The Chemist

Chapter 8

April 18th, 1:00 p.m. The Upper West Side, New York City

This chapter is dedicated to neighbor Doron Maresky, whose knowledge of Israeli-Palestinian relations was extremely helpful.

Sabir entered through the grand wrought-iron, lion-clad gates of the west entrance of the ColumbiaUniversity campus and made his way to Dodge Hall, which housed the School of Fine Arts. He didn't need to walk inside because he spotted Adalet. She wore etched blue jeans and a light blue Columbia sweatshirt on the lawn in front of the building with two of her friends.

He stood on the lawn about thirty feet from her, then she caught his gaze. At first, she did not recognize the man staring at her and held a confused look on her face for a moment, then she nodded in recognition. Adalet excused herself and ran to him for a kiss and long embrace. He had long since eschewed the Arabic aversion to public displays of affection with the opposite sex. By traditional standards, an enlightened terrorist, indeed. And besides, this is America where the women dress like whores. He had to admit he did not dislike it, in spite of the cultural inhibition against exposed female flesh. When he was a teen, he and his friends would spend time after school bragging of their sexual exploits that never occurred.

In English, she said, "It has been too long. Are we safe?"

Her warmth was a welcome sensation that conjured up the memory of prior encounters with her. "I took care of my friends back home. Not to worry, my beloved."

"They said--" she spoke with wide eyed excitement when he pressed his two fingers against her lips.

"In the mother tongue," he said in Arabic.

They were never supposed to be together, but fate had another plan in mind. Like him, Adalet grew up on the West Bank, but they never knew each other until the tragic chain of events that had brought them together. Adalet's father, Sidayim Ramli, a man of stocky build with hair graying at the temples, was a teacher at Sha'ar Bin Salehl high school in Bil'n, a village twenty miles northwest of Jerusalem. An impassioned anti-Semite who conducted his classes as a recruitment tool to further the resistance, he was instrumental in supporting Abdullah Abu Rahmah in leading protests against the Israeli government years ago. He taught in a dimly lit undersized classroom with oversized school desks and deteriorating walls that leaked water during the rains, and pontificated on why the Jews were not only impure but that Mohammed's curse put upon them would condemn them to a fiery death. It was ironic that Sidayim's rhetoric was tame when measured against the like-minded politicians and terrorists of the day.

Sabir came to understand that the Arabic language was rife with wicked hyperbole. Frighteningly real to the outsider, but strangely comforting to his people—a way of keeping the dream alive. All the Arab leaders knew this. Sidayim did not follow through with actions but Sabir had forgiven him for it. In fact, he respected Sidayim because his rhetoric was directed solely toward Israel, the only true enemy in their shared opinion.

At only sixteen years of age, after having been taken in by Sidayim's charismatic rants, Sabir, like several of his classmates, yearned to join the Islamic Jihad. He never knew his father, who died of tuberculosis in the camps when Sabir was only two. Sidayim was the perfect paternal replacement.

Adalet, like most other Palestinian girls of the day, dressed in traditional clothing, more ornate and colorful than that of the women of their more prosperous neighbors. They did not need to cover their faces, thereby calling themselves 'progressive'. Yet, young women still were not permitted to work outside the home and needed escorts when traveling alone.

Sabir first laid eyes on Adalet during a lecture given by her father at a local community college. Five years his junior and still in high school, she had come with a couple of her friends. Her honey shaded skin and almond shaped eyes drew his attention. Knowing he could not publicly approach her, he had to find a more clandestine way of doing so. The cultural divide between their families was steep but as far as Sabir saw it, not insurmountable.