Jonathots Daily Blog
(3931)
Sitting Three
It was nearly sunset before Jubal and Amir’s fathers became concerned that there was anything extraordinary about the absence of their sons. It was not unusual for the boys to be busy at chores and play, but night is the time to be home. Except now, minus two young men. Some inquiring was done, but frantic energy came with the morning.
Meanwhile, two friends sat at the crest of a hill in the sand, talking, fiddling, playing and laughing.
“I don’t like my name,” said Jubal.
“I like yours better than mine,” Amir inserted.
“Jubal is just so old and religious.”
“Amir sucks.”
Jubal objected. “I like Amir better than Jubal.”
“That’s because it’s not your name,” Amir said, lightly punching him in the arm.
“We need new names,” decided Jubal.
Amir nodded his head. “We’re starting new lives—might as well have new names.”
Jubal giggled. “Maybe I could be Frank and you could be Bob.”
Amir clapped his hands. “Where did you get Frank and Bob?” he asked.
Jubal peered around as if wondering if someone were listening in. “My uncle has cable television,” he explained. “It’s illegal. And sometimes I watch the American shows.”
Amir sat straight up. “What are they like? I mean, our television is so…you know. Boring. Everything in Farsi.”
Jubal leaned forward, whispering. “I have seen women without coverings.”
Amir’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”
Jubal interrupted. “Yes. I mean their tops.”
Amir was impressed to the point of speechless. On and on they talked—about American television, dreams, women, parents and even hot sand.
“I have a new name for you,” Jubal said with a flair of inspiration.
“Oh. What is it?” inquired Amir.
“I think I will call you Pal.”
“Pal?” asked Amir with a squint.
“Yes, it’s short for Palestinian,” said Jubal.
Amir leaped to his feet, and with one arm extended in the air, proclaimed, “Then I shall call you Iz.”
Jubal jumped to his feet, too, asking, “What’s Iz?”
Amir danced around in a little circle and replied, “It is very short—for Israeli.”
This exchange welcomed great laughter. They giggled and danced and wiggled, which deteriorated into a fake boxing match.
Finally, Amir took a breath and spoke. “So is our new little country called Paliz? Or Izpal?”
Jubal firmly shook his head. “Let’s not get started with that. That’s how our people ended up killing each other.”
Now, the word “killing” doesn’t normally invoke laughter, but on a hot day, silly friends will find almost anything hilarious. They giggled, stopped and started again because stopping seemed so ridiculous. At length, Jubal ceased laughing and said, “I have something to show you.”
“All right.” Amir was a bit bewildered by the solemn transition. Jubal walked over to the small tent they had pitched and returned, gingerly cupping an object in his hands.
“What is it?” asked Amir.
Jubal paused. “It’s a hand grenade.”
Amir scooted away. “What do you have that for?”
Jubal rebuked him. “Don’t be foolish. Do you really think they won’t find us here? Do you think they’ll let us stay? Do you think they’re going to pat us on the back and say, ‘Great job, boys.’ They’re all crazy with hate, so they want us to be crazy, too. So I needed something to convince them we are serious—and we’ll never return to being just Arab and Jewish little boys again”
Amir was impressed. “Where did you get it?” he challenged.
“A patrol of Israeli troops came into our town, and it fell out of one of their bags,” Jubal explained. “Before I could think, I grabbed it and took it back to the soldier. He thanked me and gave me some chocolate. Then I thought about us—if we were going to be together—how we needed something. So I cautiously followed the troops, until they rested next to a well. When the young soldier went over to draw some water to drink, I stole the grenade from his pack.”
Amir was frightened. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jubal, with a tear in his voice. “I didn’t think that through. I just don’t want to go back to any place where you cannot be my friend.”
Iz and Pal shook hands, very careful to set the grenade to the side. It was nearly midday.
They would soon be discovered.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
