Fan Fiction ❯ Rebus Knight ❯ After Nine ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Rebus Knight..........................by ConfirmTheOriginOfFire

A raucous Palestinian boy finds that the projected "glory" of rioting, fanaticism, and killing isn't something he is willing to trade in his life for.

Note: I am not anti-Semantic, anti-Israel, etc. Caution for strong material later in the story. Lotsa love and thanks to my reviewers : ) Also, the PGOL is made up, at least as far as I know. Something like it just may exist, but for now, I'm led to believe that I made it up.

-Chapter Three-

AFTER NINE

When Kashim tried to apologize to Amira later that evening, she was already asleep in her room, shredded flowers scattered around her bed like a hurricane revolving around its eye. He never understood why she liked to go to bed early. Interesting things started happening after nine at night. And Kashim liked to see them happen.

In fact, it was exactly 9:01 when the Jabbers came to his house. The Jabbers were a tiny, obscure legion of female Palestinian rioters. But "Jabbers" wasn't their official name. It was the Palestinian Girl's Organization for Liberation, or PGOL for short. Most of their members were young, ages nine through eighteen, and all of them were Palestinian. The male rioters, however, found the sight of girls heavily encumbered in their traditional hijab dress charging through the streets with rocks very funny, and they began calling them Hijabbers, which was eventually shortened to Jabbers. The girls found this very annoying and begged them to call them the PGOL, but nobody listened.

The Jabbers, as always, were loaded down in hijab. They came to Kashim to ask for rocks. Since they were bound to the traditional household position of all Arab women during the day, they hadn't any time to collect them for themselves.

"Oh, come on! That's no fair, girls. You can't throw well, anyway, so you'd just be wasting them."

"Hey!" one of the older girls called. "That's just plain mean."

"Well, it's true. I've seen you at the riots. You throw rocks at the Israelis but hit their tanks instead! Or hit the ground! You never really do any damage, all you really do is run in the roads just shouting nothing. Then when the soldiers come for you, you run away screaming!"

"If you were out of weapons, you'd retreat too," the oldest reasoned.

"But I'd make better use of my arsenal. And that means not giving it to you."

The girls were very annoyed. "Come on girls, there's nothing here for us," the leader said, leading them away.
"Wait!" Kashim exclaimed. "When's the riot?"

The Jabbers turned around. "What's it to you?"

"Well, I've gotta be where the riot's at, right? I mean, am I a Palestinian or am I a Palestinian?"

"A Palestinian," one of the younger girls answered. "And not a very good one, either."

"Huh?" Kashim asked.

"Palestinians are supposed to help each other," she pouted. "We obviously need all the help we can get in fighting the Israelis. And right now the PGOL needs help. Someday down the road you will too, and when you do, we won't help you."

Kashim thought for a moment. " ... ... Whatever. Now, when's the riot?"

"Rrrrrrr . . .," the girls fumed in unison. Kashim, being a boy, didn't understand why or how he was getting them so peeved off.

"We're not telling you!" burst out one of the girls his age.

"Yeah!" all the Jabbers said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because we're the ones who know and we've decided you don't deserve to join our legion of the riot-enlightened.."

Now Kashim was annoyed. The girls were obviously getting great pleasure from watching him squirm with anxiety. "Oh please, that's just not right," he said. "When is it?"

"How many times do we have to tell you that we're not telling you?"

"As many times as I need to make you say it until you tell me when it is."

The Jabbers rolled their eyes. Sometimes, Kashim suspected that they all shared one mind, because they so often did things in unison. "If you gave us some rocks, though, we might get . . . careless . . . and 'accidentaly' tell you."

Kashim went back to the den, collected half the rocks, and gave them to the Jabbers' leader. "DAY AFTER TOMORROW AT NOON AT NAZARETH CROSSROADS," they recited.

"Thanks," replied Kashim, and then he slammed the door in their faces.

About two hours later, a knock came at the door. An older woman in hijab stood wringing her hands. "Has your mother returned from her journey yet?" she asked in a high-pitched, nervous voice.

"No. She's still in Tel Aviv. Who are you?"

"That's not important," she replied. "But what is important is that you tell her that Abdullah is getting worse."

"Who's Abdullah?" Kashim asked.

"That's not important for you to know," she replied, just as cryptically as before. "Just tell her that when she gets back, okay?"

"Fine."

The woman walked away, stumbling and hiccuping. Kashim decided that she was just a very drunk, confused lady who had become separated from her male escort.

Around one in the morning, Kashim was starting to get tired. He was almost ready to turn in when an urgent pounding came at the door. "Kashim! Kashim! Open up!" cried an excited male voice. It was his best friend, Mahmud.

"Kashim, Kashim, you will never believe what has happened!" he twittered, coming inside the house. "The Hamas man down the street called me to his house, and guess what he gave me!" Mahmud held out a semi-automatic rifle.

"He gave you his old weapon?" Kashim asked, incredulous. He was so jealous! Now he'd have to wait even longer for his own gun. Still, he tried to sound happy for his friend. "Awesome! Are you going to use it at the next riot?"

"I'd like to, but the Jabbers are obviously the only ones with the details, and they're strutting around and refusing to tell me."

Kashim triumphantly revealed the details of the next riot. "Wow! Cool!" Mahmud exclaimed. "Those Jabbers aren't so cool after all. But anyway, here's the very best part! The Hamas man also wants me to come over to his house every Thursday so he can give me training! He's gonna teach me how to shoot this baby, throw a grenade, and other cools stuff!"

Now Kashim was doubly jealous. Anyone who was offered lessons from the Hamas man had every boy's utmost envy. That meant you were the cream of the crop, the top of the line, and he was going to make a real warrior out of you. So lucky, Mahmud was.

"Wait, that's not the best part," Mahmud corrected himself. Oh great, Kashim thought. What other lucky thing has Mahmud gotten? "The Hamas man also told me that he wants you to go see him, tonight! Like, now! That's why I was in such a rush!"

Jealousy vanished, elation and confusion taking its place. Sure, he was ecstatic about the Hamas man wanting to see him(HIM!!), but why would he? Had he seen his performance at the riots and decided he'd be an ideal Hamas member? Maybe he'd give him a reccomendation? Maybe . . . ?

"Oh, stop standing around like an idiot and let's go!" exclaimed Mahmud, pushing Kashim out the door.