Advancement of aperegation, from McCann, the great novel about the Arab-Israeli conflict

'Appereeful' arrives today to the bookstores edited by the Seix Sex Barral. The translation of it to Catalan is available in the Les Altres seal. McCann C

Advancement of aperegation, from McCann, the great novel about the Arab-Israeli conflict

'Appereeful' arrives today to the bookstores edited by the Seix Sex Barral. The translation of it to Catalan is available in the Les Altres seal. McCann Colo will have an encounter with the public at the CCCB of Barcelona, on November 8.

The Hills of Jerusalem are a foggy craft. RAMI Tour a straight section from memory and calculates the peralle of an imminent curve.

At sixty-seven years, he goes well crouched on the bike, with his padded hunter and his helmet closed at lime and singing. It is a Japanese motorcycle of 750 cubic centimeters. A graceful machine for someone from the age of it.

Rami gives gas thoroughly, despite the bad weather.

Take a closed curve in the gardens, where the fog gets up to reveal darkness. Corpus Separatum. Reduce and leave behind a military tower. Sodium lights are blurred in the middle of the morning. A small flock of birds overshadows the orange for a moment.

At the foot of the hill, the road dives into another curve, obscured with fog. Reduce to second, release the clutch, bend gently and returns to third. Highway number one, departs the sign above the ruins of Qalunya: the whole story here piled up.

Accelerates at the end of the ramp, takes the interior rail and leaves behind signs indicating old city, or guivat ram. The highway is a succession of routine routine headlights. Tilt the body to the left and snack to the fast lane, towards the tunnels, the separation barrier, the city of Beit Yala. Two results just a turn: Gilo on one side, Bethlehem to the other.

Here geography is everything.

This road takes the area "A" under the Palestinian Authority forbidden, the entrance to Israeli citizens is dangerous for your lives and goes against Israeli law

Five hundred million birds Avouban the sky over the Hills of Beit Yala each year. They move following the order of an old lineage: cobillars, zorzals, pawl, reiney, cuckoes, starnings, executioners, fighters, gray collalbas, plover, scratch, swifts, sparrows, gulls, owls, seagulls, hawks, eagles, milanos, cranes , Gavilanes, Zarapitos, Pelicans, Flamingos, Storks, Tarabillas, Leonated Vultures, European Boats, Arabian Branches, Abejarizos, Tortolas, Currucas Zarceras, Boya Launders, Capidadas Currucas, Gorgirl Bisbits and Avecoles.

It is the second most crowded migratory superautophyst overhead in the world: at least four different species of birds are going through it and the skies survey at various levels. Long Uves of Deterolved Graznido. Lonely travelers flying from grass. A new landscape appears every year: Israeli settlements, Palestinian apartment blocks, roofed gardens, barracks, barriers, ring roads.

Some birds migrate at night to avoid predators, who fly following their sidereal patterns, tracing ellipses at full speed, devouring their own muscles and intestines in full flight. Others travel during the day to take advantage of the thermal columns that rise from the ground, the warm wind that sustains their wings and allows them to plan.

Occasionally, entire flocks cover the sun and sample beit yala: the fields, the rows of houses on slope, the olive trees on the outskirts of the city.

If you timbed between the vineyards of the Cremisian monastery at any time of the day, you will see how the birds on top travel through their parlanchine tracks.

They are posed in trees, telegraph posts, high voltage cables, water towers, and even on the edge of the wall, where sometimes they are white from the pedrés of a kid.

The old Honda was made with a piece of tanned skin the size of a vague eye patch, with holes; All this crossed by leather cords. The Hondas invented the shepherds to scare the predatory animals between their transhumant flocks.

The shepherd held the bag in his left hand; The cordels, on the right. A considerable practice was needed for use with precision. After placing a stone on the patch, the hondero tense the cords well. He was spinning in wide circles above his head several times until the instant of the natural discharge. The bag opened and the stone was fired. Some shepherds were able to give on a target the size of the eye of a jackal to two hundred steps away.

The Honda soon earned a place in the art of war: its ability to shoot a pronounced slope and against battlements made it crucial in the sieges to fortified cities. Legions of long-range bays were recruited. They wore full armor and wore carts full of stones. When the territory became impracticable -fosses, ditches, broken in the arid desert, steep embankments, pedruscans in the middle of the roads, "they went down and advanced on foot, with an ornamented bags hanging from the shoulders. In the largest fit up to two hundred small stones.

During the preparations of the battle it was usual to paint, at least one of the stones. The talisman was placed at the bottom of the bag when the hondero went out into battle, hoping that the last stone never use that last stone.

In the periphery of the battle, children were responsible for eight, nine, ten years old - that they shoot the birds in the sky. They bet on Uadis, hidden among desert bushes, and fired their stones from fortified walls. They hunted turtles, quail and singing birds.

Some birds captured them still alive. They picked them up and put them in wooden cages after taking their eyes so they would believe it was at night all the time: so they were priming from grain without stopping.

Once they had gained grooved twice the size they needed to fly, they roasted them at clay furnaces and served them with bread, olives and spices.

Eight days before dying, after a spectacular banquet, François Mitterrand, the French president, had commissioned a plate of a Hortelano scribe, a tiny yellow neck of the scarce size of a thumb. That exquisiteness represented for him the soul of France.

Mitterrand staff supervised the capture of wild birds in a southern town. The local police were paid, the hunting was organized and the birds were captured by the Linde del Forest, at dawn, with special networks primarily stretched. They put in boxes to the scribes and took them in a dark van to the country house that Mitterrand had in Latche, where he had spent his boy's summers. The subchefs came out and took the cages inside. He fueled the birds for two weeks until they were fat to burst, then they raised them caught by the legs on a pure frame tub and drowned them alive immersing them head down.

Next, the chef plunged them, splashed them, cooked them for seven minutes in his own fat and placed them in freshly heated white hunts.

When the dish was served, the wooden covered room - and there the family of Mitterrand, his wife, his children, his lover, his friends - was silent. The president straightened himself in his chair, pulled away the blanket from his knees, drank a sip of a bottle of Château Haut-Marbuzet reserve.

"There's just a worthy thing about interest: Living," said Mitterrand. He covered his head with a white napkin to aspire the scent of the birds and, as the tradition dictates, to hide the act of the look of God.

He picked up the little birds and joined them whole: the succulent meat, the fat, the bitter bowels, the wings, the tendons, the liver, the kidneys, the hot heart, the legs, the tiny skulls creaked between their teeth.

It took him several minutes to finish, with his face covered all the time down the white napkin. His family heard the noises of the bones when he split.

Mitterrand wiped his mouth with a touch of the napkin, set aside the ceramic casserole, raised his head, smiled, gave the good night and stood up to go to bed.

He fasted over the next eight and a half days until he died.

In Israel the birds are tracked by a sophisticated radar system placed all over the country along the migratory routes -Eilat, Jerusalem, Latron- with links to military installations and air traffic control offices Ben Gurion.

Ben Gurión's offices have intelligent windows of state-of-the-art technology. Computer panels, radios, telephones. A team of experts trained in aviation and mathematics track flight patterns: the size of the flocks, its path, shape, speed and height, its behavior foreseen in seasonal patterns, its possible answers to the transversal winds, sir and storms. Operators create algorithms and send emergency notices to drivers and commercial airlines.

Another line of follow-up is dedicated to the army. Starlings at three hundred meters North Port of Gaza, 31,52583 ° N, 34,43056 ° E. Forty-two thousand Canadian cranes at two hundred twenty meters scarce above the southern shore of the Red Sea, 20,2802 ° N, 38,5126 ° E. Unusual movement of flock to this acre, caution coastal guard, imminent storm. Scheduled flock, Geese of Canada, east of Ben Gurion at 0200, exact TBD coordinates. A pair of desert owls sighted in trees near helicopter landing on track B, South Hebron, 31,3200 ° N, 35,0542 ° E.

Ornithologists are busier in autumn and in spring, during the height of great migrations: sometimes their screens look like Rorschach test. They collaborate with bird observers on land, although a good tracker is able to intuit the type of bird only by the shape of the flock on the radar and by the height it appears.

At the Military Academy, the pilots of war are taught the intricate patterns of migration of birds so as not to have to go down in chopping in what they call pest zones. Everything is important: A great puddle near the track could attract a flock of starlings; An oil stain could cake the wings of a prey bird and disorient it; A forest fire could divert from its course to a flock of geese.

In migratory stations, pilots try not to travel less than a thousand meters for long periods.

A swan can be so fatal for a pilot as a rocket launcher.

At the end of the first intifada, a couple of birds that migrated from Europe to North Africa were found in the misty networks of the Western slopes of Beit Yala. They were entangled on each other, trapped by the legs of single cape, the frantic wings against the filaments, so that at first glance they looked like a single bird of extravagant aspect.

They found them a lifer of fourteen, Tarek Jalil, who thought at the beginning that they were too small to be migrants: they were capish warblers. He crouched down to look better. The anguished trills of him amazed him. He unraveled the birds, put them in two cloth bags and took them hill up to the bird ringing station so that they identify them and put them on a label: wing magnitude, size of tail, weight, sex, percentage of grease bodily.

It was the first time that Tarek saw those creatures: green, beautiful, mysterious head. He browsed guides and searched records. Singing birds, probably from Spain or Gibraltar, or southern France. He was not clear about doing with them. His work consisted of putting on a metallic anillito and a numbered label on a leg with pliers so that his migration could be documented before letting go.

Tarek prepared the rings. Those birds were so squalid that weighed less than a teaspoon of spices. He thought that the metal strips could make them lose their balance during the flight.

He hesitated a moment, put the birds again on the cloth bags and took them to his house in Beit Sahur. She climbed the cobbled slopes with birds in her arms. In the kitchen there were hung cages. For two days, the two Tarek sisters fell eating and drinking the Hortelano scribes. The third, Tarek took the birds again to the hillside to let go, without ringing, among the apricot.

One of the birds stayed in the palm of his hand for a moment before jumping. She caressed him with his fingers. The claws of him punctuated in a calluses. The Cuellite was rubbed against the soft part of his hand. She straightened, hesitant, and went flying.

He was aware that the two birds would be undocumented. She hung up the aluminum rings - with her consecutive numbers - as a souvenir in a fine silver collar. He noticed wobbling the rings against his throat two months later, when he lowered Virgin Mary Street with the older brothers to throw stones with the slings.

One of the two bird ringing stations that exist in the West Bank is that of the Talitha Kumi College: it is part of an environmental center along with a natural history museum, a recycling program, a water treatment project, an educational unit and A botanical garden full of jasmine, evil, thistles, roman nettles and rows of African rue of yellow flowers.

From the center, the wall that is screwed by the landscape is ventes. In the distance they highlight among the peaks the terracotta roofs of the settlements, surrounded by electrified fences.

In the valley there are so many roads, bridges, tunnels and new apartments that birds gravitate towards the small section of the hillside, where they can rest and feed between fruit trees and high grass.

Cross on foot the four hectares of the Environmental Center between Tamarisks, Olivos, Sabra Cactus and the flower bushes of the esplanades is like walking along the edge of a contracted lung.

It is often seen a white airship that rises over Jerusalem and float above the city, disappears, then rises again; He disappear again. Seen from the Hills of Beit Yala - a few kilometers - the white airship without brands looks like a cloud, a white soft tank, a moscardón.

Sometimes the birds are posed above, of polyzones, and they go to jerk lazily for a few kilometers until they rushed again into chopping: a nightingale that is overlaps on loins of an eagle. The Airship, who is his Israeli crew and radar technicians call for the mote of Fat Boy Two, usually plan about three hundred meters from the ground. He is made of Kevlar and Aluminum. A glass cabin is stuck on the bottom. A room for thirteen men equipped with a series of computers and infrared cameras with sufficient power to capture and identify the numbers and colors of each and every one of the highway enrollment, even those that pass at full speed.

Rami's license plate is yellow.

Take a look at the motorcycle clock and then to the bracelet. A moment of confusion. One hour apart. Change of summer time. It does not cost anything to change it on the clock, but you know that this time will penetrate the day in other ways. Each year the same: For a few days, at least, Israel and Palestine go with one hour of lag.

Now nothing can be done. It does not make sense to turn home. I could kill some time staying a little more on the highway. Or run by some of the secondary roads of the valleys. Find a breakdown where I can give it cane to the motorcycle, put a little adrenaline a day.

Reduce to the fourth, look at the red line of the revolutions counter. He advances all pill to a long truck and then passes to fifth gently.

When a rubber bullet is fired by the end of the metallic tube of an M-16, it leaves the gun barrel at more than one hundred and sixty kilometers per hour.

The projectiles are large enough to see them, but too fast to avoid them.

They were first tested in Northern Ireland, where the British called them Cascarrodillas: they were designed to shoot up against the ground; Then bounced and impacted on the legs of the rioters.

The bullet that killed Abir toured fifteen meters through the air before incrusting in his neck and destroying the bones of his skull as those of a tiny scribe.

He had gone to the grocery store to buy treats.

By two segquers, Abir could have bought one of those bracelets with the inscription he loves me, he does not love me on the edge. But what he was purchased were two Isuarit Mlabase: a bracelet of candy pills roses, oranges, yellow and light blue bolted by a cordecita.

He put the money above the counter at the Palm of the owner of the store, which pulled the bracelets from a deep glass jar.

As they turned to the school gates, Abir gave him one of the bracelets to his sister Areen.

Since they killed Abir, Bassam has gone every day to the mosque an hour before dawn to participate in the voluntary prayers at dawn.

At forty-eight years, he advances dark with a slight lameness and a cigarette in the hole of his hand. He is thin, lean, slender. La Cojera prints it in the world: otherwise, he would practically go unnoticed. Even so, he bet on his interior some agility, a nerve alert, as if he at any moment he could get rid of the limp and leave it planted there.

It drops the cigarette at the entrance of the mosque, it puts it with sports. Isolated, smoothes the white shirt with the palm of the hand, climbs the steps, removes the sneakers, enters the right foot ahead, kneels at the bottom of the room and leans before the unlimited God of him.

Pray for his wife, for his five children, for the memory of Abir. Allah, deliver us from manifest or hidden atrocities. One by one, prayer beads go slowly down their fingers from one side to the other hand.

As the sun stops with effort through the windows, a small shadow runs riberate the scroll steps. Bassam sweeps the floor with a branch broom and unrolls the mats supported by vertical, cylindrical, against the wall-oriented wall.

The smell of coal and hemp enters from the street. The canturreo of traffic when stretching, the consolation of the Almuédano, the barking of the street dogs.

Bassam is wicked down methodically throughout the room until the entire floor is covered with mats, as well as taqiyas and rosaries in each for the first sentence of the day.

Anata, who is in the land of anyone, reveals a strange urban archipelago, a Palestinian city in the West Bank under Israeli occupation and within the Government of Jerusalem. It is surrounded almost completely by the separation wall.

In the highest replicins they climb a few well-made houses -piera white, marble columns, high arcades, high windows-, but immediately give way to chaos below.

The descent is a steep slope. The parabolic antennas dot the roofs. Grimen sparrowers in their cages. The laundry on the ropes stretched between apartments. Some bike bike kids surprise the potholes. They lower the slope between overflowing containers and garbage mountains.

The streets are full of traffic without traffic standards. Luminous posters everywhere. Tire workshops, bakeries, mobile repair kiosks. Men feign indifference in the shadows. About them float clouds of tobacco smoke. Women hide under their hijabs. Outside the butchers hang from steel hooks Mohinas lamb housings. Of the speakers sprouts pop music. Debris here and there.

The city is lescated against the SHUFAT refugee camp. Shufat rises based on an apartment block after another. There is nowhere to go, apart from heaven. It is easy to reach the field -Travel the rotating metal door at the checkpoint and lower the road-, but get out of cost.

To travel to Jerusalem, an identity document or a permit is needed. To reach the rest of the West Bank - where you will see you forced if, like Bassam, you have a green enrollment - only a road full of potholes allows flight.

The edge of a contracted lung.

Plant it in this way: you are in Anata, in the back seat of a taxi, cramping a girl between your arms. She just fired a rubber bullet on the nape of her. You go to the hospital.

The taxi is in the middle of a jam. The road that passes through control towards Jerusalem is closed. In the best of cases, you will stop you if you try to go through it illegally. At the worst, they will shoot you and the driver as you take your daughter with a shot at the nape.

Low the look. The girl still breathes. The driver puts his hand on the horn. The car from behind touches the horn. The car front makes it another one. The noise duplicates and multiplies. Look for the window. Your car turns a pile of garbage to pass. Plastic bags wave the wind. Do not advance anything. The heat is employed thoroughly. A rist of sweat drops is descended from the chin over the plastic seat.

The driver returns to touch the horn. The sky is blue with some jir of clouds. When the car progresses, the front wheels sink into another bump. The clouds, you think, are the only ones that go fast.

Then, a movement: two helicopters that hurt blue.

A part of you wants to get off and take the girl downstairs in her arms, but you have to keep her head lying down and try not to move her while nothing else moves.

It is said that Biblical Jeremiah - also known as the crying prophet, chosen by God to warn from the imminent disaster - was born in ancient Anata. You can find the image of it on the roof of the Sistine Chapel of Rome, painted by Michelangelo at the beginning of the 16th century.

In the painting, which is located on the side of the altar, near the front of the chapel, Jeremiah appears sitting, with a beard and thoughtful, dressed in a long salmon tunic, a finger against the mouth and looks down.

To this day, Bassam reconcomes him about his daughter's bracelet. In the hospital they went to look for it the taxi driver and the owner of the store, which was in the car with abir. They put on the shoe that had left the girl's foot, but her caramel bracelet had disappeared: he did not take her in his hand, neither on the wrist, nor in her pockets.

In the surgery room, Bassam kissed him on his forehead. Abir still breathed. The team issued weak beeps. It was that kind of hospital to which it would be good to enter a hospital. The doctors did what they could, but their resources were insufficient.

He decided his transfer to Hadassah, in Jerusalem. A journey of twenty minutes, on the other side of the wall.

Two hours later, "he still stuck in an ambulance near the checkpoint," Bassam reached into the Backpack of the College of Abir and found the candies under the Mathematics Book.

The shot came from the back of a SUV on March. Through a slit of the back door, ten for ten centimeters.

The commander of the Border Guard wrote in his report that stones had thrown them from a cemetery. The lives of his men, he said, ran danger.

Abir was ten years old.

I was coming out of the sheet of sheet metal with Areen and two friends. They were just over nine in the morning. The winter sun fell sideways. They had an hour of rest between classes. They were about to return for a math exam, multiply tables.

Twelve by eight, ninety-six. Twelve for nine, one hundred and eight.

Sunlight opened the street in canal. The girls passed next to the bollards placed on the road and left behind the bus stop. Its shadows lengthened on the police control.

Twelve per twelve, one hundred forty-four.

When the armored off-road turned the corner, the girls ran.

The bullet body was metal, but with the tip coated with a special vulcanized gum. When he hit the skull of abir, the rubber was deformed slightly, but at the moment he recovered his original shape without accusing apparent damage.

The soldiers called the Lázaro pills bullets: when the opportunity was presented, they could take them from the ground and reuse them.

The year before the millennium, a guerrilla artist of Beit Yala hung from the trees rubber bullets emptied as tiny feeders for improvised birds: he had made small incisions, he stuffed them with grain and hung them with wire from the branches.

Wambolearing in the air, the bullets attracted numerous birds: Boya Lavanders, Sparrows, Gorgirl Bisbits.

The border guard who fired was eighteen.

Updated Date: 27 October 2021, 01:55

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