Elias Khoury - Gate of the Sun

What do you want from me?

I’ve told you all your stories, of the past and of the present, yet you remain unreachable.

Now you know the whole story, but I don’t. Can you believe that? I’ve told you a story I don’t know. I understand nothing; things are collapsing inside my head. I’ve almost forgotten all of your names, I mix them all together.

You know everything, but I don’t.

I don’t know, but I have to know so I can tell. But I don’t know the story; I’ll have to go back to the beginning to look for it. What do you think?

You want the beginning? This time, though, I’ll tell it the way I like; I won’t subject it to your distorted memory or to the phantoms that hover above your closed eyes. I’ll tell you everything, but not now. I have to go now. I’ll turn on the radio so you can listen to Fairouz. Her voice calms the nerves and spreads its lilac shade over the eyes. I’ll leave you in the shade of lilacs and go.

*Striking force of the Haganah, consisting of nine assault companies throughout Galilee and Jerusalem. Palmach leaders included Yigal Allon, Moshe Dayan, and Yitchak Rabin.

*Koran, Surah XXXI, verse 34.

*Schools managed by the UN agency for Palestinian refugees.

*Literally: Home for the Elderly.

*Literally: Catastrophe. Massive expulsion and exodus in 1948 of approximately 750,000 Palestinians.

*Toward Mecca.

*Jewish terrorist organization formed in ’39.

*Literally: Mother of Stone.

*Great reception hall.

I WANT to apologize.

I know that nothing can excuse my leaving you on your own these past two weeks. Forgive me, please, and try to understand. I don’t want you to think for a moment that I’m like them — certainly not, Father. I despise positions of responsibility, and my new one is of no importance. I don’t know what came over me the other night. After leaving you, I went to my room to sleep. And when I was in bed, I began to suffocate — all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. I lay down on my bed, and, without realizing what I was doing, started searching for the oxygen bottle I’d put in your room in case of an emergency. While I was sleeping, everything became constricted. I woke up, my heart was racing, I was bathed in sweat, and the air. . the air wasn’t sufficient anymore. I started breathing heavily, gasping for air, but there was no air. I felt a tingling sensation in my head, in my left hand, my belly, and my back. I tried to get up. I raised my head, managed to sit up, and tried to turn on the light, but there was no electricity. I supported my head with my hand. There was the dark. A thick darkness was drawing closer. I raised my hand to push it away, but my right hand was completely paralyzed. Everything was murky, and there was no oxygen. I thought, “I’m going to die.” But instead of lying on my back and waiting for the angel of death, I leapt out of bed like a madman, ran toward the window, threw my head out and started gulping down the air. I ate all the air in the world, but the world’s air wasn’t enough. I dressed quickly and left my room. I walked down the corridor and down the stairs to the ground floor and then climbed back up. It was what one might call the Night of the Stairs. I jogged up them and down them, panting and running, as though I wanted to prove to myself that I was still alive. Imagine the scene: a man on his own in the darkness running and panting and gasping, running up and down the stairs dozens of times so he wouldn’t die. And it was just at that moment when my decision came to me. I went back to my room and lay down on the bed.

So, at last, Khalil Ayyoub — the same one who stands before you — has become head nurse at the Galilee Hospital. I accepted Dr. Amjad’s proposition and went to tell him the next morning.

Forgive me.

These two weeks flew by. I swear I couldn’t find the time to scratch my head. I asked Zainab to look after you, but I don’t know why I couldn’t do it myself. I’d get to the door of your room and instead of going in I’d hesitate, as if a wall had gone up in front of me.

It has nothing to do with my new position; I’m not like that, as you know. But I somehow felt I was floating, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, my fear would come to an end and I could go home. I miss my house and my grandmother’s cushion and the smell of decayed flowers. I told myself I would go back, but I didn’t. I swear it was only when the French delegation came that I dared go out into the streets of the camp. I found Salim then — and I’ll tell you more about him — but my uselessness and my fear drove me back to the hospital.

Will you forgive me?

I came back to you, organized everything, and convinced myself that leaving the hospital wasn’t worth it. We’re back to our old routine: I bathe you and perfume you and take care of you. I’ll tell you the entire story from the beginning, just as I promised I would two weeks ago. That was when I left you, sure that I’d see you in the morning, but the oxygen night happened. In the morning, I went to see Dr. Amjad in his office. I knocked on the door, went in, and stood there. As usual he had his feet up on the desk and was reading a newspaper, and, as usual, he pretended he hadn’t noticed me.

I stood there like an idiot and coughed, the smoke from his pipe rising from behind the newspaper, obscuring his face.

“I accept, Doctor,” I said. “Dr. Amjad. . Dr. Amjad. . I. .”

He moved the paper aside.

“Hello, hello! Please do sit down. I didn’t see you.”

“I accept the job,” I said.

He removed his feet from the desk, folded his paper, lifted his finger and raised his voice: “You’ll assume your duties immediately.” Then he rang the bell on his desk and Zainab came in.

“He’s responsible for everything from now on,” he said.

Dr. Amjad hid behind the newspaper again and Zainab stood there nailed to the spot, with no idea what to do.

“But, Doctor. .” she said.

“You’re still here?” he asked from behind the newspaper.

I asked him to brief me a bit on my new job.

“Later, later,” he said. “Go with Zainab and take over.”

So I took over.

You might think that I took over the administration of a hospital! It’s true that I am, practically speaking, the hospital’s director, now that Dr. Amjad has found that by appointing me he has an excuse to absent himself from work on a permanent basis. So, just like that, I’m back to being a doctor, the way I used to be, but. . This but says it all. I’m a doctor, but Dr. Amjad’s the real doctor! I examine, diagnose, and prescribe medicine — everything, but the patients say they’re waiting for the doctor’s opinion. And when the doctor comes, he doesn’t have an opinion. He agrees with my diagnosis and my prescription, but the patients wait for him just the same. One would think the only thing they have faith in is a diploma. I swear he knows nothing, but never mind, it’s better this way: I make the decisions without assuming the responsibility.

I took over the administration of the hospital and am in charge of three nurses. Zainab — you know her; Kamil, who stole the radio but who’s a nice kid (he has a beautiful voice and knows all the songs of Abd al-Halim Hafiz by heart) and who’s waiting for a visa so he can leave the country; and the Egyptian, Hamdi, who’s not a nurse, but we say that he is so the hospital won’t seem empty. Can you imagine an enormous hospital with more than forty beds and only two nurses! Hamdi’s also started helping us move patients and take care of them, even though basically he’s a guard. And there’s Kamelya the cook, who’s told me she’s decided to leave the hospital at the end of the month. We added Kamelya to the nurses’ list, too, and I’ve begun teaching her the basics.