Elias Khoury - White Masks

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.

The younger man started to answer him. “It’s close to here… it’s. .”

“Maqhool Street, I know where that is. Right by Sandy’s Bar,” says Abu Saïd.

“Sandy’s?”

“Yeah, Sandy’s. . You know, where Warda works. Or have you forgotten Warda?”

“Anybody ever threaten you, Grandpa?”

“No. Never!”

“Well, then that means is that you’re against us. You’re fifth columnists, agents!”

Then Abu Saïd gets up, goes towards the younger man and slaps him right across the face. “And you?” The young man is shaking from head to foot. “I’m guessing you’re the spy, the one who writes the reports.”

“No no, mister. I swear, it’s nothing to do with me.”

“What about the machine gun then?”

“I didn’t even know we had one.”

“I know your sort. You’ve been sniping at us with that machine gun, haven’t you?”

“Me? No Sir. I swear. And anyway it’s not good for sniping.”

“How do you know?. . It seems you know something about guns after all. .”

“Please, don’t get me wrong! It’s just that, well, I mean, everyone knows that kind of thing! All you have to do is read the papers!”

“The nerve of him!” al-Kurdi says. “You’ve got a nerve!”

Abu Saïd lights a cigarette and clears his throat one more time.

“I know your sort! You’re all the same. Anyhow, the court has ruled. . Oh, no no, before that. . In the name of the revolution, in the name of the people, and after examining the incontrovertible evidence at our disposal, the court has ruled that the two gentlemen. . er… er. . your name?”

“Munzer, Munzer Nahhas.”

“Munzer Nahhas and his son. . er. . your name, boy. .!”

“Jean. Jean Nahhas.”

“. . that the aforementioned gentlemen, Munzer Nahhas and his son, Jean Nahhas, have been found guilty of acting as agents on behalf of imperialism, Zionism, and the Isolationist Forces. Having heard the suspects’ defense and reviewed the documentary evidence presented by the freedom fighter Sami al-Kurdi, the people’s court, sitting at Mr. Nadeem Najjar’s arcade on Independence Avenue, has handed down the following sentence: summary execution by firearms, with immediate effect.”

There was complete silence. “Applause, where’s the applause?” thundered Abu Saïd.

So I started clapping, and then they all joined in. I’ve never been to a public execution, this was my chance! And it was going to be two-for-the-price-of one, like seeing two movies at one show! My, what a fine performance Abu Saïd and those boys put on!

Then, Abu Saïd takes the two men and locks them into the bathroom. And al-Kurdi asks him, isn’t it a bit risky to kill them in cold blood, just like that.

“Well, how else would you have us do it?” Abu Saïd replied. “It’s a death sentence, isn’t it?”

“I tell you, Abu Saïd, it scares me.”

“Bah! You’re just a chicken. And a thief to boot! You’re the one who took all the jewelry from their house. You couldn’t care less about the revolution!”

Sami al-Kurdi said nothing. Abu Saïd glanced over to the boys.

“Well,” he said, “who’s going to carry out the sentence?” No one stirred. “Alright then, I’ll do it, but I need an assistant,” and as he scans their faces, every one of the boys averts his eyes, dropping them to the ground.

“Not a man among you, eh?” Abu Saïd had hardly finished saying, when we heard all this commotion outside. The boys reached for their guns and Abu Saïd peered out to see what was happening, when a tall young man strode into the arcade and placed his hand over the machine gun lying on the table.

“Where are they?” he asks Abu Saïd.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Listen here, Abu Saïd. This isn’t on. Our orders are clear: no abductions or kidnappings! We want them released. Now!”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. You’re mistaken. This isn’t an abduction or a kidnapping. We are responsible people. They are agents, and by capturing them we are discharging our responsibilities to the revolution.”

“What responsibilities, what bullshit! Don’t give me that crap! I want them, Abu Saïd, and I want them now!”