THEIR INDEPENDENCE / OUR DISASTER "Nakba"
In recent days, the occupied Palestinian territories are closed because the Israelis are celebrating 62 years "independence"
THE LAND OF ORANGES SAD of Ghassan Khanafani
When we went away from Jaffa aimed at 'Akka, the tragedy was not yet complete. We felt like that every year they go to do vacation in another city. To 'Akka day passed normally, with nothing unusual. But perhaps, at that time, I was too small, and these days they are enjoyed myself simply because I was not allowed to go to school. In recent days, the occupied Palestinian territories are closed because the Israelis are celebrating 62 years "independence"
THE LAND OF ORANGES SAD of Ghassan Khanafani
When night came, however bitter the great attack, I began to see things more clearly: the past grumpy men and women in prayer. You, Me and someone else our age we were too young to understand what was really going on from beginning to end of story.
That night, however, something began to outline: In the morning, when Jews began to retreat from threats and fumes of anger, a large truck stopped at the door. A cluster of simple things to sleep on was thrown ...
truck here and there, with quick movements and fever. I was leaning with his back against the wall of the old house when I saw your mother get on the truck, then your aunt and small. Your father drove the truck into you and your brothers among the luggage, then took me from my angle, I stood up and made me get on the trunk of iron on the roof of the cockpit. There I found, sitting still, my brother Riad. Before I most comfortable, the truck had already set in motion, and my beloved 'Akka gradually disappeared behind the curves in the road to Ra's al-Naqura.
After a little 'the sky is cloudy and cold sensations seized me. Riad was sitting quietly with his legs dangling off the bars to protect the rack and the back resting on the luggage at the sky. I sat in silence, with his chin on folded knees, squeezing your legs with your arms. And along the way ... orange ... We all feel overwhelmed by feelings of fear, as the truck, panting, he climbed up the wet road, followed by gunfire as far away as farewell greetings. When
in the distance began to see Ra's al-Naqura, clouded against the blue horizon, the truck stopped. The women made way among the luggage, got out and headed to a peasant squatting in front of a basket of oranges. It took a few and their cry came up to us. It seemed clear then that the oranges had to be something very expensive and that these big shiny fruits accounted for all of us something very precious. The women brought the truck to the fruit they had bought. Your father also got him from his seat beside the driver. stretched his hand and took an orange that he began to contemplate in silence, then burst into tears like a child disperato.A Ra's al-Naqura and stayed close to other trucks. The men were delivering weapons to some police officers. When we touched on the table saw and miter saw guns and even a row of large vehicles, pulling up in the streets, came into Lebanon and increasingly moving away from the land of oranges ... Finally I burst into tears. Your mother, still silent, still looking oranges, and your father's eyes sparkled all the orange trees that he was leaving the Jews. All of the orange trees, which he bought, one by one, seemed carved in his face and tears glistened in front of the officer could not restrain the guard post.
In the evening, when we arrived in Saida ', had become profughi.Come we were swallowed up by the other road. Your father looked older than before and seemed not to sleep for a long time. He was standing in the street in front of the luggage piled on the floor. Then I thought that if I just wanted to say something, it would certainly have exploded in curses: "Cursed is your father, and damn ..". These two oaths you could see his face clearly, but I, too, the child brought up in a strict religious school, in those moments I was doubting that God could really help humanity. Also doubt that this God could hear everything and see everything. The little image in the chapel of those who distribute school, and that was the Lord who looks with compassion for children and smiles, I looked like another of many lies made up by those who open schools only severe straight to grab more salty. I had no doubt, however, that God, that we had met in Palestine, he had become refugees somewhere, somewhere, he incapable of solving the problems, let alone how we could solve them, we human refugees, sitting on a sidewalk waiting for a new destiny to take us some solution, and more haunted by the responsibility to find a roof under which to spend the night in my child's mind had already begun to creep into the pain.
The night was something terrible. The darkness slowly descended on our heads filled my heart with terror, and the thought terrified me to spend it on the sidewalk deeply. It was pure and simple fear. There was no one who could comfort me, nor could I find anyone at that shelter. The look of silence, your father made me sink into a new terror, and quell'arancia in the hand of your mother made me climb the fire on his head. Everyone was silent, staring at the black road as if waiting to see around the corner check fate came to solve our problems, to lead us all under one roof. And suddenly the fate arrived.
It was a your uncle, who came into the country before us. He was our uncle destino.Tuo never had great confidence in mankind and completely lost when he found himself on the pavement, just like us. He walked to a house inhabited by a Jewish family, he opened the door, threw the luggage in, then, with his round face and a finger pointed at them, pure in Arabic said: "Now you go there, in Palestine. " Of course, they went there in Palestine, but his desperate determination scared them so much that they retired to a room, leaving him with a roof and a pavimento.Tuo uncle had taken us in that very room. There cabinet in there, along with his family and their luggage, and piled so that night we slept on the floor with our little bodies covered by coats of uomini.Quando we awoke, we realized that the men had spent the night on chairs. Slowly, the tragedy was penetrating every cell of our body.
A Saida ' not live there long because your uncle was not enough room for even half of us and despite that, we had hosted for three nights. Then your mother asked your father to go and look for a job or any of us back to the orange groves. But your father, in a voice full of anger, he shouted something in his face and she was silenced. Thus also began our family problems. That our family happy and together we were left behind with the land, the people and the martyrs.
I never knew where he got the money, your father. I know he had already sold the gold to give your mother the day that he wanted to make her happy and proud to be his wife. But much of that gold did not solve our problems. There has been another source of income: he may have made debts, or will have sold something that was brought back without us we saw. I do not know, I remember, though, that we moved to a village near Saida 'and your father, to be on top of a terrace of stone, came back smiling. He was waiting on the fifteenth May to get back home in the wake of the victorious armies. And after a bitter expectation that May 15 arrivò.Ero finally plunged into a deep sleep, when, at midnight, your father shook me with his foot and told me solemnly, his voice full of hope: "Get up! And look at the entry of Arab armies in Palestine. " I jumped up like a madman and, at midnight, through the hills, we descended barefoot to the road that passed a mile from the village. We were all there, big and small, we were out of breath, we ran like crazy. From a distance we could see the lights of vehicles to Ra's al-Naqura and when we arrived, we were cold, but felt Only the cries of your father. As a young boy ran behind the truck, the men cheered and shouted hoarsely, gasping. It seemed really a kid and she ran behind the convoy of vehicles. We ran him close and cried with him, while those brave soldiers watched us from under their helmets, fearless and silent. He was panting all, behold your father, always encouraging them and running despite his fifty years, he pulls from his pocket and threw cigarettes to the soldiers, with us, as a small herd of goats, always accanto.All 'suddenly ran out truck and return home exhausted, panting. Your father stopped talking and we no longer had the strength to say anything. When a machine came over and lit up the face of your father, we noticed that her cheeks were wet with tears.
After that things are followed with great slowness. The official press had us fooled at first, but now the truth, in all its bitterness, could no longer be negata.I faces darkened and your father began to feel a great difficulty in speaking of Palestine and of the happy time spent in its plantations and homes of his country. We formed the walls of the enormous tragedy that was taking over one of his new life, and were also clever enough to discover, without much difficulty, that in the early morning climb up the mountain, as we ordered him, only served to distract us from asking the colazione.La affair became even more critical. Even the simplest thing aroused the anger of your father. I remember perfectly when one of them asked him something - I do not know, and I can not remember - he gasped, then began to tremble as dazzled by the current. His eyes glistened. A thought had already cursed flashed on his mind. He started again as if he had found a satisfactory solution: confused who knows how to be the only one who can solve the problem and is afraid of a decisive step. Your father began to wander and turn around on all sides in search of something. Finally he fell on a box that we had portatao from 'Akka, throwing things up with the frenetic movements and scary. Your mother immediately understood everything and, with the anxiety of women who fear for their children in danger, we drove out of the room and ordered us to run up the mountain. We, however, we stopped at the window, and pressing our little ears against the wood, we heard with horror that your father was shouting: "They kill, I kill myself, I do it over, I ..". Then, suddenly, was silent through a crack, looked into the room and discovered him lying on the floor, sobbing and gasping. Your mother before him, standing, and looked full of compassion. Before we knew not, but remember that when I saw the black revolver at his side, on the ground, everything became chiara.Spaventato me to death, like a child suddenly runs into a spirit, ran towards the mountain. And when I left home, I walked away even from my childhood. I understood then that our lives would never be simple and quiet and that, as the only solution, there remained only one bullet in the head for all of us. We were supposed to behave well and under the circumstances. We could not even ask if we had to eat was hungry, we should have to remain silent when a parent had talked about his problems, and we would nod and smile every time you had told us to leave the mountains and not come back before mezzogiorno.La of the evening, when it was dark, I returned home. I remember your father was still sick, your mother was sitting, and all you had eyes that shone like a cat, her lips tight as if they had never been opened, like an old wound scars never healed. There you were sitting there, one attached to another, so far from your childhood as the land of oranges, oranges ones - had told us that a farmer had planted - would dry out, once changed the hand that watered them. Your father was still sick in bed, and your mother swallowed the tears of a tragedy that is still read today in his occhi.Entrai sneak into the room, unnoticed, and my eyes fell on the face of your father, who still showed traces of his anger and his impotence. I saw the gun on the table and black beside an orange: it was lean and hard.
in the distance began to see Ra's al-Naqura, clouded against the blue horizon, the truck stopped. The women made way among the luggage, got out and headed to a peasant squatting in front of a basket of oranges. It took a few and their cry came up to us. It seemed clear then that the oranges had to be something very expensive and that these big shiny fruits accounted for all of us something very precious. The women brought the truck to the fruit they had bought. Your father also got him from his seat beside the driver. stretched his hand and took an orange that he began to contemplate in silence, then burst into tears like a child disperato.A Ra's al-Naqura and stayed close to other trucks. The men were delivering weapons to some police officers. When we touched on the table saw and miter saw guns and even a row of large vehicles, pulling up in the streets, came into Lebanon and increasingly moving away from the land of oranges ... Finally I burst into tears. Your mother, still silent, still looking oranges, and your father's eyes sparkled all the orange trees that he was leaving the Jews. All of the orange trees, which he bought, one by one, seemed carved in his face and tears glistened in front of the officer could not restrain the guard post.
In the evening, when we arrived in Saida ', had become profughi.Come we were swallowed up by the other road. Your father looked older than before and seemed not to sleep for a long time. He was standing in the street in front of the luggage piled on the floor. Then I thought that if I just wanted to say something, it would certainly have exploded in curses: "Cursed is your father, and damn ..". These two oaths you could see his face clearly, but I, too, the child brought up in a strict religious school, in those moments I was doubting that God could really help humanity. Also doubt that this God could hear everything and see everything. The little image in the chapel of those who distribute school, and that was the Lord who looks with compassion for children and smiles, I looked like another of many lies made up by those who open schools only severe straight to grab more salty. I had no doubt, however, that God, that we had met in Palestine, he had become refugees somewhere, somewhere, he incapable of solving the problems, let alone how we could solve them, we human refugees, sitting on a sidewalk waiting for a new destiny to take us some solution, and more haunted by the responsibility to find a roof under which to spend the night in my child's mind had already begun to creep into the pain.
The night was something terrible. The darkness slowly descended on our heads filled my heart with terror, and the thought terrified me to spend it on the sidewalk deeply. It was pure and simple fear. There was no one who could comfort me, nor could I find anyone at that shelter. The look of silence, your father made me sink into a new terror, and quell'arancia in the hand of your mother made me climb the fire on his head. Everyone was silent, staring at the black road as if waiting to see around the corner check fate came to solve our problems, to lead us all under one roof. And suddenly the fate arrived.
It was a your uncle, who came into the country before us. He was our uncle destino.Tuo never had great confidence in mankind and completely lost when he found himself on the pavement, just like us. He walked to a house inhabited by a Jewish family, he opened the door, threw the luggage in, then, with his round face and a finger pointed at them, pure in Arabic said: "Now you go there, in Palestine. " Of course, they went there in Palestine, but his desperate determination scared them so much that they retired to a room, leaving him with a roof and a pavimento.Tuo uncle had taken us in that very room. There cabinet in there, along with his family and their luggage, and piled so that night we slept on the floor with our little bodies covered by coats of uomini.Quando we awoke, we realized that the men had spent the night on chairs. Slowly, the tragedy was penetrating every cell of our body.
A Saida ' not live there long because your uncle was not enough room for even half of us and despite that, we had hosted for three nights. Then your mother asked your father to go and look for a job or any of us back to the orange groves. But your father, in a voice full of anger, he shouted something in his face and she was silenced. Thus also began our family problems. That our family happy and together we were left behind with the land, the people and the martyrs.
I never knew where he got the money, your father. I know he had already sold the gold to give your mother the day that he wanted to make her happy and proud to be his wife. But much of that gold did not solve our problems. There has been another source of income: he may have made debts, or will have sold something that was brought back without us we saw. I do not know, I remember, though, that we moved to a village near Saida 'and your father, to be on top of a terrace of stone, came back smiling. He was waiting on the fifteenth May to get back home in the wake of the victorious armies. And after a bitter expectation that May 15 arrivò.Ero finally plunged into a deep sleep, when, at midnight, your father shook me with his foot and told me solemnly, his voice full of hope: "Get up! And look at the entry of Arab armies in Palestine. " I jumped up like a madman and, at midnight, through the hills, we descended barefoot to the road that passed a mile from the village. We were all there, big and small, we were out of breath, we ran like crazy. From a distance we could see the lights of vehicles to Ra's al-Naqura and when we arrived, we were cold, but felt Only the cries of your father. As a young boy ran behind the truck, the men cheered and shouted hoarsely, gasping. It seemed really a kid and she ran behind the convoy of vehicles. We ran him close and cried with him, while those brave soldiers watched us from under their helmets, fearless and silent. He was panting all, behold your father, always encouraging them and running despite his fifty years, he pulls from his pocket and threw cigarettes to the soldiers, with us, as a small herd of goats, always accanto.All 'suddenly ran out truck and return home exhausted, panting. Your father stopped talking and we no longer had the strength to say anything. When a machine came over and lit up the face of your father, we noticed that her cheeks were wet with tears.
After that things are followed with great slowness. The official press had us fooled at first, but now the truth, in all its bitterness, could no longer be negata.I faces darkened and your father began to feel a great difficulty in speaking of Palestine and of the happy time spent in its plantations and homes of his country. We formed the walls of the enormous tragedy that was taking over one of his new life, and were also clever enough to discover, without much difficulty, that in the early morning climb up the mountain, as we ordered him, only served to distract us from asking the colazione.La affair became even more critical. Even the simplest thing aroused the anger of your father. I remember perfectly when one of them asked him something - I do not know, and I can not remember - he gasped, then began to tremble as dazzled by the current. His eyes glistened. A thought had already cursed flashed on his mind. He started again as if he had found a satisfactory solution: confused who knows how to be the only one who can solve the problem and is afraid of a decisive step. Your father began to wander and turn around on all sides in search of something. Finally he fell on a box that we had portatao from 'Akka, throwing things up with the frenetic movements and scary. Your mother immediately understood everything and, with the anxiety of women who fear for their children in danger, we drove out of the room and ordered us to run up the mountain. We, however, we stopped at the window, and pressing our little ears against the wood, we heard with horror that your father was shouting: "They kill, I kill myself, I do it over, I ..". Then, suddenly, was silent through a crack, looked into the room and discovered him lying on the floor, sobbing and gasping. Your mother before him, standing, and looked full of compassion. Before we knew not, but remember that when I saw the black revolver at his side, on the ground, everything became chiara.Spaventato me to death, like a child suddenly runs into a spirit, ran towards the mountain. And when I left home, I walked away even from my childhood. I understood then that our lives would never be simple and quiet and that, as the only solution, there remained only one bullet in the head for all of us. We were supposed to behave well and under the circumstances. We could not even ask if we had to eat was hungry, we should have to remain silent when a parent had talked about his problems, and we would nod and smile every time you had told us to leave the mountains and not come back before mezzogiorno.La of the evening, when it was dark, I returned home. I remember your father was still sick, your mother was sitting, and all you had eyes that shone like a cat, her lips tight as if they had never been opened, like an old wound scars never healed. There you were sitting there, one attached to another, so far from your childhood as the land of oranges, oranges ones - had told us that a farmer had planted - would dry out, once changed the hand that watered them. Your father was still sick in bed, and your mother swallowed the tears of a tragedy that is still read today in his occhi.Entrai sneak into the room, unnoticed, and my eyes fell on the face of your father, who still showed traces of his anger and his impotence. I saw the gun on the table and black beside an orange: it was lean and hard.
0 comments:
Post a Comment