De Niro's Game (15 page)

I stood up, bleeding. Abou-Nahra waved his hand, and the monster stopped his
Dabkah
dancing on me.

Do you know what you did?

No.

Listen, I am a very busy man, and your uncle the
yassareh
(the leftist) was a friend of mine. You speak, or I will keep you here with Rambo.

I have no idea what I did.

Why did you kill the old man?

What old man?

His wife said there were things stolen.

Who? I have no idea what you are talking about.

Rambo came back and grabbed my hair, put his mouth in my ear and whispered, Talk now, or you will not be happy at all.

Okay, here is the story, little boy. Abou-Nahra leaned his glasses toward my face, and in a low, calm voice, he told me, Last night, Laurent Aoudeh was killed in his apartment. A burglary also took place. We interrogated his wife. She was at her friend's place in the mountains. Some African diamonds were stolen from the house.

Maybe she killed him! Maybe she stole them! I said.

Do not interrupt the commander! Rambo barked and hit me on the head.

When we pressed her, Abou-Nahra continued, she said that she suspected you. You pushed drugs on her. And you were hanging around with the old man lately. Do you like old, rich men?

No.

Yes, you do. Maybe you give him
massat
(blowjobs). People in the neighbourhood have seen you with him lately.

People like who? I asked in defiance.

The grocery man, Abou-Dolly, told us that you took a walk every day with him. We heard a great deal about you. Everyone knows that you are a
hashash
. Where were you last night?

Home. I did not do it.

We found a gun in your place. Listen, you little communist . . . You are a communist, aren't you, just like your uncle? You tell me where you hid the diamonds or Rambo here is going to show you the midday stars from inside the womb of your mother.

My mother is dead.

Rambo went berserk: Are you answering back to the commander,
ya kalb!
He beat me with the butt of his gun.

I fell on that cool floor again, and his boots came and retreated like waves that splash on misty shores, like black veils that eclipse the sun from your eyes, like the sound of blasting drums in your ears, like lollypop drips on your chin, like the smell of plastic erasers in your classroom. The dust from the floor rose again, like the powder chuck that was
swept from the blackboard by that brown-nose Habib, oh, and like the slaps from the French Jesuit priest that landed on your palm as if they were the ruler's blessing, and like your bent knees on those narrow logs under the chapel benches, and like the smell of incense that came back and gave you a celestial high, and forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, I jerked that tree until it ejaculated fruits, I broke that glass with St. Peter's rock, I stole candies, and I fumbled that little girl under the falling bombs in the shelter, while her mother was snoring in sync with the news on the radio. You see, Father, I confess, I am the one who waited until the candle was dead, and then I slipped my hand under her nightgown, to her newly acquired pubic hair, and she never said a word, and she followed me when I played, when I went up to the roof, she followed me like a puppy dog, like a female bird. Ever since then, Father, she dressed louder, played with her hair, chewed gum with an open mouth, danced flamboyantly to every jingle. She became jealous of my mother, of my young friends, and then, Father, suddenly one day she was repulsed by my husky voice, my puberty nose, my red pimples, and my swollen nipples. You see, Father, she grew up to hang out only with militiamen who came in stolen Italian cars, who honked under her father's window. And I, resentful of my age, of my poverty, resentful that she left me for older boys, would watch her rushing to their cars, to their golden rings, their dangling Christmas cedars that hung on their open chests, and their Drakkar Noir cologne, and their loud music tapes that offended the neighbourhood. Her hair, Father, flew from their topless cars, cars that drove them to their summer cottages on polluted beaches, and their mountain's
garçonnière
.
And when she saw me, Father, she smiled at me like the little man in her dollhouse. So you see, Father, ever since I have refused to go down into the shelter, even if Rambo here hammers me into a meat pie. No, I won't go down to that dark place because I have always hated the underground and the little devils who dwell there, who made me lust for her skinny thighs and her newly acquired pubic hair.

BEFORE ABOU-NAHRA
left the room, he walked toward me and leaned over to the floor. I could barely see his face; everything was hazy. His glasses danced as if he were in a diabolic 1970s James Bond movie, and I heard his gangster voice: We will shake you and stir you . . . and all I need from you are the diamonds. Then we will let you go. Now, be a good comrade and share with Rambo your hiding place. I heard that communists like to share things, so here is your chance to be part of an egalitarian society. Do the right thing and make your communist uncle proud.

Abou-Nahra smiled, the door slammed, and I passed out.

When I came to, the brute guard led me to a small room that contained nothing but a blanket and a filthy toilet.

I could see from only one eye. I sat on the floor, swept the dust with my left hand, and let my right palm rest on the cool ground, channelling the temperature from my hand to my eye. My body ached; my lips bled.

I tried to sleep, but Rambo was determined to deprive me of sleep. He opened the door every few minutes to ask me to stand up.

If I see you sitting or sleeping I will stick your face in the toilet, he said. Do you understand,
Hashash
?

Walk! he shouted; and I walked back and forth.

For most of the night, the monster deprived me of sleep. I held the wall and tried to keep my body upright. When I fell on my knees, I tried to listen for the door latch. Before Rambo entered, I would pull my body up. When I fell asleep, he was furious and dragged me out of the cell to a bathroom. He filled the sink with water and pushed my head in it repeatedly. Once, when I was under water, I thought, Fuck him. When he pulls me back up I will not breathe. Fuck him, I thought, I will hold my breath and dive under the sea with the poisonous fish. I will stay there and watch the tourists passing in that cruise ship again. This time I will wear my best tuxedo and show those foreigners how I can swing, and wave my dancing stick in the air to those mambo tunes with a belly dancer on each side of my hips, with sexless angels who watch me with envy, with mocking nymphs, with whisky connoisseurs serving Saudis with trimmed goatees, with a few underground Playboy Bunnies with soft, white cotton tails. Fuck him. I will sleep in a cabin with two beds and room service. Fuck that brute. I just have to save a few bubbles from the effervescent water in the sink, and I will just swallow them for air, and wait underwater for the mambo tune to come back. That is what I will do.

But the monster would watch me, and slap me as I turned navy, the colour of the deep sea, the colour of my left eye, the colour of the uniform of the captain of the ship.

The diamonds, he kept on repeating.
Ya habbub
(beloved), why are you doing this to yourself? I cannot understand why people like to go through so much pain. Is it worth it? They are only stones . . . Listen, I hate to kill another Christian. We are all from the same bone here. Now, tell me where the diamonds
are, and I will let you out, I will even send you back to your place in a taxi. Here, I brought you some soup. I will even let you sleep tonight, and I know in the morning you will wake up fresh, and tell me exactly where you hid them.

I did not steal them, I whispered through my broken teeth.

What did you say? I can't hear you, you are talking like a woman. Are you a woman who sucks old men's dicks! Then the monster grabbed my neck and glued his ear to my lips. Talk to me,
Chéri
, and we all can go home tonight.

I did not do it, I said.

Tomorrow, he replied, you will remember. I know you have forgotten now, because your head is not on straight, and you had too much to drink. Now sleep.

Although he left me after that, I could not sleep well. I kept on waking up. I was afraid that the monster might burst into my cell and ask me to walk again. In the morning, he showed up. He shoved me with his boots and said, Now, where are they?

I started to cry. I did not do it, I said. I do not know anything.

Okay,
Hashash.
I think you are the type of man who does not accept kindness. I was fair to you. Did you like the soup? Because that was your last food. Come with me.
Yallah!
He called his friend, and they dragged me to a civilian car.

You like
BMW
s, I heard. You would want to buy one when you sell the old man's stones, right? Here, we will take you for a drive.

They shoved me in the trunk and drove for a few metres. Then they stopped and a voice shouted, Rambo, where are you going?

We are going to finish the communist, Bassam something.

How are you going to finish him? the voice said, giggling.

Like Rambo, Rambo answered, and they all laughed out loud.

Then they drove fast and in circles, making loops. My head bumped into the spare tire, then I felt nauseous, and the smell of the clean leather made me even sicker. Dark, it was dark, dark like my parents' tomb. Fuck him, I thought, at least I will not be buried in the same place as they!

Then the car stopped. The monster turned off the engine and the trunk popped up by itself. I kept my hand over my eyes. The little light that pierced the trunk blinded me, and vertigo made me vomit.

The second man was furious:
Akhu al-sharmuta
, he dirtied the car! Look — he vomited all over.

I heard a gun being cranked, and the second man's voice said, I am going to finish off the garbage now.

But Rambo ordered him to wait. I am telling you, wait! Rambo shouted, and the two men scuffled with each other.

Go take a walk,
Ya Allah
. It is my car, and I will take care of it.

Rambo leaned his head inside the trunk and said in his usual sarcastic voice: Now,
Ya habbub,
do you remember where the stones are?

I did not answer; I vomited some more. The vomit felt like it was going inward, through my nostrils, splashing on my chest a mutant bowl of soup.

Okay, suit yourself, he said. You know, I could do you a favour by shooting you now. I know that is what you want, but I won't do it. You and me are not done yet. I have not
introduced you to the electric charger yet. I promise you will glow like
Mariam Al-Adhra'
(the Virgin Mary).

And Rambo and his friend drove me back, and carried me to the cell.

TEN THOUSAND SLAPS
landed on my tender skin, and soup was vomited from my stomach like an infant's cereal from my mother's feeding arms, from her piercing eyes, from her demanding breath, from her contempt for my father the fatal-ist, the indifferent, the slow walker, the quiet man who burst through the door, late, in the dark, and landed slaps on my mother's feeding arms, her piercing eyes, her demanding breath, her contempt for my father the fatalist, the indifferent, the slow walker, the quiet man who burst through the door in the dark, like my torturer who landed slaps and offered me soup that was vomited from my stomach like an infant's cereal from my mother's feeding hands, from her demanding breath, from her contempt for my father the fatalist, the indifferent, the slow walker like his son in that cell, where he was forced to walk all night, asking for his mother's feeding arms, her piercing eyes, her demanding breath to save him from the breathless water, to pull him from the bathtub with the duck that floated between the bubbles, and the water slaps that shook the cruise ship, and splashed soap on its wooden deck where once upon a time two strolling Brits, from the rainy north, walked calmly in the moonless night toward the dining hall, before the served soup got cold, and before the jailer, who wore a white apron, burst into the kitchen and asked me to stand up, and not to sit on the job, and not to answer back, and not to steal from the passengers' purses, and not to fondle the teenage girls, and
the horny diamond wives, and to keep on chasing dust, sweeping the deck, cleaning tubs with effervescent gas that precipitated from my drowning face, from my wandering submerged lips that flapped like flying fish over the moonless sea.

RAMBO OPENED
the door and said, You are free to go,
Hashash
. He held the door open. You have two minutes to leave.

I stood up and walked slowly out of the room. Now, I thought, he will shoot me in the back and blame my corpse for trying to escape.

I walked down the hallway. A few other rooms stretched out on both sides. I had shared the same uneven floor, the same cold, moist walls with others who moaned underwater dolphin calls, who swam in the same sea with open eyes, watching the schools of purple bubbles floating by.

When I reached the end of the hallway, a man opened the gate for me. I struggled up the stairs, and through the blinding light I saw a silhouette of a woman.
Ah, my mother is here, I thought. The Rambo bastard must have insisted on a family gathering.
Then I heard Nabila's voice swearing at saints and savages. She met me halfway down the stairs and pulled me to her.

When Nabila took a close look at me, she became hysterical, which frightened me. Then she caressed my hair, and in the flood of light she cursed the militia, she cursed Abou-Nahra, she cursed Christ and his disciples. She managed to half-carry me to her car, and she drove me to her place. Once we got there, she laid me at the entrance. She went up, called Chafiq Al-Azrak, and they both carried me up the stairs.

FOR A FEW DAYS, NABILA WASHED ME, FED ME, AND NURSED
me back to health.

You have to leave this place, she said. Get your passport. Do you have a place to go?