Comparing "The Necklace" and "The Overcoat": themes of vanity and loss

¶ … Kanafani

It pains me to hear that you will not come to Sacramento. It pains me that you will not pursue the path set forth for you in the department of Civil Engineering at the University of California. And it pains me, it pains me a great deal, to hear about your sweet, precious Nadia, whose spirit is so bright that it could light the stars of the sky. But I can't say that I am surprised by your decision. You've always been tough, as tough as a two-dollar steak.

But my dearest friend, why must you prove your toughness once more? Why must you put yourself in a position whereby your life is on the line? There's a saying here in the states, amongst the faithful Christians, who tramp about with the rugged dignity of rustic Cossacks, they say that it is better to be a living dog than a dead lion. Think about this my brother, think about this. I mean what positive changes can you incite in the defeated debris of Gaza if you are but a fodder for an ill-firing cannon? If you are dead, you cannot help Nadia or your family, you cannot live to achieve your dreams, you cannot

Remember when we were young, and I told you that if I were to do anything in the world, it would be to fly a plane? Do you remember that? Well I am learning how to fly Kanafani; I am learning how to fly in the azure Sacramento skies. My God, my brother, you should see the earth from the heavens, the way the sun rises from the earth to kiss the morning clouds, it is proof that for all the pain and suffering in the world, there is love, there is hope, there is life.

What I mean to tell you my brother is that the dirty Jews who took Nadia's leg are not going to relent until every Muslim is a legless corpse rotting in those sun-burnt streets of Gaza. They do not care about God, about morality, about what's right for the people of Gaza; they want money and blood, and the eradication of the Muslim people.

But here, in Sacramento, the Jews are different. They are not ruthless, cutthroat marauders. They are family men, and bankers, and stockbrokers, and chefs, and they do not hate me for who I am

Remember when we saw that old Jew, Isaac, beating his mutt? He had it strung up on that barbed fence by its front paws and he was beating its hindquarters with a hickory switch until its low whimpers became dry howls. Remember that? Remember how sad we were to find it dead a few days later, its once cheerful maw turned scarlet and buzzard-ridden

Outside of Gaza things are different. Things are possible. You too can learn to fly, you too can "get rich" like we've planned. We have no limits in Sacramento except for those we put before us. We are free in Sacramento, un-tethered to the blood and the pain and the heartache of Gaza.

My heart is heavy. My blood runs cold. As I know you will not come to Sacramento. I know you will not leave Gaza. I've always known this. You ask me what blunted our enthusiasm for flight? For me it was knowing that I would be saying goodbye to you, that you would not be following me, that you were too much of the man I ought to be. My doubts had nothing to do with leaving Gaza, my doubts had to do with leaving my one true friend.

But your doubts are anchored to something greater. Your pride in our people. You know that you are a great and noble man; you know that others look up to you; you know how you inspire men to dream and to hope. You stayed behind because they need you in Gaza. Our people need to know that no matter how many of us they chop down with their bombs and their guns and their flame-throwers that we will not surrender, we will not give in, we will not disappear. You stay in Gaza so Nadia's sacrifice is not in vain. So her story of bravery is not forgotten or lost in the smoldering rubble. So that when our people speak in practiced whispers of bravery and heroism, they hear the name Na-di-a.

Ah, what a beautiful name it is.

My brother, I can't help but to fear for you. While I do not fear for your soul, I fear for your life and the well-being of your family. And while you say I will learn about life in trammeled streets of Gaza, that they will give me some purpose; that the growing guilt in my heart may subside were I among the chaos and disorder of dismembered countrymen. But I am not like you in this regard. I do not need to see my friends and my family blown to bits to know what life is and what existence is worth. Both you and I have seen enough violence and bloodshed to last 300 lifetimes, why must we see more? We are not martyrs, are we?