Free Out of It by Selma Dabbagh

obviously he was not there this morning. He’s probably out and about pulling his party into the funeral arrangements. You know he’s with the religious parties.’
    ‘Of course, he’s . . . Yes, I’d forgotten.’
    ‘The mother looks like someone has sucked the bones out of her. She kept giving these practical, hospitality, yes-of-course-it’s-for-the-good-of-the-nation speeches, but she is all collapsed inside. It was awful. It’s just . . .’ Her arm jerked out as if hitting something away. ‘It’s intolerable . It has to stop.’ She looked up and her eyes latched on to those of the man on the neighbouring table, who did not look away. No one spoke for a while.
    Khalil stood up to readjust himself. His flannel shirt was buttoned up and tucked in at the front but it had come loose from the back of his trousers. There were streaks of dust down the side of one of his arms and a slight tear close to his collarbone. He removed his bag from his shoulder showing the sweat under his armpits, tucked the tail of his shirt back into his jeans and started brushing himself down. It didn’t make much difference.
    ‘I thought maybe this place wouldn’t be open,’ Khalil said as he sat down. ‘Most of the restaurants are closed. There are queues at the bakeries everywhere. They were waiting for an excuse to close us in again and attack and this Hajjar girl handed them one on a plate. Every border is absolutely sealed. Nothing’s going in. Nothing’s going out. Strawberries, flowers, and vegetables – everything’s rotting at the borders, north and south.’
    ‘You were in the south?’ Rashid asked.
    ‘I tried to get down there as early as possible because I knew they were going to close the roads. I wanted to see how bad things were,’ Khalil said.
    ‘I would have thought it would be impossible.’
    ‘It was almost impossible.’ Khalil brought out a map. Some of the fighters turned around to watch. ‘They closed the main road and all the arteries off it.’ Khalil traced his finger along the stretch of road. His fingernails were always perfectly trimmed, cut square across the top, but today they were blackened and, noticing them against the map, Khalil tried to clean them with a corner of paper, but it didn’t work. ‘You can’t get to any of the southern camps; they are totally isolated. You can’t even get as far as that village.’ Khalil stabbed at the map.
    ‘Shit.’ Rashid’s hands drummed against the table. ‘Shit.’
    ‘They have totally sealed us in. And they are bulldozing houses on the outskirts of the camp.’
    ‘Why?’ Rashid asked.
    ‘Who knows? They don’t indulge us with reasons any more.’ Khalil folded up his map. It was made out of four printed sheets of A4 taped together and he smoothed it flat along its joins. He turned back to Iman. ‘Why did the family want you there? You didn’t need to see the bodies. I don’t get it. Why did they ask you to go?’
    ‘I did need to see them like that. It’s important. It will help me . . . I need to know what to do. It will help me decide.’
    Iman was looking up now, past Khalil at their neighbour. Khalil looked as though he had so much more that he wanted to say. He cleared some ash off the table with the side of his hand.
    ‘What is it?’ Khalil asked Rashid, who was looking agitated.
    ‘Nothing. Well, actually, this doesn’t seem like the right time but you should both know that I got it. I got an email this morning.’
    ‘Got what?’ Khalil asked.
    ‘The scholarship.’ Rashid’s hands opened up, what else? ‘For London.’
    ‘Well done,’ Khalil said. ‘Congratulations. Mubrook .’
    ‘ Mubrook ,’ Iman said, looking up at Rashid. ‘Is that the proposal you were working on with Sabri?’
    ‘That’s what Mama said.’
    ‘What does that mean?’ Iman asked.
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Forget it. It just means I’m out of here. A couple more weeks then I’m gone for a year, at least a year. Hopefully longer if I