Hoda walks toward her parents' house. The main street is now pitch-black. She sees a lighted cigarette several metres in front of her. A dark shape in a dishdasha is pulling down the metal door to a shop. It's the olive oil shop, Akil's shop. She moves to the other side of the street to avoid him. Too late. He calls out to her.

"Wait, I want to talk to you."Hoda hesitates. Should she make a run for it?"Sharmouta--whore, how dare you speak to my uncle!"Hoda freezes. She doesn't know how to answer the angry young man.He's now facing her, a padlock in his left hand. He grabs her arm."Come with me.""Stop, Akil! You're hurting me!""I'll teach you a lesson.

"Hoda swings hard at Akil. He blocks her blow. Intense pain shoots up her forearm. Then she feels the padlock in his fist strike the side of her face. When she comes to, he has dragged her back to his shop. She looks up. The place is crammed with bottles of olive oil and barrels of olives in brine. An old oil lamp on the counter offers a dim light.

Beside it is the padlock. Akil paces in front of her. It is clear he doesn't know what to do next. He has struck a woman who defied him, but whose cousin is a Palestinian commander. Hoda feels for her hijab. It's gone. It must have fallen off in the street. Her hair tosses wildly on her shoulders.

Her skirt is torn. Her legs are exposed. She desperately tries to cover herself."Akil, listen. I won't say anything. Just let me go.""Quiet!"The shop's door is still open. Hoda scrambles to her feet and begins running toward it.

Akil grabs her shoulders and throws her back onto the floor."Sharmouta, you will pay for trying to dishonour my family."He leans over her. His eyes burn with rage. She whispers, no, Akil, no. He pins her arms down. She screams. He clamps his right hand over her mouth.

Her left arm reaches out searching for a weapon. Nothing. He yanks her over onto her stomach and presses one hand against the small of her back, pinning her to the ground and forcing the air from her lungs. She wants to scream again but she can't. She tries futilely to push away from the ground, but Akil's hand on her back forces her down. This time with such force, she hears one of her ribs crack. His other hand is fumbling to pull up her skirt. His knee pries her legs apart.

Her mind races to find some means to defend herself as fear cuts through her like a razor.