Rawi Hage - De Niro's Game

When I reached the end of the hallway, a man opened the gate for me. I struggled up the stairs, and through the blinding light I saw a silhouette of a woman. Ah, my mother is here, I thought. The Rambo bastard must have insisted on a family gathering. Then I heard Nabila’s voice swearing at saints and savages. She met me halfway down the stairs and pulled me to her.

When Nabila took a close look at me, she became hysterical, which frightened me. Then she caressed my hair, and in the flood of light she cursed the militia, she cursed Abou-Nahra, she cursed Christ and his disciples. She managed to half-carry me to her car, and she drove me to her place. Once we got there, she laid me at the entrance. She went up, called Chafiq Al-Azrak, and they both carried me up the stairs.

FOR A FEW DAYS, NABILA WASHED ME, FED ME, AND NURSED me back to health.

You have to leave this place, she said. Get your passport. Do you have a place to go?

Go to my apartment and see if my money is still under the sofa, I said.

She came back with a bundle of cash in an elastic band. Where did you get this money from? she asked.

I saved it.

You know, looking at this money I might think it was you who killed that man, but I heard that in your absence someone shot his wife. A shepherd found her in the mountains with a bullet in her head. After that, I went to that brute Abou-Nahra and made a scene. Behind all his good manners, he is nothing but a thug.

Where is George? I asked.

He is away. He came by and told me that he was going north, camping. I have not heard anything from him.

What is going on at the other side?

Al-Gharbiyyah (West Beirut) is still under siege. The Palestinians might surrender soon. And yes, I almost forgot: Nahla said two young guys were looking for you over at Julia’s store.

Did she describe them?

No, not really. She just said they were young. She said one of them had a broken nose.

IN THE MIDDLE OF the night, I woke up sweating and moaning.

The door opened, and Nabila entered with a flashlight in her hand.

It is me, Bassam. Nabila. You are having nightmares. Look at you sweating.

She gently stroked my face. Look what they did to you, those thugs. Ya ‘Um Al-Nur (Mother of Light), look. And she touched my face, kissed my cheek, and put her arm around my shoulders.

I slipped my hand onto her thigh, and she let me. I searched for her lips. She kissed me, and breathed louder. I slipped my hand onto her breast, and she let me. I ran my hand over her breasts in haste, my lips like those of a hungry dog, and she breathed more heavily. Slowly, slowly, she whispered. Slowly, my little one, slowly on your bruises, do not hurt yourself, slowly, she repeated, motherly. I pulled at her nightgown, and drove my lips to her large, round nipples. She held my head and caressed my hair. I pulled her down, and she lay next to me while I grabbed her flesh with the urgency of a hungry puppy. She licked my wounds like a primitive healer. Her voluptuous thighs opened, and I dove into her wetness; she held my head, and caressed my hair, and brought me to an infantile orgasm.

In the morning I heard Nabila shuffling pots and dishes in the kitchen. Her radio joined all the neighbours’ radios in a single choir of bad news.

I stayed in bed, naked, hesitant, and embarrassed. Finally, I had to use the bathroom.

She heard the flush and asked me if I wanted coffee.

I mumbled something and went straight back to my room.

Nabila opened the door. In her bathrobe she came closer, sat on the edge of the bed, and said, Bassam, you have to go back to your place. Let me see your eye. You need a new bandage. Here, put on your clothes and start working on getting that passport. . Go. There is nothing in this place. Go. . Get a passport photo. . Your money is in the drawer. . Come eat before you leave. I washed your clothes.

Then she disappeared. She came back with a paper. She held my hand, opened my palm. She rolled the paper inside it, closed my fingers, and said, Keep this with you. If you ever reach France or Europe, go see this man. He is George’s father. My sister never wanted anything to do with him. She was ashamed. She was stubborn and proud. She made a mistake in her youth. She never needed anyone. .

Nabila shed a single tear, just one long, salty drop, and before it reached the side of her lip, she scooped it stoically with her tongue. She looked me in the eyes and said, I want you to see him, for your sake and for George’s sake. His name and number are here. If you do not find him at that number, still seek him out wherever he is. Promise me that. Promise me that you will.

I nodded. Without uttering a word, I promised.

IN THE AFTERNOON, I walked down the stairs and into the street and went home. All my drawers had been emptied, a few vases broken, and my clothes dumped on the floor.

I called Joseph Chaiben. He told me to meet him that night, on a street corner outside of the neighbourhood.

I will pass by and pick you up, he said.

I waited, and Joseph passed and picked me up, as he said he would.

I sensed that he did not want to be seen with me, so I asked him about it.

Nothing personal, Bassam. But you know how it is with the Majalis . Once they have a red eye on you, all your friends are watched.

We drove outside the city and into the high mountains, where we parked and took a walk.

I need a gun, I said.

Listen, Bassam, it is not a good idea for you to get a gun right now.

Someone is on my case, I said. I need to have it soon. I can pay.

I will see what I can do.

We drove back into the city. When I climbed out of the car, Joseph called me back and said, Bassam, I won’t ask too many questions, but I know you did not kill the old man.

Who did?

He did not answer me. Instead, he stepped on the gas and drove away.

FOR THE NEXT FEW nights, I went over to the building opposite mine and slept in the open air.

From the roof, I could see West Beirut on fire. The Israelis bombarded the inhabitants for days, orange light glowed in the night, machine-gun bullets left the ground and darted into the air in red arches. The city burned and drowned in sirens, loud blood, and death.

ONE MORNING JOSEPH sent me a sign; he wanted to meet.

We met, and he handed me a gun. I gave him money. Then I asked if he could help me in an operation. I confided that I was set on leaving Beirut, and I had an idea for a last hit to generate more money.

What kind of operation? asked Joseph.

Robbing the casino.

Majnun , he said. You are Majnun . I am not sure, Bassam. This is risky; we will be fucking with the Majalis .

Yes. But what have the Majalis done for you, Joseph? I saw you on the barricades for weeks on end. You risked your life. And all these commanders are getting sports cars and chalets, filling their bank accounts. Look, you can hardly even buy food for your mother and your little sister and brothers. Think, Joseph. The war will be over one day, and they will be walking around in Armani suits, and what will we have? Do you think they will say, Oh yes, he was a good fighter for the Christian cause? Think about it. We can each get a good amount of cash.

Joseph remained silent.

Do you know the real name of a man named Rambo? I asked. He drives a black BMW, and he has a long scar on his face that goes from his eye down to his chin.

Yes, I know Rambo, he is an ars .

I need to find out where he lives.

Walid Skaff knows him well; Walid told me that he had been invited to a party once in Fakhra, up in the mountains, at Rambo’s chalet. Rambo confiscated a chalet from some Muslim family that ran away.