A car full of holes and exploded window glasses testifies in the courtyard of a house which is in the same state. Men, women and children in Palestine died on those walls, those seats... A VICTORY? It was warm... tears run, salt stings my face, I sweat too much... a break, a real break, my heart wants it, peace. I keep silence during long minutes, I try to calm my cardiac rate, this liquid invading my body disorderly as were my emotions this day... Stop talking... ALL. I close my eyes, a flood of tears invades me, struggle becomes impossible and I fall into this feeling of impotence... I must continue.
A small shop: an old woman, her two sons and their children gathered together in the corner, looking at us in a questionning manner. The woman put on a dress and a white veil, she smiled... Her story is the same as all Jenin refugees camp, she lived in Israel until settlers setted up, expelled her and forbade her to come back... 1948. There was only tents at that time. She wants to come back where she was born, where her parents were born... come back to her roots. I understand. Her two sons who are about 30 years old were next to her holding the shop. One standed in front of me, a hard look but pleasant. He asked me a cigarette and we finished it in the shade of a tree. "I come from France...Paris...", "Oh, Paris...OK". He plunged his look in mine, he moved towards me and murmured "I come with you...", he wants to leave. I understand. His brother sits down a mat, his son in his arms. He told us the story of this country, this city and this street... and shit! He lost the fingers of his left arm during the first Intifada, the second will take away his right arm and leg in a explosion. My eyes crossed his children, his daughter and his son looked at me in a questionning manner, a soft intensity, opened on this world, this child looks, simply innocent. I had in front of me the whole story of this conflict, what it was, what it is and it will be. The father tells us that once in the hospital, doctors announce him that he will be amputated... and will never have children again... months later, against the warning of one and fatalism of others, he will phone those doctors to announce that his son was born alright... A victory, a real one. Here exists a flower that Arabs call "leilat all k'drr", it blooms and just delivers its scent in the depths of the night...
Translated from French by: Hanan ben Rhouma