‘I’m afraid the after-dinner conversation will have to wait,’ she said. ‘Rashida won’t have anyone other than her big brother read the story tonight.’
Ahmed grinned and headed for his little sister’s room, leaving his mother and father on the deck.
‘There was more trouble with the Sunnis in the village today,’ Jamila confided in her husband.
‘I heard. They will just have to learn to get along with us,’ said Mansoor. ‘We have enough enemies across the border without fighting amongst ourselves.’
‘Tell that to Omar,’ Jamila complained. ‘Did he really throw a shoe at the imam?’
‘Yes, although he was immediately bundled out of the mosque.’ Their next-door neighbour, Omar Abbasi, was vehemently Sunni; one of those who considered all Shi’ites to be heretics and deserters of the true Islam.
‘Although we need to cut him a little slack,’ Mansoor added. ‘He’s just lost his brother in Beirut.’ Shia Hezbollah forces had taken over parts of Sunni West Beirut and Omar’s brother had been killed in the ensuing violence.
‘How about The Princess and the Pea ?’ Ahmed suggested as he sat on the side of Rashida’s bed and reached towards her bookcase.
‘The pirate book,’ Rashida demanded.
‘The pirate book! That’s not a book for girls. What about A Bear Called Paddington ?’
‘No, the pirate book,’ Rashida pouted, her dark eyes flashing. ‘I’m a big girl now!’
‘So you keep reminding me,’ Ahmed said, suppressing a smile and opening So You Want to be a Pirate , one of the few children’s books on pirates that had been translated into Arabic.
‘Pirates come in all shapes and sizes,’ Ahmed began. ‘Some are tall and skinny, others are big and muscled,’ he read, lowering his voice to give it a sinister tone. ‘But they’re all …’
‘Very mean and very wicked!’ Rashida cried, completing the sentence. ‘And they all wear spotted handkerchiefs on their heads, and some … some have wooden legs, and some have hooks instead of hands!’
‘Yes, and black patches over their eyes and the captain of the pirate ship has a parrot.’
‘Aarr!’ Rashida growled, giving a remarkably good imitation of the universal pirate expletive. ‘Eight pieces and shiver timbers!’
‘Yes, pieces of eight and shiver-me-timbers … and the pirate ships have a big, black flag …’
‘And it’s very nasty and it’s called the Happy Roger!’ Rashida cried. ‘And it’s got a mean and horrid skull and bone-crosses!’
Close enough, Ahmed thought. ‘Avast, me hearties!’ Together, he and his sister roamed the seven seas. They stormed desert islands and explored the secret map in the centre of the book that gave directions on how to find the buried treasure, until at last, Rashida’s eyelids began to droop. Ahmed quietly closed the book, kissed her softly on the cheek, turned out the light and retreated to the deck. His mother had retired to finish clearing up in the kitchen, and Ahmed resumed conversation with his father.
‘Now they’ve moved in, the Israelis will never give up the Palestinian land in the West Bank,’ Ahmed observed. ‘All this talk of peace is just that – talk. The Israelis have stalled for decades, and all the while they build more and more settlements on Palestinian land in the hope the Palestinians will give up and move out.’ The evening dark had cloaked the village of al-Bazourieh in velvet. Heavy clouds scudded across the sky above Lebanon’s border with Israel.
Mansoor Shahadi didn’t reply immediately. He puffed contentedly on the silver stem of his hookah. The smoke from the scented tobacco was cooled as it passed through the water in an ornate green glass bowl that formed the hookah’s base. The water pipe had been a part of the café culture of the Arab and Persian worlds for centuries.
‘Ordinary Israeli people want peace, just like we do,’ Mansoor said finally. ‘And many Israelis don’t support the settlers.
Ahmed grinned and headed for his little sister’s room, leaving his mother and father on the deck.
‘There was more trouble with the Sunnis in the village today,’ Jamila confided in her husband.
‘I heard. They will just have to learn to get along with us,’ said Mansoor. ‘We have enough enemies across the border without fighting amongst ourselves.’
‘Tell that to Omar,’ Jamila complained. ‘Did he really throw a shoe at the imam?’
‘Yes, although he was immediately bundled out of the mosque.’ Their next-door neighbour, Omar Abbasi, was vehemently Sunni; one of those who considered all Shi’ites to be heretics and deserters of the true Islam.
‘Although we need to cut him a little slack,’ Mansoor added. ‘He’s just lost his brother in Beirut.’ Shia Hezbollah forces had taken over parts of Sunni West Beirut and Omar’s brother had been killed in the ensuing violence.
‘How about The Princess and the Pea ?’ Ahmed suggested as he sat on the side of Rashida’s bed and reached towards her bookcase.
‘The pirate book,’ Rashida demanded.
‘The pirate book! That’s not a book for girls. What about A Bear Called Paddington ?’
‘No, the pirate book,’ Rashida pouted, her dark eyes flashing. ‘I’m a big girl now!’
‘So you keep reminding me,’ Ahmed said, suppressing a smile and opening So You Want to be a Pirate , one of the few children’s books on pirates that had been translated into Arabic.
‘Pirates come in all shapes and sizes,’ Ahmed began. ‘Some are tall and skinny, others are big and muscled,’ he read, lowering his voice to give it a sinister tone. ‘But they’re all …’
‘Very mean and very wicked!’ Rashida cried, completing the sentence. ‘And they all wear spotted handkerchiefs on their heads, and some … some have wooden legs, and some have hooks instead of hands!’
‘Yes, and black patches over their eyes and the captain of the pirate ship has a parrot.’
‘Aarr!’ Rashida growled, giving a remarkably good imitation of the universal pirate expletive. ‘Eight pieces and shiver timbers!’
‘Yes, pieces of eight and shiver-me-timbers … and the pirate ships have a big, black flag …’
‘And it’s very nasty and it’s called the Happy Roger!’ Rashida cried. ‘And it’s got a mean and horrid skull and bone-crosses!’
Close enough, Ahmed thought. ‘Avast, me hearties!’ Together, he and his sister roamed the seven seas. They stormed desert islands and explored the secret map in the centre of the book that gave directions on how to find the buried treasure, until at last, Rashida’s eyelids began to droop. Ahmed quietly closed the book, kissed her softly on the cheek, turned out the light and retreated to the deck. His mother had retired to finish clearing up in the kitchen, and Ahmed resumed conversation with his father.
‘Now they’ve moved in, the Israelis will never give up the Palestinian land in the West Bank,’ Ahmed observed. ‘All this talk of peace is just that – talk. The Israelis have stalled for decades, and all the while they build more and more settlements on Palestinian land in the hope the Palestinians will give up and move out.’ The evening dark had cloaked the village of al-Bazourieh in velvet. Heavy clouds scudded across the sky above Lebanon’s border with Israel.
Mansoor Shahadi didn’t reply immediately. He puffed contentedly on the silver stem of his hookah. The smoke from the scented tobacco was cooled as it passed through the water in an ornate green glass bowl that formed the hookah’s base. The water pipe had been a part of the café culture of the Arab and Persian worlds for centuries.
‘Ordinary Israeli people want peace, just like we do,’ Mansoor said finally. ‘And many Israelis don’t support the settlers.
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