herself miss her husband. But never in front of us. I only understood it all then."

Amani's eyes had been on him for so long, she was seeing Muhsin differently. He no longer only had the surface-level attractiveness she'd been noticing until now. There was more to the way she cared for him. More to her feelings for Muhsin that she hadn't known of until now.

Had the wind not carried her question, he may not have heard it. "Understood what?"

"They say that when a person dies, their hearing is the last thing they lose and it only fades after they've been buried. When my mother was holding in her tears and telling my father it was okay for him to leave us, she knew he'd be listening. She knew that what we were going through was nothing compared to what he might feel in that moment—hearing his children cry for their father."

His eyebrows sunk, the air around him vulnerable.

"My pain was nothing compared to either of theirs."

"You were a child who'd just lost his father."

"She had just lost her love, her partner in life, the father of her children. She'd lost so much more than me, Amani." He finally tore his gaze from the grave in front of him and turned to her, his eyes darkened with a helplessness she'd never seen before.

Amani shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Muhsin. You both lost someone that day. You actually saw what happened to him. Nobody should ever have to witness something like that, much less a child."

"I should have done something."

"Stop it," she demanded, her tone soft in the face of his misery. "Stop looking for ways to pin it on you. This was written from your father the moment he was born and your mother is such a strong woman, Muhsin, she raised four children on her own after losing so much. She did not need you to help her. Now that you're older, you can allow yourself to take on more responsibilities to help her but I don't think either of your parents would have ever wanted you to think the way you're thinking now. It wasn't your fault."

He resisted. "I could have helped."

"If you had, do you think you could have saved him?"

Muhsin's answer was embedded in the pain of his expression.

Amani took a step closer to him, sympathy drawn all across her features as she looked between his eyes. "What happened that day happened, Muhsin. This is what was written for you. I was written for you," she smiled.

His gaze captured hers. "You were written for me."

"If I could reach into your brain and take out all those thoughts you're having, if I could have been there with you, I would go back."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't want you to."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't risk you."

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Short chapter womp womp, sorry guys