Little Mountain (7 page)

“What is it you were doing in the ancient gardens three hundred years ago.”

My voice drowned in the first circle, to my left. I took off my shoes, held them in my hand, and walked off. I got into the car. Turned on the engine. It crackled, then moaned and spluttered before the car would move forward. Where are you, lithe young African boy? I stopped the car in front of the bakery. Bought a hot loaf and began chewing slowly, the trees planted on either side of the street curling around the electricity poles. And I breathed in the smell of the bread.

Everything’s ready, says Nabeel. But were late and the boys are waiting. Talal looks at his watch, we must go immediately. Nabeel is jumping up and down. What are you doing? I ask him.

— I’m getting ready.

— But were not going to a football match. —That’s how I get ready, says Nabeel.

— What’s the news from Maslakh and Qarantina? asks Salem.

— No news yet, but the position’s extremely difficult.

— I don’t like this food. Bread and
zaatarl
^*
It’s not food for fighters, says Talal.

The commander speaking: it’s breakfast. And we’ve got to eat it quickly. Nabeel laughs like a real teacher.

— Don’t laugh teach, I don’t like bread and
zaatar.

— Look at what you do to yourself Talal. Why do you complicate things, boy? It’s all dough. Here we put the
zaatar
inside the bread, there they put it inside the
kaaka.
^**

— I want to buy a
kaaka.

It isn’t a question of price, really Abu Ahmed. A
kaaka
costs 10 piastres, may God ruin no one. But the kid must learn to obey. My mother talks on and on. I look at my father. The slight, wizened man in ragtag clothes winks at me.

—Walk to school ahead of me.

I walk alongside him, he buys me a
kaaka,
I put it on my head and run. He runs after me: don’t tell your mother, he pants then falls to the ground.

—When I grow up I’m going to be a
kaak
seller.And the wizened man holds my hand, takes me to school, then goes to work. Take care of yourself. I run into the house but the old man doesn’t run after me.
La ilah ilia allah.
^*
Bassam is singing in the Land-rover through the pouring rain. I’m not afraid of them, I’m afraid of the cold. Salem, brother, I swear when this wars over, I’ll take you on a cruise around the world. Its raining and the sky is flashing with explosions. Voices take on the contours of whispers. But we haven’t got enough sand. We must block the street with sand. Bassam dreams of nothing but sand. Why don’t we move the entire sea to the barricade? First we bring over the shore and then the waves. She jumped toward the sea. Follow me, she shouted. The waves rose up to her breasts and neck. I could no longer see anything but her brown arms glistening under the rain-specked rays of the sun.

—You’re a coward.

—Wait for me, I’ll take my clothes off.

— No, come as you are.

I advanced, the waves rose up. I won’t marry you, she shouted. She got out of the water, put sand on her clothes and started to run.

—You’re a tree.

— I’m Mariam. You don’t know Mariam. When I go to Amman, you’ll get to know me.

She was running amid the bullets, the bullets getting closer. I must go, I told her. The shooting is getting closer, I must go, she said. The shooting was getting closer, I stood beside Talal. Nabeel and Salem pressed down the long street and everyone went to his position. Darkness and water. And nothing missing but Gods face in his long beard. The rain falling and the street drowning. Standing next to me, he wouldn’t answer. Water rising to my waist. Hearing a rustle. The sound of rain and thunder. Nothing’ll happen tonight. We cant advance in this rain and darkness. We must wait for Bassam. Maybe hell manage to bring over the waves and the sea to the position.

Darkness stretching without end. We were just standing. I lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the wind. Hearing nothing but the rain rapping against the shacks around us and the sound of quarreling rising out of one of the houses behind. Suddenly, everything lit up, the smell of burning and the sounds of shelling. The sky was flashing and shells were falling everywhere. Fires lighting up and the rain boring into my clothes. I took a deep drag from the cigarette trembling in my hand. It was bitterly cold, and behind me swelled up the sounds of voices and the tumult. A fire on the roof of one of the houses went out suddenly. Three women, in their long
abayahs,
gleaming in the darkness. With their scarves and jangling arms.

— What’s that?

Kurdish sorrow was pouring out onto the street. We heard only screams that sounded like cries for help, then the voice receded. Three women splashed through the water, then clambered up the hill behind. I ran toward them.

— Where to?

—To hell. The shelling never hits anything but the houses of the poor.

— Go back home auntie.

— How can I go back? Go on, sonny, and leave us be. God’ll provide.

Talal went back to his position. Three women, with children on their shoulders, and water pouring out of water. We could make out the women only with difficulty. They looked like the shadow of the old oil lantern one of them carried.

The commander came running. It looks like they’re trying to overrun the street. Get ready. I followed him. I stood at the end of a street leading to the main road where we used to listen for the movement of military vehicles. He took Talal to another street, Talal alone. You’ve got to get down on the ground, the position commander was saying. He lay down on the water, shivering as it seeped into his body. The shelling was intensifying. We’ve got to hold our ground. Water mixed with blood. This is the glory of the revolution. You are the pride of the revolution. And the pride of the revolution will stand fast. I was holding my rifle tight and firing. The shots rang in my ears, I couldn’t see them. I gripped the hand grenade and threw it. Water splashed up and the shrapnel went flying. The water gasped loudly; this is the glory of the revolution. I was down on the ground. But they weren’t advancing. Nothing but an overpowering smell. The smell of rain and brackish water and burning gunpowder. The sound of shells. I couldn’t see anything ahead. But Talal stayed down on the ground, shooting, advancing to the main road. Nothing but shelling. The rain was stopping and masonry was beginning to crumble. I looked behind: three women, in their long
abayahs,
running across the steep hill. The first woman sat down on a stone and started to moan quietly. The man approached the woman, took her hand and pulled her up, she stood then fell. The man fell next to her.

—This is the second time. The first time we started to run. They said the others were taking the neighborhood. We fled. Came back to next day. Today, Gods wrath has descended upon us. How will we eat?

The hot loaf was on my face.
^*

— Where did you get that bread from?

He was standing
in
front of me, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

— God lend you strength. It was a tiring night.

Talal was shouting with joy. Look at the sun. I’ve

bought bread and cheese, and we’ve got to distribute it. The shelling has to stop. The woman’s long robe touched the ground, then swept along beside her. Children threw themselves on it, clutching their heads and wailing.

— What’s up, auntie?

— Nothing. I’m looking for my husband. He went out last night saying he was going to buy bread and he hasn’t come back. Have you seen any bread? Talal sat among the women, holding the bread. They gathered around him. His voice was rising, sharpening: there’s a supply shortage. Have you seen my husband? He went out on the street, said he was going to buy bread. But the bread hasn’t come. I put the loaf in my mouth and started chewing. Have you seen any bread, my boy? The woman rushed out of the shack. It’s my mother’s fault. I told her, Mother, I don’t want to get married. My mother died three years ago. She died without a war. How can people die without war. Impossible. Death exists only in war. I put my rifle down. Talal said he was tired, then asked me about our losses. Nothing much, I told him. Only Sameer got a small piece of shrap nel.

The long street that overlooked the church extended forever. Old stores on either side. And the woman piling the clothes in her lap. I drew near; she was crying: have you seen any bread my son?

The shell crashed into the water puddles that were everywhere. The woman ran off. Her robe streaming and her hair tumbling down her face. She went up close to the tank and stood in front of it, her robe draped on the tank. Tank emerging from woman, women emerging from tank.

The man cleared his throat. I’m from the village of Sakhneen. Do you know Sakhneen? The thing is that after wed attacked the Jewish
kobbaniyyah
^*
several times, we were forced to retreat. The Relief Army
^**
came. You know about the Relief Army, of course. We, however, didn’t know about it. My name is Saqr, but in our organization I’m known as Saqr Quraysh. Boy, I tell you, this revolution is beautiful. Its better than previous revolutions. It cares about its dead. In the past, Arab governments didn’t care about the dead, or about the living for that matter. Anyway, we got to know the Relief Army. They said the Relief Army would be coming. We waited for it. The women waited, the children waited, and we grew weary. Then all of a sudden we heard shooting in the air. Hurray for the Arabs! And we saw the tank up close. To tell the truth, it was the first time I touched a tank with my own hand. I went up to the tank commander. And after the formal greetings that are, as you know, unavoidable on such occasions, I put my hand on the metal of the tank. Metal is such a pleasure! A tank makes you hold your head high and more. The soldiers stayed in our homes. We hosted them. Three days went by, there they were. Food and drink and their every whim. An army’s whims … no problem. For it is they who protect our homelands. The homeland cannot be inviolate without an army. And after three days, Abu Sa’eed came to see me. But my good Saqr, the Relief Army isn’t relieving anything but its own stomach. What’s this army? You must talk to the tank commander. We’ve slaughtered every last chicken. There isn’t a thing left in the village. When does this army fight? Saqr, we’d better take over the
kobbaniyyah
before the Jews take over the country. After much throat-clearing, and greeting and talking, we broached the subject with the tank commander. We’re waiting for orders, he told me. Go ahead and attack, I’ll answer for it, I said. I can’t do that, I’m a volunteer like you, he replied. I’d like to finish with the
kobbaniyyah
before the lot of you. By the end of the argument, the officer had agreed. Truth be told, he was a very energetic sort of officer. He had us assemble in the village square. The tank will move up to the hill and shell the
kobbaniyyah.
Stay in your positions. When the signal to attack is given, move out. I don’t want a chaotic battle. Order is fundamental in war. We all agreed; he was a convincing fellow. The tank set off from the square, moving slowly through the village’s narrow streets. Then, it disappeared from view. We broke up into groups and took up the positions assigned to us. Then we heard the officer shouting. We ran, and found the tank stuck in the middle of a narrow street, unable to move any farther. The officer began to curse. The hell with this war, how are we expected to fight without roads? We got picks and shovels, and began digging to widen the road. And after three days of hard labor, the tank managed to move, to our
la ilah illal allah’s
and
allahu akbar’s.
At any rate, the thing is that the tank fired just two shells and the cannon jammed. Sir, why don’t we just attack? Ask the good Lord, he snapped back. Anyway, the Jews attacked from their
kobbaniyyah
before we could launch our attack. We went to the officer. What do we do? I can’t do a thing. I’m going to beat a retreat. The cannon has broken down and a tank without a cannon is useless. And in any case, its a lost battle. Anyhow, the Arab armies will soon be here and will liberate Palestine. Retreat with me now. Then well come back, no problem. We agreed. No. Some of us agreed. I swear
I
didn’t agree, and neither did Abu Sa’eed. We fought. What else could we do? They attacked with around twenty tanks. What could I do? We retreated and surrendered our fate to God, after many people had died. Actually, we buried the dead before coming to Lebanon.

She stepped back from the tank, put her scarf on and waved, signaling she was going. Naturally, I didn’t ask where to. The shells were dropping randomly and we had to stay put. The woman went without my knowing what had happend to her husband.

— We’ve got hold of a tank.

— What’s this?

A genuine tank, with Nabeel driving it. The soldiers surrendered; they said they didn’t want to fight their brothers. I asked them to stay with us but they left. Said they would come back. The tank took off and we walked along behind it. I want a tank made of all colors. Do you know colors, says the young African boy. I don’t know them, I don’t know what colors mean. Everything is as colored as it can be. And Talal wants a colored tank. The guys brought over lots of colors and began to paint the tank. It refused to budge and we painted its body every possible color. I want a red tank because the revolution has started. The smell of gunpowder everywhere. Beirut has acquired a small of its own. In the past, I couldn’t make our Beirut’s smell. Nobody knew it had a smell. Everyone smelled his own smell, or the waiter’s smell, a mixture of alcohol and cheap cologne. But now Beirut has a definite smell. Everywhere there is gundpowder and empty streets inhabited only by the mist and the sound of the shells and of the Korean rockets barking in the air. Stench and barking.