The Woman from Tantoura : A Palestinian Novel

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I would like to thank Radwa Ashour, Wendy Munyon, and Kelly Zaug for their generous contributions to this translation. I would also like to thank Neil Hewison and Nadine El-Hadi, of the American University in Cairo Press, for their unfailing kindness in support of the work.

I would like to dedicate this translation to the memory of Farouk Abdel Wahab.

He came out of the sea. Yes, by God, he came out of the sea as if he were of it, and the waves cast him out. He didn’t come floating on the surface like a fish, he sprang out of it. I followed him as he walked toward the shore, his legs taut, pulling his feet from the sand and planting them in it, coming closer. He was bare, covered only by white pants held around his waist by a rope, drops of water shining on his face and shoulders. His hair was plastered on his head, chest, and arms, wet and shining. I was standing in front of him on the shore, but when I recall the scene I see myself on the threshing floor, among the stalks of wheat, spying on him while he was unaware of me. I know that the threshing floors were on the east side, separated from the sea by the houses of the village and the railroad, and that I was standing on the shore. I was tempted to run away, but I did not run.

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