‘You can have the ugly one,’ he sneered, pointing his pistol at Raya. He grabbed Liana’s hair and pulled her to her feet, pinning her slender arms together with his huge, hairy hand.
‘I get first crack at her crack,’ he rasped. ‘Privilege of rank.’
‘No! Please!’ Abdullah Sartawi was on his knees, pleading, his weathered face streaked with tears.
‘Palestinian scum!’ Sergeant Shahak kicked at him but despite the pain Abdullah grabbed the Israeli’s boot and clung to it in desperation.
‘No! No! No!’ he cried.
Sergeant Shahak had crossed the point of no return and he struggled to free his boot. He pointed his Jericho pistol at Abdullah and fired. Twice.
Rafiqa screamed and fell on the body of her husband. Shahak moved the sight of his pistol to the back of Rafiqa’s neck and fired twice more. Rafiqa convulsed and her body slid down beside Abdullah’s.
‘Palestinian shit!’ Sergeant Shahak shoved Liana into her parents’ bedroom, banging the flimsy door behind him.
Numb with shock and dimly aware of what was going on, Liana began to struggle to free herself. Sergeant Shahak’s grip was unbreakable.
‘ Zsona! Inahl rabak ars ya choosharmuta! Bitch! Go to hell with your fucking father!’ he yelled in Liana’s ear, his fetid breath hot against the side of her face. He cracked her on the back of the skull with his pistol and threw her on the bed. In a frenzy he tore the clothes off her slender body, and ripped his trousers down to his boots. Liana froze at the sight of Shahak’s ugly erection, acutely and terrifyingly aware of what was about to happen.
With a guttural growl Shahak climbed on top of her, pinning her hands above her head. Liana shrieked as he forced himself inside her, grunting like an animal, his body giving off a stench of stale sweat and the diesel of the armoured personnel carrier that was his home.
‘You’re next, Yigal.’ Shahak came out of the bedroom hitching up his camouflage pants as he eyeballed the young reservist.
‘Me?’ Yigal croaked, shaking his head.
‘There’s a first time for everything, son, and you’re never going to get an easier one than this. Get in and give it to the bitch.’
‘Come on, Yigal!’ one of the regulars yelled. ‘Are you a man or what?’
Feeling more miserable and confused than ever, Yigal allowed himself to be pushed into the room. Liana was curled up on her parents’ bed, her head against the wall, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.
Yigal thought he was going to be sick. He wanted to comfort the girl but he was upset over killing her brother and was too afraid to touch her. He waited until he thought enough time had elapsed for him to claim he had done what they had sent him to do, then dropping his trousers, he opened the door and emerged, pulling them up and doing up his fly.
‘Next!’ he called, his voice dry and uncertain.
‘Ehhhhhh!’ A roar of approval echoed around the Sartawis’ house.
The flimsy doors to the two rooms opened and shut until the last of the Israeli soldiers had finished with both sisters. After releasing his rage, Shahak became officious as he considered the implications of what he and his men had done.
‘Get the two Kalashnikovs from the carrier,’ he barked at a soldier. The soldiers all knew where their sergeant kept two Palestinian weapons hidden. They were a legacy of a previous engagement and Sergeant Shahak had decided against handing them in, keeping them as insurance against any investigation or allegations that might be made against his troops.
‘Listen up. Tonight didn’t happen.’ Each of his soldiers looked at the dirt floor. Sergeant Shahak took one of the weapons and wiped it clean with his sweat-stained scarf. He grabbed Abdullah’s lifeless hand, made prints on the rifle and left it beside the body. He did the same with the body of Muhammad. Raya and Liana’s despair could be heard from the bedrooms as Shahak’s Corporal took the Army-issue camera from its case, the flash illuminating Abdullah and Muhammad.
‘Tonight our general was killed by Palestinian terrorists and the reports of this scum giving them shelter are true. Get the two bitches out here.’
Raya and Liana could hardly stand.
‘I’m giving you five seconds to get out of here!’ He shoved them out the back door and watched the girls stumble into the night. Shahak emptied his magazine into Raya’s back and then into Liana’s.
‘No fucking witnesses!’ he snarled at his troops. ‘And remember, it didn’t happen. Let’s go!’
Ahmed and Yusef, deep in shock, waited amongst the trees until they were sure the soldiers were gone. In a daze they stared at the carnage of what had once been their home, their family gone.
The Defense Minister, Reze Zweiman, and General Halevy fronted the cameras together.
‘Brigadier General Ehrlich was one of the nation’s finest soldiers and our deepest condolences go to his wife and sons,’ Zweiman intoned, opening the media conference to the ‘when, where, and why’ of what might have happened at Deir Azun.
One of the final questions came from Tom Schweiker from CCN.
‘The Palestinians are claiming there was a massacre at Deir Azun, General. Is the Israeli Government going to investigate these claims?’
‘I can assure all of you,’ Halevy replied, barely keeping his anger in check, ‘that the only massacre at Deir Azun was the death of an Israeli commander tasked with keeping Israelis and peace-loving citizens free from terrorism. You’ve seen the photographs. These people were armed and have been responsible for countless attacks against innocent civilians.’ Israel’s Chief of Staff closed his folder, ending the tightly controlled conference.
Tom Schweiker watched the men and their minders leave, and wondered.
Back in the Minister’s office General Halevy nodded in agreement as Reze Zweiman vented his spleen on the Palestinians. The loss of one of their commanders had serious implications for the public image of the government and Reze knew his political enemies would use it to turn up the heat.
‘Keep the fucking media away, especially that Schweiker shit from CCN. Occupy the village for as long as it takes and get rid of the scum that live there. If need be, carry out armoured manoeuvres in their olive groves.’
‘Leave it to me, Reze. By the time I’ve finished with them they’ll want to live anywhere but on the West Bank.’
On the dusty red hillside on the edge of the Sartawi olive grove Israeli soldiers looked on sullenly as the villagers buried Abdullah and Rafiqa Sartawi, their two daughters Raya and Liana and their youngest son, Muhammad. After the last of the mourners had left Ahmed and Yusef stood alone at the gravesides.
‘You should have let me try, Ahmed,’ Yusef said angrily through his tears.
‘And have you dead, too?’
‘You don’t know that.’ Yusef spat the words at his brother. ‘Even poor little Muhammad tried to protect them!’
‘What will you do now?’ Ahmed asked, realising that it was not the time to argue the point.
‘What does it matter!’ Yusef stormed away, tears streaming down his cheeks, a hatred for the Israelis and a new hatred for his brother’s cowardice blazing in his heart.
With great sadness Ahmed watched him go. He sat beside his buried family trying to make sense of it all. He would not see his brother again for many, many years, and then only fleetingly in circumstances that no one could have predicted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tricarico and Milano
‘ B uona fortuna, Allegra!’
Tricarico’s top piazza was crammed with well-wishers and a huge banner had been hung from the old stone balcony of Bishop Aldo Marietti’s palace. News travelled fast through the hill towns and there was not a single villager for miles around who was not aware that the Vatican had selected Allegra for this singular honour.
‘The Holy Father has approved it, personally,’ La Signora Farini, leader of the ‘Will of God Brigade’, said to anyone who could hear her over the more than slightly out of tune town band that was playing with gusto. The music reached a crescendo as Tricarico’s only car driven by the portly Bishop Marietti inched its way through the crowd. Allegra’s father had taken the front seat and Allegra, her mother and her two oldest brothers were crammed into the back of the little Flavia. Nonna wiped away a tear while Giuseppe clung to Nonna’s faded black dress, waving vigorously, his curly black hair shining in the morning sun that bathed the craggy granite of the mountains surrounding Tricarico.