{"id":178,"date":"2011-05-19T09:51:19","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T09:51:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=178"},"modified":"2011-09-24T10:06:33","modified_gmt":"2011-09-24T10:06:33","slug":"sonia-saikaley","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/writings\/fiction\/sonia-saikaley\/","title":{"rendered":"Sonia Saikaley"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fishing Season in Gaza<\/strong><\/h1>\n
Sonia Saikaley<\/h6>\n

 <\/p>\n

(An Excerpt)<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On his way from the airport to his parents\u2019 home, Benjamin crossed a busy intersection, Mercedes zooming swiftly around him, his breath steady and calm.\u00a0 He was used to the crazy drivers who swirled dirt onto his clothes and onto the whitish-grey stucco of adjacent buildings, cracked with bomb scars that climbed up the surface like vines.\u00a0 He turned down another street lined with a chain link fence, where green leaves grew on the steel, and he remembered the stuffed grape leaves his mother had always made for him: the parsley, crushed tomatoes, garlic, green onions and chick peas mixed with rice and wrapped in a thin leaf bathed in olive oil and lemon.\u00a0 Pausing in front of the fence, he wondered if he should pick a few leaves for her, but he decided to continue on his way.\u00a0 A loud noise suddenly thundered in the air, making him startle and briefly cover his ears.\u00a0 When he turned another corner, he saw smoke and reddish-orange flames shooting into the pale blue sky.\u00a0 With his shoulders hunched, he wandered further down the road.\u00a0 In the twenty-one years of his life in Gaza, before he left for Canada, he\u2019d witnessed many bombs.\u00a0 But having lived in Montreal for the last two years, he\u2019d almost forgotten the sounds of gunshots, bombs and rockets.\u00a0 Sometimes he still had nightmares which forced him out of bed, but, for the most part, the memories of war were secondary to his daily life in Montreal: the language barrier, the loneliness, the homesickness for his mother\u2019s cooking, the money worries preoccupied his mind.\u00a0 Now he slowly approached the carnage and when the smell of burnt flesh and diesel assaulted his nose, he quickly covered it with the end of his shirt.\u00a0 Taking short, quick breaths, he hurried past the burning car and treaded carefully around the crumbling buildings. Glass shards splattered on the pavement and the faces of people who raced past him, hands pressed on cheeks, blood dripping through fingers.\u00a0 He looked away and quickened his pace.\u00a0 Another car bomb.\u00a0 Taken aback, tremors rose up his legs to his chest when he realized he could\u2019ve been one of these victims if he\u2019d arrived earlier than he had, but he could thank the Montreal thunderstorm that had plummeted hailstones while the airplane sped down the runway.\u00a0 Eventually, the aircraft had to slow down and wait for takeoff until the storm passed.\u00a0 Gripping the strap of his backpack, he began to walk down the street a little faster, but a numbness weakened his stride as he spotted a hill of broken stones with a severed hand on top of it, the fingers small, the fingernails badly bitten.\u00a0 Hesitantly, he moved towards hill and noted the dismembered part was a child\u2019s hand with\u00a0 zealous stains of green magic marker on the knuckles. Stepping back, he lost his balance and twisted his ankle on a crumpled piece of metal.\u00a0 He felt something under his worn leather shoes, but he didn\u2019t glance down right away. Instead\u00a0 he looked across at the rising cloud of dust and the rescuers now arriving on the scene, tumbling out of police cars and military tanks.\u00a0 The officers and soldiers scrambled around the debris, searching for survivors while fire fighters untangled a hose between their hands and passed it along until the flaccid plastic hardened with water, a mist suddenly showering Benjamin\u2019s face. He tilted his head back and let the cool spray soothe his sweaty cheeks.\u00a0 The sun had no sympathy, he thought, as its rays poured through the dust.\u00a0 Moving his foot, he still felt something underneath it and, at first, he thought he was standing on pebbles but there was also a softness to the surface.\u00a0 Finally looking down, he nearly collapsed when he saw what it was: a tiny belly covered with a T-shirt.\u00a0 Bent over the body, Benjamin wiped away the stones and gravel.\u00a0 The blueness of the Cookie Monster appeared to him almost instantaneously.\u00a0 Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street, he found himself humming but then stopped and wiped some more dirt from the child\u2019s head.\u00a0 The boy looked like he was about six; he had dark thick hair, falling around his oval face, and his mouth was distorted as if he had been sucking on a gumball.\u00a0 The small fist of his left hand was clenched against his body.\u00a0 Benjamin looked away sadly.\u00a0 He knew the severed hand he\u2019d seen earlier belonged to this boy because his right wrist was spurting blood; a cascade flowed into the sand making crimson mud.\u00a0 There were also green magic marker lines on the fist that pressed up against the child\u2019s ribcage.\u00a0 Benjamin couldn\u2019t tell if the youngster was Palestinian or Israeli.\u00a0 He rested his hand on the boy\u2019s left shoulder and blinked his eyes rapidly.\u00a0 Had an Israeli or Palestinian attack destroyed one of its own innocents?\u00a0 He knew it didn\u2019t matter because the entire assault was incomprehensible.\u00a0 Glancing at the child\u2019s closed eyelids, his long lashes appeared to move and, for a moment, Benjamin thought the boy was still alive but it was only the wind.\u00a0 The more he studied the boy\u2019s face, the more he realized that the child could\u2019ve been either Palestinian or Israeli – the dark features were so similar.\u00a0 Even though escalating shouts, racing footsteps and raging sirens surrounded him, Benjamin felt that he and the boy were the only two in this area.\u00a0 He reached down and squeezed the boy\u2019s remaining hand; it felt frigid but he kept embracing it, gazing tenderly at the boy\u2019s upturned face, his lips slightly curled in a mischievous grin as if he were pretending to be dead and would suddenly sit up and slap his palms together and cheer, \u201cI got you!\u201d\u00a0 But the boy remained still.\u00a0 Benjamin held his hand a while longer until a soldier came by and said abruptly, \u201cDon\u2019t just sit there!\u00a0 There are living people. Go find them.\u00a0 Come on!\u201d he yelled, gripping Benjamin by the collar and pulling him up.\u00a0 Inches away from the man\u2019s face, Benjamin could smell tobacco and sweat.\u00a0 The soldier yelled louder, over the helicopters and sirens, \u201cWhy are you wasting your time with a dead person?\u201d Benjamin noticed that the soldier didn\u2019t let his gaze fall upon the boy when he blurted out these words.\u00a0 Instead, he kept his broad shoulders stiff like a plank and tightened his hold on Benjamin\u2019s collar before he shoved him forward, making Benjamin trip over some rocks and stumble to the ground.\u00a0 Rather quickly, he raised himself up, his throat tightening, and marched back to the soldier, who looked to be about in his mid-twenties. The soldier had youthful eyes that, in spite of the toughness he was currently displaying, sparkled with the freshness of a young person who felt he could take on the world with his strong shoulders and new ideas.\u00a0 Yet the stubble on his long face and cuts on his rough hands made him seem exhausted, as if he were a man on the brink of a mid-life crisis.\u00a0 He was good-looking but not too good-looking, tall and lean.\u00a0 Benjamin kept staring at his eyes; they were a piercing blue and unusual for a Middle-Eastern person.\u00a0 With flushed cheeks, Benjamin opened his mouth and was about to argue with the soldier when the man drew back, bent down and gently lifted the dead boy in his arms. He carried the boy to an open space, where he pulled out a handkerchief from one of his pockets and held it up. The sky wept light rain.\u00a0 He then patted the boy\u2019s face clean and Benjamin saw how handsome the child was.\u00a0 Full lips.\u00a0 Big brown eyes, with those long lashes, and a strong forehead.\u00a0 After a while, the soldier ceased washing the boy\u2019s face and rested his hands on his thighs, rubbing the material of his camouflage military trousers.\u00a0\u00a0 Then he pulled something out of another pocket.\u00a0 Benjamin squinted and saw a small blue figurine.\u00a0 The soldier unclenched the boy\u2019s fist, tucked the figure into his palm and wrapped his tiny fingers around it.\u00a0 Sighing, Benjamin gave the soldier a sad nod as he stood beside him.\u00a0 The soldier got up from his knees and said, his voice almost choking, \u201cCome on.\u00a0 We could use your help.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took a few hours for them to complete the search and rescue and afterwards, with the sky turning a deep indigo, they strolled to a restaurant.\u00a0 The place was small but cozy with a few wooden tables and chairs.\u00a0 Some men passed a long tube between them, taking short puffs on the hookah and drawing out a line of cherry-scented smoke.\u00a0 A haze of tobacco clouded the area.\u00a0 Benjamin covered his mouth as he coughed.\u00a0 As the night progressed, he glanced at the men sitting at his table who lifted pints of beer and made a toast to another day; they seemed excited and happy.\u00a0 Sitting back, Benjamin took a short sip of his drink and was amazed by how these men managed to shrug off the destruction they had just witnessed.\u00a0 But he supposed this was part of their job and had become routine for them.\u00a0 Daily routines could desensitize even the terrifying effects of bombs and wars, he thought.\u00a0 Excusing himself, he found a pay phone and called his parents, telling them what had happened and that he\u2019d be late.\u00a0 When he returned to the table, most of the soldiers had dispersed but a few remained.\u00a0 \u201cNeed to get home to the wife and kids,\u201d one said, slapping Benjamin\u2019s back.\u00a0 \u201cThanks for your help, buddy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Smiling, he answered, \u201cNo problem.\u201d\u00a0 Then he took another sip of his beer and turned to the soldier who had first approached him.\u00a0 His name was David and he had been born and raised, like Benjamin, in the chaotic city of Gaza.\u00a0 Benjamin looked across at him and while the others laughed and joked, David sat with a serious expression, listening quietly to the conversation, remaining silent, almost sullen, and self-possessed. The other soldiers laughed loudly and swallowed drink upon drink.\u00a0 David clutched\u00a0 his lone glass tightly, as if afraid someone might take it away.\u00a0 On the way to the restaurant, David had told Benjamin that since he was a boy, he knew he wanted to be a soldier.\u00a0 Benjamin now noticed David staring out the window. Leftover smoke from the car bomb floated in slivers of moonlight and streetlights.\u00a0 David stared steadily outside, sighing occasionally, and when the last soldiers left and they were alone, he began to loosen his gaze.\u00a0 He turned to face Benjamin.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s very frustrating.\u201d He threw his hands up in the air, then let them drop on the table, the leftover mugs briefly thudding.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll never get used to it, especially seeing a child, an innocent child taken away with a fucking car bomb.\u00a0 You know, I hardly drive anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u00a0 I walk or cycle.\u00a0 I just can\u2019t stand being cramped in a car or bus knowing how many lives have been destroyed by bombs.\u00a0 If we could ban all vehicles, it\u2019d be so much better for the environment and the conflict in the Middle East.\u201d<\/p>\n

Benjamin laughed but then stopped when he saw that David wasn\u2019t smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know I sound na\u00efve and it\u2019s unrealistic but when you\u2019ve been through a lot of search and rescues, well . . .\u201d he stopped and stared out the window again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned his gaze away from the window and, pressing his thick eyebrows together, he shot a glare at Benjamin and muttered, \u201cFor what?\u00a0 It\u2019s not your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then changing the subject, Benjamin asked, \u201cWhat did you leave in the boy\u2019s hand by the way?\u201d\u00a0 He didn\u2019t mean to be so direct but his mind was churning with curiosity.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you saw that?\u201d he whispered, his expression softening.<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cCookie Monster.\u00a0 The boy had . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Benjamin interrupted.\u00a0 \u201cA t-shirt with the Cookie Monster.\u201d\u00a0 He glanced down at his beer then looked up into David\u2019s watery eyes.\u00a0 \u201cDo you always carry a Cookie Monster figurine with you?\u201d\u00a0 A short laugh escaped his full lips.<\/p>\n

David grinned widely.\u00a0 \u201cNot usually but my nephew gave it to me when I left for work.\u00a0 Uncle, here, this is for luck, he said, slipping the figurine into my hand.\u00a0 I\u2019ll have to buy him a new one before he realizes it\u2019s gone.\u00a0 He loves that crazy, blue monster!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t we all?\u201d\u00a0 They both laughed.\u00a0 \u201cSpeaking about him is suddenly making me hungry for chocolate chip cookies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a great pastry shop around the corner.\u201d\u00a0 David rose from his chair and paid for his drink as well as Benjamin\u2019s.\u00a0 Benjamin pulled out his wallet but David held up his hand and refused the money.\u00a0 \u201cMy treat.\u00a0 A little token of my appreciation.\u00a0 You didn\u2019t have to help out today but you did.\u00a0 I hope it wasn\u2019t too difficult for you.\u201d\u00a0 His eyes darkened then lit up, the blueness of them still striking under the dim lights and tobacco haze of the restaurant.<\/p>\n

\u201cI must confess that I was slightly nervous but I\u2019m glad I could help.\u00a0 I\u2019ll never forget that little boy.\u201d\u00a0 Benjamin took a deep breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re pretty brave for a civilian.\u00a0 Have you ever considered joining the Israeli army?\u00a0 We could use a good man like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, I\u2019m a fisherman at heart but a dishwasher at the present time.\u00a0 I live in Canada now.\u00a0 I\u2019m only here for a short visit then I\u2019m heading back to Montreal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t blame you for wanting to leave this whole mess, but what can you do in Canada for Gaza?\u201d<\/p>\n

He thought about this for a while, rubbing his hands together.\u00a0 \u201cNothing,\u201d he finally replied.\u00a0 \u201cAbsolutely nothing.\u201d\u00a0 David stared hard at him but Benjamin lowered his eyes.\u00a0 They left the restaurant in silence and when they were about to turn the corner to the pastry shop, Benjamin said with a sad smile, \u201cI\u2019m a little tired.\u00a0 Let\u2019s pass on the cookies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey make a great chocolate chip cookie.\u00a0 Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, another time.\u201d\u00a0 But they both knew this was a lie; there wouldn\u2019t be another time.\u00a0 David stood in front of him and squeezed his shoulders.\u00a0 \u201cThanks again.\u00a0 Shalom.\u201d Leaning against a building painted with graffiti, Benjamin watched him walk away, his uniform dirty and worn but his shoulders still stiff and straight.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fishing Season in Gaza Sonia Saikaley   (An Excerpt)   On his way from the airport to his parents\u2019 home, Benjamin crossed a busy intersection, Mercedes zooming swiftly around him, his breath steady and calm.\u00a0 He was used to the crazy drivers who swirled dirt onto his clothes and onto the whitish-grey stucco of adjacent […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":96,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"authorpage.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-178","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=178"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":685,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178\/revisions\/685"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/96"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=178"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}