Amid a fragile cease-fire, family's ordeal begins

BEIRUT -- Hassan Rahi has not been told his brother is dead.

As the 13-year-old lies in pain on a hospital bed with severe injuries to his face and body, he carefully observes every movement of his mother, Sobhiya, awaiting word about his brother Hussein, 16. But so far, she can't bear to tell him the truth.

For thousands of Shi'ite Muslims returning home amid a fragile truce between Israeli and Hezbollah forces, the ordeal is over. But for others, like the Rahi family, it is just beginning.

A week ago, the two brothers were sitting under the porch of their building in Beirut's southern suburb when Israeli aircraft launched a strike in the area. The attack pulverized a nearby building, sending shrapnel and wreckage toward the brothers. Hussein was killed; Hassan survived.

With the airstrike leaving him with such serious injuries, Hassan has been left to wonder: Is my brother alive?

Sitting on the floor of the emergency room, her head leaning on the wall, his grieving mother holds back her tears.

``He asks me why I am always with him and not with Hussein, so I tell him that his brother is in a coma in the intensive care," Sobhiya said. ``He keeps saying he misses him and he just wants to see him from outside his room."

The family had just arrived at the Beirut Governmental University Hospital, the third facility they have sought treatment since Hassan was injured. The previous two hospitals were unable to treat his hundreds of shrapnel wounds.

``I didn't feel anything and I didn't hear the strike," Hassan recalled. ``I saw myself flying, hitting a wall and getting covered with rubble up to my neck."

His father, Ali, recounted how he was anxious that night even though there was no armed Hezbollah presence or Hezbollah office in the area that would make it an Israeli target. A few minutes before the strike, he told Hussein he wanted to move the family out of the suburb.

``I am not going anywhere, I want to stay here," he remembers his son replying. Those were the last words he told him.

``I had the feeling something wrong would happen; so did his mother," Ali said. ``My heart was heavy."

After the strike, Ali saw the walls crumbling in his apartment, which immediately filled with smoke. He rushed to search for his sons. He unearthed Hassan quickly, but it took him 15 minutes to pull out Hussein. He recalls the time: 19:55. That was when his life was shattered.

As other Shi'ite families return to the suburb to clean the debris of the flattened walls and smashed windows, Ali is not thinking about the devastation of his apartment. Since the blast, his family has slept in a house offered by a charity.

Now, all Ali can think about is saving Hassan and finding a way to tell him that he lost his brother. He knows that his son's life will never be the same. Nor will his life.

``The war is not over for me," Ali said. ``The wound is too deep."