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Authors: Consuelo Saah Baehr
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They had to leave their lovely clean homes and stay in the kasr , which was no more than a crude stone hut filled with flies and the stench of dead animals that had crawled in during the winter. After one night fighting the odors, Miriam and Nadeem chose to sleep out of doors, holding Khalil between them. After several hours of stooping in the fields, much of the time with Khalil in a sling on her hip, Miriam’s lower back sent out angry protests. She awoke to pain and felt it worsen as the day wore on.
Some days the sun was so intense that it made the air buzz and sizzle, but the nights were always blessedly cool. The night mist made the ground damp and cold but they prayed for it so the grains wouldn’t become brittle and fall to the ground. Twice a day, the women started a little fire and held some of the wheat heads over it, rubbing off the husks between their hands and then feasting on the new wheat.
There was some benefit in being busy all day and in new surroundings. Khalil seemed content to be out of their routine and adjusted well to the bustle around him.
There was a respite before the grapes and figs were ready and the Mishwes returned home to the comfort of a bed. Two days before they were to start again, Nadeem brought a package for Miriam. When she failed to open it, he undid it himself and she saw that it contained a heavily embroidered vest. She left it lying where he put it and said nothing. Something about that gaudy item made her despair. The house still had no proper kitchen or cistern. He had used all of her money for the soap and now he had wasted some of their meager funds on a useless vest. “Where would I wear such a thing?” she asked at the last possible moment before they went to sleep. Even as she said it, she remembered her own mother excoriating her father in the same bitter tone, but she was too anxious for the future to feel immediate remorse. Her pregnancy made the vest even more ludicrous.
Nadeem began to bounce the vest in his large hand as if it were growing heavier. “Wear it to visit your mother. Or for the feast of Nebi Musa.”
“My mother would have more to say about it than I.” She lay down and turned her body away from him.
“Well,” he said, still good-humored, “I could try to sell it. Give it to Sahadi to put in his shop.”
“Do that then, for I’ve no use for it.” She had not meant to sound so harsh, but his dogged good humor made her anxious. She had put her faith and future in the hands of a man who was not realistic. As she lay there battling her own thoughts, his breathing became rhythmic. A jackal filching grapes from a nearby orchard sounded his stupid, mournful cry. The baby gave a solid kick against her back, sending a ping of pain through her legs. She began to cry softly into her pillow. In the morning, the vest was gone.
The grape harvest, beginning in late summer, was the happiest of the season. The kasr in the orchards where Nadeem and Miriam slept was slightly cleaner and more comfortable than the one in the wheat fields. There was a tiny sunken pit for a cooking fire and another to hide the drying crop. All the Mishwes came, even Umm Jameel, and Miriam felt more carefree than she had the entire summer. Zareefa made light of everything. “Don’t worry if he lost the money,” she said to Miriam, mentioning the unmentionable. “He’ll make it again.” She poked all around Miriam’s stomach. “What? Are you having twins? You’re so big and still four months to go.”
The best grapes in Palestine came from Tamleh and Hebron. Even through the fierce heat, the clusters grew succulent and abundant. They hired a dozen girls from the countryside to help with sorting and preparing the raisins, first softening them in lye water to tenderize the skin and then coating them with olive oil to keep the insects away. The Mishwes dried almost their entire crop and sold it to the Germans, who provided the crates for shipment and paid three cents a
Some days the sun was so intense that it made the air buzz and sizzle, but the nights were always blessedly cool. The night mist made the ground damp and cold but they prayed for it so the grains wouldn’t become brittle and fall to the ground. Twice a day, the women started a little fire and held some of the wheat heads over it, rubbing off the husks between their hands and then feasting on the new wheat.
There was some benefit in being busy all day and in new surroundings. Khalil seemed content to be out of their routine and adjusted well to the bustle around him.
There was a respite before the grapes and figs were ready and the Mishwes returned home to the comfort of a bed. Two days before they were to start again, Nadeem brought a package for Miriam. When she failed to open it, he undid it himself and she saw that it contained a heavily embroidered vest. She left it lying where he put it and said nothing. Something about that gaudy item made her despair. The house still had no proper kitchen or cistern. He had used all of her money for the soap and now he had wasted some of their meager funds on a useless vest. “Where would I wear such a thing?” she asked at the last possible moment before they went to sleep. Even as she said it, she remembered her own mother excoriating her father in the same bitter tone, but she was too anxious for the future to feel immediate remorse. Her pregnancy made the vest even more ludicrous.
Nadeem began to bounce the vest in his large hand as if it were growing heavier. “Wear it to visit your mother. Or for the feast of Nebi Musa.”
“My mother would have more to say about it than I.” She lay down and turned her body away from him.
“Well,” he said, still good-humored, “I could try to sell it. Give it to Sahadi to put in his shop.”
“Do that then, for I’ve no use for it.” She had not meant to sound so harsh, but his dogged good humor made her anxious. She had put her faith and future in the hands of a man who was not realistic. As she lay there battling her own thoughts, his breathing became rhythmic. A jackal filching grapes from a nearby orchard sounded his stupid, mournful cry. The baby gave a solid kick against her back, sending a ping of pain through her legs. She began to cry softly into her pillow. In the morning, the vest was gone.
The grape harvest, beginning in late summer, was the happiest of the season. The kasr in the orchards where Nadeem and Miriam slept was slightly cleaner and more comfortable than the one in the wheat fields. There was a tiny sunken pit for a cooking fire and another to hide the drying crop. All the Mishwes came, even Umm Jameel, and Miriam felt more carefree than she had the entire summer. Zareefa made light of everything. “Don’t worry if he lost the money,” she said to Miriam, mentioning the unmentionable. “He’ll make it again.” She poked all around Miriam’s stomach. “What? Are you having twins? You’re so big and still four months to go.”
The best grapes in Palestine came from Tamleh and Hebron. Even through the fierce heat, the clusters grew succulent and abundant. They hired a dozen girls from the countryside to help with sorting and preparing the raisins, first softening them in lye water to tenderize the skin and then coating them with olive oil to keep the insects away. The Mishwes dried almost their entire crop and sold it to the Germans, who provided the crates for shipment and paid three cents a
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