Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction Read Online Free PDF Page B

sounded strained, rising with each question until it became shrill.
    “Follow me!” Fatima ordered. In the silence of her bedroom, she burst out, “Have you lost your mind? You questioned me in front of your brother and sisters who know nothing of what happened last night. You should be ashamed of yourself. Go wash and come to eat. I forbid you to ask any more questions.”
    “You have to tell me what happened. On my father’s memory, I beg of you.”
    Fatima still refused to answer. In his mind, Musa cursed the minute he agreed to let his mother take the girl to the old watchmaker.
    “She got lost,” Fatima said after a long silence. “I know she followed me, because I looked back every few steps, but on Jerusalem Boulevard the traffic separated us all of a sudden, and she,” Fatima stopped. Then with a decisive tone she continued, “
Allah chalasna minik
, good riddance.”
    Without waiting to hear another word, Musa ran out of the house. Where could she be, he thought, walking briskly on thepavement melting under his steps. It was siesta time. Most of the shops were closed, and only a few people ventured out into the street during the hottest hours of the day. Aimlessly he walked through the almost empty bazaar, then through the souk without success. Musa knew he couldn’t ask a passerby, “Have you seen a girl with golden tresses and the bluest eyes, wearing a white-sleeved blouse and a long black skirt?” People would think him drunk or crazy. He felt sick at the thought that he had lost her; that he wasn’t going to see her again.
    Musa found himself in front of the Mahmoodia Great Mosque. He left his slippers at the entrance and entered its refreshing cool walls. The Mosque was almost empty. He prostrated himself and prayed, but instead of the verses of the Koran, he just whispered, “Oh, Allah Akbar, glorious Allah, our light and father, help me find her.” After a while he got up and left. His steps directed him toward the beach. It was there he had seen her the first time. He knew that it was ridiculous to think he’d find her on the beach again, but his feet carried him there against his will.
    At that hour the beach was usually deserted. No one ventured onto its burning sands when the sun was at its zenith. As he got closer to the place where he had seen her only a day ago, his heart started beating faster. He ran. The sand burned his soles, but he didn’t feel it. From a distance he saw a group of boys, barefoot, their pants rolled-up, striding into the water. As he got closer, he heard them yelling, “A girl is drowning. She needs help.” His feet grew wings.
It’s not possible
, Musa thought, and as he hurled himself into the sea, he saw a blond head, bobbing in and out of water at the mercy of the waves. The sun didn’t play a joke on him. It was the girl, his girl. He broke the waves, with the boys swimming after him screaming directions. When he felt a piece of cloth, Musa screamed, “I got her,” and feverishly brought her head above the water.
    “She is breathing,” one of the boys said, after they helped him carry and lay her on the sand. “She hasn’t opened her eyes. Should we call a policeman?” asked another boy.
    “No, no,” Musa said, out of breath.
    “Musa,” said the first boy, recognizing him. “Musa Ibn-Faud. Tell us what to do?”
    The boys, twelve or thirteen year old, looked expectantly at him. Musa had to think fast. He couldn’t tell them that he knew the girl, yet, he couldn’t lose a minute.
    The boys talked all at once, “You could see she didn’t know how to swim,” said one.
    “We called her,” said another. “We didn’t do anything wrong,” said the third.
    “You are good people, and Allah will recompense you for your good deed,” Musa said, as he covered Shifra’s head with his own kafia, to protect her from the sun. “Go home. Don’t worry. I’ll get the help she needs.”
    The boys seemed uncertain. “Go,” Musa repeated