Losing too much, too soon

AMY HIRSHBERG LEDERMAN
Special to the AJP

The cold rain soaked Benny’s shirt and trickled down his forehead into his eyes as he peered into the bedroom window. Inside the house, his older sister rocked wildly back and forth on the floor, her arms clutched tightly around her middle.  Sounds he had never heard before rose from deep within her, punctuated by hiccupping sobs that terrified his 8-year-old heart. He entered the house and tip-toed into her room. She was facing the wall when he placed his hand on her trembling shoulder.
Jamilla jumped as if singed by fire and spun around. Benny stood before her, his eyes filled with tenderness as he looked into her mud-streaked face. She hugged him to her and they silently rocked back and forth together.
“It’s okay, Jamilla. It’s okay.”
“Oh, Benny, it was so horrible. I can’t even speak about it,” she gulped through her sobs.
“I know all about it. Mama told me what happened.”
Jamilla froze, her face contorted in horror. ‘What? What did you say?” 
Benny pulled away from his sister and stood up. ‘You don’t have to scream at me, Jamilla, just because I know about the man.” 
Jamilla grabbed Benny by the shoulders, shaking him furiously.
“What did Mama say, Benny! Tell me!”
Benny wiggled and squirmed, trying to free himself from her grasp. ‘Stop it, Jamilla! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
But she couldn’t stop the flashing images of the man’s crusty hands as he groped her or the pain he caused when he pushed inside her. Benny crumpled to the floor and whimpered like a dog that had been kicked.
Jamilla looked at her brother, so small and afraid. She looked at her hands. Dirt and blood were caught under her nails.
“Oh, Benny,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“What is the matter with you, Jamilla?” he sniffled. “Mama only told me about the man; the one who gave you the bracelets.”
Jamilla stared at her brother in disbelief and began to laugh, a hard, mean sound that didn’t sound like her at all.
“If only I could tell you, but something happened today that....” Her words were interrupted by footsteps as Mama ran through the door.
“Ay dios mio!” Mama cried out as she rushed into the room, the creases in her brow melting into relief when she saw that her daughter was safe.
“We were so worried about you,” Papa said softly. ‘The storm came through with such great force that it took down the olive trees. We had no idea where you were, you left in such a rush and your mother and I ...”
“Shah!”  Mama interrupted, spitting three times with pursed lips.
Jamilla fell into her mother’s arms and began to weep. Tears soaked into the fabric of her mother’s tunic. Tears of love, for the parents who had given her life; tears of relief, for the safety of her home and her family; tears of gratitude, for all that she had. But as she swallowed and tasted their salty flow, the bitterness and shame for all she had lost that afternoon caught in her throat.
Her mother soothed her, stroking her hair and whispering into her ear.
“Now, now, hanum, everything will be all right,” Mama cooed, as she guided Jamilla toward her bed mat and pulled back the cover. Exhausted, Jamilla lay down and as Mama loosened her tunic, she noticed the shoulder seam had been ripped open.
“What happened here?” she asked, gently massaging Jamilla’s forehead.
“Stay with me, Mama,” Jamilla answered, fighting off more tears and the sleep she so desperately needed.
In her fingers were several wisps of hair that she began to twist into little curls, a habit she had used to calm herself when she was a little girl.  Mama stroked her cheek, outlining the arc of her cheekbone with her fingertips. Her baby girl, so lovely and pure, would soon be gone. A pain shot through her heart and she forced herself to stand up and move away.  She had hoped things might be different, that she would have Jamilla for a year or two longer. But what God gives, God takes away. It was not her place to question, she reminded herself, as she quietly slipped out of the room and closed the door.    
Amy Hirshberg Lederman is an author, Jewish educator, public speaker and attorney who lives in Tucson. Her columns in the AJP have won awards from the American Jewish Press Association, the Arizona Newspapers Asso­ciation and the Arizona Press Club for excellence in commentary. Visit her website at amyhirshberglederman.com.