You as of Today My Homeland: Stories of War, Self, and Love
119
You as of Today My Homeland: Stories of War, Self, and Love
119eBook
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781628952698 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Michigan State University Press |
| Publication date: | 07/01/2016 |
| Series: | Arabic Literature and Language |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 119 |
| File size: | 789 KB |
About the Author
Nesreen Akhtarkhavari is a writer, an associate professor, and the director of Arabic Studies at DePaul University where she teaches Arabic literature, translation, film, media, and culture. She is the president of the World Engagement Institute board, the chair of the Amman-Chicago Sister Cities International Education and Culture Committee, and a member of the Jordanian Writers Society.
Read an Excerpt
You as of Today My Homeland
Stories of War, Self, and Love
By Tayseer al-Sboul, Nesreen Akhtarkhavari
Michigan State University Press
Copyright © 1968 Otba Al-SboulAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62895-269-8
CHAPTER 1
You as of Today
1.
I saw him through the window. He was standing by the kitchen door, holding a stick, looking left, in the direction she entered from. She was white, walked gracefully, and then licked her lips. I was worried that she would come into the living room, so I decided to leave.
Seeing me, he placed his index finger in front of his mouth, and with the other hand holding the stick, ordered me to stay where I was.
He walked toward me. I knew the cat had entered the room and that the ordeal would soon begin. I did not want to watch. So when I heard him slam the door, I ran across the room toward the door. There, the three of us met, and I had no chance of leaving.
The cat cowered in the corner against the wall. He followed her and tried to hit her on the head, but missed and instead hit her back. She rolled over twice and then took off toward the window.
I heard the sound of her claws scratching the glass. She jumped. He hit her again, and this time struck her head. The blood gushed and soiled the floor.
She reached up to the window again, meowing loudly, her claws screeching against the glass. He hit her on the head again. I heard her lungs fill with blood as she tried to breathe. She jerked and lay down, with her cheek to the ground. Her nose bled more, and then she was there, motionless with her eyes still open.
The family sat in the courtyard, between two grapevines that stretched across the opening, waiting for the cannon to sound. I watched the sun fall. The last sliver of the shining disk dove into the western horizon, leaving streak of red flame behind. I saw the muezzin standing on a rock at the top of the mountain. He looked at his watch, and placed it back in his pocket.
My mother passed through the hall carrying a fresh tray of rice, the steam from the tray turned her face red.
I heard her calling me.
"Come and break your fast, Arabi."
The muezzin placed his hand around his mouth and called for prayers: "Allah-u Akbar! Allah-u Akbar!"
At that moment, the cannon sounded.
The meat was cooked in yogurt. My father arranged it over the rice with a stern interest. His small, white beard traced the movement of his dry and pointed face.
I noticed my mother's wrinkles — the skin between her eyes shriveled, carving two deep lines.
All the meat was on the rice.
Not all of it, the shoulder was missing. How could a cat of that size eat that whole chunk? Perhaps she fed it to one of the other cats or maybe to her kittens.
My father tore off his favorite piece, the tongue.
Why did the cat come back? Now, she will have no more meals after that last supper.
"Eat, boy," my father scolded.
"I am not hungry." I left.
* * *
Saber asked, "Are you attending the rally?"
I answered no, and had a feeling that he was not interested in going either.
The evening dawned at the university. In the garden, I saw couples walking.
Some were sitting close together on the wooden benches.
"Will you go with me to Abu-Marouf's bar?"
"What about the rally that the Party is having —"
"I am not going."
"Okay. To the bar then."
We walked through the main gate. The yellow leaves covered the sidewalk; the trees were half-naked.
* * *
The next morning, when Arabi opened the door, he saw the cat's decapitated body and her severed head. His stomach churned. He quickly turned his head away and ran to school.
* * *
While the speakers of the Party were busy classifying the enemies of the nation and defining the elements of true Arab unity, he and Saber sat drinking 'Araq at the bar, a small room with poor lighting.
For no particular reason, this bar was Arabi's favorite hangout. Nothing in the place was exceptional. The bartender, Abu-Marouf, never seemed interested in his customers. He served very few appetizers with the drinks and would get annoyed if the customers asked for more, which he did not bother to hide. Still, Arabi liked the place; it met their needs.
* * *
Arabi told Saber about the death of the cat, the Ramadan evenings in the village, and then about his slender, stern father with hawklike eyes.
He talked about his father's tale of the "six daggers" and about the broad leather belt — the one his father folded for greater impact when he used it on his wives.
Arabi saw him use the belt many times. He was not there to witness the tale of the "six daggers" because it happened before his time — during the migration, or "Hajij," when the Ottomans departed — but the storytellers swore that his father was an excellent gunner.
Arabi was wondering who could have mutilated the cat after it was killed by his father. It had to have been dogs or other cats. This might have not seemed important, but it was, considering that the cats could have been her sisters!
Saber said that he understood all that and talked about his "insane" mother, whom they buried at the top of a bare hill. He mentioned that he still thought they should have attended the rally held by the Party.
Arabi told him that he despised listening to political speakers and poets who stomped their feet while reciting political poems, bearing in mind that colonialism, which they were angry about, was not under their feet.
He also said that his mother was sane, but she cried a lot. He added that mothers were all in one of two categories: angry and screaming or humiliated and crying.
Then he added that he remembered an old, secret letter that had a lot written in it. His mind now recalled only a few words: "Bab-al-Wad, bullets whistling, and the roar of bombs."
He knew that it was from his older brother who fought the Jews in the 1948 War.
Arabi said, "After reading the letter, my mother cried nonstop all day long."
* * *
It was summer when Arabi's warrior-brother returned. The food was placed under the trellis covered with grapevines in the courtyard of the house. The whole family sat down for dinner, and the warrior, with his military uniform, was placed at the head of the seating arrangement on the floor. All eyes were focused on him. Even his father seemed distracted from the delicious stuffed grape leaves and squash specially cooked for the occasion. They listened to the battle stories he told with intensity and interest. When the stories reached an exciting climax, they froze and stopped eating, with the food held half way to their mouths, listening in anticipation.
"'Stop shooting.' These were the orders, but I disobeyed them. 'There is no power or will except that of God.' God's will prevailed: we ran out of ammunition."
The warrior's voice filled with anger when he reached the part in the story where he talked about almost being killed.
"May God punish ..."
A gloomy atmosphere surrounded the circle of diners, as if a long-lost brother had not returned. Arabi decided that since the return of the warrior-brother did not bring any joy, he would not like him.
* * *
The boy performed his evening prayer and sat with a weight in his heart.
His father's voice came from the courtyard, telling the story of how he got married, which he told time after time. The story bored and embarrassed Arabi.
Arabi read things in the pages of religious textbooks that the Shaikh never taught him. He read that a believer who mentions God in solitude and cries in repentance for fear of God would be rewarded by gaining admittance to heaven.
He performed his prescribed evening prayer. But, sadly, he did not feel like crying. He was sorry that he was not able to complete what was required and lost his chance to be rewarded.
* * *
Saber asked him about his affair with Aisha.
Arabi said that things were great. She knew when he wanted her and would come up to his room. But he was concerned that this obviously caused her brother pain.
"To hell with the brother!" he added.
He did not actually want him to go to hell. Many of us have sisters and we understand. Arabi did not choose to be his enemy, but he was.
Saber said that all of these were dreadful, oppressive norms. "I have a sister married to a cavalry soldier who is like a mule. He beats her constantly, but she does not want a divorce because of the children. Do you know what I advised her to do?"
"What?"
"To take a lover!"
Arabi thought about what Saber said, not fully believing it. But the story intrigued him anyhow.
* * *
When he read history, he developed a fondness for the kindhearted historical characters and a hatred of the cruel ones.
Why had they turned against the Imam? He had stood by the entrance of the city gate in the evening, gazing at the sky; his tears flowed over his white beard, and he said,
O world, tempt someone else!
O world, tempt someone else!
Tempt someone else.
I divorce thee thrice.
The problem was that Othman also received the same glad tidings.
* * *
Arabi was quickly recruited to the Party and nervously prepared for enrollment. The teacher himself would perform the ritual. At the appointed time, he was led by an upperclassman to the secret initiation ceremony.
The teacher was waiting under a large walnut tree. Arabi felt embarrassed by his short pants, which did not seem to fit the dignity of the occasion. He listened to the words in praise of his person and other big expressions linking him, with his shorts, to the nation as a whole. He was ready to add more words to the official pledge for greater effect, but a sudden sense of respect stopped him from changing the language. The pledge, after all, was not a game.
The teacher and his fellow student congratulated him. He felt the magnitude of what he had secretly become part of and was overwhelmed by a mysterious, wonderful feeling.
* * *
Holding my neck, my father yelled, "Where is the money?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, you son of a bitch, who did you give it to?"
"Father, I swear by God that I did not take it."
His swift and hard slap fell on my face.
"O father!"
I could not see anymore.
"I did not take it. I swear by God, I did not take it."
He was not leaning over my chest anymore. I saw him hit my mother and heard her scream, so I ran away.
In the evening, it was clear that the matter was a mere mistake in accounting.
"Come and have dinner."
"I do not want any."
"Boy, come and eat."
"I am not hungry ... I have no appetite."
The night fell heavily.
* * *
Arabi saw himself sitting on the rooftop, the horizon filled with the red flame of the setting sun. There was silence and then a sudden, strong gust of wind swept the place. He tried to hold on to something but did not find anything. He was thrown off the high rooftop onto the ground, unable to find his own body. He saw a yellow liquid leaking out from somewhere.
"It was me after death ... and I felt sorry for myself."
"My dreams are so different," said Saber. "They frequently involve incest."
Saber said that he believed in a new morality — that real freedom meant to be beyond fear, free of it, and that fear itself was what should be treated as the actual taboo.
Arabi said that these were very complex issues and that he did not have a conclusive position about them. They ordered another bottle of 'Araq.
2.
In a city with plenty of dust and hot sun — which he later called in his diary Hajir, the hottest time of the day, a perfectly befitting name — the warrior grew a belly. He served as a quartermaster, and nobody wanted to execute him anymore.
A unique city at the edge of the desert grew up from refugee camps and barracks. The homes were made of adobe bricks, and the strong Khamaseen — the hot, sandy summer wind — continued to pound the city mercilessly during the summer months. It was a different place: the students were cleaner, and they talked about movies, homeland, books, and political parties with impressive clarity.
* * *
Arabi informed the comrades that there was a shortage of pamphlets and confided in them that his knowledge and skills in recruiting and leading were lacking. He wanted more information and training. All they did was try to put his mind at ease and praise his interest.
* * *
The evenings at Hajir were still panting from the midday scorching.
* * *
The warrior-brother and two soldier friends — Abdu'l-Karim, slender with a spotted face, and Hamad, short and stocky with a thick voice — sprayed the small garden with water. The scent of the wet ground spread. They opened a bottle of 'Araq and poured the drinks. The three soldiers sat on a raised slab of concrete, clinking their cups in toasts and laughing, revealing lists of rations they had stolen.
"You turned to a petty thief, Uncle!"
"Uncle" was just an endearing name they used to call each other.
The "larger" stolen items, as Arabi understood, were fuel and ammunition. The blankets and food products were "small" and the object of their mockery.
"Give us some, 'Abdu'l-Karim!"
The old warrior thought for a moment, then smiled, exposing his stained teeth, and sang with a beautiful voice:
Peace upon thee, O rising moon!
From your eyes swords will loom.
The glory of thy face will rise each day.
And mine will die, and perish soon.
They finished their drinks and kept pouring rounds.
* * *
A neighbor of the great Imam used to get drunk at night and sing, starting with: "They lost me one day, and what a young lad they lost." The Imam loved to hear his neighbor's voice after saying his evening prayer.
To the contrary, the young leader Abu al-Gasem would recite at the border of China, "No God but God." When the caliph became angry, he ordered that they bring Abu al-Gasem to him, tied over a mule.
Through the wilderness, and during that march of misery and shame, the young leader saw the sun setting and realized that the matter was grave. He whispered to himself:
They lost me, and what a lad they lost!
On a bad day, I was silent after arrest.
Patience, in a struggle with death,
plunged its daggers into my chest.
When he arrived, they brought him before the angry caliph. The caliph ordered that they skin a cow, have the young man placed in the hide, and sew the hide shut. He then ordered them to light a fire and throw the hide, with the young man inside it, into the fire.
At Hajir, Abdu'l-Karim sometimes sang the following:
When she returned, she asked about me, and was told,
"No life in him." She clasped her hands, in regret.
* * *
The broadcasters condemned the ones who they claimed had orchestrated the conspiracies.
They mentioned a large number of people by name, and Arabi believed and agreed that "all of them are rotten." He was pleased every time he heard the broadcaster announce that somewhere in the world, people had slaughtered their rulers. He was not concerned about their heads. Hearing that heads were being lopped off pleased Arabi.
* * *
Arabi noticed, after a while, that the housekeeper who also served them slept in the corner of the room he slept in. He also noticed that she had a white body, which he saw when the cover slipped off her.
He never thought about her at first. Then he took off her clothes, saw that her body was very clean, so he entered with pleasure. Nevertheless, he became distressed every time he saw her face after she put her clothes on; it was dirty, very dirty.
He said to himself: I would love to have stamped on my body the tattoo of a great nation. I'm sure of that. Then he remembered how the Party's pamphlets bored him. He realized they all said the same thing and decided that there was no need to distribute them weekly. May colonialism fall? Yes, but how? The pamphlets provided no satisfactory answers.
He did not mention this to his comrades. He also did not tell them that he was still carrying on discussions with old, dead historical figures. He knew that something like that would make them laugh. He also did not tell them that his dearest friend was not a member of the Party.
Because the housekeeper continued to have a dirty face, he fell in love from a distance with an olive-skinned girl. He watched her walk to school at the same time every day.
One day he gathered up his courage and tried to give her a love letter. But she apologized and reminded him that people were watching.
* * *
My mother used to say, "We sprinkle sugar on death." We definitely do. She knew many similar depressing idioms.
I asked my father, "Why, father? Why do you beat her with your wide belt?"
He was in one of his happy moods. He laughed, played with his small white beard, and said, "God damn you, and damn your mother!" Being funny was not one of my father's strong suits. Even when he tried to be funny, he was not. He rolled his eyes at me when he told me that he did not intend to curse me, but his way of being friendly did not please me at all.
The tale of the "six daggers" explained that after being stabbed all over his body with six daggers, my father still walked twenty kilometers. For the sake of his land, he received the six holes in his body. He lay in bed for forty days. Some whispered that he would not live.
One morning, he left his bed and went out to check on the land.
* * *
A dream:
He was walking in the street, worried about something he had lost. A bus passed by. The seats were full of faces. His mother sat in the last seat. Her face was different — light and pale, like the face of a ghost.
She was dead.
He ran quickly after the bus, but was unable to catch up with it. The pale face turned and looked at him again, as if it was calling him.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from You as of Today My Homeland by Tayseer al-Sboul, Nesreen Akhtarkhavari. Copyright © 1968 Otba Al-Sboul. Excerpted by permission of Michigan State University Press.
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