The bombs had finally stopped falling. The gunmen had withdrawn. The ruins of the city were wrapped in an eerie quietness.
Abdul walked alone and with abject sadness picking his way through the rubble and twisted ironwork.
There was still dust in the air. He felt it in his throat.
He was numb.
He was sad.
He was angry, oh so angry.
It was only two weeks before, while he was out queuing for food, that the bomb fell. He heard it as he stood in the queue. Just another bomb. There had been so many. It took half an hour to get to the head of the queue. There was a little rice, but nothing else. He took it gratefully and made his way home, to the house he had built two years before for his new family. A wife. A son.
As he turned the corner into his street his stomach churned. His house, was just rubble. Neighbours were already working to clear the area looking for survivors.
He met the gaze of Ahmed who lived three doors away. Ahmed slowly shook his head. His wife and his only son, both dead. The bastards had killed his only son. His one and only son. And his wife. What had he ever done to them to justify this.
That was two weeks before. Ever since he had been walking in a reverie, a trance. Nothing was real any more. Walking and walking. All day, every day, just walking.
But today, suddenly, he was broken out of his trance. He heard a moan. It was in a particularly large pile of rubble. Someone needed help.
He scrambled across the devastation and saw the source of the wailing. A man. In uniform. Beside him but out of reach, an automatic rifle. The man could not move. He was horribly injured. His uniform covered in blood.
But there in the corner, the insignia.
The insignia of the enemy.
Abdul moved cautiously, looking all around him. Were there others? Was there still danger from enemy fire?
He picked up the gun. A look of resignation crossed the victim’s face.
Abdul raised the gun. Unclipped the ammunition and threw it away as far as he could and then threw the gun in the other direction.
The man looked confused.
‘Are you OK?’ Abdul asked, in Arabic of course.
No response.
He tried again in English. ‘Are you OK?’
The man pointed to his trapped leg.
Abdul tore off his shirt and made a tourniquet around the gaping wound in the man’s leg.
The man yelled out in agony.
‘Wait!” Abdul said and rushed off.
oOo
“My brother” said Abdul. I need help. A man is trapped. I cannot lift the beam on my own. I need your help. Come, come quickly.” This time, of course, Arabic worked just fine.
Working together Abdul and his brother Ismael managed to move the beam.
“We must get him to the hospital.” said Abdul.
“And which hospital would that be?” replied Ismael. “Anyway why take the trouble. He is our enemy. Let him rot.”
“Do you really think that? Are you not my brother? Were we not taught compassion from our earliest days? Do you not understand charity is not just putting a few coins in a box. Charity is from the heart. He needs us. We cannot turn away.”
“But what are we to do. There is no hospital. They have all been bombed.” said Ismael.
“There is one on the other side!” said Abdul. A sly smile fleeted across his face.
“And how do we get there without being shot?” asked Ismael.
“Follow me. We’ll check it out.”
Abdul picked his way through yet more rubble and “Yes, just there. Do you see it? – a tunnel”
“Oh, one of THEIR tunnels. Why did we ever think having them in power was a good idea. “ said Ismael, “Don’t answer that!”
Abdul clambered down the precarious pile. He was careful. He didn’t want to start a landslide. Even so, he lost his footing at least twice. Ismael saw it as he watched from the top.
“It’s OK. I can see quite some way. Further, if only I had a torch.”
Ismael was beginning to get involved. He ripped off his shirt, bundled it around a stick and rolled it in the spilled fuel from a nearby bombed out truck. But he couldn’t find a way to light it.
“Do you have a light?” he called out.
“This is no time for a cigarette!” Abdul called back. “Get down here and help me prepare the way.”
Ismael scrambled down, following the route Abdul had used but with little more success, nearly twisting an ankle.
“Now” he said, waving the oil laden stick, “Do you have a light?”.
Abdul felt in his pocket. Was his lighter still there.
Fortunately, it was and he pulled it out and lit the proffered torch.
Ismael and Abdul explored the tunnel all the way to the far end. Amazingly, it was not blocked. It opened out into the corner of a park.
They stopped and listened intently. There were probably guards, especially after all the recent mayhem. But after twenty minutes they decided they had to risk it, and gingerly Abdul poked his head around the end of the tunnel. The place was deserted.
“Come on” he said. Let’s get back and get that guy to some help.
oOo
Ismael found a plank. “Good, that will have to do” said Abdul. Carefully they moved the victim onto the plank. He was heavier than they expected. They had never seen anyone this well-fed for years.
It was a struggle to get to the tunnel entrance and they nearly tipped the guy off the plank a couple of times. but once they were in the tunnel it was much easier – except at the far end where the incline up into the park was quite steep.
Puffing and wheezing – even in the tunnel there was a lot of concrete dust – they made it out into the park.
“Let’s leave him here. they can deal with him now.” said Ismael, but Abdul was having none of it. “No, we get him to the hospital – look it’s just over there – can you see the sign?”.
“OK, OK” sighed Ismael, “but let’s take a short breather first”.
So they did. But it was not a relaxed ‘breather’. They were scared to death they would be caught.
Picking up the plank and it’s passenger, who was now looking rather pale, but still breathing, they made their way across the park, across the street and into the emergency entrance of the hospital.
“We have wounded!” called Abdul, and as someone came toward the entrance, Abdul suddenly realised he had mistakenly used Arabic.
Turning to the victim he said, in English “You’ll be OK now. Get well, but stop shooting us, OK! By the way, what is your name?”
The man could all but whisper, he was so weak. “Alfons” he answered.
The medics were getting close.
Somehow, this journey. This work to save a human being. No longer a soldier. Just another human had brought Abdul out of his trance, beyond the desolation, the numbness, the sadness and the anger.
He hugged Ismael and breathed. It felt like it was the first time he had breathed since he lost his wife and child.
Ismael broke the hug. “Come on, we have to go!”
They turned and ran back towards the tunnel. To the tunnel and to home.
They were about halfway across the park and just into the darkened area, when two shots rang out.
They both fell to the ground as a bullet hit each of them in the chest.
In the thick silence that followed, the only sound was Abdul groaning. “My shoulder, my shoulder!”
Ismael lay still. Abdul, despite a terrible pain in his shoulder, dragged himself across to Ismael. The hole in Ismael’s shirt was directly over his heart. Abdul was despondent, but then he noticed the slight rise and fall of Abdul’s chest and realised their was no blood.
Ismael was still alive! Abdul was scared to make a sound for fear of alerting the sniper, He whispered in Ismael’s ear “Are you OK my brother, are you OK?”
Ismael slowly regaining consciousness, looked up to Abdul and smiled. His eyes said “I am OK.” .
Seeing the blood on Abduls shirt, Ismael suddenly spoke. “But you are not! You are losing blood. We must staunch that wound now.”
Ismael seemed to recover quickly. He checked Abdul’s wound, both the entry and the exit. There was no exit wound. The bullet was still inside.
Ismael tore off his shirt to make a plug to stop the bleeding. As Ismael pressed the cloth into the wound, Abdul cried out.
Ismael was pondering what to do next when he heard muffled footsteps in the grass. Running footsteps. Getting closer. He trembled with fear. Were they to be dead after all.
The footsteps though, were not the boots of soldiers but the soft shoes of medics.
“Calm, calm” said one of medics, in heavily accented pidgin Arabic. You must relax. They removed the blood sodden shirt from Abdul’s wound and applied a clean dressing.
“The bullet is still in there.” Ismael said.
“We must get him to the hospital and fix him up. You too. You need to be checked over as well.”
oOo
The next thing either of them knew, they woke up in adjoining hospital beds.
“What happened. Where are we?” Ismael asked.
Abdul shrugged as to say ‘No idea’ and then shrieked with pain from the wound as his shoulder moved.
With that a nurse came running to see what the problem was.
“Where are we? What is this place?” asked Ismael.
“You are in a field hospital. We are treating you both for shock and wounds. You have a broken rib, and your friend has a bullet wound. We removed the bullet, but the bullet has damaged his shoulder blade. We have immobilised it for now. It will take a while to heal, but you will be able to leave later today. We don’t have names for either of you. That would help. Also where do you live?”
Ignoring the question, Ismael repeated, “Where are we?”
“You are in hospital?”
“Yes, but where?”
“This is a field hospital near Erez.” said the nurse.
“Correct” said the nurse, “You are safe here. Now rest. Some food will come shortly.” and left.
“Ismael, how come you survived? That bullet hit right over your heart.”” said Abdul..
“Flak jacket. I found it in the rubble and have worn it ever since.”
“Lucky you! Hang on, did she say Erez? That means we are in Israel doesn’t it?”
“Seems like it.”said Ismael. “By the way, has it occurred to you, our wounds are in our chests, not in our backs?”
“And?” asked Abdul.
“We were heading for Gaza when we were shot. The shooter was in Gaza, not Israel! The shooter must have been Hamas, not the IDF.”
“But why would they shoot us?” asked Abdul, “We are Palestinian.”
“Well either they mistook us for Israelis, or they were taking revenge for the fact we saved an IDF man.”
“The bastards!” Abdul shouted. “Zero humanity.”
“You have changed your tune my brother. You were ready to just leave him there, remember.”
“You are right. But what is to happen to us now. Once we are no longer patients, we will still be in Israel. Then what?”
At that point, the nurse came over. “Are you feeling OK Ismael. Do you feel fit to get out of bed yet. Someone would like to see you.”
Ismael dreaded this moment. Israeli military had a dreadful reputation among his people. “What do they want”, Ismael asked nervously.
The nurse could read the signs. “Don’t worry, it’s not the military, well at least it is not official.”
With a degree of resignation, Ismael swung his legs over the side of the bed..
“Wait for a moment” said the nurse, “I don’t want you fainting.”
“OK, I’m OK” said Ismael and slipped off the bed, standing in bare feet.
“He’s in the next room. Follow me.” said the nurse.
As they entered, Ismael saw Alfons half sitting in bed, covered in plaster.
“Alfons? How is it?” said Ismael.
“I’ll be OK, thanks to you and your friend. I heard about the two guys shot in that park, and guessed it was you. Are you OK?”
“I will be fine, but my friend has a damaged shoulder blade, I am sure he will never be able to work again.”
“Nurse!” Alfons called out. “Make sure this man’s friend gets all the medical attention he needs to fully recover. The full works, I owe these two a lot. Don’t worry about anything. I will make sure everything is covered.”
“Yes colonel, of course. I will make sure your orders are followed.” said the nurse.