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Hezbollah Fighters Emerge From the Rubble
Members of the Red Cross evacuate an injured fighter in the southern Lebanese town of Khiam on the first day of the cease-fire.
(By Ghaith Abdul-ahad -- Getty Images)
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Abu Heidar turned to the ambulance driver, pointing to the wounded fighters in the town.
"You need to get up there," he told him, taking the phone away from his ear.
The driver's face was tense and tired. "I know the way, but it's blocked," he answered. "What can we do?"
The ambulances plowed ahead, and turned back. They lurched forward, then returned. One Red Cross volunteer heaved rocks from the road himself, helped by Abu Heidar, and they tentatively crept forward to a street near the May Salon for Women, where a purple veil was still draped on the head of a mannequin. On one wall was a poster: "Israel is an absolute evil." Cologne worn by one of the fighters gave off a faint scent. In the floors above, window frames were torn from balconies, their curtains fluttering in the breeze.
Three fighters carried out the first of the wounded, an elderly woman with a stare so blank it seemed lifeless. Flies gathered unnoticed on her still body. The fighters clambered across the rubble and past a few unspent bullets, pieces of shrapnel the size of a fist, a charred bed spring and the twisted fender of a vehicle. Before them was a blackened car that looked like a tin can ripped open.
A wounded fighter followed. His head was bandaged, and an IV was hooked to his arm.
"Just a minute," one of the fighters told the Red Cross volunteer. The fighter pointed to where he was hurt, and they carefully hoisted him onto another stretcher. He gripped his wallet across his chest. "Little by little," one of the fighters said.
Another fighter followed, gingerly walking in black sandals. His head was bandaged, as well as his right arm and left hand, where an IV was connected. His face was sprinkled with scabs. As he approached the ambulance, he gave Kalash a number to call.
"I'm safe," he said into the phone. "Tell everyone there. There's no time now, they want to take me, but I'll call you later."
By noon, about 20 men had emerged on the sidewalk. Some had walkie-talkies, the communication of choice for Hezbollah guerrillas. Many wore civilian shirts over military-style pants. A few had sneakers, others hiking boots. After weeks of staying away from cellphones, fearing the Israeli military might pinpoint the calls, they chatted aimlessly: whether they would be sent elsewhere in southern Lebanon, who was where, who was hurt.
"Everything's okay, it's okay, I just saw him," one called out.
Estimates of the number of fighters ran into the hundreds in Khiam, a town once best known for an Israeli-run prison that Hezbollah turned into a museum after the 18-year Israeli occupation of the south ended in 2000. After this war started, Israeli aircraft destroyed it.
