The Dark Side of Love (53 page)

Abdallah and Salma had two children, Suleiman and Aida, who both took after their mother. They were short, sturdy, and born tricksters. One day the chauffeur was planning a visit to his parents-in-law. He was allowed to use the consul's limousine, because the consul himself was in Spain. Suleiman's mother was in the seventh heaven. She put on her best dress, and after an hour's drive climbed out into the dusty village square as majestically as a queen. The peasants marvelled at the transformation, sang Salma's praises, and suddenly remembered that they'd always known this enterprising woman would make something of herself.

But not all her relations admired and flattered her. Salma's cousin, the biggest building contractor in the village, had never got over the fact that she had chosen to marry not him but a useless townsman, and always tried to present Abdallah as a weakling. He was married himself now and had three children, but his heart still belonged to Salma. So almost every visit ended in a quarrel between him and Abdallah. The quarrel broke out this time when he boasted that his own children were braver and healthier than Salma's, and to prove it he wanted the children to behead the five chickens destined for the midday meal.

His three boys seized a chicken each, wrung their heads off their bodies with their bare hands, and dropped the fluttering fowls carelessly on the ground. At this point Aida rose to her feet, unasked, and went over to the two remaining chickens, which were lying beside a tree stump with their legs tied. She picked up the hatchet ready beside them with her right hand, grabbed a russet-coloured chicken with her left hand, and quickly struck off its head. Then, her expression untroubled, she returned to her place at the big table laid in the shade of the walnut tree for the occasion.

“Aida takes after her mother,” said the spiteful cousin, “and that townie there has nothing to do with it. Now let's see what his son is like.”

Suleiman was a crafty boy, and brave when it came to defending
a friend from his own street against a stranger, but he couldn't stand the sight of blood.

“Show this boastful fellow what you're like,” called his father. But Suleiman couldn't do that without letting his father down.

All eyes were now on him. He stood up with his heart racing, took the hatchet, seized the chicken by one wing and put it on the tree stump. The bird looked at him in alarm and cackled.

“Holy Virgin, help me,” whispered Suleiman, bringing the hatchet down where he thought the chicken's neck would be. For the fraction of a second he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the chicken's head was rising in the air, its reproachful eyes bent on him, and then it fell lifeless to the ground.

“A master stroke,” said Suleiman's father triumphantly. Late that night, just before they went to sleep, Aida assured her brother that no one had noticed how scared he was.

It was usual in the Christian quarter for children to find jobs in the long vacation, which lasted three months, something to earn them some pocket money, give them a taste of working life, and let their parents have a little peace. Many families had up to ten children.

The children worked as general dogsbodies for the barber, the vegetable seller, the ice seller or the tailor. The joiner Michel was popular, and no one wanted to work for Mahmud the butcher, although Michel was bad-tempered and grasping while Mahmud was a generous soul. But the children would rather work with wood than with blood, fat, and meat.

Anyone with a little money set up in trade on his own account, bought sugar dollies, cheap cookies, chewing gum, and lollies in the Suk al Buzuriye, and went around the streets selling them for twice the price he had paid. You might make a profit of a lira by the end of the week, which was good going. With that capital, you could buy even more wares and offer a larger selection on your sales tray.

Those who thought it beneath their dignity to walk through the streets just sat at the doors of their own houses, offering their wares to children and passers by. But you might have bad luck and find ten children sitting outside their doors at the same time, trying to entice everyone who went down the street with the same offers. Strange children stood no chance in these streets. The brothers and sisters of the local sweetmeat sellers called them names until they ran away.

Farid begged and begged until Claire finally let him fill a tray of his own with sugar dollies, chewing gum and lollipops. With great patience, he made a fly-whisk out of strips of paper and a small wooden stick, to keep insects and the hands of greedy children off his tray.

Elias didn't like to see Farid sitting in the alley, selling cheap sweetmeats. That was more to do with his pride as a confectioner than with educational ideas, as Farid later discovered.

The night before he went out in the streets with his tray for the first time, he was so excited that he could hardly sleep. He saw himself in his waking dreams as a successful trader with children thronging to his round sales tray.

Next morning he hurried to the Suk al Buzuriye with Josef, bought stuff there cheaply, and as Josef kept squinting at the chewing gum on their way back Farid gave his friend a little packet. An hour later they were home, and Farid sat in the shade of his house with a magnificent tray full of brightly coloured, delicious sweetmeats. Josef, with his grumpy expression, proved an excellent deterrent to competitors.

Farid felt proud, and was glad to see no rivals in the form of neighbouring children from his alley. His first customer was Claire. She bought three sugar dollies and a lollipop, and hardly haggled at all. For a moment Farid felt ashamed to take money from her, when she had provided his starting capital, but that was how she wanted it.

Then Antoinette came along. She just stood there at first, admiring him, and admiring the chewing gum even more. After a while she asked how much a packet cost, giggled coyly and licked her lips, making her mouth shine. In her red dress she looked even sweeter than Farid's sugar dollies.

He gave her a present of two packets of chewing gum, and she
patted his face. “You're so cute,” she said, running away. Not five minutes later her fat brother Djamil rolled up, as usual puffing and panting unattractively. “Either I get a sugar dolly or I'll tell on you and Antoinette and what you do together,” he demanded, salivating. Farid looked around him. Then, feeling very anxious, he looked back at the plump boy, who was waving his arms about excitedly and almost lost his balance. He saw the moment coming when Djamil would fall over and land with his fat behind on the sugar dollies. So he took one that had turned out a rather ugly shape, handed it to Djamil, and snapped, “You get out of here, tell-tale, or I'll get Josef to give you a thrashing, understand?”

Djamil looked at Josef, who was standing nearby making a stout twig whistle as he lashed it through the air. The fat boy took his sugar dolly and disappeared.

No child came to buy anything that first morning. Saitun Alley might have been swept clean. At midday, Farid hid his tray in the pantry, where his father never went, and hoped for better business next day, for the heat was unbearable in the afternoon.

“You must think up rhyming slogans to attract children. Advertising works wonders,” Claire advised him.

Farid remembered the cries of the Damascene street traders. They always made him feel cheerful. So he thought up three street cries, one for sugar dollies, one for chewing gum, one for lollipops, and set to work with new courage next day. Josef kept watch on the entrance of the alley. He was dressed like a cowboy today, with the hat and pistols that his father had given him for Christmas, and looked as if he were expecting a hold-up any moment.

Farid was very surprised to find a number of children already waiting for him. They all came from the big building next door where the tenants were poor Christians. Soon he couldn't help realizing that though they were licking their lips as they looked at his wares, they didn't have a piastre in their pockets.

A little later Antoinette turned up with Josephine, Josef's youngest sister. Antoinette forced a path for herself through the assembled children, dragging Josephine after her, and if anyone barred her way she said indignantly, “He's my friend, so you just let me by.” When she
reached the tray, which was now under siege, Farid was knocked backward yet again by her pretty looks. She was wearing a blue summer dress, a necklace of coloured beads, and two amusing hairgrips.

“Josephine won't believe that you gave me some chewing gum yesterday. So did you or didn't you?” she asked in challenging tones.

“Yes, yes, I did,” said Farid.

“But he's not going to give you any today,” said Josephine in an equally challenging manner. Antoinette, who hadn't expected this, looked at Farid for help, and he didn't know what to do. Djamil was leaning against the wall listening hard.

“There, see, he isn't giving you anything!” Josephine repeated in a loud voice. Antoinette's eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Yes, I am,” Farid stammered softly, “I am so giving her something today!” And he handed Antoinette another packet of chewing gum.

“How about me? I mean, you're
my
brother's friend,” said the indignant Josephine. “Do you want me telling him you give things to everyone except me?” And she angrily stamped her foot until Josef noticed and came over. Meanwhile, Antoinette was chewing her gum with relish. Her tears had dried up as suddenly as if she had swallowed them.

“All right, you'll get something,” sighed Farid, and he reluctantly gave Josephine too a packet of gum. She took it, laughed, and pushed out through the crowd of children again. He heard her calling, “He's giving away sugar dollies and chewing gum, he's giving them away.” As for what happened next, he would never forget it. As if some invisible conductor had brought the children together into a harmonious choir, they all chattered and wept together.

“Why doesn't anyone give us sugar dollies?
Why not
?” And that last “Why not?” was a long-drawn-out cry of exaggerated pain. The children's song was more persuasive than the Catholic church choir on Good Friday. It wasn't long before Claire appeared at the door.

“Just a moment, children,” she called. “Just a moment!” She stretched her arms out to pacify them. The children suddenly fell silent.

“Everyone gets a sugar dolly, and I'm paying.”

“But I don't want a dolly. I want chewing gum!” cried a little girl
with a snotty nose. Farid had tears in his eyes. He felt like throwing his tray at the children. Josef shook his head sympathetically and went home.

Claire distributed her son's sweetmeats among the children, and didn't say a word when Djamil came back three times for another sugar dolly.

“You're no Mushtak, you're a Surur,” she told Farid later, giving him two lira, more than all the dollies, lollipops and chewing gum could have earned him. “We've never been any good at haggling in my family,” she added, laughing.

A hundred and thirty-two schoolchildren occupied several rows of seats in the biggest cinema in Damascus. They were seeing the movie at a reduced price, so it wasn't surprising that even Rasuk's father, who had scorned the art of film all his life and never entered a cinema, gave permission. And the teacher had assured everyone that the movie reinforced the Christian faith.

Rasuk's father made the sole condition that he must tell his father about the film that evening, for hearing stories while he was drinking tea seemed to him like a foretaste of Paradise.

“But I had to lie to him,” Rasuk told his friends that night in the attic, “not because I was afraid but to spare his nerves. So I censored everything, the way grown-ups do when a child suddenly comes into the room. ‘Tell it from A to Z,' my father told me, which is what he says when he wants to hear all about something from beginning to end, but I just couldn't possibly tell him about the trailer. It was for a Western where the Indians were the baddies, and my father would have thrown a fit. He thinks native American culture was wonderful, and when anyone mentions the name of Columbus he crosses himself and spits three times. And how could I have told him about the second trailer, with Humphrey Bogart in one of his darkest roles?

So I told him how the first Christians had to go underground
in ‘Quo Vadis?'. I told him about the catacombs, and Peter Ustinov playing Nero so brilliantly, and the Eternal City of Rome burning, and then more about the persecution of the Christians. My father was so moved he even forgot to drink his tea. Tears came to his eyes. But I didn't say that after the movie we were in a big punch-up with some Muslim kids. It's a pity you guys weren't there.

The Muslim kids were in the two rows in front of us, and they'd come with their teacher to get to know about Christianity. But when the lights went up again one of the Muslim boys had to go and tell his mates, ‘Come on, let's see if that bunch are good Christians.' And he pointed at us, hit my friend Gabriel in the face, and shouted, acting all naïve and innocent, ‘Okay, so now you turn the other cheek, right?'

Gabriel was startled for a moment, but then he grabbed the boy, who wasn't very big, lifted him in the air and threw him over the heads of the audience to land three rows forward. Then all hell was let loose. The teachers didn't know what to do. They said they were ashamed of their pupils. Of course I didn't tell my father a word about that.

So on Saturday I had to go to confession. ‘I told lies,' I admitted, kneeling.

‘Why did you do that, my son? Was it out of greed, or fear of punishment, or to get some advantage for yourself?'

‘No, it was for humanitarian reasons,' I said. There was total silence in my confessional. Finally Father Athanasias told me to say a prayer of repentance and three Our Fathers, to cleanse my soul of the sin of lying. He didn't understand at all, so I didn't say any of the prayers.”