Rafik Schami - A Hand Full of Stars

“Ask your father if he needs anyone in the bakery. I would so much like to work for him, to work for a loaf of bread,” he said as we parted.

A strange fellow this Habib!

July 10 — Today I know that Mariam loves Habib! It was my own doing, but now I regret my eagerness. She loves him and not me. My doubts have plagued me these last few days. Though I love Nadia, I still wanted to know Mariam’s feelings for me and for Habib. Yesterday I asked if she loved him. She said she didn’t. She said she thought he was a very nice man but had no further interest in him whatsoever. (My God, how she stressed this!) She said she liked me but that I’m very young. She’s right. But she still loves Habib.

Yesterday I told her how my father was tortured, and I asked her not to repeat this to anyone. She had not known what had happened, though she had wondered why for four days I hadn’t had any time for her. Habib hadn’t even noticed!

July 11 — Today I brought Habib his bread and wanted to get on with my rounds, but he insisted I spend some time with him. He was drunk again, as he so often has been lately. I did not want to disappoint him and so I went in. He made me some tea and suddenly asked why I had not told him my father had been arrested and tortured. Just now I don’t know how I came up with the reply, “Because you work for the official government newspaper.”

Never in my life will I forget how he looked at me! Not only was he filled with surprise, sorrow, and rage, but a kind of shame was mixed in. I looked away because I knew my answer had hurt him deeply. Softly he murmured that he would not be able to work for the paper much longer. It would be the death of him. Many of his friends had been arrested, and he wasn’t permitted to write about it. He spoke of his loneliness; his voice became sadder and sadder, but he did not cry. Without shedding a tear, he described how the previous regime had tortured him and shot his wife, how he had fled the country and returned only when his party had come into power. In the interim his friend had become editor in chief, and an important editorial post had been arranged for Habib. But in less than a year he had a falling out with his friend, who had turned the newspaper — just as the previous governments had — into a scandal sheet. And Habib relinquished his dreams of a lovely house and a company car. Many journalists have fled, but Habib is already fifty years old; he’s tired of running and just wants to go on living.

All at once I felt compassion for him. Within half an hour all the fear I’d had of him in the previous months was gone; I lit a cigarette. Habib didn’t even notice.

“What will you do?” he asked as I left.

“You will soon see,” I answered tersely.

July 22 — I spoke to Mahmud, and we’ve decided on a course of action against three spies who live in our neighborhood. Nadia’s father resides on our street; the second man lives on the same street as the school; the third one, near Habib’s apartment.

Mahmud didn’t want to say anything to Josef, since Josef is becoming more and more zealous about the army. We drafted a brief message and signed it in the name of the Black Hand: Don’t forget this, you spies! We are like camels. We forget nothing, and one day you will be punished.

July 29 — The fox is said to be the cleverest animal on earth. But I think man is foxier than the sliest fox. Mahmud demonstrated this today.

Mahmud’s father always buys two kinds of tea: one that is cheap, for the family, since his nine children drink huge quantities every day, and a fine Ceylon blend for himself. He keeps the latter under lock and key.

Today Mahmud’s mother took eight of her children to visit a friend; Mahmud stayed home. His father returned from work, washed himself, and made his tea. Suddenly he discovered there was no sugar in the house. As he feared for his precious tea, he put it in the cupboard with wire-mesh doors, locked the doors, and hurried to the shop around the corner to buy some sugar.

Mahmud observed him all the while from my window, and when his father was out of the house, Mahmud crept into the kitchen. Adroitly he stuck a straw through the mesh, pushed the teapot lid aside, and slurped and savored the tea. Because the tea was still very hot, he blew between gulps, but this did not prevent Mahmud from emptying the pot. With the straw still in hand, he rushed over to my room. We waited until his father came back wheezing.

Never in my life will I forget his father’s face when he took the pot out of the closet and looked into its empty belly. First he pronounced two well-known charms from the Koran against evil spirits, but then he paused and cried out: “Mahmuuuuuud! Come here at once!” When Mahmud appeared at the door, looking innocent as a lamb, his father stared at him and laughed, “Have you burned your mouth at least?” Mahmud nodded mischievously.

August 3 — Josef was insanely angry. He learned of our action from Nadia’s brother. He’s afraid his dream of becoming an officer will be ended if this comes out. There was much yelling, and he said we had no right to misuse the name of the gang he had founded. If we do it again, he will turn us in!

August 7 — Met Josef on the street, and he greeted me very coolly and hurried away. He didn’t want to be seen with me anymore. Funny!

August 14 — Uncle Salim told me a story he had heard. He did not name the country, but I believe these events could occur at many borders nowadays:

A traveler was laughing at his fellow passengers as they approached the border. The man was strangely dressed; all he wore was a towel tied around his bottom.

“You have chocolate, you a radio, and you a cassette recorder,” he said, laughing. “They will be taken from you at the border. I know this country; you can’t bring anything into it.”

The man was unpleasant to the other people and did not tire of badgering them. “What do you have there? A watch, a shirt. And you there, how do you expect to get through with that coat?”

The closer they came to the border, the more and more nervous the people became. Slowly they grasped why this fellow was practically naked; even the towel he wore was made in that country.

When the coach reached the border, the customs officials were even more severe with each passenger than the near-naked traveler had predicted. He remained seated, chuckling while the customs officers confiscated everything: radios, chocolate, and coat.

When it was his turn, he exulted. “I am naked, and the towel has been manufactured in your country!”

“You know a lot, don’t you?” the customs officer asked, completely deadpan.

“Yes, I read a lot!” the man gloated.

“And what do you read?” the officer inquired.

The man enumerated many books, and the official patiently made a note of each title and politely asked whether he was spelling the names of the authors correctly.

No sooner had the man stopped than the customs official asked, “Is that all?” And the man boasted of a whole new series of books he had read. The official wrote everything down, until the man realized he was being tricked. He fell silent.

“So,” the official said to the know-it-all, “you’re carrying two hundred books in your head and want to sneak them in. And half of these books are forbidden. Oh, these smugglers, always coming up with new methods!” he grumbled, and sent the naked man back where he had come from.

August 16 — At the Abassie Theater, pornographic films are shown once a month, at a secret noon screening. The wily theater owner bribes the police, who close their eyes and ears. The tickets don’t cost the usual one pound; they cost three. The swine makes a fortune through these monthly showings.