Read Online Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction by Fedora Horowitz - Free Book Online
Authors: Fedora Horowitz
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for Amina. On the margins of her notebook, Shifra had drawn birds, flowers of paradise, and small animals, each one matching the characters of the Arabic letters.
Amina took the notebook looking attentively at each picture. “Eumi,” she called her mother, still contemplating the drawings in her hand, “You were worried that after my departure, you wouldn’t find anybody to produce the design which my dear sister Na’ima embroiders on the fabrics. You called us your winning team.”
Fatima and Musa joined her. “Now,” a triumphant Amina said showing the notebook, “I think that I found the person who could replace me, and this person already lives under our roof.”
Amina’s words created a commotion. Shifra didn’t understand everything, but she felt that something special was going on. Lifting her eyes, she saw Musa nodding, visibly excited.
Amina spoke again, “Yesterday, in the bazaar, I was proud to see how many tourists bought our fabrics. They were snatching them out of each other’s hands. I felt really sad thinking that my leaving would stop our work.”
Rama clapped her hands. “And it was me! I discovered her.” All eyes were on Fatima. They could have heard the buzzing of a fly in the silence that followed, everybody waiting for Fatima to speak. Fatima, who had never addressed Shifra directly, finally asked her,
Sho ismek
, what’s your name?
Shifra had heard this question before. Rama had asked her almost daily, encouraging her by pointing to herself and saying, “My name is Rama,” but Shifra had never answered.
Now everybody’s eyes were riveted on her. Samira looked worried. So did Musa. Shifra tried, “Sh—” she started, then, “Shif—” she continued. Finally, she said on one long, trembling breath, “Shifffrrra.”
Rama applauded. “See,” she said, “you have a name.”
Shifra felt so happy, she repeated it a few times, each time a little louder. Fatima looked puzzled. She opened the torn piece of newspaper that Musa had found in Shifra’s fist. “Isn’t your name Rifka?” Fatima asked.
“
La
, no,” Shifra answered.
“Are you sure?” Fatima asked again. Shifra nodded. Fatima looked at Musa, waiting for an explanation. But Musa was just as baffled as she was.
“What does it matter if she’s that girl or not,” said Samira, who had followed the entire exchange with growing anxiety. Fatima had told her about the missing girl whom she had read about in the old newspaper and the fact that the Jews were after her. “She’s here now,” Samira continued, “and she can be helpful.”
It took sometime for Fatima to answer. She said decisively “From now on your name is Suha. This is your name. Remember, your only name.”
“Suha, Suha,” Rama repeated, “what a beautiful name, as beautiful as you are, Suha,” and she took Shifra’s hand, “I told you, you’ll be my sister, now.”
But Shifra didn’t hear Rama’s words. In her heart she heard a continuous chant,
Shifra, Shifra, this is me, Shifra
.
“Come,” Samira said, destroying the spell, “You’ve been in the sun too long. You’ll get a headache again.” She took Shifra’s arm, “You’ve heard what Sit Fatima said, from now on, you are Suha.That’s who you are.” Samira pressed Shifra’s arm again, “Come, Suha.”
Still dreaming, Shifra-Suha felt herself dragged away by Samira. As they were leaving, she saw Amina and Rama hugging their mother, while Musa watched her with moist eyes.
8
S o many things had happened in the few weeks since he found the blond girl—his angel, as Musa called her in his heart. Now in the silence of his room Musa loved to repeat her name, “Suha, Suha.” Those syllables sounded like a melody, Su-ha, Su-ha, a name so suited to his love.
He felt such an attraction, a desire to touch her, and became dizzy just looking into the pool of her blue eyes. Until that moment, women and girls held no interest for him. He always knew that his mother would
Amina took the notebook looking attentively at each picture. “Eumi,” she called her mother, still contemplating the drawings in her hand, “You were worried that after my departure, you wouldn’t find anybody to produce the design which my dear sister Na’ima embroiders on the fabrics. You called us your winning team.”
Fatima and Musa joined her. “Now,” a triumphant Amina said showing the notebook, “I think that I found the person who could replace me, and this person already lives under our roof.”
Amina’s words created a commotion. Shifra didn’t understand everything, but she felt that something special was going on. Lifting her eyes, she saw Musa nodding, visibly excited.
Amina spoke again, “Yesterday, in the bazaar, I was proud to see how many tourists bought our fabrics. They were snatching them out of each other’s hands. I felt really sad thinking that my leaving would stop our work.”
Rama clapped her hands. “And it was me! I discovered her.” All eyes were on Fatima. They could have heard the buzzing of a fly in the silence that followed, everybody waiting for Fatima to speak. Fatima, who had never addressed Shifra directly, finally asked her,
Sho ismek
, what’s your name?
Shifra had heard this question before. Rama had asked her almost daily, encouraging her by pointing to herself and saying, “My name is Rama,” but Shifra had never answered.
Now everybody’s eyes were riveted on her. Samira looked worried. So did Musa. Shifra tried, “Sh—” she started, then, “Shif—” she continued. Finally, she said on one long, trembling breath, “Shifffrrra.”
Rama applauded. “See,” she said, “you have a name.”
Shifra felt so happy, she repeated it a few times, each time a little louder. Fatima looked puzzled. She opened the torn piece of newspaper that Musa had found in Shifra’s fist. “Isn’t your name Rifka?” Fatima asked.
“
La
, no,” Shifra answered.
“Are you sure?” Fatima asked again. Shifra nodded. Fatima looked at Musa, waiting for an explanation. But Musa was just as baffled as she was.
“What does it matter if she’s that girl or not,” said Samira, who had followed the entire exchange with growing anxiety. Fatima had told her about the missing girl whom she had read about in the old newspaper and the fact that the Jews were after her. “She’s here now,” Samira continued, “and she can be helpful.”
It took sometime for Fatima to answer. She said decisively “From now on your name is Suha. This is your name. Remember, your only name.”
“Suha, Suha,” Rama repeated, “what a beautiful name, as beautiful as you are, Suha,” and she took Shifra’s hand, “I told you, you’ll be my sister, now.”
But Shifra didn’t hear Rama’s words. In her heart she heard a continuous chant,
Shifra, Shifra, this is me, Shifra
.
“Come,” Samira said, destroying the spell, “You’ve been in the sun too long. You’ll get a headache again.” She took Shifra’s arm, “You’ve heard what Sit Fatima said, from now on, you are Suha.That’s who you are.” Samira pressed Shifra’s arm again, “Come, Suha.”
Still dreaming, Shifra-Suha felt herself dragged away by Samira. As they were leaving, she saw Amina and Rama hugging their mother, while Musa watched her with moist eyes.
8
S o many things had happened in the few weeks since he found the blond girl—his angel, as Musa called her in his heart. Now in the silence of his room Musa loved to repeat her name, “Suha, Suha.” Those syllables sounded like a melody, Su-ha, Su-ha, a name so suited to his love.
He felt such an attraction, a desire to touch her, and became dizzy just looking into the pool of her blue eyes. Until that moment, women and girls held no interest for him. He always knew that his mother would
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