As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (23)

But that is not reality.

Our future is bleak. A half-destroyed apartment, with his little sister fighting for her life. Our life is the stabs of hunger, frozen limbs, orphaned siblings, bloodied hands, old shrapnel, fear of tomorrow, silent tears, and fresh wounds. Our future has been ripped from our hands.

Somewhere far away, I hear freedom’s familiar tune. Or maybe it’s Khawf humming it to himself.

Kenan fiddles with his fingers. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know if you’d remember.” He blows out a puff of air. “How creepy would I have sounded if I’d said, ‘Hey, our mothers set us up on a social visit about our future marriage. That’s where you know me from’?”

I rub my eyes and laugh to myself silently. He must feel self-conscious and gawky, which is helping a lot.

“It’s fine. I get it.” I grin.

He eyes me warily. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because it’s the last thing I would have thought of.” I keep giggling until it’s grown into full-blown laughter. His smile grows wider until his laugh joins mine. Every time we look at each other, we double up with mirth. The Arab proverb has never been truer: The worst of outcomes is what is most hilarious.

Khawf smokes his cigarette and retreats to a corner of the room, seemingly satisfied with the result.

We settle down, chuckling quietly.

“Well, that is one hell of an icebreaker,” I say.

“If I’d known this would happen, I would have come clean sooner.”

Suddenly Lama wakes up, choking out “water,” and the mood instantly changes. Kenan jumps to his feet and fetches a jug. I wipe her brow again and am pleased when I find she has continued to sweat.

“She sweated through her whole shirt.” I smile.

“And that’s good?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, helping her drink.

“It’s excellent. Lama, drink some more water, please.” She obliges. “This is a good sign. It means her body is healing. You can see her breath is steady, and there’s no pus around the wounds. Alhamdulillah. She’s making progress. Keep her warm and make her drink a lot of water.”

Kenan’s eyes brim with tears again. He clearly thought he was going to lose her and had steeled himself to accept the fact she might not open her eyes.

As Lama settles back to sleep, I wrap another blanket around her.

He stares at his sister’s face, taking her small hand in his, engulfing it completely. When he speaks, it’s dreamlike.

“She’s the youngest in the family. We were all so happy when she was born. Two boys are a handful, and then this angel came into the world. I remember the sound of Baba crying with joy when the nurse told him she was a girl. She was so spoiled. A butterfly touching her skin was a catastrophe. We never let any harm come to her. How could we call ourselves her brothers then? Her protectors? And now… her body is hurt by hatred.” His voice breaks, frustrated and angry. “I failed. I couldn’t protect her. Yusuf hasn’t even spoken since my parents died, and he flinches at the slightest sound. She and I were the ones who were able to keep it together. Not letting the cracks show. But… they’re finally making her suffer. I promised Baba I’d protect them with my life and… I’ve let him down.”

With shaking hands, he tucks the blanket around her more securely. I think of Baba and Hamza. And Layla.

Please be okay, Layla, I pray. Please.

“What do you do during the day?” I ask, trying to change a horrible subject to one less horrible by a fraction.

“For money? I have family in Germany. They send some whenever they can.”

I fiddle with my fingers. “The hospital doesn’t pay, but it’s something to help the people. Although who knows if I’m staying long en—”

I immediately stop talking, and Kenan looks up, his brows furrowed. It’s easy for him to piece it together from the mortification on my face. I press my hands against my chest, reciting daisies, daisies, daisies. I can’t believe I let that slip. This must be the lack of sleep and today’s horror catching up with me.

“You’re going to leave?” he asks.

I ponder for a minute. “I don’t know.”

He looks confused. “You don’t know?”

I chew my tongue. “Wouldn’t you leave, given the chance?”

He has two very malnourished siblings under his care as reasons to leave, so what’s stopping him? The hospital is the only thing holding me back.

“No,” he says without hesitation, looking me straight in the eye.

“What—what about Yusuf and Lama?”

He inhales sharply and glances at Lama. Her face is scrunched with pain, her mouth parted as she breathes. Strands of hair are plastered to her forehead, and Kenan brushes them away, his fingers shaking. “I’d—I’d probably send my siblings alone if it were safe for them, but it’s not. Yusuf is thirteen. She’s nine. They… they can’t make it on their own.”

I stare at him. “Then why don’t you leave with them?”

The sadness disappears from his eyes, replaced with a ferocious intensity. “This is my country. If I run away—if I don’t defend it, then who will?”

I can’t believe the words I’m hearing.