Rafik Schami - A Hand Full of Stars

It was warm out; he emerged from his room to enjoy the sun in silence. Bundled up in a quilt, he sat quietly and smiled at me as I chased all the children out of the courtyard so he would have some peace.

January 16 — We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. When we were coming back from school, Uncle Salim was already waiting for us at the front door. His voice was far from cheerful as he told Mahmud that his radio play had been broadcast at eleven in the morning. Mahmud immediately asked if they had mentioned he was the author. Uncle Salim hesitated — maybe he had missed it. But he could not put Mahmud off with that answer for long. Then he admitted that Ahmad Malas had been named as the author.

I just don’t get it. There must have been a misunderstanding. We’ll see; tomorrow afternoon the broadcast will be repeated. Maybe Uncle Salim didn’t hear right.

January 17 — What a dirty trick! Mahmud has been wailing. The shameless script editor passes himself off as the author of the play and doesn’t say a word about Mahmud. Certainly Mr. Katib also heard it today. We told him when it would be broadcast. It just can’t be true!

And what if the publisher were to steal my poems and pass them off as his own son’s?

January 18 — Mr. Katib is appalled. He wrote a furious letter to the editor, informing him that over fifty students were witness to his outrageous act of theft. He demanded a correction and an apology. Mahmud mailed the letter, but he doubted it would have any effect. Mr. Katib reassured me, however, that he knew the publisher, and that man would never do such a disgraceful thing. All he knew about the editor was that he was always encouraging young authors to send him their plays.

January 20 — I really enjoy writing in my journal. Today my parents and Leila went to visit a sick uncle. I made myself some tea and sat down by the window. Nadia briefly looked out of the door to her house and waved, and I sent her a “flying kiss.”

Distance was the mother of this invention. My lips make a kiss just as if she were there; then I pluck the kiss out of the air like a jasmine blossom. This must be done very slowly. Then I lay the kiss on the palm of my hand and gently blow it in her direction. Momentarily, she catches it and places it wherever she likes — sometimes on her cheek, her lips, or even under her blouse.

Now, after the flying kiss Nadia put to her lips, I write a little and leaf through my journal. There’s already quite a lot inside it, and this spurs me to keep writing. Otherwise I would never know where something happened and who said what to whom.

January 22, afternoon — Yesterday we decided to punish the script editor. Josef got the idea to execute judgment in the name of the Black Hand.

“But we have disbanded!” I said.

“Justice demands it, my little one,” Josef answered in the deep voice of a grandfather.

We laughed, and then we talked about what we would do. We decided on a couple of things. In the middle of the night Josef will write with red paint on the wall opposite the radio station: All script editors have hollow heads! Give them your ideas! The Black Hand.

Mahmud and I will cover Josef. And in a couple of days’ time, he and I will attend to the editor while Josef is on the lookout.

January 24 — First thing this morning we had to take a look at what had become of the writing on the wall. It seemed to amuse a few passersby.

“Of course,” one of them said to his wife. “I noticed that myself long ago; that’s why I don’t listen to the radio anymore.”

A wise guy called out, “Then they should go begging on the street and gather a few fresh ideas!”

Everybody laughed. It wasn’t long before an official from the radio station came with a bucket of paint and rapidly eliminated our message.

Mahmud felt great. He laughed at the bureaucrat.

January 25 — I was going to take care of the editor, during which time Mahmud would see to his car. We sneaked into the radio station’s parking lot and lay in wait. Finally he arrived — he’s a small man who hops nervously when he walks! Mahmud slit all four tires and taped the following message on his windshield: Best regards from the Black Hand. I drew my slingshot and fired a packet of red paint at him. It hit him with such force, he was nearly scared to death. As if deranged, he began to scream, “I’ve been wounded! Blood! I’ve been wounded!” We ran as fast as we could.

P.S.: Josef couldn’t join us because he had to do his chores. Odd, usually he shirks them.

January 27 — Now I’m writing lots of poems, especially about Nadia, whom I love very much.

Tuesday — Shit! Since yesterday I’ve been working full-time in the bakery. This winter many people have returned to their villages to till their fields, or else they’re emigrating to the Gulf states, or God only knows where they’ve fled to. My father couldn’t find any workers. I’ve neglected my math homework. Our math teacher is all right, but he’s very strict, and through Mahmud he let me know that I have at most two weeks in which to make up the work; otherwise I’ll be put on warning. Our Arabic teacher also asked about me today.

Funny. Both yesterday and today my old man gave me three pounds after work. Because I’m entitled, he said.

February 7 — My seventh day in the bakery! Today, at lunchtime, I had to deliver bread to the restaurant near school. The students were just then storming out of the building. A few of the biggest imbeciles in my class gathered around my cart and began to mock me. “Bakery errand boy,” jeered the goldsmith’s son. What a mean thing to say! The others snickered. I would like to have thrashed them all. Then they started to paw the bread, trying to tear chunks off. Mahmud came to my aid, and we succeeded in fending them off for a while. There would have been quite a stink if the restaurant owner had gotten partially eaten bread. But the idiots refused to understand this, and a real brawl ensued. Mahmud and I against the two loudmouths, the dentist’s sons. We showed them what we’re made of; they ran off with their tails between their legs.

My old man cursed me even more because I came back so late and so filthy. I didn’t say a word about the fistfight. I hope he finds a worker soon!

Monday — Damn it! The biology exam has come and gone. I’ve already been put on warning in history and math. My father has declined to answer the principal’s letter. He said the principal could wait a few days; I’d soon be back in school. Every day he gives me three pounds. But I don’t want the stupid money; I want to be back in school!

Nadia says I’ve become very aggressive lately. What does she know? I told her to work in the bakery just one day and see how she feels then.

February 14 — I can’t stand it! Now I have learned the truth. How can he be so mean? My old man doesn’t want me to continue in school. What a cheat! He’s just been putting me off the whole time!

Mr. Katib visited my father today, to try to persuade him that he’d be making a mistake if he took me out of school. My father acted as if the teacher did not exist. But Mr. Katib didn’t give up so easily; he was adamant. He waited politely until my father had taken care of his customers; then he began to press my father again. My father said it was no concern of Mr. Katib’s; after all, I am his son, and he can make of me whatever he chooses to. I was so ashamed I wanted to sink into the ground.

Mr. Katib remained entirely calm and went on talking. My old man got louder and louder. He has no fear of teachers or officials. He said school no longer interested me and asked me in a loud and angry voice whether this wasn’t true. Totally dismayed, I could not utter a word and began to howl. When Mr. Katib spoke of parental duty, my father became really nasty. He reviled the teacher and the school. He knew very well that school was compulsory only through the fifth grade; the teacher shouldn’t think he was stupid just because he was a baker. Mr. Katib tried to explain to my father that he had meant a different duty, but my father was pissed off and pushed him out the door. He so truly enjoyed his victory over the teacher that he flaunted it all afternoon in front of his employees!