Читать книгу Iron Dove - Judith Leon - Страница 17

Jabalya Refugee Camp, Gaza Strip, Palestine

Ali Yassin stared at his brother’s bier, but his thoughts were on his mission in Rome.

“Now, Ali,” his uncle said softly, bringing Ali back to the squalor of the tent he and his mother, brother and two sisters called home.

His brother was dead, killed because he had been throwing stones. As dead as his father and two uncles before him. Ali became once again aware of the noise of the crowd outside, the sounds of the wailing of women and the chanting of prayers by men.

His mother touched Ali’s hand. “Carry him proudly.” Tears welled in her eyes above the veil that would cover her as she followed yet another of her loved ones to his funeral.

“Pride,” he said as he stepped over to the crude bier and, with his uncle and four other men, lifted it off the wooden table. “You can’t eat pride. Pride won’t put clothes on a man’s back. Pride won’t get a man an education. Pride is good, but it’s not enough.”

With the other men, he moved toward the door, and then out into the street.

Shouts of “Revenge! Revenge!” rose. The women’s wailing grew louder.

Waving palm branches and Hamas flags, the mourners moved slowly down the narrow and filthy street toward the camp’s humble mosque.

Soon his mother, sisters and uncle would have reason to be proud of what he would do, something that would make his name famous far beyond Palestine—and his mother would have the money given to the families of all martyrs who went to Allah.