Nobody knew how the news spread throughout the refugee camps, nor how it all happened.
We were all at home. Nobody had gone out. Yet everybody knew. Even the boy, not yet nine, raised his head and exclaimed "Has Jaber done it?", then went back to sleep. My wife struck her breast with her hand and cried, "but how?" Nobody knew.
In the morning, a curfew was imposed . All houses were searched. From house to house , there was only one question, "Where is Jaber?". The faces of the people in the camp remained vague and taciturn, as if everybody knew where Jaber was. My mother smiled and whispered, "and who shall tell them?". I asked her in a low voice, "do you know his place?" "Jaber is in even- house" , she calmly retorted.
Is it possible for Jaber to kill three soldiers?", my wife asked, striking her breast once more.
"The curfew shall not be lifted till Jaber appears, they thundered, evidently angry. My mother asserted once more that Jaber was in every house. "But where is he, granny?", cried my son. "Shut up, Jaber", my mother said. My wife laughed.
I looked at my mother and said, "then the curfew shall remain for good, oh Umm Jaber!"