We continued our normal routines for the next couple of weeks, during which Ghassan and Bilal managed to sneak away one Saturday for target practice deep in the forest to muffle the sound. Evading watchful eyes wasn’t easy, but they had done it before and could cover their tracks, especially on the Jewish Sabbath, when most Israeli workers were either home or anxious to be home. Surveillance was done mostly by Palestinian informers. Bilal and Ghassan constantly investigated suspected informers, and they’d succeeded in identifying several over the years. They would use them to throw Israel off their trail, or they’d see to it that they were “dealt with.” The Saturday when they sneaked out for target practice involved them going separately into crowded cities, changing clothes, and disguising themselves as women. “It’s easy, but takes time,” Bilal had said to me. The twins transported the few usable weapons to specific pickup sites, to which they would be returned and remain underground until they were needed.

They were gone all day. Jumana and I stayed together so as not to worry alone.

“People are talking,” she said as I threaded her eyebrows.

“About what?”

“Us.”

“They think we’re lesbians?”

“No, donkey! Me and Ghassan and you and Bilal.”

“I thought they already gossiped about you and Ghassan.”

“Not like this. We weren’t as much in the open before.”

“What do you mean? You’re not open now.”

“People see us coming to your house a lot. And folks are whispering about you and Bilal living in the house together, even though Hajjeh Um Mhammad is there.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Of course! Ouch!”

“Look at you. A revolutionary woman who can’t handle the pain of an eyebrow hair getting pulled out.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar, you love me.” I gave her a handheld mirror to inspect my handiwork.

“Looks good.”

“It looks great. Why don’t you and Ghassan just get married already? Ignore his cranky uncle. It doesn’t even make any sense.”

“We actually did talk about it. Most of the men in the family are on Ghassan’s side. He’s going to have a talk with his uncle … stand up to him if necessary.”

“Finally!”

We didn’t acknowledge it, but I suppose we were both thinking that Ghassan’s sense of urgency in wanting to marry now had to do with the danger growing closer in our lives.

The weapons remained well hidden for two months until we could meet underground again. It was a late Friday afternoon when the men showed up for their regular card game at Samer’s house. Jumana and I closed the salon as usual and helped each other descend the rope behind the toilet. It was dingier than I remembered, suffocating even.