The Headless Man Reappears
Yasin glanced ahead into the sinking sunset, back down the road before him. He again saw the figure of a man approaching. This time the man’s image was not blurred. Strangely, the man held his large head under his arm. He was you might say, a “headless man.” The distance between Yasin and the headless man was narrowing, so Yasin called out: “Hello there!”
The man set his head on his shoulders and replied: “Hello, is that your falcon?”
“Yes,” Yasin replied. “He is not for sale.”
“Oh, I no longer need help,” the other replied. “Certainly not from a bird!
“Where are you going? Where did you come from?” Yasin asked, thinking it might be better to avoid at least one of these two destinations.
“I have come from a new up-side-down-world, a modern state in fact that creates headless citizens. I saw a sight that frightened me, so I am going back down the road to antiquity,” he replied.
“What did you see?” Yasin asked.
“I saw,” the other replied, “an old woman walking with the help of makeshift crutches – two sticks jutting out sideways. It was after the bombing, and the houses behind her in the background were rubble. She was old and could hardly walk, so she had stayed where she was, through it all. She could not run. The noise of the bombs was horrific, deafening, and she suffered badly. There was no food and no water there, so she came out from where she stayed through it all, fearful and helpless.” He paused, and went on:
“What should I think about this? What should I say? And, it looked like South Lebanon, but it could have been somewhere else too, like, these days, Syria, or the new State that makes headless men . . . And, it really happened . . . And this is old age?”
Yasin was horrified. Truly, he must do something about the state-of-affairs. It occurred to him that he too might return to antiquity, specifically to his own origins. He would take Cherrug back to the rubble of the ancient site that his ancestors had called home. There he and the bird would find renewal, new vigor, new life, and lots of gold coins. He started walking and headed in the general direction of Baghdad. Cherrug, restless on his shoulder, seemed to want to tell him something.
SANAA Makes a Will
Sanaa having heard the news broadcast, decided against traveling through Syria, and considered the possibilities of traveling to Iraq via Jordan, but thought it might be safer to approach the border from Kuwait. Still, things had the ring of danger. She could hardly use her Israeli passport in any of these countries, and anyway had no time to apply for a visa. Her reason for travel was kind of dubious, rather unusual, so it would be hard, in any case, to explain it to any authorities.
“Better make a will,” she said to herself, “before I leave Jerusalem.”
****
Soon Sanaa stood outside an impressive door with a small sign that read: Al-Din & Associates. But Sanaa would have known where she was even in the dark, and without any sign. She knocked and opened the door. Her father’s dear friend Hayim al-Din appeared from his inner office “Welcome, welcome, my dear,” he said, and waved her inside. “Have a seat! How are you?”
Sanaa looked up at his smiling face, and her confidence grew. “I know I am still young,” she said, “but now I own property, my father’s house.”
“A big responsibility, Sanaa dear! How can I help you?” Hayim said.
“I want to make a will!” Sanaa came right out with what was to her a bizarre request.
“Quite in line,” the old lawyer said. He was older than her father had been, but he seemed to be strong and healthy. “A big responsibility,” he repeated. “Who will you leave the house to?”
“Well,” Sanaa said, “that’s already a problem.”
Hayim grew thoughtful. He knew her father well, and had, of course, been the executor of her father’s will. “Is there someone you would like to give the house to or the proceeds of the sale?” he asked.
Sanaa thought she should give her estate to someone younger than herself. “That’s usual, isn’t it?” she asked timidly.
“Well, yes, but in this case . . .” Hayim was not too sure either. In all his fifty years of practising law, he had known a lot of people, some with few relatives or no relatives, and some with no family, as in this case.
“Do you have a finance?” he asked.
“No,” Sanaa replied. “Papa had someone in mind, but he said the matter would have to wait. I think his friend Yasin in Iraq knows. I think it is a very old arrangement. Something my father committed to before he left Iraq.”
“Is that so!” Hayim stroked his face. “Yes, that’s possible. But, you know, most of the Jews left in the 1950s and by the 1970s, you could say the rest had to leave. Much against their will, of course.”
Sanaa said: “Who can I leave my estate to?”
Hayim already understood Sanaa’s mission, but he would draw her out, make her tell him the whole story. After all, he was the most skilled of lawyers! When she had admitted why the urgency for the will, he would try to help her.
End of Episode
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