26
‘You know something, Fahmi? I think you may be the perfect man. You never shout at me, never disappear, never turn up smelling of vodka and cigarettes and other women. Even Mama would like you. Let’s see…physiotherapy in an hour, then a wash. Massage first. You had a busy day yesterday. Both Lulu and Rana. Very cute, Fahmi. Still not talking to you, but I saw her kissing your forehead.’
Bilahl believed that he could carry out what everybody else only talked about: the mother of all operations. After his visit to Gaza his confidence had gone through the roof. It was power he was feeling.
He wanted to talk to me about his ideas.
Ben-Gurion International Airport. Since the Fatah operation in the seventies no one had managed to get near it. The passenger lounge was a good target. An aircraft was a possibility, either in the air or on the ground. Huge impact. Great damage to the economy. The feeling that their escape routes had been blocked off, that running to Mummy in America was not so easy. The feeling that they were locked up in here with us.
Second option, Eilat airport. A little far but the impact would still be considerable. A small airport but relatively light security. Near the city centre and the hotels. Less guarded. Several options to get there: from the southern part of the West Bank; from the Gaza strip via Egypt, along the border or from Sinai; through Saudi Arabia or Aqaba, in a commando boat. Eilat was vulnerable.
I said, ‘It’s not a coincidence that Eilat’s hardly been targeted yet: it’s not Palestine.’
‘New York and Munich aren’t Palestine either.’
‘Right. But you’re talking about the mother of all…’
Third option, a big hotel in Jerusalem. ‘Like the Jewish operation against the British in the King David. They drove a car in with two hundred and fifty kilos of explosives. This is what I’m talking about. Something that will go down in the history books.’
Fourth option: a symbol. David’s Tower.
‘Oh, come on: David’s Tower?’
Fifth option: the Knesset. ‘Get people with weapons inside with the caterers or cleaners, in trucks through the back gate. You get someone to work there for a few months.’
‘It’s not easy,’ I said.
‘I didn’t say it was easy.’ He looked up with irritation. ‘We will keep thinking. I’m happy to hear more ideas. Anyway, you’re to start working on the explosives. Start gathering quantities. Slowly.’
‘How are the muscles responding, Doctor?’
‘Well, you know. He’s not moving them like us. You should be giving him more massages every day, here, and here, like this…’
‘I know–I’ve already increased the number of deep massages. He gets more than anyone, longer than anyone…’
‘And always check underneath, because that’s how he usually lies…’
‘I do. I’m determined that he won’t get any pressure sores. I’ve been working on reducing these inflammations, too. Here, help me turn him over, Doctor…’
‘I’m impressed, Svetlana…’
‘Careful with the tubes now…One for air, and another for urine. He’s lucky we treat him so well. Nobody else gets such personal treatment, Doctor.’
Outside, the armoured personnel carriers rolled by, leading columns of soldiers like ducks leading trails of their young. We’d grown used to them and, as in the zoo when the animals get to know each other, we feared them less. Kids were already throwing stones at them, almost affectionately, as it were.
I poured Coke into a couple of tall Coca-Cola glasses I got free with a box of six bottles and Bilahl lifted his glass dubiously, the drink sizzling with a thousand tiny explosions beneath his lips. I didn’t like his attitude. I didn’t know what they’d told him in Gaza but I’d seen the money they’d given him. Two thousand in cash. Two grand, and even a glass of Coke was somehow impure and decadent. We should have enjoyed it more, should have realised that the tap could have been turned off any time. But it’s easy to say that in hindsight.
I drank Coke and ate sunflower seeds and watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and The Weakest Link and The Mission. A contestant on The Mission managed to reach the Golden Question, giving himself a chance to double the five million Lebanese lira he’d already won.
The Golden Question was this:
‘Last week members of the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades carried out an attack on a bus on the road between Jaffa and Jerusalem. In what year did Palestinian freedom fighters carry out similar attacks against Jewish buses on the same road?’
‘1978,’ said the contestant, and my smile disappeared. Up in heaven I guess Grandfather Fahmi’s did too. Ihab the host stared at the contestant for a few seconds before telling him he’d just blown five million lira. He recounted the real story of the Beit-Machsir fighters. When Bilahl came back I told him and he switched the set off and snapped that I needed less TV and more mosque in my life. I said nothing. I just looked levelly at my brother and leaned back on the sofa, where Rana and I had done something he never had.