“Coffee now… At three in the morning. .?”
“Yes, now. I want a coffee, now.”
Going to the kitchen, I thought I would collapse. . my legs felt like jelly and my eyes were stinging. But I made him his coffee. He lit a cigarette and started talking-I could hardly understand what he was saying, though, because he was slurring all his words. He rambled on and on, and I told him I agreed with everything he said, even though none of it made any sense to me. I had to force myself to listen to him and was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.
“This is the beautifulest war!” That’s what he said. And then: “It’s shit! Yes, war is shit. But it’s beautiful. Oh my, the women out there! And the guys, you should see those young guys, may God protect them all! Such a war, praise the Lord, such a beautiful war!. . I’m all in favor of it now. . I’m into the big time. . you know what I mean. . the kingpin! Yes, me! You understand?. .
“Bah! You understand nothing! No one understands anything! Those guys are real tough, they’re brutes. You know the butcher, Abu Saïd, yes, our butcher? Well, listen to what he just did. . He closed the shop, rounded up a few of the guys, and with his assistants from the shop, they all set off together. His is a nice, tight little operation, those guys only go where the going is good, they only fight where there is the really good stuff, you know, fridges, couches, stoves, gold, silver. . Now, there’s this guy, his name is Sami al-Kurdi, and — and, if it weren’t for your dear brother, the son of a… they call themselves honorable men, he and those boys of his! Honorable, my eye! Me, I’d like to know what that means!. . Honorable!. . Like a dog. . or a donkey, perhaps? It’s honorable, is it, that they do the dying and others rake it all in! Well, let me tell you, with Abu Saïd it’s like this: he rakes it in and he doesn’t die. Here’s to you Abu Saïd!” And raising his cup, Nadeem slurps some of his coffee and asks: “And you, Madam, what do you think of that? I haven’t heard your view on the matter, Sitt Nada.”
Me? I wanted to go to sleep, that was my view.
So, back to Sami al-Kurdi. . Tonight was Sami’s night. God knows where he gets his stuff from. . He walked into the arcade and asked me where Abu Saïd was. I told him he hadn’t arrived yet, so he sat and waited for him. He poured himself a glass of araq and said Abu Saïd was late.
“He must be on his way, where’s he gonna go?” I told him.
“You sure he’s coming?”
“Of course I’m sure. He was probably just held up somewhere. He’s bound to come. Where’s he gonna go?”
An hour later, Abu Saïd shows up, with four of his best boys in tow. Some of the finest he has. The best, I swear, the very best. . they pay up and get to do as they please! Not like your idiot brother. You heard me, milady, yes that idiot who pontificates about principles! I’d like to know where he picks them up, those principles of his. . I’ll tell you where he gets them from. . from the open sewers on our streets! Principles, my eye!
Anyhow, where was I. . oh yes… Sami al-Kurdi. I don’t know where he gets stuff from. . He must have some kind of inside information. Anyway, there he was sitting, whispering into Abu Saïd’s ear, and then, all of a sudden, the chief jumped to his feet, fully alert, with this serious look on his face.
“I don’t believe you! You’re nothing but a liar, you son of a Kurd!”
“No, Chief. I’m not lying.”
“I swear I’ll shoot you if you’re lying!”
“You do as you wish, but I’m telling you, my info is one hundred percent correct.”
“Let’s go, boys!”
“What’s going on?”
“A quickie and we’ll be back. The court will assemble here, in the shop. OK by you, Nadeem?”
“OK by me. What court?”
“You’ll see. And I don’t want any customers around here when we get back, do you hear? Come on, we’re off. We’ll be back soon.”
“The place is all yours, Abu Saïd.”
They grabbed their rifles and left.
“What about your drink, Abu Saïd? You haven’t finished.”
“We’ll be back I tell you. We’ll be a few minutes, only. It’ll wait. And you wait too.”
I waited. They were gone more than an hour, but you should’ve seen them when they got back! They were a sight for sore eyes! If it weren’t for that. . son of a bitch brother of yours! No, he wasn’t with them, and he didn’t interfere personally… but his boys did. It may just as well have been him.
Anyhow, Abu Saïd came back with his boys, all puffed up like a peacock, and Sami al-Kurdi looking like a godfather for real, and they had these two guys with them: an old man, with a head of white hair, and a younger man, who seemed to be his son. The boys had blindfolded the two of them and were leading them along like little dogs. It was too funny for words. . the old man in front, the young man behind, feeling the ground with every footstep, as if he were climbing some mountain or making his way through a thick forest, shaking like a leaf! Abu Saïd poked him with his rifle butt.
“You’re nothing but a woman!” he mocked. . “What’s all the shaking for? Where’s the man in you, boy?” while the older man intoned al-hamdulillah, dear God, it is your will. . And the younger man repeated Oh Lord after each of his invocations. That is how they came into the place.
Seated in his chair, with all the rifles pointed at the two prisoners, Abu Saïd says: “The court is now in session and I want nothing but the truth. First, let’s have the evidence.”
So Sami al-Kurdi steps forward and places this rusty little semiautomatic Carlo, with forty rounds of ammunition and an empty magazine, on the table in front of Abu Saïd. The chief takes a sip from his glass and clears his throat.
“The truth, do you hear, I want nothing but the truth. The truth alone will save your lives. Come on, Grandpa. . say something!”
“Yes, yes.”
“Look here, Grandpa, you’re an old man, and I have nothing but respect for that white hair on your head. You live here, don’t you, in our neighborhood? And none of us here is fanatical or sectarian in anyway, right? And all our religious teachings affirm the brotherhood of man and fraternal love, don’t they? So tell me, Sir, what’s this machine gun for? It seems that you are living in our midst and shooting at us.”
“I swear, son, it’s nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing? If it’s a joke, it’s not funny.”
“Honestly, it’s nothing.”
“Who gave you this machine gun?”
“Really, it’s nothing. I’ve had it ever since the ’58 uprising. And I’d forgotten all about it. I’d forgotten I owned a machine gun.”
“Why buy one in the first place?”
“We’re not involved in any fighting; we have nothing to do with this war. I told you it’s a relic from ’58!”
“You mean you were against the people’s revolution in 1958?”
“My dear Sir, I wasn’t against anything. I bought it for self-defense.”
“You mean to say we’re harassing you? That can’t be, we’re not sectarian.”
“No, no, quite right. But in 1958 it was different. At that time, it was sectarian. But you’re right, this time it’s not like that!”
“You bought the gun to use against us.”
“No, honestly, I don’t even know how to use it!”
“Oh, now I see. You bought it for your son, so he could use it against us.”
“But my son was only a child then, he was three years old in 1958. How could he carry a gun at that age?”
“Where do you work?”
“Right here-I work for the Stico Pharmaceutical Company.”
“Where’s that?”
“Not far from here, off Hamra, on Maqhool Street.”
“Where?” al-Kurdi asks.