A Little Piece of Ground (22 page)

He could hear shouting and running feet. There were metallic sounds, too, as if something was banging against the side of the tank, and from beyond the rubble in the other direction came the noise of the Jeep's doors opening and closing.

They'll have to sleep sometime, Karim thought. I'll wait till it's totally quiet and then try to get away.

But now that he was here, cocooned in this familiar place, the idea of exposing himself to the soldiers' bullets set his heart thumping uncomfortably again. And what would happen if he tried to squeeze back out through the gap and brought earth and rubble tumbling down around him? He could be buried alive! He could be trapped. Suffocated.

Only it won't happen. That's just silly, he told himself sternly. The rubble's not high enough for that.

He felt around on the back seat for his clothes. Here were the clothes he wore to school, the dark trousers, white shirt and woolen sweater. There wasn't much warmth in them, but they'd help a bit when it got really cold.

He shivered, feeling chilled already, and ran his hand further along the seat. Joni's clothes seemed to have gone. No, here they were, folded neatly and piled in the corner. Typical. He almost wanted to smile. He pulled the pile apart. There were more trousers, another long-sleeved shirt and a bomber jacket too. He wouldn't be warm, but he wouldn't freeze to death, even in the middle of the night.

The night! The thought sent his spirits plunging. What would they be thinking at home? Mama would be out of her mind with worry already, crying and carrying on, and Baba—yes, Baba would take it out in anger, ripping up at Jamal for leaving him behind, storing up his fury, probably, to vent on Karim when at last he got home.

He could see his family now, in the kitchen. They'd be sitting down to supper. Mama would have called them to the table. She'd have laid a place for him, expecting him to come dashing in at any moment. She'd have been on the phone for the last hour, calling everyone she knew in case they'd had news of him.

The thought of his empty chair, and the family sitting there without him, brought a rush of tears to his eyes. He might never manage to get home again! Either he'd starve to death here, if the curfew went on for weeks and weeks, or the Israelis would find him, assume he was a terrorist and shoot him.

He wanted to put his face in his hands and sob, but he swallowed his tears, afraid of making a noise.

From far away came the sound of a shot, then another, and a rapid burst of several in a row. There were shouts from the soldiers nearby and the sound of running feet.

Karim lifted his head, turning it as he tried to make out from which direction the sound was coming.

It must be Palestinians shooting, he decided. The soldiers wouldn't be hopping around like fleas if the firing was coming from their side.

A savage joy came, in spite of all his misery. Someone out there was resisting the invaders. And now that he thought about it, he was resisting too, in a way. Just being here, holding out on his own under their very noses, was an act of resistance. Just clinging on, not letting them drive him out of Hopper's ground, was standing up for Palestine.

He held his watch up to the glimmer of light coming through the crack by the driver's seat and his heart sank again. It was only seven thirty! He'd been here barely an hour!

All through the rest of the long, long evening, Karim's spirits rose and fell. The time passed with extraordinary slowness, minutes ticking sluggishly by, quarter hours extending to the length of hours. Hungry, lonely and cold, he shifted around on the back seat, now sitting up, now trying to lie down, unable to stand or stretch right out, trying not to think about his family and the supper they had eaten, trying to devise mind games to pass the time.

Outside, there were occasional shouts, or the wailing of distant sirens, and, once or twice, more bursts of firing, but in between a heavy, sullen silence lay over the occupied city, the inhabitants pinned down in their homes seething with almost audible resentment.

At around nine o'clock a new problem struck. Karim needed to pee. He hated the idea of fouling the inside of the car and having to live with the smell, which might even give him away if a soldier came looking across the rubble. He wriggled about for a bit, thinking out a solution, and then one came. The soda bottle from which he'd drunk was nearly empty. He'd finish the drink off and use that.

He drained the last of the sweet, fizzy liquid and managed quite well to pee into the empty bottle. Then he screwed the cap on tight and hid it under the front passenger seat.

His cleverness cheered him. He lay down again on the back seat, wrapping the spare clothes around him as best he could. The kittens had scrambled into the front of the car, disturbed by his restlessness, and were curled up together on the driver's seat, asleep. So far, hunger and thirst didn't seem to be bothering them.

Karim shut his eyes, willing sleep to come to him too. It didn't. Every time he managed to quiet his mind, a sound from outside made him start, sparking his anxiety again. The cold was attacking him too, and the extra clothes kept slipping off. The car seat was too short and his legs were cramped, while without a pillow his neck was stiffening.

He tossed and turned, hugging himself to keep in the warmth.

He had finally found a comfortable place and was on the verge of sleep when a rattle of loose stones on the roof of the car jerked him awake. He laid still, his heart thudding with fright, then he heard a patter of paws and saw the dark outline of a cat leaping deftly in through the crack by the driver's seat.

“Aziza!” he said softly.

She dropped something she'd been carrying in her mouth onto the front seat beside her kittens, who began to eat, crunching and tearing at the invisible offering, then, ignoring them, she slipped through to the back seat and sniffed at Karim's proffered hand.

With a purr of pleasure, she licked it, rasping it with her rough tongue, then leapt lightly up and settled herself in the crook of his arm.

He felt the warmth of her furry body spreading though him and love, pure love, expanded his heart. Gently he moved his head, as her twitching ear tickled his nose, threatening to make him sneeze.

Quite suddenly, he was asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Karim woke up to the sound of laughter, he lay for a moment with his eyes closed, wondering what had happened to his pillow, and why his bed had become so hard and narrow, then everything came back to him, and he sat up with a jerk. The movement cricked his stiff neck and jarred his twisted ankle. He moved his foot tentatively from side to side. The ankle still hurt, but it was better than yesterday. He hadn't sprained it badly.

Aziza had gone. The kittens, awake and lively, were tussling with each other on the driver's seat, rolling and clawing, their little teeth bared.

Karim rubbed his stiff, sore neck and looked at his watch. Eight o'clock! He'd slept for hours and hours.

The day stretched ahead, impossibly long and empty. What was he going to do? How would he fill the hours? How could he possibly stay cooped up in this cramped space, still and silent all day long? How would he manage without any food?

He tried not to think about his family and the anxiety they must be enduring, but he couldn't help imagining the breakfast they'd be having, the eggs and bread, the hot tea and creamy yogurt. Saliva rushed into his mouth.

Maybe Joni did leave some food in here, he thought. Some sweets or something. I haven't really looked yet.

He searched carefully through the whole car, pausing for a heart-stopping moment when he accidentally kicked against a door, which sent out what seemed, to his sensitive ears, to be a deafening clang.

He found nothing. Not a crumb. Not even the peelings of an orange.

He looked at his watch again. Ten past eight. Only ten minutes gone and the whole day to fill.

I'll try and go back to sleep, he thought, lying down again, but he was too wide awake now, and his limbs were twitchy with the need to move.

The laughter that had woken him had stopped, but the voices hadn't gone away. The soldiers were talking in a normal, jokey way. He could pick a few words out from the rapid Hebrew: Ramallah, Jerusalem, terrorist.

The voices stopped, and he heard the unmistakable sound of a ball being kicked, then a scuffing noise as it bounced on the dusty ground, and a sharper bang as it hit the wall.

A red tide rose in his head.

They've found my ball! They're playing with my ball on my field!

Helplessly, he banged his fists down on his knees, hurting himself. This was the worst of all, the last insult, and all he could do was grind his teeth and curse under his breath.

Someone shouted and the soccer game came to an abrupt end. A vehicle was approaching. It stopped moving, but the engine was still running. It sounded as if it had halted at the entrance to Hopper's ground.

This is my chance, Karim thought.

He could move around under cover of the noise. He might even try to wriggle out of the car and take a look outside.

He darted through to the front and eased himself out into the crack by the driver's seat. The bright sunlight, after the gloom of the buried car's interior, made him blink and screw up his eyes. He put his head back and felt the warmth on his face, sniffing the fresh air, like an animal emerging from its night burrow.

The vehicle's engine was still running. Carefully, Karim pushed himself through the gap, found footholds up the rubble and a moment later was standing upright, his limbs uncramped at last, able to see right across Hopper's ground.

The first thing to meet his eyes was a blue and white Israeli flag, fluttering above the tank, claiming Hopper's ground. The sight of it turned his stomach.

Then he saw the soldiers, three of them, standing nearby. He ducked down at once, aware that he was horribly exposed. He'd need to find cover if he was to watch in safety.

A little way away, an old white plastic chair lay on top of the rubble. One of its legs had been snapped right off and there was a hole in its seat. If he could only pull it towards him, and keep it steady in front of his face, it would make a perfect shield. He could look right through the hole without being seen.

He leaned forward, stretching out his arm as far as it would go. His fingers nudged the chair's nearest leg, but he only succeeded in pushing it further away.

He cursed under his breath. He'd have to take a risk, and raise himself even higher. He'd be totally visible then. Even if he could keep himself out of range, the sight of a chair, moving as if of its own accord across the surface of the rubble, would be sure to attract their attention.

He ducked down again, disheartened. He'd get back into the car and just go on waiting. The risk was too great to take.

But the idea of the chair, and of making a vantage point from which he could watch unseen, was too good to let go. And the thought of spending all day in the car, the whole day with nothing to do, was too horrible to contemplate. He had to get the chair. It was a risk he had to take.

He bobbed up a bit higher and stretched his arm out again, extending it till it felt as if it would snap under the strain. He would be perfectly visible now to the men below. They only needed to turn around, only look this way, and he'd be caught.

His hand closed around the leg of the chair. Slowly, cautiously, he dragged it towards him. It grated on a broken cinder block. The sound shocked Karim and he stopped pulling, but the men didn't turn round. He tugged at the leg again. The chair was nearly there, nearly in the right place, just in front of his face.

Then, as he maneuvered it into the perfect position, the back of the chair caught a loose brick and sent it rattling down into the crack. It bounced noisily against a piece of jutting concrete and smashed down painfully on Karim's foot.

The soldiers had heard it. They jerked around, alert and fearful at once. Their rifles, which they'd been holding loosely, pointing down to the ground, suddenly came up. They were aiming now into the rubble, at the place from which the noise had come, directly at the flimsy plastic chair in front of Karim's face.

Karim could see them through the hole in the seat. He was holding his breath. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead. He didn't dare duck down, in case the chair shifted, or he disturbed another brick, and gave his position away. They'd come and investigate, as sure as anything, and find him, and then...

One of the soldiers suddenly laughed and lowered his gun. He was pursing his lips and making soft, enticing noises.

The others, surprised, looked around at him. He didn't say anything, but pointed across to just beyond where Karim was hiding.

Aziza was picking her way delicately across the rubble towards the soldiers. She dislodged a stone, which rolled noisily away. Leaping down the last slope, she let out a plaintive meow, then trotted fearlessly towards the soldiers.

The one who had seen her first crouched down and tickled her under the chin. Aziza rubbed the side of her face affectionately against his leg.

“Traitor! Don't go near them,” Karim muttered under his breath.