A Tale of Two Stories

The air is pungent. Felines and canines have lived in, and on, what we are currently wearing; I’m in a pink jumpsuit, Jon David dons a royal blue one adorned with a collar that has seen many a dog’s backside. There is no anger here, however, only love. The apparel is just one of many gifts from our generous hosts—this, fortunately, is the only one pulled from a far corner in the basement. In the room where we work, heart-shaped plush toys and teddy bears keep us company while we chronicle our historical passage through the land of Milk and Honey. These things are only peripheral inspiration; it is the glitter butterflies and cotton leopard carcass upon which we sit that truly moves the soul and the artist’s pen(s). This chapter in our journey will be a joint effort, for Jon David—the only person in Cana who doesn’t speak Arabic—has lost all ability to communicate his thoughts without his mentor and muse, Ava.

From the notebook of “Helen Keller”

As we end our time in Cana, I cannot help but reflect on how wonderful this entire experience has been for me. Never have I met a kinder or more hospitable family. The friends that were strangers only days ago on the Sea of Galilee have been planning our going away party since the moment we arrived. This departure was sure to be the time of our lives, and I could hardly wait to see what festivities were prepared. True to form, the Muslim families came out in droves, and there was food enough for the Israeli army (I mean, we never would have let them have it…but food enough, still). With every urine-scented breath I take, I look back on this occasion as the defining moment in my Arabic speaking life. As is the Arab custom, men and women partied together for a while until the matriarch of the room decided to separate us, the women departing to the other living room. This separation anxiety from my one form of communication, Ava, had to be handled delicately as this party was intended for my future success and happiness. I decided to play the part of the chameleon, using 4 “looks” throughout the gathering to suggest my attentiveness and social engagement. The looks are as follows:

Pensive: Self-explanatory, this look was used when trying (and miserably failing) to determine the present topic of conversation. I tossed around a few ideas based off of two hours of conversation and the discernable words, Coca-Cola, bush, Mahmoud, as well as one gesture which was surely a reference to either David and Goliath or Braveheart.

Gluttonous: This look was an ‘emergency only’ move. When I was referred or gestured to, my shame and inability to speak Arabic was best hidden by an avoidance of the others’ eyes through the consumption of food.

Conciliatory: The best defense is a good offense. As a Southern gentleman, this smile and nod can come fully equipped with a “gun shoot and wink”, although the latter were probably inappropriate given the company. The smile and nod seemed sufficient.

Pensive AND engaged: This look completely threw my Muslim friends off guard. It even merited an across the room wave from someone of great importance within the hierarchical ladder.

From the notebook of Ava the Beloved

My evening began in the kitchen, where my assistance was requested as desserts for the party were prepared. “You should know how to do this,” advised my new sister Lama. I was an eager student and a subdued feminist as we stirred and baked. My reward for being so amenable was a pretty red sweater that Lama chose for me from the store where she works. Though it resembles the Christmas frock that served as a conversation starter for Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones’ Diary, it was a kind gesture and I was very flattered.

Once preparations were finished, the party began. In the ladies’ room, my experience was slightly different than my male counterpart’s. People addressed me when they spoke, and I responded. I didn’t actually get to engage in the conversation as much as I would have liked because the little ladies in the room were all vying for my attention. Most of the conversation topics weren’t exactly in my realm of expertise, with topics ranging from the which hijab style could best camouflage Lama’s nascent second chin to advice for Amani, the soon to be newlywed.

My opinion was specifically requested, however, in regards to Amani’s choice of attire for her upcoming engagement party. The ensemble was a blue asymmetrical dress with extensive beadwork, which was to be accented with azure earrings, a necklace, bracelet and ring. To complete the look, Amani had purchased black knee high boots adorned with sparkling diamonds and silver three inch heels. Oscillating between my love for my new friend and my deep desire to revolutionize fashion in the Arab world, I took the low road and added some new brownie points for praise.

Jon David’s room – a turn for the better

Sliding back and forth into the appropriate “look” can be quite taxing, but my break was soon to come. Just as I was about to make my move from “pensive and engaged” to “gluttonous”, the clear patriarch of the group turned to me as if to speak…in Arabic. As I prepared myself for a “Thank you” in Arabic (basically the only word I know), he paused dramatically and in a mouse’s voice, turned the conversation on its head.

“Big” he whispered, wide-eyed, as if unlocking the door to the conversation.

Simpering and in shock, I bellowed “The movie????” The affirming nod of the head and devious sneer were all I needed. Finally! There was no longer a need for pensive look #1. In a chameleonic display of body language swordplay, erudition, or commiseration, I had finally been granted the key. The hour and a half conversation had been right in front of my eyes: Big starring Tom Hanks. At this point, there was no doubt that the journal would have to come out.

Ava’s Commission

My fun didn’t actually begin until Jon David strolled through the room, journal in hand muttering something about ‘Gotta remember this.’ Curiously, I followed him and asked what he was going to write in the notebook (the women all wanted to know, and I was to report back.) When I told them that he had not understood anything in the past two hours, there were several cries of ‘Ya Maskeen!’ (in Southern dialect—‘Bless his poor little heart’). Compassion and the hens compelled me to re-enter the men’s room where I could be of assistance to my dear friend. As he spoke of his trials and tribulations, my eyes scanned the room and caught the gaze of several young men who looked eager to speak to this tall, white man from America. Jon David pointed to three and told me that they had been especially amicable to him. One had even raised his hand in a sympathetic salute to the poor deaf mute.

Worried that they would mistake him for anything less than the gregarious young Southerner that he is, JD asked me to make an announcement to the group. Hesitant to give my first public speech in Palestinian Arabic, I did the nervous fake-cough that I believed to be a thing of my past. The chatter of the room did not die down. I tried again. Nothing. Finally, I loudly proclaimed my need to say something. Loosely translated, the text of that first speech is as follows:

“Um, hi. Peace be upon you all. I need to say something for my friend Jon David. He can’t talk and he’s sorry about that. He is sure you are all really great people and wants to be friends with you, but it is hard. Your language is very hard. He would like to try to learn, though.”

Immediately, the men turned into professors. “Jon, look here. This is a banana. Can you say ‘mooz’? Good, good.” Just when I thought my job was finished, Jon David realized that he had some things to get off his chest. My speech resumed: “And you Masoob, congratulations on your engagement. Jon David believes in you. He can tell you have a good personality from your eyes. He really likes you. I mean, not in a bad way. Honestly, he’s happy about the betrothal. But man, is your bride-to-be lucky!”

Cut to Jon David, everyone’s favorite Hellen Keller – Amani’s favorite author

“Ava, what did you just say to him? Why is he looking at me like I’m a freak? Well anyway, just tell them that they seem really cool, and I’d like to hang out with them one day when I learn Arabic.” In a fleeting flash of insecurity, I begged Ava to make note of how effortlessly I’d mastered the alphabet only that same morning. And with that, I turned from the conversation and retired to my journal, incredibly relieved that the mere ‘thumbs up’ to every kind gesture from the crowd had not been misconstrued for snobbery. Just then, the architect (a word which took Ava 45 minutes to transcribe) asked to write something for me. The note captured my most endearing qualities…maybe because I actually had to help him construct it in English. It was short, but the brevity was all but overshadowed by the loosely sketched cartoon picture of Mickey Mouse which kindly read “Bye!” As I slipped on my borrowed pajamas for the evening, I only briefly contemplated whether the noxious odor emanated from my feet or my collar. My mind soon returned to the evening, knowing full well that with every passing hour I was assimilating. Diplomacy, you see, is a gift.

And now it’s time to say goodbye to all our company. Ava and I will conclude with the revelation brought on by our time in Cana. One does not seek celebrity status; it only befalls him…or her. We now know that iPods can break down seemingly insuperable barriers one song at a time (Celine Dion and 50 Cent wield a particularly powerful persuasion). Furthermore, we understand that Palestinians will spend their life savings on our prepared meals, all the while bringing us to our dietary deaths. And lastly, we recognize the connecting Force that our generation knows by one word: Facebook. Therefore, let us hereby take full credit and responsibility for the dissemination of Facebook accounts throughout the Palestinian territories, particularly in the event that such accounts contribute to a solution in the hitherto intractable conflict between Palestine and Israel. The revolution, ladies and gentlemen, has begun. 4:30 comes mighty early in the morning, so we bid you all farewell. Salaam alayi kuhm, and good night.