The Rebel

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the Russian olive tree, carrying with it the tender scent of jasmine. The night was cool and the clouds flitted ceaselessly across the moon, veiling it with their darkness. Stars dotted the sky like diamond-dust, creating a vision of hypnotic, mysterious beauty. And the solitary tree stood proudly under the vast, liquid sky, spreading its dense branches proudly, like a living silhouette.

The highest branches swayed and rustled as a figure shifted over them. A long, blond braid hung like a snake, dancing in sync with the balmy breeze. Hannah lay on her stomach on the widest branch, and squinted down the pages of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. Her secret hiding place was prohibited, just like the book she held in her hands. But hiding here from her family, her friends, the present, she felt safe. Safer than she felt in the arms of her beloved father; safer than hiding under the plush blankets of her cozy home. She soon gave up trying to make out the words in the darkness, and closing the book with a snap she sighed and turned over to stare at the sky. With a happy jolt, she noticed the brilliant constellation of Centaurus, the one her grandfather had told her about. He told her it was only the ones born under the lucky star who had the fortune to see a real Centaurus, and the thought delighted Hannah. But her smile faltered as her eyes adjusted on the trailer a couple hundred meters from the tree. Yellowish-white light filtered from the open windows of her home and from the tree the trailer looked out of space and almost eerie. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

Hannah’s imaginary world was starkly different from her reality. The reality was that, her mother worked hard to feed her and her eight siblings. Her father worked incessantly on the small piece of land behind their trailer, growing barley and maize. She discretely remembered the night when the priests of her Convent ordered everyone to bring all their fiction books to be burned, because they were sins. She remembered her five year-old-self crying her heart out as her father loosened her tight grip from her Little Red Riding Hood book, and tossed it into the roaring flames. She remembered the Christmas when her parents agreed to buy the digital clock-radio, and how she and her sisters danced to pop songs. She also remembered how the next day her father had to give the radio away to the vicar, along with compensation for breaking the rule by listening to the tunes of Satan. Taking birth in a polygamist society, the only thing Hannah learned is hiding from others, and sometimes from herself. She often felt a dull, scorching ache in her chest, and she hoped with all her heart that it was not the feeling of hatred.

Two years ago Hannah met Luke, and for the first time in her life she saw hope. He came with his father from Los Angeles to work on an archeological project, and they stayed in Hannah’s village for a few weeks. In those few weeks Hannah learned about the real world from Luke. He taught her to use his laptop and encouraged her to read books. The day he was leaving, Hannah felt hollow and choked. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t speak; so she prayed. And when he looked into her eyes he saw a thousand unspoken words in them. He took her hands and whispered- “Come with me Hannah. You can get proper education; learn the true meaning of life. I would never disappoint you.” Hannah blinked back her tears and said- “I can’t leave my family.” He understood. He promised to send her a book every month, and she stood there watching his blurry figure walk away. Two years later, Luke still kept his promise. Hannah loved him more than ever.

Hannah opened her eyes to the starry sky. Her most dreaded moment has come. She will be seventeen in a few days. In other words, she will be legal to be married. She already knew who chose her, and she tried to blink away the weathered face of Brother Wright, their ancient neighbor who already had three wives. She noticed the flash of a torch from her home; her sister signaling her to come home for dinner. Putting her book back in the hollow of the tree; Hannah slipped down and landed with a quiet thud on the sandy ground. She looked back to make sure she left nothing suspicious and wondered idly if the hidden noose was strong enough to bear her weight. Then she turned around and ran, her silver waist-beads tinkling with each step.

The Russian olive tree swayed gently in the breeze, as if waving farewell to Hannah. Her dark figure faded as she ran, but her golden braid gleamed triumphantly under the moonlight like a proud flag. From the distance, she looked like a warrior; a rebel.