RABEE J ABER
“You’re Qassim.” He asked him whether it hurt the roof of his mouth to talk. “No, but my tongue is heavy.” They spoke in whispers so as not to wake the others.Their conversation was broken up by the sounds of muttering, snoring and a distant commotion.
“My name is Hanna.” “I know who you are. You’re Hanna Yacoub, a Christian from Beirut. Your house is at the wall of the Mar Elias Catholic Church. You nearly burst my eardrums with all your yelling at the port!”
“What did I do for them to lock me up here? Is this the land of the Serbs?”
“Do you have family in Beirut? What does your father do?” “My father’s buried in the Santiya Cemetery. He used to work at the furnace in the public bath.”
“And your mother?” “She died when I was just a baby. I was alone with her at home one day, and when my father got home that night he found me still nursing even though she was dead.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” “I have three sisters and I have my wife and my daughter.” “Is your daughter still little?” “She’s eleven and a half months old.” “Strange.” Hanna didn’t ask what was strange, but his silence asked for him. “Our brother Suleiman, who was released, has a daughter who’s eleven and a half months old. And like you, he doesn’t have any other children yet.”
“Why are they keeping me locked up here? Why do they leave us without food?”
He felt something stir and knew Qassim had moved away. Hanna ran his fingers over the wall until he found some moisture. He kept his hand on the spot until it was wet, then tasted the water. It was acceptable; it extinguished his thirst and relieved the itching in his swollen tongue. He could hear his stomach. Hunger was tearing his insides apart, and he didn’t know if he could endure any more. “I’m going to die now. That’s why I can feel my father’s presence. It’s been ages since he last crossed my mind.Yacoub the stoker. My father.That’s why I heard his voice. How did he find me?” Just then, an incredible smell invaded his nose: boiled eggs! Somebody was peeling eggs and eating them! He opened his mouth to swallow the smell. “Here! Take this!” said the voice. It was Qassim. He
118 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES