Elias Khoury - The Journey of Little Gandhi

“Who is Mother?” she asked.

“Um Tanios, Um Tanios saw the Prophet, peace be upon him, and we heard everything.”

“Please, neighbor, leave me to my worries.”

“Either you open the door or we’ll break it down.”

Um Amin went into the room. She left al-Hawwari and the men outside and went in. She locked the door behind her and pleaded with the old woman to quiet down, but the shouting was getting worse. Um Amin finished cleaning her and dressed her in her nightgown. She opened the door and went out.

When the old woman saw them she started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“My Beloved, O Muhammad, dark, tall, his mustache twirled upward, he had a staff with him, he poked me and said, You will get up.” And she tried to get up. Al-Hawwari and Abu Lutfi took hold of her and stood her up, and she tried to walk.

Al-Hawwari told her son she walked. “I saw her. She stood up, I let go of her, and she walked. It’s a miracle, dear Muhammad, Allahu Akbar.”

The room turned into a shrine. The old woman’s health was deteriorating and she had entered into a state of semiconsciousness, The visitors never stopped coming to see her. Women, children, men. And Um Amin never stopped making coffee.

“She has become a saint. She is indeed one of God’s true saints,” Sheikh Aiouti said after he left her room and kissed her hand. “Your house is blessed,” he said to Abu Amin. “My son, this is the light of Islam, the light of dear Muhammad.”

Abu Amin would nod his head, not knowing how to get out of this mess his mother had gotten him into. The problem wasn’t solved until after the woman’s death. She died suddenly. They got up in the morning and found her stone cold, she had been dead for hours. After a long discussion Sheikh Aiouti settled the matter. “We’ll wash her; you bury her.” And that’s what they did. They washed her and shrouded her amidst hymns and recitation of “La ilaha illa llah,” and Abu Amin carried her to Beirut and buried her there. And with her he buried the story that, when Eugenie heard it from the Reverend Amin’s mother, made her feel disgusted. She didn’t like that kind of life.

She told her husband she felt he was different from the rest of his family.

She told her husband she felt that way, but he agreed with her. He agreed and lived with her all those years, always on her terms. She was everything; he was the wandering pastor, the nobody. When he’d get rid of the people around him he’d forget how to speak, and she’d have the final word. His only pleasure was the whiskey he drank the few nights he was home. The rest of his life was full of dust and traveling between Marjayoun and Sidon and Tyre and everyplace else. He’d return to that house in Beirut he inherited from his father-in-law, only to discover he was the head of a family he knew nothing about. His children spoke in English, and his wife cooked nothing but food you could hardly swallow. He made no objections. When he missed eating real food he’d flee to his mother’s house, where he’d eat what he wanted and sleep till noon in his old bed.

The Reverend Amin was shocked by the obedience his wife displayed in front of his friends, especially the professors from the American University with whom he shared a special relationship. In front of them she was like a lamb. Mr. Davis envied him for this obedience in his wife and he’d say the magic of the East is its women. Perhaps it was because of this magic that Mr. Davis asked his friend the Reverend Amin to preach at the American University Church every Wednesday morning, which helped him a little financially.

Now the Reverend Amin had found himself all alone. His children had gone to the States, and Ms. Eugenie said she couldn’t take the war and followed her children. And he was here. “A shepherd cannot leave his flock,” he told his wife. But what flock? There was no longer a flock. He was the pastor of an empty church. Even his friendships fell apart, and his only friend, Lillian Sabbagha, had nothing to do with the church. “It was an innocent relationship,” he said to Alice, who laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, Reverend, don’t worry,” she said to him.

And on that incredible day there was a lot to worry about. Lillian Sabbagha stood in front of everyone like a lunatic and exposed their relationship. That day the Reverend didn’t dare leave the house. He walked behind the coffin of Vitsky the maid, but he was obliged not to enter the church because people’s eyes pierced his back like needles.

The Reverend Amin had no idea why Lillian would say such a thing. She stood inside Vitsky’s room and started blabbing like a madwoman. Once she caught sight of him she started talking, and she didn’t stop until Father John interfered. Why did she do it? Did she hate him, or was she crazy, or was it that she couldn’t take it anymore and had to tell everything?

“It was a lie,” he told Alice, who didn’t believe him. The Reverend Amin was alone and sad. There was no one left. If it hadn’t been for Alice taking care of him now and then, he’d have become a laughingstock, a useless beggar.

But why did she say what she said? Why did she ridicule him and turn him into a joke?

Was it because he asked her to fly? The Reverend Amin didn’t want to sleep with her, and even if he had wanted to he couldn’t. Ever since Eugenie left he couldn’t.

“Unfaithfulness requires the presence of the wife. When the wife disappears, or leaves the country, unfaithfulness loses its meaning.”

Alice looked at him sympathetically, for she’d heard this kind of talk hundreds of times. But she couldn’t figure out how he wanted to make her fly.

“Is it true, Reverend? Did you really want to make her fly?”

The Reverend Amin slipped into a state of lethargy, laughed, and didn’t answer.

“But how, though, how did you think she was going to fly? Did you want to throw her from the window?”

The Reverend Amin didn’t want to throw her from the window, or the door, or anywhere else for that matter. Once he told Alice he’d tell the truth, but on condition she not tell a soul.

“My heart is like a deep well; you can trust me, my friend.”

He said he went to her house as usual, that he’d started visiting her a while back. Then the visits turned into a regular thing. He went to her house and Vitsky, her maid, was getting ready to leave. Her demented daughter was asleep in her room. He sat in the living room and drank a beer with her, for she didn’t allow him to drink whiskey because she couldn’t stand the smell. They sat together and talked. She was asking him to retell the story of his grandmother Um Tanios with the Prophet Muhammad. He told her the story and she laughed hysterically. “I moved close to her,” he said. “I only wanted to put my head on her chest. I like that. With Eugenie I used to lay my head on her chest and say ‘Mama’ to her. She’d answer me, ‘Daddy,’ and run her fingers through my hair as we watched television. I wanted Eugenie, and so I put my head on Lillian’s chest, and instead of saying ‘Daddy’ to me and running her fingers through my hair, she got up, grabbed me by the hand, and took me to her room. She took off her blouse and her brassiere and I saw those two large breasts. I didn’t do anything. I approached her. I held her by the hand and sat her down on the edge of the bed. I sat down next to her and placed my head on her chest. But she stood up again. She ran and turned off the light. She stood in front of the window, next to the windowsill, as if she was going to fall out. She was leaning forward with her hands on the windowsill, and her hair flowed over her breasts. I was afraid she’d fall and die. I ran to her. The room was dark, and so I tripped over the chair and fell to the floor. She stayed in front of the window, motionless. I got up and grabbed her by the waist and tried to bring her back to the bed, but she refused. I didn’t tell her to fly. She said she wanted to fly. I didn’t say any of what was said about me. All I did was put my head on her chest and nearly start to cry. But she’s crazy. She’s the crazy one. It would happen every time after that. She’d take off her blouse and her bra and stand next to the window. That whole story of flying, and that I would push the woman and ask her to fly is just not true.”