Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (24 page)

            “No,
only when hatred is aroused again or when new people arrive with novel ideas
and projects.”

            “How
do you escape and keep from being discovered?”  She continued to whisper,
looking at the wheelchairs around them.

            ”The
truth is we don’t have much success.  Once, they chased Atraf to the foot of
the mountain, but when he got out of the car that brought him there and sat in
his wheelchair, they turned around in shame and departed.”

            Abigail
laughed quietly.

            “Sure, how could they have
suspected him?” She whispered.

            A
few minutes later, Abigail overheard conversations between some people and she
whispered to Kahida:

            “May
we join in their activities?”

            Nadia
did not respond and Abigail said:

            “I
understand.”

            “Not
yet. Give them a little time to get to know you and then offer them the benefit
of your experience.”

            Kahida
joined the two.  She told them, Tommy, and Ibrahim told everyone how they
captured Abigail and even expressed the wish that everyone would be as well
versed in Krav Maga (contact combat) as Abigail.  At first, she was embarrassed. 
Then she came up with an idea.

            “Perhaps,
I could train them,” she suggested.

            “How? 
Look at us,” Nadia laughed.  “But you could teach us about arms and
ammunition.  That’s something we really need.”

            “Weapons? 
Why?  Who are you fighting?”

            “We’re
fighting against the army, the Revolutionary Guards and sometimes, we just give
the authorities trouble.”

            “How
can you fight against the military?”

            “We
attack units of soldiers or military bases and…”

“Well really, are
you serious?  That sounds like a recipe for suicide!” Nadia silenced her
quickly.

“Listen, it doesn’t work like that.  You
have to be smarter, use surprise tactics and ambush them.  You are only a few
and you’re untrained.  You should never expose yourselves in indefensible
skirmishes.”

“Oh, I’m happy you’re here,” Kahida
exclaimed and kissed Abigail on her forehead.
 
Abigail
hadn‘t realized that it was almost impossible to teach or train disabled people
who won’t permit interference in their actions.

The following day,
Abigail went to look around.  She was curious to see how the village was run.

She saw that every yard had a
well-ordered garden like a nursery, but each household cultivated only one type
of plant.  Later, she heard that the gardens were organized according to a
plan.  No one sowed or planted what he wished but followed the plan.  The only
difference she saw between the yards was the flowers and various flowering
shrubs, which were cultivated according to individual taste.

The
trails were quiet at this time of the morning and there was no one around. When
she reached the outskirts of the village, she stopped in front of small fruit
orchards and along the paths between the trees she saw wheelchairs.  People sat
in them, wielding implements to dig and rake the earth or dragged irrigation
pipes. Those trees bore apples and in another grove there was orange-colored
fruit.  None of the workers paid attention to her.

She heard the whooping and hollering of
children behind her and between the two groves she saw structures that looked
like a school.  The children were outside enjoying their break.  Abigail
continued to the next road and saw two rows of buildings on either side of it. 
The noise and clatter of tools were heard everywhere.  Small cars and
wheelchairs with missing wheels in various states of repair and assembly stood
outside.

When she went back through the gate to
the house, she found Kahida busy in her garden and joined her.  Tiny stalks
pushed up out of the planting beds in straight rows.

“This year, I’m cultivating green and
red peppers and in the beds, over there, by the fence I planted radishes.”

“Wonderful.  Who instructs you or
supplies you with seeds for the plants?”

“We have gardeners whose job it is to
plan and divide the different vegetables between us.”

They continued working in silence and
Abigail told her she had seen the school and heard the children and asked who
taught them and organized their activities.

“They are also professionals or
volunteers.”

”Are they real teachers?”

“I don’t know, but no one is required to
present his qualifications or certificates and, believe me, everything is done
with love because they are our children.”

“That’s really impressive,” Abigail said
as she continued weeding the beds.

“Kahida, do you know what I haven‘t seen
here?” Abigail remarked, “There are no policemen.  How do you deal with thieves
and criminals in this village?”  And Kahida laughed.

“All of us here are criminals, outlaws
and law-breakers persecuted by the authorities,” she stood firmly and put her
hands on her hips.

“Who will punish us?  Are we to punish
ourselves?”

That evening, Abigail went out to the
entrance to the village, to the waterfall from above that bounced off the rock.
She saw that the construction of the walls of the village was ongoing and she
noticed that the work never ended. 

They explained that the rushing water at
the entrance to the village washed away the soil and the wall sank all the time
into the constantly muddy earth. 

That night, Abigail was woken by
screaming and she sat up in fright in her bed.  The light turned on in one of
the rooms and Abigail heard Kahida limping slowly.  She heard the front door
open and close again.  The screaming continued and even grew louder. 
Concerned, she got up and went to sit in the living room and heard the cries
grow fainter till they disappeared.  She almost fell back to sleep in the
armchair, when the door opened again and Kahida entered.  When she saw Abigail,
she said exhaustedly:

“That was Adel.  He had a tough time
today.”

“What happened to him?”

“Nothing, it’s usual.  Now and then he
screams when his soul is in pain and he tries to extinguish the burning inside
him.”

“Oh, why does it happen to him?”

“Naima, this is our life.  Some of us
have head injuries and lose their mind.  When they get an attack, professionals
come to take care of them.”

“Ah, Kahida, are you a professional?  I
didn’t know.”

“I studied Psychology, but I did not
complete my studies and don‘t have a diploma but, I am natural at it and help
them when they need me.”

Abigail remained silent, not daring to
put her thoughts into words.  Kahida drew up a chair and sat down beside her.

“Yes, Naima, speak.  What did you want
to ask?”

“It’s not important, ah, alright.” She
changed her mind. “I asked myself whether there aren’t any healthy people here,
I mean to say, people who don‘t have anything wrong with them,” and received
the reply:

“Why would healthy people want to live
with us?”

“Ah, so that they could do the things
you are doing and fight together with you.”

Kahida was exhausted, her face was wan
and dark blotches spread under her eyes and she stared at Abigail.

“Here, you are with us and you seem to
be healthy,” she said, and  she looked at her, saw her exhaustion and wondered
whether to answer her, then heard her say:

“Mullah thinks you are exquisite and I
agree with him.” And then she laughed.

“What color are your mother’s eyes,
Naima?”

Abigail winced and cringed.  It was important
not to reveal details about her life and she quickly replied with brief answers
including answers to questions that had not even been asked.

“My mother’s eyes are as black as a
moonless night.  A hijab covers her black hair and her face is concealed behind
a veil and she raised three exemplary sons.”  She replied.

Kahida smiled and straightened up in her
chair and appeared to Abigail to have woken up all at once.  She spoke about
things that interest her and make her feel secure.

“Did she also give birth to daughters?”

“Yes, six, El hamdulila, (Thanks to
Allah).”

“And, do all of them have black eyes, or
eyes like yours – without any color?” she pressed on with her questions.

“Ah, I understand, you don’t like my
eyes,” Abigail responded to the sound of Kahida’s laughter. “But, Kahida, you
know that they were also the gift of Allah.”

“Yes, of course, but you must admit that
it is strange to see an Arab woman with such light-colored eyes.”

“You’re right, but I must tell you that
I’m the only one who was born with eyes like mine and that’s the reason I’m not
there.  All the others remained beside mother in the tents, with their black
eyes.”

Kahida was silent and was still staring
at her when she suddenly asked:

“Did you take leave of your own free
will or were you chased out?”

Abigail tensed up.  This conversation
was leading her to places she had not intended reaching. Kahida sensed this and
said in a conciliatory tone,

“It doesn’t matter, you are beautiful. 
I have never seen eyes like yours, and Mullah is absolutely right.”

Kahida
whispered to
her hesitantly:

“Naima, we know that you are a heroine. We’ve
also heard that you can fight unarmed, with your bare hands,” and Abigail wondered
whether and how much she really knew about her.
  Perhaps, it
was a way of getting facts about her past and her life out of her and she
quickly changed the subject.

”No, I don’t feel like a heroine but I
was raised
elsewhere because I was different,
and I survived.”

To put an end to the questioning that
Abigail did not like, she added:

“Now, I think we should go to sleep
because we’re both tired and there isn’t much left of the night, ah, what do
you say?”

She tossed and turned in bed till it was
almost dawn as she went over the conversation of the previous night in her
mind.  She wondered whether she should leave the village and return to the
Iranian towns and it was morning before she fell asleep only to be awakened by
renewed screaming.  This time it sounded like terrifying howls of pain and she
sat up in her bed, considering whether to get up and offer her help.

The shouting continued for a long time
and she blocked her ears.  When the cries ceased, she heard the outside door
open and shut and she got up to find Kahida limping badly.  The light had gone
out in her eyes and she was tired as she spoke with great sadness.

“I failed this time.  It was so
difficult for him.”

“What does your failure mean?”

“He died.  He suffered really badly so,
perhaps, it’s better this way.”

Abigail bit her lips, unable to
comprehend the situation and especially not the reaction she just heard.

That same day Adel was buried and
Abigail participated in the funeral procession, which was held quietly and made
its way to a cemetery behind the apple orchard.  There, among dozens of
headstones, a grave was already dug and waiting.  One of the villagers gave a
short eulogy and Ibrahim and Tommy, the two guards, covered the grave with
mounds of earth.  Others pulled a rake and a spade and helped them.  A half
hour later they all returned to their regular activities as if nothing unusual had
happened.

The following day, they returned to the
burial ground.  This time, they buried Reneh, a sixteen-year-old youth, injured
in one of their failed sabotage attempts.  The boy had not been able to
function for many days and was interred beside his partner in the failed
attack.

Abigail could not restrain herself and
asked Nadia what had happened to him, to this youngster, and why he died. 
Nadia sighed.

“They went out a few months ago to
attack the village below.  Someone shot them and killed Saliman, Reneh’s
partner. Reneh dragged him for hours on his wheelchair, to the cable car.” She
sighed. 

The mourners began making their way home
after the funeral and they continued walking alongside them.

“We went down to them and saw that Reneh
was also wounded and the effort of making his way back worsened his condition.

By the end of that week, Abigail
participated in another three funerals and Kahida told her this was the death
toll almost every week.  Abigail wondered:

“Have you thought of calling in doctors
and professionals from outside?  Isn’t it a pity not to help the many sick
people among you?

Kahida laughed briefly.

“Naima, we would all have died a long
time ago had we remained outside.  It is only because the injured live among
disabled people like ourselves that they manage to survive.”