A Little Piece of Ground (11 page)

“He's—er—he's busy just now, Karim.” He could hear the surprise in her voice. “Maybe he'll call you later, OK?”

“Thanks,” muttered Karim, putting the phone back down. His heart had sunk even lower. Joni must be really annoyed. Genuinely hurt. It would take more than a simple phone call to bring him around.

Then something inside Karim rose up in revolt. What was Joni making such a big deal about anyway? He'd only been playing soccer with Hopper, for goodness' sake. Joni didn't own him. There was room in everyone's life for more than one friend.

Forget Joni. Forget everyone, Karim thought angrily. I'll go back to Hopper's field tomorrow, and the day after, and as often as I like. I don't care what anyone says.

Chapter Eleven

Reprisals for the suicide bomb were in full swing in Bethlehem, where the whole city had been shut down. Everyone was imprisoned in their homes by the Israeli army, and eight people had been killed by tank shells, while three houses had been demolished by enemy bulldozers, the inhabitants barely escaping with their lives. In Ramallah, though, there was still a jumpy state of normality.

“The university's reopened,” Lamia said at breakfast the next morning. “I'll have to go to work. Though heaven knows how long it will take, with the roadblocks they've set up all over the place. I'll see if Rasha's mother can take care of Sireen.”

Karim smiled secretly at the news. With his mother out of the way, Farah back at her primary school and Baba down at the shop, he'd be free to do what he pleased.

“Karim,” Lamia began, turning towards him. She seemed about to issue an instruction of some kind, and Karim held his breath, fearing that his day of freedom was about to be snatched away, but at that moment someone knocked on the outer door and she went to open it.

Karim slipped off to his room. He'd wait till the neighbor had gone and Mama had left for work. With luck, she'd be in such a hurry to leave that she'd forget whatever it was she'd wanted him to do.

The coast was clear at last. Karim waited until the clack of his mother's shoes had faded away to the bottom of the stairs, then he ran to the kitchen balcony and watched her walk up the hill towards the bus stop. As if on cue, the bus came. She got on and it rolled away. Karim darted back to the living room, retrieved his ball and let himself out of the apartment, bounding down the stairs with a heady sense of freedom.

He didn't slow down till he came to the top of the hill above the school, but when he reached it, and could look back at the school and the refugee camp beyond, he came to a stop.

The Israeli tanks had been on the move again. One had parked just above the school, its massive brown bulk looming above the street. Soldiers in battle gear, with helmets and body armor, rifles cradled in their arms, were blocking the street, stopping everyone from passing.

Karim tightened his fists in frustration and anger. Whatever you tried to do in this country, wherever you wanted to go, the enemy was always there to stop you. Even a simple game of soccer was impossible.

One of the soldiers looked up and saw Karim, fixing his eyes on him intently. Trying to look casual, Karim turned and walked away. There was no telling what any of them would do if they felt threatened or were irritated. Being only twelve years old was no protection. Kids younger than him were shot all the time. These guys' fingers seemed to hover permanently on their triggers.

He walked disconsolately back the way he'd come. He could try getting to Hopper's ground (as he now called the place to himself) by going the long way around, climbing right up the opposite hill then circling over to the far side, but that would bring him up against the edge of one of the Israeli settlements that ringed Ramallah. The settlers there had a reputation for unpredictability. They'd been known to take pot shots at random passers-by. If Hopper had been with him, he might have risked it, just to prove that he wasn't afraid, but he didn't feel like being a target on his own.

Slowly, he walked home. Perhaps, at long last, he should try to do a bit of homework. It had to be tackled sooner or later, after all.

The morning passed surprisingly quickly. Some of the work was boring, of course. He hurried through the geography questions and the English exercises as quickly as he could. But the history was unexpectedly interesting.

He'd been sent a passage to read about the ancient Egyptians. It described several different theories about the methods they'd used to build their vast pyramids and temples, how they'd succeeded in shifting the massive blocks of stone, carrying them up to such astonishing heights. He fiddled around for a while with the books and erasers and pens on the table, trying to construct a miniature pyramid, then was afflicted by a series of gigantic yawns. It was boring, being on his own. He'd even be quite glad when school started up again.

By midday, he was desperate to go out. He fetched some bread from the box on the kitchen counter, opened the fridge and scooped up some hummus, then grabbed some olives and ate those too. He took a long drink of water from the pitcher, then he ran out of the apartment and down the stairs to the street.

He wouldn't try to get to Hopper's ground. He'd go into the middle of town instead. He'd check out the price of those little instant throw-away cameras. If they weren't too expensive he might, somehow, find the money to buy one. Then, perhaps, if he managed to make it up with Joni, he could go to his house and sneak a few photos of Violette himself. He'd never used a camera, but it looked super-easy. You just had to point it and press the button. He'd never promised Jamal a good photo. Just a photo.

Having an aim, even such a vague one, made him feel quite purposeful. He walked fast and jauntily even, swinging around each broken lamppost as he came to it and kicking out at each scrap of paper or plastic bag that fluttered on the pavement.

An empty soda can lying in the gutter caught his eye. He picked it up on the end of his toe and began to dribble it up the hill. Concentrating on it, he was oblivious to everything else until the sound of shouting and the electronic stutter of a loudspeaker, telling people to move away, caught his attention.

The noise was coming from the left, from the dip at the bottom of the steep hill. An on-ramp here joined the fast highway that was for the exclusive use of Israeli settlers and was constantly patrolled by armored vehicles to keep Palestinians away.

Three of these vehicles were now clustered behind a heavy concrete barricade. People were running up the hill, away from them.

Curious, Karim took a few steps down the hill to get a closer look.

“Go back!” a man shouted at him. “There's a bomb down there on the settlers' road!”

“Where? Where is it?” Karim called back.

“Under the bridge over the gulley.”

“Who put it there?”

“How should I know?” the man was past him already, calling over his shoulder. “They found it just now.”

Karim was backing away, his pulse quickening, infected by the urgency of the people around him, when he caught sight of a thin figure, a boy in a white T-shirt and dusty trousers, who was climbing up the scaffolding at the side of a ruined, derelict building below, only a short way from the bridge.

Karim's eyes narrowed as he tried to make him out. It looked like Hopper. It was Hopper! What on earth was he doing down there? Why wasn't he running away like everyone else?

Karim had turned to run himself, but then he stopped and looked back. He felt as if Hopper was daring him, challenging him to climb the scaffolding too. As if he was saying, “
I'm
brave enough to do this. What are you? A wimp?”

Trying to ignore the prickling of his skin and the knot in his stomach, Karim began to walk down the hill against the flow of people.

“Are you crazy? They'll shoot you!” an old woman shouted at him.

“Don't go down there!” other people called out.

Hopper had reached the top of the scaffolding and had jumped down behind the low wall that ringed the roof of the building. He was out of sight.

Trying to make himself as invisible as possible, Karim edged down the road towards the bridge, keeping close to the side. If he could only reach the next opening in the long wall beside him, he could slip around behind it and work his way towards the scaffolding out of the sight of the soldiers. It would mean climbing over the ruins of a row of buildings that had been shelled to dereliction by Israeli tanks when the settlers' road had been built, but that wouldn't be impossible.

His scalp tingled with fright when he thought about what he was doing. Twice he stopped and almost turned back, and twice he went on again.

I'll just get a bit closer, he told himself. No need to decide yet if I'm actually going to go up there.

The crowd of people streaming up the hill had thinned out now. There was only one old woman, struggling to walk fast on rickety legs, and a young man bowed under the weight of a computer that he was carrying on his shoulders.

Karim had almost reached the gap in the wall, and was about to dart through it, when he heard footsteps running down behind him. He whipped around, and to his astonishment saw Joni.

“What are you doing, Karim?” Joni burst out, as soon as he was within earshot. “Are you crazy or what?”

Karim grabbed hold of Joni's arm and dragged him through the gap in the wall. Out of sight now, both from the people above and the Israelis below, they stood staring at each other.

“What are you doing here?” said Karim.

“I was going home. I came around this way to see my cousin. Then I heard all this fuss and saw you.”

They stood and stared at each other.

“Are you trying to get killed or what?” Joni demanded. “Because I'm not going to let you.”

Karim stared at his old friend. Joni was blinking rapidly and beads of sweat had sprouted on his round face. He was gripping his schoolbag so tightly that his knuckles showed white. He looked a little absurd, but oddly heroic too.

Affection washed over Karim.

“No, you moron. Of course I'm not trying to get killed. There's someone I know who's climbed up there onto the roof. I saw him go up the scaffolding. His name's Hopper. It's short for Grasshopper. He goes to my school.”

“So? Hundreds of people go to your school.”

“He's sort of different. He's from the refugee camp. He's the person I was playing soccer with the other day.”

“When you wouldn't tell me where you'd been?”

“Yes. I don't know why I did that. I felt like a total fool afterwards. I thought you wouldn't like him or something. I was embarrassed. I thought you'd think he was weird. He is weird, but he's interesting too. Like I said—different.”

A grin spread over Joni's face.

“You're the weird one. I thought you were totally mad at me or something.”

“Yes, I know. I was an idiot. Sorry.”

Sirens wailing through the air took their attention away from each other. Karim peered out cautiously through the gap in the wall.

“More soldiers,” he said, “and one of their own ambulances. Must be a big bomb.” He felt a surge of excitement and a longing for revenge. “I hope it goes off and totally wrecks their horrible road and blows them all up in their cars.”

“It wasn't your friend, Hopper, or whatever you call him, who planted it, was it?” said Joni.

“Couldn't have been. Where would he get all the stuff from, the explosives and everything?”

“Then what's he doing up there on the roof?”

“That's what I wanted to find out. I thought I could work my way over the rubble without them seeing me and climb up after him.”

Joni was blinking harder than ever.

He's really scared, thought Karim, but he's not going to admit it.

Joni's fear made him feel braver.

“Look,” he said. “You stay here and keep a lookout. I'll go ahead, and if you see anything funny—”

“I'm not going to let you go by yourself,” Joni said, his voice tight. “I'm going with you.”