Raduan Nassar - Ancient Tillage

Disturbed by the turbulence of those caresses, although somewhat revived by the water, I left the bathroom a few minutes later, sensing the softness of my cotton pyjamas, my feet comfortable in the loose slippers and the subtle fragrance of the soap on my body. Rosa was waiting by herself, sitting pensively in the living room, she seemed not to notice me when I first walked into the hall, but as soon as she saw me, she came right over, congratulating me on my bath, pulling me toward the living room, her face softened by a calm smile, she, who was so sensible, said, ‘Listen to me, Andrula: you have to be careful with Mother, she hasn’t been the same at all since you left; be generous, brother, don’t be sullen with her, at least talk to her a little, but not about anything sad, that’s all I ask of you; and now go in to see her, she’s in the kitchen waiting for you, hurry up; meanwhile, I’m going to help get ready for your party tomorrow, Zuleika and Huda have already got started, they’re beside themselves with joy! God has answered our prayers!’ she said, and I felt the sweet pressure of her hand on my back, encouraging me to head down the hallway toward the kitchen, and I was already halfway there when it occurred to me that, although the entire house was lit up, even the bedrooms, it was completely silent and empty, most certainly the family was following Pedro’s recommendation, whose persuasive words, given an audience, bordered my father’s in terms of authority: I was infirm, required special care and should be spared for the first few hours, not to mention that they had the excuse of my party preparations.

I stopped at the kitchen door: solicitous of all change, rigorously marking the silence, our familiar wall clock was judiciously working through each second; and there was the old, solid, heavy table where the family gathered to eat their daily meals; at the far end, a single place had been set with a white cloth, and on it, the meal that awaited me; my mother was standing next to the head of the table, her broad body motionless, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, which she lowered as she sensed my presence; and it was only then I was able to see, despite the light shining through her eyes, how much damage I had done to that face.

This is how we used to sit around the table for meals, or for sermons: Father at the head, to his right, by order of age, first, Pedro, followed by Rosa, Zuleika and Huda; and to his left, Mother, followed by me, Ana, and then Lula, the youngest. The right branch was a spontaneous growth off the trunk, starting from its roots; the left, though, bore the stigma of a scar, as if Mother, from where the left side started, were an anomaly, a morbid protuberance, a graft on the trunk, perhaps even fatal, it was so weighed down with affection; it might even be said that the places at the table — the whims of time — defined the two lines of the family.

Grandfather, when he was alive, occupied the other place at the head; even after his death, which almost coincided with our move from the old house to the new, it would be an exaggeration to say his chair remained empty.

‘It pains my heart to see your face so blemished, son; this is your due for having abandoned our home for a prodigal life.’

‘Our home is also prodigal.’

‘What, my son?’

‘Our table has always been lavish.’

‘Our table is laid with moderation and austerity; there’s never been any excess, except for holidays.’

‘But we’ve always had good appetites.’

‘We’re allowed an appetite without affecting our dignity, as long as it’s moderate.’

‘But we eat until we’ve no more appetite; that’s how we’ve always left the table.’

‘Nature is generous in order to satisfy us, placing fruit within our reach, as long as we work to deserve it. If it weren’t for our appetite, we wouldn’t have the strength to obtain food to survive. Our appetite is sacred, son.’

‘I didn’t say otherwise, it’s just that a lot of people work hard, grunting and groaning their entire lives, they wear themselves out, do everything possible, but still can’t satisfy their hunger.’

‘You’re speaking strangely, son. No one should despair, often it’s only a question of patience, there’s no such thing as waiting without reward, how many times have I told you the story of the starving man?’

‘I know a story as well, Father, it’s also a story about a starving man, a man who toiled from sunup to sundown without ever placating his hunger, and after writhing for so long, his body finally doubled over until he could bite his own feet; surviving at the cost of so many sores, he could but hate the world.’

‘You’ve always had a roof over your head here, a bed made up, as well as clean, ironed clothes, food on the table and plenty of affection. You’ve lacked for nothing. This is why you should forget about these stories of starving men, none of them are relevant now, which makes everything you say seem very strange. Make an effort, my son, try to make yourself clear, don’t feign, don’t hide anything from your father, it pains my heart to see you lost in so much confusion. For people to understand each other, it’s important to have their ideas in order. Word by word, son.’

‘Inside all order there’s a seed of disorder, inside clarity, a seed of obscurity, that’s the only reason I talk the way I do. I could be very clear and say, for example, that never, until I decided otherwise, had I ever thought of leaving our home; I could be clear and say furthermore that never, not before nor after I left, did I ever think I would find outside of our home what wasn’t given to me inside.’

‘And what wasn’t given to you here?’

‘I wanted my place at the family table.’

‘So, that’s why you abandoned us: because we didn’t give you your place at the family table?’

‘I never abandoned you, Father; all I did, in leaving home, was to spare you the revulsion of watching me survive by eating away at my own insides.’

‘Yet there was always bread on the table, fulfilling equally the needs of each and every mouth, and you were never forbidden to sit down with the family, on the contrary, that’s what we all wanted, that you would never be absent when we broke bread.’

‘I’m not talking about that, in some cases to participate only in the breaking of bread can be simply cruel: it would merely serve to prolong my hunger; were I to sit at the table for this reason only, I’d prefer to eat bitter bread that would shorten my life.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It was blasphemy.’

‘No, Father, it wasn’t blasphemy, for the first time in my life, I spoke like a saint.’

‘You’re not well, son, a few days’ work at your brothers’ side will surely break down your proud words, you’ll recover your health, right away.’

‘For the time being, I’m not interested in the health you speak of, sir, there’s always a seed of disease therein, just as there’s a strong seed of health inside my illness.’

‘Confusing our ideas is pointless, forget your whims, son, don’t try to prevent your own father from discussing your problems.’

‘I don’t believe in discussing my problems, I don’t believe in exchanging ideas any more, I’m convinced, Father, that one plant can never distinguish another.’

‘Conversation is very important, son, every word, yes, every word is a seed; among all things human capable of leaving us in awe, the strength of the word comes first; even before the use of the hands, it’s the foundation for all action, it thrives, and expands, and is eternal, as long as it is just.’

‘I realize not everyone agrees, but even if I were to live ten lives, in my opinion, the benefits of dialogue, when reaped, are like overripe fruit.’