Izzats Kite

Zaki al – Eileh

His hands trace over the kite, feeling its parts, examining its sticks and threads and its transparent colored paper . Its tail has many intertwining colors. It took a lot of suffering and begging to get the paper and the sticks. Collecting the threads, one at a time, he took them from under his pillow. A great roll which could fly it high in the sky, as high as his shining star which sheds colored rays like the colors of his kite.

While fixing his kite, his uncle had said, " The kite with colors like our flag can defy the wind. Nothing can beat it. It would continue to climb until it reached the stars ' whenever he saw someone making a kite, his heart beat, and his breath quickened. He watched every move; peeling the sticks, cutting them into pieces, putting them in a certain shape, pulling the threads round the edges, applying the sticking paper and making the trims. How do they measure the different dimensions of the kite balance? How do they measure the distance between the sticks? He wondered.

The sun is bright. His heart beats with joy. He jumps happily toward the yard. His mother’s voice comes after him :

    ' Take care, Izzat. Don’t go too far.

 Your kite will fly higher than all other kites. It will go past the clouds. Ahmad, your cousin, will be surprised and disappointed.

Your kite will intertwine with his, pull its tail, cut it and force it come down. The kids will scream when they pile on its wreckage.’

Suddenly, something came to his mind. Would Ahmad let this happen so easily?

' No, He will attack me and snatch the ball of from my hand. I will defend and run away. He will run after me and cut the thread. He can easily do this. I will not see my kite any longer. The wind will take it away. It will leave me, but I won’t let it, after all the painstaking effort of obtaining it. So, our kites should not intertwine.

The space is quite wide. The two kites can fly together, race and overtake one another. '

He wishes he were a stick, a colored piece of paper, or a piece of thread hanging from that kite, so he could drive the clouds in front of him, and the houses become smaller and smaller until they disappear.

While absorbed in his thoughts, some boys came running warning of the Israeli jeeps, which were coming from the end of the street.

Izzat moved away from the pavement, and his fingers still strongly clutched at the thread. Now he wished his kite would become a sling or a big pointed stone that could pierce the roof of the jeep or block its way. He was worried. Would they notice the kite’s colors?

Would they take it from him? No ! He will not give them this chance.

Instead he pulls the thread so strongly that the kite files to its highest point until it becomes as big as a palm. He hears the sound of some bullets.

He turns around. He feels severe pain in his back. He stretches his arm to feel the pain. The blood covers his hand and the thread. His fingers are cut deeply by into pieces, and the sticks are also broken.

    * Translated By : Izzat Gazzawi and Claire peak .