I bathed my feet and hands in the waters of el-Kas, the well of al-Aqsa, which they told us rises up from the rivers of Eden, and I entered the great mosque and stayed there for hours on end, meditating. Then I would take the bus back to Jabal, to Walid’s place, where we would talk and study late into the night. Only then would I sleep a few hours, lying between Walid and Fayez on the hard floor. In the morning we would wash, pray, and prepare a little hummus and tea. He always had dates and figs, sliced apples, and sweets of various kinds, and at night there was usually maqluba. We were never hungry, even though we fasted on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Walid had found us a small room where no one knew us, but this room made Walid despair. He often talked about his real house, which he had never seen. It had been in the village of Umm Kalkha near al-Ramleh. He wore the key around his neck. His father had given it to him, his father who also had never seen this house. Yet Walid could describe it in the most vivid detail, and I, too, felt as if I once had a life within those walls.
