In fact, in September 1943, when Hanneh laid on her deathbed in her son Amin’s house in Ramallah, she opened an eye and with her crooked bony pointer finger motioned to my mother to approach the bed. My mother, who expected to hear a secret or a last-minute wish, should have known how impish her grandmother was. Hanneh said to Mama, but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “Kull hayati biddi a’raf laysh Amin itjawaz hadi al-habla Victoria (All my life, I’ve wanted to know why Amin married this stupid Victoria),” at which the family that had gathered around her (including Victoria),
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