“I’m just taking back a bit of what’s ours,” he said. Bilal wasn’t much for humor.

He showed me how to connect the pump. “Bring it with you whenever you come,” he said.

“Do you think they just don’t know it was you?” I asked. “Or maybe they didn’t think the firecrackers were a big deal.”

“Trust me, they know, and they’ll come.”

“Why don’t you just hide out?”

“It’ll be worse if I do. They’ll demolish the house or do something else to hurt the people I love.”

The hum of the pump gave me an idea. “When the tank is full, we should reverse the pump and send our sewage into their pipeline,” I said.

Soldiers came at four thirty in the morning on Wednesday. Bilal was sleeping, but Hajjeh Um Mhammad was performing wudu cleansing in preparation for the fajr prayer. I woke to an explosion busting down the courtyard gate and hurried to pull on a sweater over my pajamas. By the time I made it to the door, soldiers were already rushing in and dragging Bilal outside, shirtless, wrists tied behind his back. Hajjeh Um Mhammad began screaming, and a soldier pushed her to the ground. As I ran to help her up, one of them yanked me back and bound my wrists too, the plastic ties cutting into my skin. Hajjeh Um Mhammad threw everything within arm’s reach at the soldiers—an ashtray, a carved wooden trinket, a shoe, the argileh. When she rose to her feet, one of them raised a threatening open hand to her, and she spat at him, her curses unceasing. Another soldier pulled him away and, perhaps to save face, grabbed me instead, dragging me by the hair outside with Bilal.

The early morning was still dark and cool. I was glad for my sweater. Bilal stood across the front yard guarded, as I was, by two soldiers. Light from the moon and porch lamp misted his body. I had never seen him without a shirt, though I had imagined it. He was thin, his chest muscular with a triangular tuft of black hair tapering to a line that ran down the center of him to his belly button into his pants. His belly was slightly soft. I had felt it many times when we embraced. He was staring at me, mutual anguish, lust, fear, and rage moving between us. Our eyes locked as we listened to things breaking inside. Lights in nearby homes came on. People would gather soon. Some were already walking through the olive groves to avoid soldiers stationed on the road. They came for solidarity, curiosity, to bear witness, and because they would want people to show up when their time came.

Daylight slowly washed out the moon and stars as more soldiers appeared walking up the pathway.