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The shafts of light pieced the early morning dawn, sunlight danced amongst the plumb trees as it chased the darkness of the night up towards the heights which overlooked our family farm. I could see the glint of binoculars at the border posts as they scanned the fertile valley below, just another day like the hundreds that had gone before.
The reassuring sound of my mother as she busied herself preparing breakfast in the kitchen, a proud woman from the North side of the border in reality the foundation stone of the family, but she let my father wear the mantle “Head of the family.”
My father an equally proud Southern man, stood tall, straight and was well known on both sides of the border, to coin a phrase “He cast a giant shadow”. He was already at work preparing for the day ahead as he had always done, a man who loved his work, who loved the very land he stood upon and dare I say in some mystic way the land loved him in return. Our family had farmed this land since the time before the first settlements we were part of this land and the land was part of us.
Breakfast was an important meal of the day, miss it and you would incur the wrath of our proud northern mother, you would only ever miss breakfast once and it would be a lesson learned for life. We sat there at that table, my mother, my father, my sister Aisha and myself. Oh yes, my sister, step sister really she was two years older than me. Her mother, an attractive southlands woman so I am told, had died during childbirth. My mother and father had met sometime later fallen in love and married, the family were as one, though my sister and I argued and fought like cat and dog, but surely that is the way of all brothers and sisters. Me? Oh I never knew my natural father he had died years ago during the border disputes. The father I know now is truly my god given father, the best in the world.
You can call me Yusuf or Josef they are both the same name, one name from the south, the other from the north. I gave up arguing which one I wished to be known by years ago, my friends know me as both.
Breakfast finished the day beckoned and though we were on vacation from university there was work to be done in those fruit orchards. As ever my sister and I would argue as to who got to drive the tractor. I don’t think that she really wanted to do the driving but it was a chance to deny me the opportunity and have an argument about something at the same time.
We busied ourselves in between the rows of plumb and orange trees ever mindful of the uneasy peace and the watchtowers that overlooked us from the heights just a stones throw away.
Our father had created dugouts around the farm as a safety precaution, just big enough for two or three and lined with heavy timbers and a door, then covered with earth.
Father had gone back to the farmhouse for some reason and we were left working the orchards alone close to one of the dugouts.
Suddenly the peaceful morning air was shattered by the sickening whistle of an artillery shell as it past over our heads. I don’t know who fired the first shot or why and to be honest at the time I didn’t really care, but all hell was let loose. I turned quickly searching for my sister in the turmoil. Then there she was paralysed with fear, shells bursting all around us she could not move. I could see her screaming but all I could hear were the explosions of the artillery shells and the heat and the blasts from those explosions. She had lost control of her bodily functions and she was rooted to the spot, she seemed to be crumbling before my very eyes. I started to run towards her, the ground beneath my feet was being tortured and was writhing with every explosion. It was like trying to run across the surface of the ocean during a storm. The shockwaves were buffeting me from side to side. The heat was unbelievable, splinters of fruit tree were piercing my skin like needles, the pulp and juice of oranges ran down my face stinging my eyes, forced into my ears and up my nose with every blast. I reached my sister, shaking and crying she was no longer my adversary in brother sister squabbles she was a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of a car on some dark deserted road. Bundling her up in my arms for a second I thought how light she was then reality hit me for she was not light at all she was heavy, as heavy as lead, she was dead weight. My legs buckled underneath me they felt like they were made out of jelly. I could see the dugout but I was not going to make it, not strong enough, not enough stamina, I was sure that this was the end.
In that melee, that maelstrom of confusion I was sure I could hear someone praying. You bet that someone was praying for that someone was me, as I stumbled forward in my last breaths I found myself praying, strangely not for my own salvation but for that of my sister. Then there was an almighty explosion, I felt the blast and shockwave lift me off my feet and into the air, the feeling of pain across my shoulders as shearing hot shrapnel tore the shirt from my back, the crushing pressure on my body as it forced the life giving air out of my lungs.
As we crashed back towards the ground everything appeared to be in slow motion, all I could see was the open door to the dugout. I just concentrated on that open door not daring to believe that we might, just might get close enough to scramble to that safe haven. That open door got closer and closer, my sister and I were then catapulted into the dugout like rag dolls, the wooden door slamming behind us. The ground still heaving in it’s torture battered the sides and roof without mercy. We were safe for the moment from small arms fire and shrapnel but not from anything close to a direct hit.
I was hurting all over, I mean pain, real pain, my head felt twice it’s normal size and every limb felt as though it had been stretched to breaking point and beyond, surely I should be dead. I pushed my feelings to the back of my mind as there was something else more pressing more urgent, my sister was not moving, she was limp and lifeless. In the darkness I could not detect her breathing, could not feel her heartbeat, I could not find her pulse. Panic clouded my thinking a haze of uncertainty fogged my mind, then I remembered the training from school, CPR we had all been trained in CPR it’s all I could think of. I followed what I could remember, it seemed like forever, but then a whimper like a lost child in a shopping mall, but it was enough, it was like a spark of light had returned. Looking back now I don’t think for one moment that I had done anything remarkable, she had probably just passed out, fainted, but at the time the sense of utter relief was overwhelming.
She regained consciousness with a start, grabbing hold of me she was shaking violently her arms wrapped around me like a vice, she held on to me tighter and tighter. She just kept calling my name as though she was lost in some wilderness Yusuf Josef over and over again. This was totally confusing to me as our relationship had always been fighting and squabbling, I was always a nuisance of a younger brother getting in the way, not somebody to look to for protection. My first instinct was to push her away but of course this I could not do. I put my arms around her tortured body as she flinched with every violent explosion and held her close, which seemed to have a calming effect as she stopped calling my name and placed her forehead into the nape of my neck, the side of her cheek on my shoulder. Now whether it was having a calming effect on my sister or not it was beginning to have a very disturbing effect on me which a brother has no right having for his sister.
The moment was lost as the noise of shell bursts subsided and was shortly replaced by that of someone trying to open the door of the dugout. Anger fuelled adrenalin pulsed through my veins as I prepared for this adversary, whoever was trying to get into this dugout was going to regret every moment no matter which side of the border they called home. The bright shaft of daylight blinded my eyes as I sprang forward at the silhouetted body that stood in front of me. “Josef thank g-d” was the last thing I heard as I collapsed into my father’s arms.
The next few days were spent in the local medical unit removing the pieces of orange tree that peppered my skin and cleaning up the other small wounds, strangely though there were no injuries to my back where I had felt most of my pain during that shell fire. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of my sister as she walked past the open door, she would look as though she was coming into the room, stop glance my way and give me a smile and a strange look, then carry on walking. I remember thinking that I had never really looked at my sister, I had never noticed how her long dark hair would hang down in ringlets to her shoulders or that when she tied it back how it altered the way her face looked and the shape of her eyes. That she had the body of a woman, how long and shapely her legs were. How she swayed from side to side when she walked, how the rounded……….. Oh dear the innocence of my youth was taking a battering and what a battering it was not right to think of my sister that way I did not want to think of my sister that way, but I could not help myself.
Just before it was due for our release from the medical unit she came and sat down at my bedside, she held my hand then said “Yusuf we need to have a talk when we get home.” I looked at her puzzled and said “But we can talk hear.” She squeezed my hand and replied “No, when we get home.” Then got up from the chair, kissed me on the cheek, walked towards the door, stopped looked back smiled then disappeared down the corridor. Aisha had never held my hand before let alone given me a kiss nor had we ever talked in anything other than argument or squabble, ours had always been a rough and tumble coexistence, perhaps a reflextion of the uneasy peace that existed between the north and south side of the border.
We had been at home for only a few days when mom and dad informed us that they had to go across the border to visit some family members so, due to the curfews they would not be back until the next day or even longer, the house was empty except for my sister and myself.
During the morning Aisha came up to me and said “I need to say thank you Yusuf, thank you for saving my life in the orange grove that day.” I was more than a little bemused, how to reply to what was something that I could not explain myself. “You are my sister I did what I had to do.” I said without thinking “I love you Aisha, I had to save you, save us both.” She looked at me and then replied “I love you too Yusuf, I thought I was a dead person out there, I was a dead person, but you gathered me up in your arms and we flew up into the air, we flew, I saw your wings Yusuf, I saw your wings as you carried me up into the air.” She was now holding me tightly around my waste with her head on my shoulder. I could feel her breasts pressing into my chest. Her breath on the side of my face was making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I wanted to hold her closer, put my arms around her, feel my hands on her body, but did not dare do so. “You did not see any wings Aisha,” I said “what you saw was the shirt being ripped off my back by the explosion of that shell.” I explained. “No, Yusuf I know what I saw and I saw your wings, by the grace of g-d you saved my life.” She insisted. Well I was not going to argue with her she was obviously still confused by what had happened, besides we had done enough arguing over the years and this was a rare moment of tranquillity.
I found the courage to put my arms around her and she snuggled even closer to me if that was at all possible. She looked at me and as I turned my head towards her face our lips brushed against each other, just for a fleeting accidental moment then parted in disbelief. Our lips met again, longer this time then parted, we searched each other’s eyes seeking reassurance that our feelings were mutual. Once more our lips found each other, passionately no accident this time. Aisha’s arms had moved up around my neck she was holding me tightly, excitedly our lips pressed hard against one another, my tongue pushing forward searching, hoping for a response, desperate for acceptance.
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A story of Yusuf and his sister Aisha set in the fruit growing border valleys. Just another story or maybe not.
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