On the Hills of God. Ibrahim Fawal

      Normally such an arrival would have drawn little or no attention, for the sidewalks were crowded with strangers and the outdoor cafe across the street was jammed with locals and chic tourists luxuriating under red, yellow, and blue umbrellas sparkling in the bright Mediterranean sun. But the newcomers who had just stepped off the shining yellow bus were noticeable for their conspicuous good looks and identical khaki clothes. A couple of the men had cameras strapped to their shoulders; a third had what seemed like a flask of water strapped around his neck. The attractive young women wore shorts that displayed legs and thighs, clashing sharply with Muslim women, who hid their faces behind black veils. For although the great majority of the Arab women in town did wear modern western dresses, most were on the conservative side, and quite a few still wore the traditional ankle-length and heavily embroidered native costumes. The most stylish, even daring, of the Arab women wore short sleeves, or knee-length skirts, or low-cut dresses. Any spirited female dressing in this fashion invited tongue wagging and faced the possibility of a fight with her husband or father or brothers. Such was the society into which these nine tourists entered. Their bronze-deep tans and the generous exposure of female flesh drew some lecherous looks and good-natured whistles. Even the four tall handsome men accompanying them, who carried duffle bags on their backs, wore shorts, and had their sleeves rolled up on their brown muscular arms. The group became self-conscious and laughed, and the spectators laughed with them. So did Yousif and his two friends.

      “I think they’re Jewish,” Yousif said.

      “Who cares?” Amin glowed. “Seeing them here is better than taking a half-hour ride to Jaffa to watch them swimming on the beach.”

      “They’re Jews, I tell you,” Yousif insisted, as if Isaac were not there.

      “They could be English,” Amin told him. “We have a lot of them around.”

      “I don’t think so,” Yousif argued. “Only the Jews speak Arabic with that guttural sound. I heard one of them say khabibi instead of habibi.” He knew that the mispronunciation of the h was the shibboleth that most quickly set Arab and Jew apart.

      Isaac laughed. “The Jews I know don’t have that sound. I say habibi just as well as you do.”

      Yousif looked surprised. “I meant Jews who were not born and raised here, the recent immigrants—”

      “I know what you mean,” Isaac said, his eyes following the scantily clad arrivals. “But I think it’s Yiddish.”

      “You think? Don’t you know?”

      “I speak Hebrew—but the few words I caught sounded Yiddish to me.”

      The three boys trailed the exotic group down a sidewalk crowded not only with pedestrians but with men playing dominos or backgammon in front of shops. Passing magazine stands and tables laden with leather and brass goods, the boys followed the strangers all the way from the Sha’b Pharmacy right up to Karawan Travel Agency, the only travel agency in town. Arm in arm, the men and women looked like close friends.

      Yousif envied them. He bit his lip as he saw one of them hug the waist of the girl walking next to him. He wished he could put his arm around Salwa.

      Three blocks from the bus stop, two of the tourists stopped and bought multi-colored ice cream cones from a pushcart at the corner of one of the busiest intersections in town.

      “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Amin asked, rubbing his hands.

      “What are you thinking?” Yousif asked.

      “That we’re not trailing just boyfriends and girlfriends on a Sunday stroll?”

      Isaac looked at him and scratched his chin. “Who are we trailing then?”

      “Lovers,” Amin grinned. “Lovers intent on serious business.”

      “You’re crazy,” Isaac told him, disinterested.

      “You’ll see,” Amin said. “Before long they’re going to be on top of each other. And I’m going to be there watching. Yousif, what do you think?”

      All his life Yousif had heard that Jewish girls were promiscuous, and these women seemed even more loving than most. Were the stories he had always heard about them true? Was it true that the girls of Tel Aviv had seduced many an Arab man? Supposedly they would romance them for a weekend and leave them dry.

      Bearing this in mind, Yousif found it entirely possible that these attractive and healthy-looking men and women were lovers looking for a place to camp and make love, that they had come to consummate their passion in the seclusion of Ardallah’s wooded hills.

      “It’s hard to say what they are,” Yousif answered finally.

      “Look what they’re carrying,” Amin replied with conviction. “What do you think they have in those canvas bags on their backs?”

      “You tell us,” Yousif said.

      “It’s obvious,” Amin said, bumping into a pedestrian but not losing his thought. “They’re carrying blankets. That’s what they need for outdoor sex, isn’t it?”

      Isaac shook his head. “I think your parents had better find you a wife before you embarrass them.”

      They all laughed and continued walking, jostling others so as not to lose sight of those they were trailing.

      The strangers were heading toward Cinema Firyal. There was a chance Salwa might be attending the matinee. If she were, Yousif would try to convince his friends to go in, and while they watched the screen, he would content himself with watching Salwa, even from a distance. Damn it, he thought; why couldn’t Arab society allow those in love to walk or sit together in public?

      Because he was in love, Yousif suspected that the whole world was in love: either secretly or publicly, as in the case before him. He looked for a touch, a glance, a word and construed them as definite signs of an affair. To him, summer was the season for love, and Ardallah was the ideal place.

      Only Ramallah, a town fifteen miles to the east and a better-known resort, surpassed Ardallah in the number of vacationers who arrived every summer. They came to either town from every corner of Palestine, sometimes from as far as Egypt and Iraq. The affluent stayed at hotels, but most rented homes for the long duration. From the north they came from Acre; from the south from Gaza. They came to Ardallah from the seashores of Jaffa and Haifa, and from the fertile fields and orchards of Lydda and Ramleh. They came with their children and grandchildren. They came wealthy or simply well off. But they never came poor.

      Summer in Ardallah, Yousif knew, was meant for the elite who could afford it. It was meant for those who preferred it to Lebanon, or were not lucky enough to find a room in Ramallah, those who wanted to slip away for the weekend from the sweltering weather on the Mediterranean coast, or had not yet discovered Europe.

      Ardallah sat as a crown on seven hills from which could be seen a spectacular panorama of rolling hills and, on a clear day, a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean waters. Ardallah was close enough to the big cities, but small enough to have its own charm. It was not exactly a playground for the rich, but an oasis for the young and the aged and all those in between who cared for the cool fresh air and the soft invigorating breeze.

      Ardallah had over ten schools (different ones for boys and girls); five churches (one big Greek Orthodox, one big Roman Catholic, one small Greek Catholic, two tiny Anglican); one mosque; five hotels (renowned for their spacious wooded gardens); and three cinemas. The highest building was three stories, built of chiseled white stone, as were all the houses that were scattered over the mountain slopes. Some of the new homes had all the conveniences of the modern world. Such luxuries were important not only because the new owners desired them and could afford them, but because most of these homes were let during the summer months to the vacationers who insisted on hotel-type accommodations.

      Except for fruit trees in private gardens, the trees around Ardallah were primarily cypress and pine. Perhaps it was these trees that had conspired with the geographic location to give the town its glory. But they said it was