Democratic Palestine : 4 (ص 43)
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- Democratic Palestine : 4 (ص 43)
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Phone Call to Beirut
This story was written by a Yugoslavian friend,
Vesna Al Masharifa, who was in the Palestinian
refugee camps in Syria at the time of the Israeli
invasion of Lebanon, 1982.
West Beirut was besieged. These were very critical days
for Palestinian history. The Israeli army was continuously shel-
ling. The number of casualties was increasing rapidly.
Every family had a few men fighting in Lebanon. It was dif-
ficult, almost impossible, to be in touch with them. People were
desperate and helpless, for they had had no news about their
relatives since the beginning of the war. Searching for consola-
tion, they paid visits to other families, sharing their fears and
grief. It happened that uncertain information reached some
families that their sons had perished in Lebanon. They were
despondent and trying to find out the truth. Usually, they came
to military headquarters in the camps to check if their sons
were registered on the list of martyrs.
That morning the offfice was very crowded with people
who had come to inquire about their relatives and friends.
People were standing in a line in front of Comrade Khaled’s
table. The comrade had the list of martyrs in front of him. It was
very quiet in the room. One could only hear the voice of some-
body saying in a quivering voice the name of the relative
inquired about, and again silence, while he or she waited
intensely for the answer. Comrade Khaled was passing over
the paper with visible uneasiness.
«No, he is not listed,» he said with relief. «Please people,
listen to me. Why don’t you go to your homes? You know that
if anything happens to your relatives, you will definitely receive
a cable, even on the same day we do. It’s our duty to inform
you. You know that.» He tried to persuade them.
Then that silent room became a beehive. At the same time
everybody tried to explain their reasons and to speak about the
uncertainty with which they had lived from the time the war
commenced.
«Okay, okay,» Khaled gave up. «We will continue. It was
just a suggestion. If you don’t agree, we won't discuss it any-
more.»
People were satisfied that he had changed his mind.
Again they formed a line and went on as before.
The first dash was over. The office was vacant. Khaled
wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then, at the door appeared
a middle-aged woman with a child about five years old. She
wore the traditional Palestinian dress. It was a very beautiful,
long, black dress with embroidered violet flowers which
covered the chest, sleeves and bottom edge. A white cotton
scarf, which almost touched the floor, concealed her hair. The
dress was fastened at the waist by a Palestinian kuffiyeh. Her
figure was erect and robust, her movements vigorous. She
held the child’s hand firmly.
«Comrade, | received a letter from my husband. He’s in
Beirut,» she said with discomfort when they reached Khaled’s
table.
«Yes?» Khaled gave her a questioning look. She
resumed: «He loves our son very much. In the last letter, he
joked that he will phone him to check if he is still being a good
boy... You know, this is our first son, after five daughters. »
«So, may he be hale and hearty,» smiled Khaled and then
turned towards the child, asking him squarely: «Do you want to
be a fighter like your father?»
The child was watching him with distrust, unsure whether
to hide himself behind his mother, or to accept the conversa-
tion. Then he made up his mind to do the second: «Yes, of
course, | dream about that,» he answered finally.
«Bravo, bravo... Then, since you are so brave, tell me
what is your name?» Khaled asked in a mollifying voice.
«Yusef,» the child replied more freely..
«Ahlan wa sahlan, Yusef,» Khaled welcomed him.
Yusef nestled close to his mother with childlike coyness.
For a moment no one spoke. Then his mother broke the
silence, relieved, for Khaled was so kind and friendly.
«You know, comrade, | would ask you to let him speak on
the telephone. He took his father’s joke seriously. For two days
he has been crying and asking to talk to him. | don’t know what
to do, so | brought him here,» she finally ended, saying what
had been tormenting her. Khaled accepted the game.
«So you want to talk to your father?» he asked the child.
«Oh yes, | do,» answered Yusef brightly.
«Then | will call him now, and you will speak. But don't
| forget that you can't hear him. Okay?» Khaled gave a short
explanation.
«Yes,» the boy agreed, thrilled. Khaled dialed zeros and
then began shouting, «Beirut! Beirut? Is that Beirut? Come,
Yusef, come quickly. Here it is!»
The child took the receiver and started crying, «Papa, do
you hear me? | Know that you do! How are you? We miss you.
>
43 - هو جزء من
- Democratic Palestine : 4
- تاريخ
- يوليو ١٩٨٤
- المنشئ
- الجبهة الشعبية لتحرير فلسطين
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