Memory of a Long Journey

Gabir Hamza turned sixty five surrounded by his three children and a dozen grandchildren when he blew the candles out in a great gust of wind like the Big Bad Wolf.  The grandchildren cheered wildly when the last candle went out on the massive cake that nearly covered their humble kitchen table.  Gabir favored coconut frosting over lemon cake so his wife Maya had one made at the bakery around the corner.  All of the people at the bakery like Gabir were from Lebanon and they loved Gabir’s lively spirit when he came into the shop.  He would talk to Masab, who was a year younger, but wore his gray hair and beard with pride just like Gabir.  They would talk in Arabic about the old country and the long journey both had taken to get to the United States of America.

“You boys quit ya chatter!”  Lena would scold them both, “Masab has to make some bread.” 

“Al-okay.” Masab would reply shame-faced.

“See ya, buddy.” Gabir would wave as he left the bakery.  He would give Lena a smile which would change her sour expression into a more amiable one. 

He would make sure he gave each of his grandchildren a peck on the cheek and a hearty squeeze.  His children Malika, Anwar, and Manzur, he would embrace sometimes with tears in honey colored eyes.  After they left in their American cars, he would sit in the living room with the television turned off, sulking.

“Here you are.” Maya would say cheerfully, but he sat there like a marble statue. “It was a great party.”

“And now it is over.” He sighed.

“Don’t be like that.” She would tweak his nose, a loving gesture she used to try to lift him out of his sour mood. This time it did not work.  “We are lucky they live so close.”

“I know.” He grumbled.

“Did you like your cake?” She asked as she opened the thick drapes letting in the sunlight.

“Yah, yah, it was good.” He nodded.

“Isn’t Kami the cutest?” Maya sat next to him on their white couch.

“Yah.  Looks like her mother.” He closed his eyes.

“She really likes her pop-pop.” Maya put her hand on his shoulder.

“What’s not to like?” A sly smile swam across his face.

“I know you miss them.” She ran her fingers through his thick gray hair.

“Time is so cruel.  Soon Kami will be engaged.” His smile faded.

“Enjoy what is at the moment.” She shrugged.

His father told him that when he was thirteen and standing at the train station holding his mother’s hand, before the soldiers came. 

“I still see Malika as a little girl.  Now she is a mother with three children of her own.  She will be thirty three years old.  Oh Maya, where does the time go?” His sadness had returned. 

“Enjoy what you have, Gabir.  In life, things do not last.” She put her soft hand on his rosy cheek.

“You, over there.” The soldier barked holding his Sten gun at his side.  One of the soldiers grabbed his father by the arm.  His mother began to wail.  He urged her to stop or the soldiers would seize her as well.  Instead one of them drew his pistol and brought it down on her head. Sobia fell to her knees.  With her hand over her graying hair, Gabir watched the blood run through his fingers as she moaned, “Satwat!” 

“Mama, we need to see a doctor.” Gabir helped her to her feet.

“I can’t.” She shook her head. “But I feel dizzy.” 

“Come on, let’s get on the train so you can sit down.” He forged ahead, pushing stubbornly through the crowd as his mother swooned and hobbled. 

“Remember when we met?” His smile had returned.

“You were so insistent.” She shook her head.  Even though most of her hair had turned silver, it still had the full body thickness he used to love to run his fingers through when they were younger. 

“But a gentleman.” He held up a finger.

“My father hated you so much.” She giggled as he took her hand.

“He never understood me.” Gabir sighed.

“What are your intentions, Gabir?” Taim asked during a family dinner at Serhal’s home over on Long Island.  Taim Serhal was a businessman who sold fine suits to his rich white clientele who worked in some of the upscale financial companies near or on Wall Street.  His customers treated him like a flying carpet salesman, but as long as they paid for  his services, he would not complain.  He had once been an officer in the Lebanese army until a coupe nearly cost him his life.  He was shrewd and persistent as he had been trained in the army.  He kept quiet about his Arabic roots since the country seemed to be in constant religious turmoil.  His brother managed to get him out of the country.  

When he saw his only daughter coming up the driveway with her hand in his, swinging their arms freely like two young lovers, he knew that his daughter had adopted the loose morals of the American women with their sexual freedom and revealing clothing. 

“Good thing we aren’t in the old country.” He would grumble to his wife when he caught sight of them rollicking in the garden, “Or he would be executed on the spot.” 

“Taim, please, be happy for them.” Amara tried to calm him.

He went out to the patio near their pool and began to pick up the paper plates soiled with leftover food and put them into the garbage can.  There was so much food they had wasted, but he would do his best to ignore their wanton waste.  There were traditional dishes from the old country that Maya made just for him, but were too spicy for the kids.  Kafta, fattoush, sfeeha, and hummus, flavors that reminded him of the old country, when Beirut was considered the Paris of the Middle East and the aromas of these dishes floated on a cool dry evening breeze through the streets. The memory alone could sometimes make his mouth water.

“Cut these tomatoes for mama.” She would hand him a knife and some very red tomatoes.  He would slice them just the way she wanted them.  His father would rave about her cooking. Satwat had a round brown face and when he smiled, it was like the sun had suddenly entered the room.  He would grab his boys by their wrists as they sat at the table and tell them one day they would be important men.  Everybody would laugh.

Important men?  He put another plate into the garbage can.  None of his customers even gave him a second look as he drove his cab through the upper east side of Manhattan and helped them with their packages at no extra charge.  The only reward he got was coming home to Maya who would tell him he was a good man and give him a welcome home kiss.  He felt ashamed, because that should be enough, but he remembered his father’s touch at the dinner table.  He was not an important man even though Kami thought he was the greatest man in the world.

Why was this not enough?  Some men spend their whole lives desiring these things that he had. It just wasn’t paying the bills.  

Earlier he sat and talked to Manzur who was already making in a week what he struggled to make in a month.  Manzur was a financial advisor who people paid to help them create a nest egg for retirement.  Between his olive skin and his gentle almond eyes, he was easily one of the most handsome men in the city when a smile landed on his face.  His soft gentle voice oozed with a kind of confidence that was rare these days.

“That will be fourteen dollars.” He would inform one of the fares in his cab.

“Listen here, raghead, I ain’t being ripped off my no A-Rab.  Here’s ten.” The rude drunken customer would hand him a wadded up ten dollar bill.

“No sir, the fare is fourteen.” He would insist.

“Screw you!  Take it or stuff it.” He would exit the cab leaving Gabir with the ten dollar bill as he stomped off.

“Wait sir.” He would get out of the cab to have the customer pay for the rest of the fare.

“Help me!  This A-Rab is trying to rob me.” He would start to squawk when he saw Gabir follow him.  Some of the bystanders would start to get in his way and there were always police around to question his motives.

Sixty five?  Really?  His father did not make it to forty-five.  His mother was consumed by cancer and was gone by sixty years old.  What was the big deal?  He picked up the wallet Malika’s children had given him.  He did not need a wallet, but it had his initials on it and since his grandkids gave it to him, he would treasure it.

“What is your name?” One of the soldiers asked his father as they held a gun to his head.

“Satwat Hamza.” He answered.  Dressed in his best suit and tie, he was sweating as the day got hotter under the blistering sun and the soldier kept his pistol pressed firmly to his head.

The officer nodded to the soldiers surrounding him, “So Mr. Hamza, what church do you attend?”

Why had the officer asked him that question?  

“I do not attend.  I do not pledge allegiance to God.” He answered.

“Are you a traitor?” The officer smirked.

“No, I love my country.” He answered.

“Love?  And yet here you are ready to flee?” The officer sneered. “Are you unfaithful?  Are you a philanderer ready to lay with any woman who will have you?” 

“No...you do not understand.” He felt his tongue get harder to move in his mouth.

“I don’t understand.” He slapped my father, bringing him to his knees. “Are you questioning my authority?  Just as you would run away from Lebanon as a traitor?”

Gabir did not see the gun go off, he only heard the report, but he did see his father fall onto the platform as his blood pooled beneath his head.  He also heard his mother scream, “NOOOOOO!” 

Before she could run to him, he managed to grab her arm.

“No mama, no.” There were tears in both of their eyes.

“Let go of me.” She demanded.

“If you go, they will have a reason to shoot you, too.” He glanced over as a couple of men who worked at the railroad yard, loaded the body of Satwat Hamza into a cart with the bodies of about a dozen others.

“Oh my God!” She cried out as the cart was taken away. 

“So how are you doing?” Maya asked as Gabir sat in one of the lawn chairs near the pool.

“I am visiting with some old friends.” He smiled as the sun began to drain from the sky.

“We will go visit your mother’s grave tomorrow.” Maya was wearing a moo-moo and flip flops.

“That sounds nice.” He nodded.

“You spend too much time in the past, reminiscing.” She patted him on his arms folded across his chest.

“You are right.” He mused.

“When I see Kami and our other grandchildren, I thank God for all my blessings.” She looked into his eyes and try as he might, he could not look away. 

“I wish I was more like you.” He admitted.  

“I like you the way you are.” She laughed.

“I think I want to clean up the pool a bit.” He sniffed as Maya stood up and headed back into the house.

“Not too much longer. It’s getting late.  And as sweet as you are, the mosquitoes are starting to come out.” She shrugged.

“I’ll be fine.” He nodded and picked up the pool skimmer and pole. “Some of those bugs like to commit hari-kari in my pool.” 

“Why do we even have it?  You never get in it.” She tilted her head.

“Yes, but the kids love it.” He laughed.

“Ah, so they do, so they do.” She wagged her head as she went inside.

The revolution or civil war, whatever you chose to call it, destroyed the Paris of the Middle East.  His mother grieved whenever she got word that one of her relatives was killed by a sniper as the factions squared off against each other.  Sometimes he would come home from school and she’d be laying on the couch with an ice pack on her head.  The shades were drawn and the room was dark and from the darkness, her voice would sound, “Your Aunt Lina, my sister was killed by a sniper.” 

While he had never met his aunt, he knew he was supposed to grieve with her.  He would sit on the armrest of the couch and hold her hand, gently stroking it until she fell asleep.  Then he would go into his room and roll into a ball as he grieved for his father with tears as big as swollen raindrops.  

He used to pray to God to have those men punished for their murder of his father, but as time passed, he grew more forgiving.  He read newspapers, the older people read about how their beautiful city had been destroyed and the people lived in the shadows in fear of their lives. 

“I take you to the zoo today.” His father would announce at Saturday breakfast and so it would come to pass.  Now, according to the newspapers, the zoo was gone and all the animals were killed in their enclosures. 

“Gabir, we need to go to the market.” His mother would tell him when he came home from school, “I need some vegetables for supper.” 

Now, even the open market is gone.  The merchants were afraid to sell their wares on the streets.  He did not care for the American way of shopping or strip malls where you could buy cheap manufactured goods when the best things were those made by the hands of skilled craftsmen and artisans.  

Rocket launches had completely obliterated his old neighborhood a few years ago.  The streets where he and his friends had played street soccer under the protests of merchants and those who lived in the neighborhood were now deserted.  

The next morning, Maya took Gabir to a local flower shop where he bought some lilies in a vase, declaring, “Mama always loved lilies.” as he paid for them.  The clerk smiled at him.  

They hailed a cab and were taken ten blocks to the cemetery when suddenly they saw Masab standing by the gates of the cemetery where there were two stone angels on bended knees at the gates.  

“Good day, my friend.” He greeted them with a partial bow.

“Pleasure to see you.” Gabir returned the bow.  

“And you, Maya.” Masab gallantly took her hand and kissed it.

As they walked toward the grave of Abilia Hamza, Gabir asked his friend, “So, if they stopped this crazy war, would you go home to Beirut?”  

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head, “Too much water under the bridge and my kids are American.  They would not know what to do in the old country.” 

He stood there for a moment to contemplate what his friend had said.  At his feet was a headstone marked “Here lies our beloved mother Abilia Hamza 1930-1990.” 

Could he go back with the memories he carried with him?  Memories that seemed to weigh him down like an anchor.  He went down on one knee where he said a quick prayer before placing the vase in front of his mother’s headstone. Maya and Masab put their  hands on his back while he prayed and both of them bowed their heads.

It was a beautiful late spring day with verdant grass and trimmed elm and oak trees that populated the grounds. Distant sounds of traffic did not penetrate the thick ivied gates and fence of the cemetery.  It was peaceful here.  Stone statues lay silent witness to those who had been laid to rest in this sacred place. Shadows offered solace and solitude to those who were grieving.  Slowly rising to his feet, tears in his eyes, he nodded to Maya that it was time to go.  His friend offered him a smile.  Turning one more time to his mother’s headstone, he blew her a kiss before departing. 

As the trio reached the gates, the noise and commotion of the city quickly resumed.  Mosab put his arm around his friend, “No, I can never return to the old country.  In my bakery I now sell bagels.  How many of them do you think I’d sell if I was still in the old country?” 

Gabir laughed.  Sometimes a simple truth can libertate you from a heavy burden you have carried with you throughout your entire life.