The Boy from Aleppo Who Painted the War (28 page)

‘Adam. My sweet Adam. I have missed you so much Habibi.'

‘I missed you so much too mama. The world is such a scary place without you.'

I hug mama tightly and cry my heart out.

‘I know Habibi, I know, I'm here now.'

‘A
DAM
! A
DAM
!' What in the world is going on? ‘Adam Habibi!' Adam is shaking on the ground like a fish out of the water.

‘Auntie! Auntie! I need your help! Auntie!'

I get up quickly and try to run to Adam but trip over the covers around me. My body still feels weak and I can hardly pick myself up. I drag myself once more and lift Adam's head up and kiss him. Adam Habibi, I'm here for you.

‘Wake up Adam!'

He starts to violently shake and foam runs out of his mouth.

‘Auntie! Quick! Bring a wet towel and bowl of water!'

‘What is it Yasmine?' Auntie runs into the room ‘Oh my God! Okay I'll bring everything!'

‘Quick!'

I turn him to the side and tear off the lower part of my skirt, roll it up and put it on my lap to lift his head up higher. I start to cry while holding his head close to me, every tear landing on his delicate face.

‘Please Adam, please hang in there, please Adam, my God, please hold on! Everything will be okay, we'll go home together again, I'll watch you paint, I'll make you food, I'll play with you again. Please Adam!'

I can't stop crying, I would never forgive myself if I lost him, I can't lose him, I promised mama. I promised Baba. I promised myself.

I look up at the clock on the wall: it's 3:31 p.m. If he doesn't stop after a minute I'm going to have to call the ambulance. The last time Adam had a seizure was when mama died, I guess he has the same kind of burden on his shoulders now. Aunt Suha comes in and times a minute. She splashes water on his face and prays under her breath. It's moments like these that I realise that Adam is just like my own child. Even if I don't have the chance to have a baby of my own, having Adam is a blessing.

Adam's breathing suddenly stops and he lies still. What is happening? My heart drops to my feet. A laugh comes out of me from shock. No, is this some kind of joke? I freeze in place. Aunt Suha is shaking him and looking at me but I can't react. I can't. Have I lost all feeling?

‘Yasmine! He's breathing! It's low but he's breathing!' I snap out of it quickly and hold him tight. I wipe away the foam from his mouth and kiss him over and over again. Aunt Suha laughs through her tears.

Adam opens his eyes and just lies in my arms. For the first time he doesn't move away from human contact. I smile at him and he smiles back. I start laughing and can't stop. Why not? I am happy with Adam and we are safe. I'm in a happy place. I laugh on and on until Aunt Suha joins me. I look down at Adam and can see him trying to smile.

*

All the tears in my body have dried and I can't think of anything that will ever make me cry. I'm a new person now. I'm watering the plants in the sitting room while Adam watches TV and Aunt Suha takes a nap. I feel serene. The doorbell rings and Adam jumps up.

‘I don't think we should answer, it's not our house.'

‘But… the doorbell rang Yasmine.'

‘I know Habibi, just wait,' Yasmine says. The doorbell rings again and Aunt Suha shifts on the sofa. I guess I should open it before it wakes her up.

‘Let's tiptoe to the door,' I whisper to Adam.

‘Why?'

‘Because it's more fun!'

I open the door and freeze in place. Despite all the shocks I have been through this one has probably the strongest effect on my heart. I feel like every cell in my body is trying to react in a different way and they can't decide what to do.

‘Yasmine, it's that guy you like.'

‘Wisa… How…'

‘May I come in?'

‘Of course!'

I can't believe my eyes. I want to say so much. I want to cry and laugh at the same time. I guess I still do have tears in my body.

‘I had to go through a lot to find you,' he says as he smiles.

Ahhh that smile, so familiar. I can close my eyes and fall into it.

‘Do you think we can fix things?'

‘Yes!' My mouth spits the word out. I didn't even take a second to think about it.

Wisam and Adam laugh at me. Two of my favourite men are here. I wish the others were too.

‘Who is it?' Aunt Suha shouts.

I don't know what to say. Who is he to me?

‘A visitor for Yasmine,' he answers for me.

Aunt Suha comes wobbling into the hallway with her hand on her back.

‘He's… He's…'

‘The guy you told me about?'

‘Yes.'

There's an awkward silence as we all stand in the hallway not knowing what to do.

‘Do come in,' Aunt Suha tells him.

He's just as handsome as always. I really missed him.

‘I came to ask you for Yasmine's hand in marriage.'

What? What? All of a sudden?

‘Well, her father isn't here and she lost the rest of her family so I don't know what to say.'

‘I know where her father is…'

‘You do?' I jump in.

‘I made sure I told my colleagues in Turkey to look out for him. He's in safe hands God willing.'

I can't stop smiling.

‘Yasmine, is there an invisible clown pulling at your mouth?' Adam asks. I know he's being serious but we all laugh and again Adam breaks the ice. He's my angel.

‘Do you want to see your father again?' Wisam gets off the sofa and squats on his knees in front of Adam.

‘You mean Baba? He didn't say goodbye to me.'

‘I'll take that as a yes.'

‘Take what as a yes?'

Wisam looks at me confused.

‘You'll get used to him I promise,' I say as I wink at him.

He winks back and I forget my past, present and future and just replay his wink in my mind.

I look back at Adam who begins to paint. He picks the colour red and starts to fill in the sketch of Baba's face. He is smiling in the picture and there are no bags under his eyes. Our house in Aleppo is in the background. There is no grey colour in sight.

I smile and a tear rolls down my cheek. My innocent Adam. My boy from Aleppo who painted the war.

The Boy from Aleppo who Painted the War
is the third young adult novel that I have read which is told from the first-person viewpoint of a teen or adult with definitively specified Asperger's syndrome. The earliest example of such a novel is Mark Haddon's ground-breaking bestseller,
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time
(Bloomsbury, UK, 2003).

Asperger's syndrome is a term used to denote the mildest form of autistic spectrum disorder. Those with the condition process and perceive information unusually. As a result, they often struggle to understand and keep track of interactions and exchanges which are not explicit, or which assume an understanding of unwritten norms and expectations inherent to social communication.

Though these weaker areas can be addressed with conscious learning and support, they often give rise to specific difficulties, which may hamper aspects of everyday life: unfamiliar figurative expressions may be taken literally; non-verbal cues may be missed when interpreting peoples' moods and intentions; behavioural expectations, boundaries and delicacies may be flouted; and subtle, encoded hints may be overlooked.

As an ‘Aspie' myself, and a creative writing PhD candidate researching the representation of Asperger's in fiction whilst completing a novel narrated from such a viewpoint, I was immediately interested in this story. Given the highly successful nature of the
The Curious Incident…
might one infer that the possibilities for such a voice or character have already been explored and concluded? Has Christopher Boone closed the door on this branch of fiction? I say far from it. In fact, I consider
The Boy from Aleppo
… to be a testament to how far such fiction has come. The temptation to treat this kind of narrator as a story-specific, experimental trope demonstrates how a single, successful work threatens to place a premature cap on creative potential, and to skew and stunt representation. Furthermore,
The Boy from Aleppo
gives Asperger's an entirely different significance within the work. Unlike in
The Curious Incident
… Adam's traits provide a gateway in to the story, and to the author's desired vantage point and thematic focus. Adam and his behaviours do not precipitate or even aggravate any of the events, nor does the plot centre around him. His difficulties are not constraining or defining influences on his voice.

Contemporary authors who write from the viewpoints of disabled characters – especially those with specific diagnoses – will always be in a delicate position. They will find themselves caught between the needs of their own vision and perception with respect to artistic realisation; and the power and responsibility of social representation. How can both be fully honoured in an unrestricted yet non-judgemental and non-exploitative way? When a sensitive thread such as disability is included within a mainstream work, it shapes public regard and attitudes. To argue that a work of fiction is not ‘real' evades discussion of this, but doesn't negate the truth of the matter. In fact, the influential potential of fiction can often be a lot more potent and wide-reaching than that of purely factual, case-based literature. The former infiltrates the imagination, and facilitates emotional transportation on an immediately memorable, intuitive level. Case in point: select works of fiction are often used as teaching aids for authority figures, peers and affected individuals. The merits and pitfalls involved here are not the subject of this discussion – suffice it to say that such works have influence, and the natures and effects of their representations must therefore be charted.

To comment on the author's portrayal of Asperger's, we need to look at the place of Adam and his traits within the work as a whole. For me, Adam's Asperger's has an interdependent relationship with the portrayal of the whole family's situation, and plays a key role in directing narrative focus. Many fourteen year olds would be preoccupied with breaking free of restrictions and symbols of childhood. This would usually take the form of wider social engagement, trend-following, and attempts to understand and engage with adult issues which are perceived as important, and impacting of peoples' lives. The politics of an impending war would certainly fit this criteria, especially in a time of extensive media broadcasting. Indeed, we overhear snippets of television news broadcasts, sometimes translated into succinct but incomplete and seemingly reluctant summaries by Yasmine and others. We also see members of the family going out to protest as war becomes inevitable. Although Adam is shielded and apart from all this, such conversations and events run through early chapters as an undertone and a foreshadowing.

But a deeply political, charged narrative is not the desired focus. This is the story of an ordinary family enduring the unimaginably horrific downstream effects of a reality very separate from theirs, for the most part made known to them only by remote means, or by sporadic yet devastating attacks. The specific perpetrators, the people in power and the actual members of the ‘other side' feel like shadows that we never come to fully meet – brought fleetingly into our line of vision through chance messengers who slip in and out at key points. Adam refers to those who cause harm and damage as ‘bad guys', whilst those who do no harm are cast as good. Political theories and arguments are left aside.

Many people with Asperger's syndrome struggle to infer a ‘bigger picture' from individual details, despite often being extremely intelligent. Unless it forms a specialist subject, they may struggle to understand the workings of politics, which take the form of abstract, often cryptic social matters appearing to exist in a realm outside of everyday life. Indeed, Adam states later on in the book that he dislikes politics, although this is probably because of the devastation this particular political arc has given rise to.

Although a deep theoretical understanding of suffering infuses his art and artistic approaches, Adam's view of life is grounded in immediate impressions of the world, its people, its happenings, and his love for each family member – especially Yasmine. This is the crack through which we as readers are able to squeeze in on an empathetic level. It is enhanced by a tugging pathos in Adam's recognition that he is somehow different, along with his desire to connect, to be more like others, and to understand as everyone else does. His raw and relatively inexperienced voice is perfectly suited to telling a story on this level, but the fact that he possesses greater maturity, experience, awareness and eloquence than a young child means that he is also able to narrate harrowing events with their full emotional impact. His tendency to home in on specific details, yet not cloud them with delicacies and euphemisms, gives the reader a kind of ethical permission to look at the war's consequences without filters. And for those who don't want to look, tough. We are brought face to face with more than one corpse, and more than one tangled mush of blood and body parts. This is war, and it is Adam's reality.

Such clarity of detail and thought give rise to an interesting interaction between Adam's experiences during the war, and those of the people around him. As stress and grief increase, Adam's father quickly lapses into incapacity, withdrawing into a world and time in which he believes their late mother is alive, where he can no longer recognise Yasmine, and where he can no longer take care of himself. Meanwhile, Yasmine's calm exterior, and her psychological strength and competency in carrying out her mother-role within the family are placed under severe strain: we see her stagger under the enormous pressure on multiple occasions. No longer can anyone give clear-cut clarifications and guarantees as to what will happen next, how long it will last, what should be done and what the outcome will be, nor can they give guarantees that everything will be all right. On the other hand, Adam's limited comprehension, combined with his immediate observance and resourcefulness, mean that in some ways he is in fact better shielded from ongoing fear, and more equipped to find survival strategies and maintain his grip on reality minute to minute. It is Adam who first begins raiding bins to find food, and he who prioritises his painting set as something essential to take when leaving the ruins of the family home. This last means that he alone is able to mentally step back from the traumas that ensue by looking at them with a painter's eye.