Minor Detail

  Copyright © Adania Shibli, 2016

  Translation copyright © Elisabeth Jaquette, 2020

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or website review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

  Originally published in English translation by Fitzcarraldo Editions

  in Great Britain in 2020

  First published as a New Directions Paperbook (ndp1482) in 2020

  New Directions Books are printed on acid-free paper

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Shiblī, ʻAdanīyah, author. | Jaquette, Elisabeth, translator.

  Title: Minor detail / Adania Shibli ; translated by Elisabeth Jaquette.

  Other titles: Tafāşīl thānawī. English

  Description: New York : New Directions Publishing Corporation, 2020. |

  First published in Arabic by Dar Al Adab: Beirut, Lebanon. |

  Translated from the Arabic.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020004677 | ISBN 9780811229074 (paperback ; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780811229081 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Arab-Israeli conflict—1948–1967—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PJ7962.H425 T3413 2020 | DDC 892.7/37—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020004677

  New Directions Books are published for James Laughlin

  by New Directions Publishing Corporation

  80 Eighth Avenue, New York 10011

  — 1 —

  Nothing moved except the mirage. Vast stretches of barren hills rose in layers up to the sky, trembling silently under the heft of the mirage, while the harsh afternoon sunlight blurred the outlines of the pale yellow ridges. The only details that could be discerned were a faint winding border which aimlessly meandered across these ridges, and the slender shadows of dry, thorny burnet and stones dotting the ground. Aside from these, nothing at all, just a great expanse of the arid Negev desert, over which crouched the intense August heat.

  The only signs of life in the area were distant barking and the noise of soldiers working to set up camp. These reached his ears as he gazed through binoculars from his position atop a hill, examining the scene before him. Against the sun’s harsh glare, he carefully followed the course of narrow paths across the sand, occasionally pausing to fix his gaze on a ridge for a moment longer. Finally, he lowered his binoculars, wiped off the sweat, and returned them to their case. Then he began making his way through the thick, heavy afternoon air, back to the camp.

  When they had arrived, they found two standing huts and the remains of a wall in a partially destroyed third. It was all that had survived in this place after the heavy shelling the area had experienced at the beginning of the war. But now a command tent and mess tent were pitched next to these huts, and the sounds of hammering stakes and clattering poles filled the air as the soldiers worked to pitch the three tents that would serve as their quarters. His deputy, the sergeant major, met him upon his return, and informed him that the men had removed all the rubble and stones from the area, and that a group of soldiers was working to rebuild the trenches. He replied that all preparations must be finished before nightfall, then told him to order the division sergeants and some corporals and experienced soldiers to report for a meeting in the command tent immediately.

  * * *

  Afternoon sunlight filled the entrance to the tent, streamed through it and spread across the sand, revealing little indentations on its surface made by the soldiers’ feet. He began the briefing by explaining that their primary mission during their presence here, in addition to demarcating the southern border with Egypt and preventing anyone from penetrating it, was to comb the southwest part of the Negev and cleanse it of any remaining Arabs. Air Force sources had reported movements here, of Arabs and infiltrators in the area. They would also undertake daily reconnaissance patrols, to explore and familiarize themselves with the region. This operation could take some time, but they were to remain stationed here until security in this part of the Negev had been established. They would also run daily drills and military maneuvers with the soldiers, to train them in desert combat and acclimatize them to the conditions.

  The soldiers in attendance listened as they followed the movement of his hands over the map laid out in front of them, where the camp’s position appeared in the form of a small, barely discernible black dot inside a large gray triangle. None of them commented on what was said, and silence filled the tent for several seconds. The officer turned his gaze from the map to their sullen faces, dripping with sweat, glistening in the light that came through the entrance to the tent. After a pause he continued, instructing them to be sure that the soldiers, especially those who had recently joined the platoon, took good care of their uniforms and gear; if anyone lacked clothing or equipment, they should notify him immediately. The soldiers should also be reminded of the importance of maintaining personal hygiene, and shaving daily. Then, before adjourning the meeting, he turned to the driver, a sergeant, and two corporals who were present, and ordered them to prepare to depart with him on a preliminary reconnaissance patrol of the area.

  Before the patrol, he stopped by one of the huts, which he had taken as his quarters, and began moving his belongings from the entrance, where he had stacked them, to a corner of the room. Then he took a jerry can from the stack, and poured water from it into a small tin bowl. He took a towel from his kit bag, dipped it in the water he had poured into the bowl, and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He rinsed the towel, then took off his shirt and wiped his armpits. He put his shirt back on, buttoned it up, then rinsed the towel thoroughly and hung it on one of the old nails that remained in the wall. Then he took the bowl outside, poured the dirty water onto the sand, went back into the room, put the bowl in the corner with the rest of his belongings and left.

  The driver was sitting in his seat behind the steering wheel, while the rest of the group that had been ordered to join him were standing around the vehicle. As he approached, they climbed in the back, and he took the front passenger seat. The driver adjusted his position before reaching for the ignition switch and starting the engine, which released a loud roar out into the open space.

  They set off west, forging their way through pale yellow hills that extended in every direction. Thick clouds of sand sprung from underneath the vehicle’s tires, rose up and followed after them, completely obscuring the view behind. Some sand struck those seated in the back, forcing them to shut their eyes and mouths in an attempt to keep the dust out. The waves of sand, with their shifting shapes, would not settle until the vehicle had vanished far into the distance and the sound of its engine had entirely faded. Only then did the sand drift gradually back onto the hills, softening the sharp parallel tracks left by the vehicle’s tires.

  They reached the armistice line with Egypt and examined the border, but observed no attempts to breach it. By the time the sun neared the line of the horizon, the dust and heat had conquered them, and he ordered the driver to return to camp. They had not encountered any life on their patrol of the area, despite the reports indicating movement there.

  Though they arrived back at camp before nightfall, to the east the blue sky had nearly given way to darkness and the faint glow of a few stars had already appeared. Preparations in the camp had not yet been finished, and after stepping down from the vehicle he announced that everything must be completed before they sat down to dinner. That enlivened the soldiers, and their silhouettes began moving more quickly and animatedly around the camp.

  He headed into his hut, where darkness had taken hold, so he paused for a moment, then went back to the door and opened it wide, to ease the darkness inside. He took the towel, now completely dry, from where it hung on the wall. He dampened it by pouring water directly onto it from the jerry can, then wiped the sweat and dust from his face and hands. He bent over his belongings again, picked up a lantern, lifted the glass, then placed it on the table without lighting the mantle, and left the hut.

  Even though he had been inside for only a few minutes, the sky was now speckled with stars, and darkness had enveloped the hills so completely that night seemed to have descended upon the camp all at once. The soldiers’ silhouettes were moving slowly again, and their voices pierced the deep blue night, while the glow of lanterns sneaked through the cracks and openings of the tents.

  He set off on a tour of the camp facilities, and inspected the progress of the work throughout, especially the process of rebuilding trenches and readying the drill areas. Things seemed to be going according to plan, except that it was past eight p.m., and usually they gathered to eat at eight sharp. Before long, they all headed to the mess tent to sit down around the dinner tables.

  After dinner he walked to his hut, guided by the light of the full moon and the stars scattered above the dark line of the horizon. He prepared himself for bed, then extinguished the lantern and lay down. He pushed the sheets far away, leaving his body completely exposed; the heat weighing on the room was intense, but despite it he fell straight asleep. It had been a long, hard day for everyone: August 9, 1949.

  * * *

  He was awakened by movement on his left thigh. He opened his eyes to the utter darkness and extreme heat in the room. His body was dripping with sweat. There was a creature just below
the hem of his underpants; it moved higher, then stopped. The hum of emptiness continued to fill the space, occasionally punctuated by the muffled sounds of the soldiers assigned to guard the camp, the wind slapping at tent roofs, the distant howling of a dog, maybe the groaning of camels.

  After a moment of stillness, he sat up in one gentle motion. At this the creature moved again, so he held still, then shifted his gaze toward his leg. The darkness concealed whatever was on him, though it was now possible to distinguish the silhouettes of the furniture, his belongings, and the wooden beams on which the roof panels rested. Through cracks in the ceiling, a dim light filtered down into the hut from the moon outside. Suddenly his hand lunged at the creature and flung it off his thigh, then he leapt to the lantern on the table and lit it. As soon as the mantle glowed with flame, he circled the lantern over the area between the table and bed. There was no movement, except for the swaying shadows of a few scattered pebbles on the floor, as the lantern hovered over the area. He expanded his orbit to include the bed, then under it, then each corner of the room, and the area by the door, then around his bag and trunk, and the rest of his belongings, then the walls, up toward the ceiling, and the bed again, and around his boots; then he shook his clothes that were hanging on the nails in the wall, looked under the bed once more, and across the entire floor, patiently, including all the corners, then back to the walls and the ceiling, and finally his shadow, which was leaping around him, swinging aimlessly from one side to the other. Then he calmed down, and the light calmed with him, as did the shadows in the room. He brought the lantern close to his thigh, where a slight burning sensation was starting to spread. Under the light, two small red dots appeared. It seemed the creature had been faster than he was, and bit him before he had cast it away.

  He extinguished the lantern, set it beside the trunk, and returned to bed, though he did not manage to fall back asleep. The burning sensation from the bite on his thigh gradually intensified, and by dawn it felt as if he were being flayed alive.

  Eventually he got out of bed and went to the corner where his belongings were stacked, now dappled in the morning sunlight seeping down through holes in the ceiling. He filled the tin bowl with water, took the towel from the nail where it was hanging, dipped it in the bowl before wringing it out, then wiped down his face, chest, back, and armpits. He put on his shirt, then his pants, pulling them up just past the knees before pausing to examine the bite on his thigh. A slight swelling had now formed around the two dots, which had turned black and were pulsating with pain. He pulled his pants up all the way, tucked in his shirt, then tightened his belt around his waist, buckling it at the visible crease in the fabric. He rinsed the towel, returned it to its place on the nail, cast an unhurried look at the walls, ceiling, and floor, and left.

  * * *

  They concluded that morning’s reconnaissance patrol as the sun was still approaching the center of the sky. They could no longer bear the scorching heat, nor sitting in the vehicle, where the metal was so hot in places that it lashed at anyone who touched it. Before noon, August 10, 1949.

  The soldiers in the camp sought refuge in the narrow strips of shade alongside the tents, and avoided the ground that lay directly in the sun, where every grain of sand absorbed heat from the rays that had shone on them since morning. As for him, it was not the scorching heat but a sharp stomach pain that struck during the patrol, and forced him to his hut as soon as he stepped down from the vehicle, without stopping at the command tent or inspecting the camp.

  The dirty water from his wash that morning was still idling in the tin bowl. He carried it outside and emptied it onto the sand near the hut. Then he filled it again with clean water from the jerry can. He undressed down to his underpants, took the towel hanging from the nail, dipped it in the bowl and began to wipe down his body. He began with his face, then moved to his neck, his chest, and as much of his back as he could reach. He rinsed the towel, then wiped down his arms and armpits. His legs were the last thing he cleaned, avoiding the area around the bite, which had grown redder and more swollen. After he rinsed the towel well and hung it on the nail, he picked up a small box that was sitting in the corner with his belongings and carried it to the table. He set it down, opened the lid and took out antiseptic, cotton, and gauze. He put some antiseptic on the cotton and began cleaning the area around the bite very carefully. When he finished, he wrapped his thigh with the gauze, headed to bed and lay down. Intense cramps had begun gripping his back and shoulders.

  * * *

  Although the afternoon patrol was useful for exploring the area’s more hidden spots, no infiltrators were found on that patrol either. The repetitive sand dunes encircling them from every direction remained silent, and revealed no tracks aside from the vehicle’s own.

  Meanwhile, at the camp, as the day proceeded and the heat raged, the soldiers continued their slow march trailing the shade, following as it moved across stretches of sand alongside the tents. When he returned from the patrol, he headed to a group that included a few experienced soldiers, even though his stomachache had grown worse. He briefed them on the details of the day’s two patrols, before inquiring how they were acclimatizing to the conditions and heat, especially during their drills. After listening to their clipped replies, he emphasized the importance of them being here, and of the drills, which were no less critical than participating in missions outside the camp. It was their presence and perseverance, regardless of which military operations they took part in, which were crucial to securing control over the area, enforcing the new border with Egypt and preventing infiltrators from penetrating it. They were the first and only platoon to arrive this far south since the armistice had been declared, and they had been given complete responsibility for maintaining security in the area.

  On the way to his hut he passed the command tent, where his deputy, the division sergeants and the driver were resting after their afternoon patrol, and he informed them they would be conducting another patrol before sunset.

  * * *

  Then another patrol, and another the next day, and the day after that, yet all the area revealed were sandstorms and dust clouds, which seemed intent on chasing and harrying them. But these storms did not succeed in stopping their patrols, nor did the stillness of the barren hills weaken his resolve to find any remaining Arabs in the area and capture the infiltrators among them, who rushed to hide behind the dunes when they heard the vehicle’s roar. Their slender black shadows sometimes wavered in front of him, trembling between the hills, but whenever the vehicle raced toward them, they found no one when they arrived.

  Only the intense heat or darkness could put an end to these pursuits; only when they could no longer bear the blazing sun, or when night began to fall, would he tell the driver to return them to camp.

  And with nightfall the air grew less heavy and dense, while retaining a tolerable degree of heat. This enlivened the soldiers, most of whom, since their arrival, had not left the camp, or even the strips of shade by the tents, where they sought refuge each day when they finished their drills. And so, in the evening, the sound of their conversations and laughter rumbled through the area, until ten p.m., when they retired to their tents and he went to his hut.

  Inside, the darkness was thick and strong. From time to time noises would seep into the space, at first sounding like murmurs and snippets of unintelligible clamor, until it gradually became possible to distinguish the sound of wind slapping the tent roofs, the footfalls of soldiers patrolling the camp and their abrupt calls, all of which were interspersed with distant sounds of gunshots, dogs barking, and maybe camels groaning.

  * * *

  He was sweating, straining to breathe the room’s heavy air, as he sat at the table with several maps spread in front of him. The distant sounds reached him from outside, deepening the ache in his head. He had not undressed or even removed his boots now filled with sweat and drenching his toes, which had been confined in them since the morning. It was approaching midnight: August 11, 1949. He slowly drew his hand to the edge of the table, bent his knees and began to stand up, but he staggered and quickly gripped the chair, supporting his body with both hands. He took a deep breath. On his second attempt he managed to stand, then walked over to the trunk in the corner of the room, bent over it, placed his hands on the locks, opened them, and lifted the lid. He reached inside with his right hand and took out some box magazines. He stood up again, went back to the table, set down the magazines, and then, with trembling hands, began carefully placing them in his pouch, as sweat dripped from his hairline down his temples and cheeks. When he had finished, he picked up his gun from where it was leaning against the table, slung it over his shoulder, and left the hut.