Beirut Blues

Beirut Blues by Hanan al-Shaykh Page B

Book: Beirut Blues by Hanan al-Shaykh Read Free Book Online
Authors: Hanan al-Shaykh
Tags: General Fiction
ex-presidentand his wife, then glanced around. Smiling, he let his eyes rest on me for a moment, then sat down, lighting a cigar. The children waved the smoke away from their faces, and one of them shouted, “Mama, it smells awful. I feel sick. Mama, Mama.”
    I noticed that they spoke Arabic when they wanted to argue or complain; otherwise they could have been a family of foreigners. The country was as hard to grasp as beads of mercury: the mother of these children, judging from the way she spoke and dressed, wouldn’t acknowledge the existence of the western sector; she would be quite sure that the name Lebanon only applied to her part of the country, and yet she did not appear at all surprised that an important representative of the Shia community was on board the helicopter.
    If they had known what I was thinking and why I was here, they would probably have stopped and thrown me out. I hadn’t felt any gratitude to the army officer as he took my arm and said, “At your service, madam,” and accompanied me to the steps of the helicopter. He was the reason why you had to flee the stifling summer heat of the city on board a steamer. I checked my anger and thought again. No, he wasn’t the reason. It was Israel who had taken you away, or at least it was because of Israel that you’d gone. If you had escaped with me to Hayat’s house, you’d have been with me, proof to the political analysts that they would never be able to grasp the beads of quicksilver. Being completely bound up with one side in this war, you are against this ex-president whose thick neck bulged over his collar, against what he represents. He is against these children, who are shouting in French, “We’re bored. We’re hungry. Where’s this Cyprus?Make it hurry up. This isn’t like James Bond’s helicopter. You’re a liar, Mama.”
    These kids will grow up to fight all the things you’re committed to. Or perhaps one of them will fight on your side. And if the ex-president is blessed with children and grandchildren, they’ll make war on these children in a few years’ time, because they don’t want competition and perhaps because they want to unite the country, which I could see from the air lying like a fallen acorn.
    From Cyprus I followed you to Egypt, to the beach at Alexandria and sat on the sands unable to believe that I was by the sea, by the blue sea, waiting like a sailor’s wife or a hungry cat for the return of the fishing boats, watching the waves breaking one after the other in eager anticipation. I could hardly believe I was there, that I only left Beirut yesterday. I felt as if I have spent years between Beirut, Jounieh, Cyprus, Cairo, and Alexandria racing against time just to see you and hear you say good-bye to me.
    My friend Muna was with me, impatient for my news, or rather for news of Beirut and the siege. She had left Lebanon for Cairo at the outbreak of war, and felt guilty, but I didn’t want to stir up emotions, and felt like a traitor myself for escaping.
    I thought the ships would stop the minute they saw us, but Muna ran towards them and her daughter chased after her crying. She plunged into the water and waded forward until it reached her waist, her daughter still trying to follow her, both of them waving and shouting, but the ships slowlydisappeared from view, although some people on deck waved at us. Muna’s daughter was wailing, “Pick me up. I want to see the fedayeen.”
    The ships disappeared like passing clouds, leaving me with an image of hands raised in victory salutes. I didn’t believe that ships could go by so fast. Aircraft are visible for longer and you still hear them when they’re out of sight and see the white vapor trails. The ships seemed to surface for a moment like submarines, then plunge back down to the comfort of the seabed.
    We waited impatiently for other ships. The sun had moved off our faces and off the cold drinks for sale on the beach. I began to be afraid that we might be

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