and told my son to run. I don’t know where he went."
“Liar,” the other one would scream. “I was watching your house and never saw him leave.”
“Then you must be blind, because he is not here.”
The men would search the house again. Abbas heard them come into the closet at least three or four times and he would hold his breath each time.
Abbas was lying in the coffin – praying that the Israelis would take his father away. He knew that would be the only possible scenario where his father might stay alive. He knew that his father’s friends would kill him where he stood.
He heard it.
He heard the shot that killed his father and, not really surprised, he heard the Israelis objecting to the killing. They argued that they would have made him talk once they had taken him into custody in Israel. He also heard his father’s friends argue that they could not take that chance.
For two unending days he kept hearing someone come into the house and search for him again and again. He had enough food and water to last him a week if he needed it. He only ate and drank when he could no longer stand the hunger pains or the thirst. He had no place to relieve himself and was able to hold off until the second day before he had no choice. He soiled himself.
Abbas was wondering how long he would have to stay in the coffin before he could dare to come out, when he heard an explosion that rocked the house. It was the third day. He felt everything move and it took him a few seconds to realize that the house had actually been blown up. The concussion was so severe as to disorient him. He thought it was the end for him, and was furious for not having put up a fight that first day. If he were going to die, he should have died fighting with a gun in his hand alongside his beloved father; fighting for what they both believed in.
To his surprise, things settled down. He knew he was under a pile of rubble and could not believe the coffin had saved his life. He remained where he was for a few more hours until he heard no more voices and everything had become silent. He felt it must be nightfall. He made the decision to wait one more day. He would try to free himself the following night.
Abbas reminisced about the day they built the hiding place. It had been seven years earlier. His father had worked most of his life at a pastry shop, saving every pound and piastre to buy this house. He worked at the famous Phoenicia Patisserie, baking their pastries. Even though the owner of the shop treated his father kindly, Abbas never considered that he treated him fairly. His father had made that shop famous with his delicious pastries and Abbas always thought that he should have been made a partner, even though his father tried to explain to him that it didn’t work that way. Also, he always resented the way the other employees treated his father. Just because he was a Palestinian, they treated him as if he were an intruder in their society. Oh, how he hated them. He hated all Lebanese and swore to himself that someday, no matter how long it took, he would make them pay.
*****
Abbas recalled the day they started on the coffin. After the main structure of the house went up, his father took him there on a Sunday, when the builders were not working, and built the hiding place. He thought his father would build the coffin in the ground and was surprised to see him build it inside the new house, and place it on top of the closet. It was heavy but his father had managed to lift it into position.
The first place they would look would be the ground, he remembered his father saying. The second place would be the closet, but usually behind the clothes. What we are going to do is build this haven above the top shelf and a little recessed, my son, where no one would think to look.
Abbas remembered it was extremely hard building the thing and, even though he was only ten years old at the time, he admired his father’s determination. When they finished, it was large enough for both of them, if they made no movements, and lay with their food and water on their chests.
Four days lying still in one place is not easy. One could readily go insane, so Abbas had to occupy his mind to prevent that from happening. Four days is a long time to reflect and mull over the events that had just happened. Four days seemed like an eternity. A lot can be planned during eternity.
Abbas did not remember much of his childhood. He had tried to forget all the misery he had been through. All he could remember was moving from one refugee camp to another, never having enough food to eat or enough clothes to wear. He remembered how his father would take whatever clothes he had and wrap them round his son to keep him warm, shivering himself in the cold. He loved his father. He adored his father, his dead father. Revenge consumed his whole being.
The first time he remembered having anything was when they arrived at this camp and his father went to work at the pastry shop.
Abbas remembered his first trip with his father into Israel. It was the first time he had come to know the ruthlessness his father possessed. He witnessed him killing women and children without any remorse. It frightened him, but then it was explained that they were only Jews and if the shoe were on the other foot, they would do the same thing to them. He was reminded how those people had taken their homes away, thrown them out of their own country and turned them into refugees.
It was never told to him that after World War II, the Jews were buying up the properties in Palestine and when the Palestinian authorities realized they were actually buying the whole country, they tried to put a stop to it by taking the land and homes back by force, even after they had been compensated and the properties legally bought.
He was reminded constantly of how many Palestinians had died in the struggle. He was fourteen at the time. Since that time in his life he had been groomed to replace his father in the event anything happened and he was killed or captured.
To test the coffin they built, Abbas remembered the day, his father had told his mother they were going on another mission and, while she was out shopping, he and his father climbed into it. The reasoning was, that if his mother could not find them or hear them, chances were no one else would and it would be safe enough.
Abbas would never forget that weekend. His mother returned later in the day accompanied by a man. It took his father a while to recognize the voice, but recognize it he did. They lay there listening to the adulterous affair – every sigh, every rustle and every moan. For the first time in his life, Abbas saw his father cry. He saw the man he thought invincible, cry in silence like a little child. He wanted to kill his mother for doing that. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He was not quite fifteen.
His father had inserted a sound booster on the coffin. He wanted to know what was going on outside the coffin if they ever found the need to use it. By using earphones, they could hear even the faintest noise in the room. He remembered how impressed he was with his father’s attention to the minute details.
On their next mission into Israel, his father made sure to take the man with him. He never returned. Everyone assumed that the Israelis had killed him, but Abbas was not so sure. A few months later, his father threw his mother out. Just as well. He remembered never talking to her again no matter how much she tried to contact him. She did however know why. His father faced her with the truth without revealing the existence of the coffin. He just told her that the mission was scrubbed that weekend and he saw her with the man.
Four days of reflection; Abbas had plenty of time to make his plans.
The next evening when all the voices had dissipated, he unlocked the coffin and was surprised at the ease with which the door opened. The rescue workers had unknowingly somehow created a cavity that gave him the freedom to move and, most important of all, supply him with air. He worked half the night digging himself
