SHIPWRECKED
In the morning, Salma and Yusuf and their grandfather came to see me.
Grandfather said, “Tal, I don’t know if I introduced myself to you. My name is Daoud Murphy. How are you feeling this morning?”
“How do you do, Dr. Murphy,” I said, trying not to show my surprise at his name. “Er, were you born on this island, Dr. Murphy?”
“Aye, I was. My grandfather served here with the British before Ireland gained its independence from Great Britain, and when they left, he stayed and married a beautiful islander, my grandmother,” and his blue eyes twinkled as he recalled his grandmother. “My grandfather converted to Islam for the sake of my grandmother and their future children.
An Irish Moslem, I thought. My goodness!
“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
I shook my head, “No, not yet.”
Dr. Murphy went out to find the nursing assistant to bring me breakfast.
A slim girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, with her hair in a long braid like Salma’s and wearing a long white caftan over white trousers, soon brought me breakfast: a cup of hot mint tea, a large flat-bread, a bowl of houmous and some salad.
Dr Murphy and his two grandchildren stayed with me as I ate and Dr. Murphy told me about this hospital, the “sick-house.” “My father, Allah yerahamo – may he rest in peace – received special permission from our king to go and study medicine in Alexandria, and when he returned with a degree, he founded this sick-house.”
“You have your own king who rules this island?” I asked between sips of mint tea.
“Aye, we do. He’s a righteous king, a good king. We’ve had our own king since we gained our independence from the British Empire, thank Heaven! He has a deep understanding of our needs.”
“Are you up to walking up the hill?” Dr. Murphy asked when I finished eating.
“Is it far?”
“No, not so far. We walk it all the time. But on the other hand, you may still be feeling weak from your ordeal.”
“I think I can do it.”
“Fine, I’ll just go and sign the papers for your release,” and Dr. Murphy left the room. He returned and gave me a change of clothing and a pair of sandals. “The clothes you were wearing before were torn to rags, probably by the rocks, and you only had one shoe, so here’s a pair of sandals. I think they will fit you.”
The three of them left the room to give me some privacy while I put on the warm, white robe, the sort Dr. Murphy himself wore. I joined them in the corridor and we made our way up the hill.
“You see the turret at the top of the hill?” asked Dr. Murphy. “That’s our Northern Mosque and we live nearby.”
“So you have one mosque for the whole island?”
“Oh, no, we have the Southern Mosque as well. Doesn’t everyone have a mosque they don’t go to? But seriously, the idea is that everyone should have a mosque within walking distance.”
Salma and Yusuf were running ahead of us.
“Beautiful children!” I said.
“Aye, you’re right, they’re beautiful children, my grandchildren.”
I didn’t have the energy to walk briskly. I was still weak from the shipwreck, but walked on, with Dr. Murphy at my side. I looked around at the deep-green fields on each side of the path and at the orchards beyond them. As we climbed higher, I could see the calm, blue Mediterranean below us.
**
A columned palatial building rose up before us, to the right of the Northern Mosque.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the building.
“Aye, that’s the king’s palace. And our home is on the left of the mosque. You see it?”
I saw a white-stone flat-roofed building to the left of the mosque, and was grateful that we didn’t have much further to walk.
Eventually we arrived. Salma and Yusuf were already there. Yusuf was wearing a white shirt over white shorts that showed how skinny his legs were.
“Ahlan W’sahalan!” Grandma greeted us. “Please come in, Tal. Our home is your home,” and she led me into the warm living-room and offered me a small cup of sweet and fragrant Arabic spiced coffee and some pastries made with pistachio nuts and honey.
I was happy to rest in the warmth after the exertion of the walk.
“My name is Sa’ida, but everyone calls me Siti – grandmother, so you’re welcome to call me Siti, too.”
“Thank you, Siti, you’ve no idea how much I appreciate your generous hospitality,” the words came from my heart.
We sat and chatted a while, and then Dr. Murphy stood up saying, “I’m going to see the king to receive permission for any helicopter or boat to land on the shores of this island to return you to your land and your people.”
I was taken aback, both by the need to gain permission from the king and by the fact that Dr. Murphy would go to the palace to request it.
Dr. Murphy noted my surprise. “No-one is granted a visa to our island in normal circumstances; I serve as the king’s physician and my father served as physician to his father, so there is no problem in my going to the palace. It’s a short walk from here.”
While he was out, Siti served the children and me a meal of smoked green wheat with mixed vegetables and flat-bread with houmous and olives, saying to me, “You must get you strength back!”
“What do you call this delicious dish?” I asked.
“Friqi, it’s a dish we love to give our honored guests. It’s generally made with meat, too, but my husband is vegetarian so we don’t have meat or chicken in the house. He doesn’t even like the smell of meat or chicken.”
“Delicious, really delicious. Thank you, Siti.”
Siti brought out more of the pistachio-nut-and-honey pastries for dessert and Salma and Yusuf cleared away the dishes after the meal.
“May I help, too?” I ventured.
“No, no, you rest. You are our guest.”
Actually, I felt I did still need to rest and relaxed on the low sofa.
Later in the afternoon Siti approached me. “Today is also your Festival of Lights, right?”
“Yes, it is; tonight I would like to light four lights. Is that possible?”
“No problem!”
Siti left the room and soon returned with cotton wool and four metal rings and cups. She deftly divided the cotton wool into strands, twisted them and threaded them through the metal rings. She said something to Yusuf in Arabic. He left the room and returned minutes later with a jug of olive oil. Before I could say, “Allow me,” she had poured the oil into the cups and placed the wicks in the rings on top.
“Where would you like to light them tonight?” Siti asked.
“With your permission, would it be possible to place them on a window ledge? Or better still – will it be windy tonight?”
“No, this part of the Mediterranean is almost never windy.”
“With your permission, Siti, may I light the lights on your roof? That way if someone sees the four lights in a row they may realize that you have a guest who needs help.”
Siti paused to think for but a moment. “Sure, why not?”
A few minutes after nightfall, Siti, Salma and Yusuf showed me the way up to their roof. Dr. Murphy was already there, and the little cups of oil stood in a row on a table.
I noticed a box of matches in Siti’s hand.
“May I light tonight?”
She handed me the matches.
I said the two blessings, lit the four lights, said the passage, “Haneirot Hallalu…,” surprising myself that I knew it by heart, and sang “Ma’oz Tzur” as my hosts looked on.
We all stood there, gazing at the four orange-edged flames flickering in the cold night air. I silently prayed that they would burn to their last drop of oil. And I prayed that as much as I liked the Murphys, I would be rescued and returned to my country and my own family.
After another delicious meal that evening, Siti showed me where I would sleep. The mattress looked much thicker than the one in the hospital. The quilt lay within a soft, white quilt-cover and the pillow was much thicker than the one in the hospital.
“Wake up well,” she said. “Wake up well – that’s a translation from the Arabic.”
“Good night, Siti,” I replied.
“Wake up well, Tal,” she repeated.
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For Part I:
a-hanuka-tale.html
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