Selma Dabbagh - Out of It

‘When the bandages come off she’s got a different nose and without the braces her teeth are straight; the gap’s gone. When he asks about this she says something about it being part of the operation. He doesn’t really query her. Are you listening to this, Rashid?’

Rashid had finished his tea and was watching the last brown drop of it dribble down the edge of the glass on to the saucer as he held it upside down. He looked up at her, giving her enough for her to carry on.

‘Apparently around that time there is a lot of discussion within the party about The Sparrow and the hijacking operations and at one conference Baba stands up and declares to the whole conference that the Front really does need to let the key people within the Outside Leadership know when they are about to carry out an operation.

‘Then he says, “The Sparrow can’t just go off and do these things and catch us all unprepared,” and the conference goes silent. Everyone. Then someone quips in and says, “I know. It’s like not knowing what your wife is up to when your back’s turned!” and they all roar with laughter at this. Baba laughs too but, you know, Baba doesn’t think there’s anything to it, although he doesn’t understand why they find it quite so funny.’

Iman pauses. There’s the sound of a collared dove outside tooting out a morse-like message, to-to-toooot-to to-toooot .

‘When did he find out, then?’ Rashid asked, pulling at a twist of blanket fringe.

‘Not for ages. Not until the Peace Deal. Imagine? It’s over twenty years later, when he finds out. You know Baba objected to a lot of the terms of the agreement. Well, he gets into an argument with some of the agreement’s supporters, including Khalil’s father, Hamad Helou, about why they shouldn’t agree to the terms, and he turns to him, Hamad Helou that is, and says, “Remember how close we were before, Jibril, during the days of Beirut when the operations of the Front were going on,” to which Baba nods and doesn’t really get where he’s going even when he says, “You’ve clipped Jihan’s wings, I see? No dramatics from her for a long time.” Poor Baba, he just doesn’t understand. This isn’t enough for Hamad Helou who then spells it out to him, that Mama is The Sparrow and that a number of people within the Outside Leadership have known for years. He made out that it was everyone except Baba, although that can’t be true, because if it was it would have leaked by now.’

‘Poor Baba,’ Rashid said. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t know.’

‘It seems Hamad Helou told him just to get him out of the way, he knew it would humiliate him. Anyway, of course, Baba went nuts. Mama said, “I thought you knew. I told you I had been in an operation,” and he says, “Look, woman, you say operation I think you mean a hospital one not a military one!”’ Iman looked at Rashid. ‘It’s almost funny, no? After that he just leaves. Khalas. Finished. Gets us all passports to move to Gaza then leaves her, leaves us, leaves the Leadership. Says the embarrassment is too much. Hence the Gulf and Suzi and everything.’

A jet screamed across the sky, a roar followed by a keeaoww! that split the sky apart. The TV was turned up so high in the living room that it was audible in Rashid’s bedroom, ‘… the Israeli leadership straining under popular pressure is resolved to pursue the military option against…’

‘Mama thinks there’s going to be a hit tonight,’ Iman said, staring out of the pane of the window that had lost its blackout paper.

‘Bring it on. Bring it on,’ Rashid replied passing his tea glass back to Iman.

Did Iman not realise how much it hurt that these things were kept from him, or that Sabri confided in her, but not in him, that his mother talked about him outside his window as though he was dead? How painful it all was now that there was no Gloria to ease any of this? And that it was so much worse now that he knew that a way out was no longer a way out, but a way followed around by the same guilt of being disengaged, somewhere different where no one understood you and your value was nothing? Did she not realise that it was choking him up and driving him mad that he could neither be in it nor out?

‘Bring it on,’ he said again, waving his hand at the sky.

‘Oh, shut up, Rashid. I’m sick of you like this already. You’re intolerable.’ Iman hit out at Rashid’s bent legs but connected with the cup and saucer instead which fell towards the floor. Rashid caught the cup just before it hit the tiles; Iman clamped her hand down on the saucer to stop it from sliding off the cover before she punched at her brother’s arm with all her force.

‘ Oww! What is it? What’s that for?’

‘Get up, Rashid. Get up. Get washed. Shave that stubble off. You smell and you’re ugly with a beard.’

‘I thought it rather suited me.’

‘Well, it doesn’t. It’s hideous. Look.’ She held up Rashid’s passport to him, showing him a clean-shaven version of himself. ‘Far better.’ She looked at the photo again. ‘You look older in this picture.’

‘All right, I’ll get up. OK. Just stop being all, I don’t know, bouncy. It’s distasteful. What happened to you in London? Is it that English guy, the one who is going to provide all that funding? Is it him? Are you – what? – in love with him?’

‘That’s just typical. Typical. Just because some man wants to work with me, you have to make out that his interest could only be sexual.’ Despite the force of her denial, Iman was unable to look at Rashid directly.

‘So, you’re a partner for peace but not for love. Is that what you’re telling me?’ Rashid asked.

‘It’s just so damn easy to be cynical and mock every effort. So easy, and everyone gets off thinking that they could do so much better than the people who are trying, except they’re never even doing a damn thing, just criticising, criticising.’

‘All right, all right. Calm down. It’s great. I’m not trying to knock it. Tell me, what are you doing with the funding?’

Iman stood for a while, long enough to feel self-conscious before she sat down again on the end of the bed.

‘I’m not sure exactly. Not about everything. But we are definitely going to fund the centre for the handicapped, get their offices moved, and provide more facilities. Then a women’s centre, maybe a crèche. There’s so much, Rashid. Don’t give me that look like – I know what you’re thinking. That they’re just palliatives, right? But every little bit helps – is important. Maybe we can do something with the Centre too. Maybe they’ll fund some of the positions there?’

She looked over at Rashid, her eyebrows raised in a question. Rashid scratched at the hair around the front of his neck.

‘Are you offering me a job or something?’

‘It’s possible. But that’s not the reason I came in here. I came to tell you that you need to get your suit and shoes fixed up for the wedding tomorrow night.’

Rashid groaned.

‘Whose wedding?’ he asked.

‘The Atif boy.’

‘What Atif boy?’

‘You know, the Chairwoman’s son, the one with the watery eyes and the limp handshake.’

‘That could be any one of the boys from the Beach District.’

‘You have to go,’ Iman insisted.

‘I’m not going.’

‘You are. You have to. Mama says she’ll push you and the bed you’re in to get you there if she has to. You know who’s going to be there. You have to go. Mama’s put the suit out. She means what she says.’

‘That suit won’t even fit me.’

‘Who cares? She’s put the suit on a hanger by the front door and the shoes are in a bag. The suit needs dry-cleaning and the shoes need the heels done. You can go to Abu-whatshisname for that.’