The Dark Side of Love (42 page)

For the rest of his life, whenever Farid thought of Damascus he connected the city with his grandfather's warm hand and deep voice. Years later, he could remember the first time they went to a fight together. It was spring, and Farid had already started school. His grandfather dropped in, as he did every afternoon, and Farid ran to meet him.

“Would you like to go into town with me?” asked Nagib. Naturally the boy was delighted.

“But don't be late back. Elias will be home around seven today,” Claire called after them.

Grandfather Nagib took Farid's hand and wandered through the suks and past the cafés with him. Then he suddenly asked, “Would you like to see a boxing match?”

Farid was all for that idea. “Oh yes!” he cried enthusiastically.

There were four fights. The first three were amusing, designed to keep the spectators happy and delay the main fight between the Syrian and Egyptian national champions until all the seats were filled. Grandfather Nagib told Farid all about the principles of boxing, right down to the dirtiest tricks. He never again learned so much about any sport in a single day. When the main fight was over it was already dark outside. “We'd better hurry,” said Grandfather, and he took a cab. The boxing club was in the New Town. The cab driver was drunk, and kept falling asleep during the journey. His horses stopped as soon as they sensed it, and Nagib had his work cut out for him, shaking the man awake.

At home there was a row between Elias and Nagib, and Farid was sent to bed without any supper. Claire, trying to make the peace, was silenced by her husband's furious outburst. Grandfather kept apologizing, saying it was all his fault and nothing to do with Farid, but Elias was beside himself with rage. He shouted at the old man, forbidding
him ever to take his son anywhere again. That silenced Nagib, who was very downcast, and in his bedroom Farid cried because Elias was shouting so dreadfully. Two neighbours came hurrying along and tried to intervene, but in vain.

After that day Grandfather still called, but he avoided going for long walks with his grandson. He took him to the nearby ice cream parlour, but never for more than half an hour, and when they came back they parted company, to be on the safe side. Farid hurried on ahead, and Grandfather strolled slowly in to see his daughter. Elias never suspected anything, and Claire staunchly covered up for both of them, telling lies when it came to protecting her son from his father's wrath.

The night after the fight, Farid dreamed that his father was punching his grandfather, a hook to the chin. Nagib staggered back and lay on the ground unconscious. Grandmother Lucia was the referee; she raised her son-in-law's arm and shouted, “K.O.” Farid woke in alarm. It was dark and he felt hungry. When he put the light on, he found a large apple and a glass of water on his bedside table.

One summer day, when Farid was eight, he went out with his mother. She wanted to do some shopping in the Suk al Hamidiye and then visit a woman friend who lived in Qaimariye, a quarter in the heart of the Old Town near the Ummayad Mosque. Most of the people who lived there were Muslims, but Claire's friend was a Christian. She would rather have lived somewhere else, but her husband had got the apartment cheap through his boss, so she put up with her dislike of the area.

The woman had no children, and Farid felt bored. He asked his mother if he could play in the street until she had finished drinking her coffee. Both women agreed, so Farid went out of doors. The street was almost empty. A pretty little girl was standing in one doorway. When she saw him she asked if he would like to play with her. Farid hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

From outside, the building looked as unpretentious as all old Arab houses. Built of mud brick, it rose hardly any higher than the other two-storey buildings in the alley, but the inner courtyard was a masterpiece of the Arab art of life. A narrow corridor led to it from the door of the house. With every step the noise of the street died down. Orange and lemon trees protected the courtyard from the blazing sun, and besides the fragrance of their blossoms they cast a magical play of light and shadow on the coloured tiles at every breath of wind. A small marble fountain provided a little moisture and the sound that Arabs most love to hear: the splashing of water. No one window was the same as any of the others; each was a work of art in wood, metal and stained glass.

Farid stood marvelling at the beauty of the courtyard for a long time. Suddenly the little girl turned the tap of the fountain up and laughed out loud as a jet of water shot up to the sky. It drenched her. Her thin dress stuck to her body. He turned the tap down again. Taking his hand, the girl led him past the arcades and into the back part of the courtyard, where a coloured mattress lay on the ground.

“Here!” she said, lying down. Farid didn't know what kind of game this was supposed to be.

“You lie down beside me and we'll play at weddings,” she begged him. He was baffled by her boldness. “Aren't your parents here?” he asked, sitting down on the far end of the mattress.

“No,” she said, rubbing her leg against his arm. “Don't you want to kiss me?” she added, and she closed her eyes and laughed. There was something crazed in her laughter, and it scared Farid.

“No,” he said shyly, and stood up. “Don't you have a ball? Or some marbles or playing cards?”

At that moment two strong boys fell on him, grinning maliciously. The girl cried out in alarm, “Go away, you devils!” But before Farid realized what was going on the stouter boy had grabbed him by the arm.

“Caught you! Let's see your prick! If you're a Muslim you'll have to marry this crazy kid, if you're a Christian we'll circumcize you first.”

The girl shouted for help, but the second boy took a large flick-knife out of his pocket and threatened to kill Farid if she didn't shut
up. The girl crawled into a corner and looked at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide and crazy.

He hadn't been frightened until the smaller boy took out his knife, but the sight of the sharp blade paralysed him, and he was unable to tear himself away. The smaller boy, who had one eye half stitched up, came towards him. He pressed the point of his knife into Farid's navel and asked, enveloping him with wafts of bad breath, “Are you a Christian?”

“Yes,” said Farid, with his throat dry, trembling.

“Trousers down!” cried the stout boy, laughing like someone possessed. He held Farid's head firmly between his legs. A few seconds later his trousers were on the ground.

“Now your underpants!” he shouted. The girl suddenly attacked the smaller boy. He hit back, but she fought grimly to free Farid. Her words still echoed in his ears years later: “Castrate your own friends, not the only friend I have!”

After a while the smaller boy had Farid's underpants down too. This humiliation dispelled the last of Farid's paralysis. He freed his right arm and hit the stout boy in the balls with all his might. The boy bellowed like a steer and writhed in pain. Then Farid ran to the smaller boy, who was slapping the infuriated beauty, grabbed a chair and brought it down on the boy's back until he fell over.

Suddenly a man entered the courtyard and stared wide-eyed at the exhausted combatants. “What the devil's going on here?” he cried in alarm, and fell on the stout boy and the smaller boy. They flew through the air. The lighter boy landed next to the fountain, the larger one head over heels beside the mattress.

“They were going to circumcize me,” said Farid, crying and covering his penis with both hands.

“For God's sake! That's the last time I tell you, you dogs!” cried the man. He ran into the kitchen and came back with a long bamboo cane. The stouter boy began whimpering, but the man lashed out at both of them, hardly minding where he hit. “How often do I have to tell you not to touch that knife, how often?” he bellowed.

Farid put his clothes on and was going to slip away. The man stopped for a moment and looked at him with a smile. “You won't
tell your parents, will you? They're just a couple of stupid boys and a feeble-minded girl.”

The girl laughed and lifted her dress above her head, exposing her buttocks. She was shaking with laughter.

Farid promised not to tell his parents, and at first he didn't want to accept the five-piastre coin held out to him. But the man urged him in friendly tones to take it. So he finally put it in his pocket and ran out. He bought himself a packet of chewing gum and went back to his mother, who was just saying goodbye to her friend.

“Well, did you have a nice time?” she asked.

“You bet!” he muttered. His groin hurt.

On the way home Claire suddenly stopped at a barber's shop where men had gathered around a radio set. The barber had turned the volume right up. “War,” Farid heard. He didn't understand.

“Come on, we must get home, quick,” said Claire, and her face was clouded.

A few days later he saw the first refugees arriving in Damascus. Someone said they were Palestinians and the Jews had driven them out. People were saying they'd go home again in a few days' time. But Elias shook his head.

Antoinette Farah was dark-skinned and smelled of almonds. Farid had been playing with her as long as he could remember. She lived not far from him, in the blind alley leading to Josef's house.

Antoinette's mother liked Farid very much. She often kissed him, much more often than she kissed her own son. Her husband, on the other hand would rather have seen Farid playing not with his daughter but with his lethargic son Djamil, who was two years older than his sister, but more interested in jam sandwiches than playing games. Farid and Antoinette soon found a way to get rid of Djamil. They told him which of the neighbours was cooking something really delicious that day, and he would be off like a shot to stand at that neighbour's
door with a pleading look in his eyes. Everyone liked his generous parents, and accepted greedy Djamil for their sake.

Like Farid, Antoinette thought their own street very boring. She didn't know any other girls of her own age there. It wasn't until later that she made friends with Josef's sister Josephine, who couldn't stand her own brother either.

Farid went to visit her whenever possible. As soon as Djamil had a sandwich in his hands, or was off tracking down a good meal, the two of them disappeared into the children's room. The game that Farid liked best was lying on top of Antoinette, particularly on her back, which made him feel pleasantly hot between the legs. But she didn't like that. It was Djamil who told him one day that Antoinette loved chocolate and would do anything for it. On his next visit Farid brought a chocolate bar with him and showed it to her. Of course she wanted it at once, and he stammered out what Djamil had told him to say. “You can have it if you'll let me do what I want to you.”

Antoinette glared furiously at her munching brother, but agreed, and lay on the carpet enjoying the chocolate while Farid rocked back and forth on her back.

Djamil's eyes were glued to the chocolate bar, and he ignored Farid entirely. When Antoinette had finished it and licked her fingers with relish she shook Farid off. “That's enough for today. Bring me another bar and then you can ride on me again,” she said calmly, adjusting her clothes.

“That didn't last long,” he protested.

“You can ride me for an hour for every chocolate bar,” said Djamil. Revolted, Farid turned away from him.

“It may not seem very long to you on top, but it's ages for me underneath. Want to try?” she asked.

He lay on the carpet and Antoinette climbed on top of him. At first he thought it was amusing, but then her rocking weight felt uncomfortable, and the minutes seemed an eternity.

One summer night the Mushtaks visited the Farah family, and after a leisurely meal the grown-ups played cards. Farid had asked to be allowed to sleep over with the Farah children, and the three of them went off to the children's room next to their parents' bedroom
on the second floor and played games, looking out of the window now and then at the grown-ups enjoying the cool night air down in the courtyard.

Soon Djamil was asleep, and Antoinette showed Farid her latest discovery. She crawled under her blanket with him and raised her legs to make a tent. Where the wool was thick the roof of the tent was dark, but in some places the blanket let the light of the bright lamp in the room come through.

“Look at the sky, and those are the clouds,” she said in the dim light, and then pointed to a tiny hole in the blanket. Light fell through it. “And that's my star. It visits me every day before I go to sleep.”

Farid wasn't sure later how long they had played under the blanket. At some point he fell asleep, and his parents had long ago gone home when he suddenly woke up. He heard moans and laughter. When he sat up in the bed he saw that Antoinette was awake too. He could see her face in the light coming into the room from a lamp in the inner courtyard. She put her forefinger to her lips.

“What's going on? Where am I?” he asked softly.

“In our house. Perhaps …” she said, and hesitated as a loud moan came from the room next door. Her mother was begging for more, and her father was crying breathlessly, “Yes, yes!” again and again.

“They're making love,” said Antoinette, smiling. “They do that almost every night.”

“Is your Papa hurting your Mama?”

“No, no, he's necking with her. And she wants more.”

The sound of the woman's laughter reassured Farid. Antoinette put her head on his chest and stroked his hand. Finally she crawled over to him and kissed him on the lips. Her mouth tasted of peppermint, probably because she had to clean her teeth every evening. It was nice, and Farid kissed her cheek. Her face was hot, and she kissed him on the lips again, holding his hand tight in hers, almost as if she were praying. He pressed it, and felt that she was perspiring. For the first time he smelled her sweat. That night she smelled of almonds and coffee.