My Wishes for the New Year

I took up my question
and went roaming the streets in search of someone to answer me,
scrutinizing the faces of the passersby until they grew suspicious of my glances...

I entered a shop and found its owner busy pleasing his customers. I greeted him and told him the purpose of my visit...

He is Mr. Aziz Shibli, a self-made man, married, 45 years of age. I asked him to answer as to his wishes for the new year, and he said:

— I would like the new year to bring us a new war!

— No, no, Mr. Shibli! Have you no better wishes than that? Or perhaps you wish for war so that market prices will rise and you can gather a new fortune!

— God forbid, Madam! I am a humane man, and very easily contented. But I see the world being led by a certain number of men. They govern by turns and proclaim democracy while remaining very far indeed from applying it... And I find that the recurrence of wars improves this state of affairs and makes public opinion more aware and bolder in demanding a juster rule... That is the sole reason I wish for a new war: because we like to see new faces in government — faces that may prove more democratic than others. I do not mean our country in particular; I mean the whole world... The situation is much the same in every land. Perhaps my thinking is strange, but this is my true feeling...

I thanked him and went out, and made my way down a street where the porters gather — some of them idle, asleep in the sun, others wide awake, their eyes hunting for a "customer" to charge them with carrying something... No sooner had one of them seen me approaching than he sprang up to ask my purpose... and drew back a step when he learned what I wanted, and that I carried no material profit for him. But I sensed in him an inborn simplicity and a light-hearted humor, so I drew nearer, and the following conversation passed between us:

— What is your name?
— My name is Abd — Abd al-Halim Nasr al-Din.
— How old are you?
— I am 15 years old.
— Where were you before you came down to Beirut?
— I am from Nabatiyeh, ma'am, and I came last month.
— What do you wish for yourself in the new year?

The matter grew complicated for the poor fellow, and he tried to get free of me; so I reassured him of my good intentions, and told him I would put his name in a big magazine! His face lit up, and pointing to another porter of gigantic build and full chest who stood near us, he said:

— I'd like to become strong like that porter standing there. Then I could carry the biggest load and never give out under it!

— And don't you aspire to better work than a porter's?

— Greed is no good, ma'am, and big work keeps the mind busy. This way my head is clear. I make two liras a day, and that's enough for me, and I hope to save out of it until I marry.

So he is ambitious after all... and dreams of marriage at fifteen!

While I was deep in talk with the young porter I heard a greeting, and a voice asking what I was doing. I turned, and there was Mr. Elie Yazbek. I answered him:

— You tell me first: what are you doing here?

— I was in the company of a lady journalist. I helped her take pictures and gather information about the poor. She is going to write a report on them in the newspaper L'Orient.

— How strange! I am here on exactly the same sort of errand. So come, tell me your wishes for the new year!

— My wishes? I?!.. Shall I tell the truth?

— Of course — I want nothing but the truth.

— My wish is that the new year make it possible for me to leave "the island of rats" (he said this in French). So I said:

— For heaven's sake, speak to me in Arabic! What do you mean by that last phrase?

— I mean that I am "fed up," and everything [...]

My wish is to leave this country.

♦

An hour later I stood at a certain door, ringing the bell. The maid opened to me, and when she saw my appearance she informed me, kindly and politely, that the lady was not at home.

— No matter — I have come to visit you!

Astonishment showed on the poor girl's face, and she grew flustered; then, doubt of my good intentions creeping over her, she said:

— I am comfortable here, ma'am, and I have no intention of leaving my employers' house.

— God forbid that I should have come for that! But listen... I want to learn from you what you wish for in the new year. I won't take much of your time, but if you answer, I'll print your answer in the magazine!... And the ladies will read your name and your family name.

The idea seemed to please her, and she set about tidying her dress and smoothing her hair with her fingertips, as though she supposed I would take her picture for the same purpose... Her eyes sparkled and her lips parted in an innocent smile. Then, after some thought, she said:

— My wish is to save up my wages and buy with them a gold mabrumeh and a gold ring... set with red rubies! That is all I wish!

— Good, that will do. Now tell me your name, your family name, and how old you are.

— My name is Nadia Abdo Nawfal, and I am 13 years old.

— With your leave...

— Goodbye, ma'am!

♦

I boarded the tram car back to Ras Beirut, and there I paid a call on Mrs. Samia Dimashqiyah Abu al-Jibin, who counts among the truly refined ladies of this country. We had not sat long before I told her the real purpose of my visit:

— What are your wishes for the new year?

Pain showed in her green eyes; then she answered:

— And what could I possibly wish for but a solution of the Palestine question in the Arabs' favor? I am pessimistic about the outcome, for the English have declared that it will be reached with the consent of the Jews together with the Arabs (their consent first, of course!) — and what solution could possibly satisfy everyone? That is impossible!..

— And do you wish for anything besides this?

— And I wish that the sons of my country would become orderly, not given to disorder.

I thanked her, bade her farewell, and departed.

♦

While I stood at the street corner, a restaurant boy passed me by... I knew him by the plate of hummus borne on the palm of his hand, so I cut across his path and asked him where he worked.

— In that restaurant near the mosque — and my boss is the best foul-cook in town!

— What a charming fellow you are! Come, tell me your name, your age, and what you wish for in the new year.

— Why all these questions? I'm busy; I have no time.

— I won't hold you up — only be quick with your answer. I am the representative of a big magazine, and I'll print your name in it!

— My name is Muhammad Sa'id Qa'di. I am 11 years old, and my pay is 12 liras a week.

— And have you had schooling, Muhammad?

— No. But I go to the American University of Beirut and study in its night school for the unlettered.

— What do you study?

— Yesterday I read Arabic and wrote out my lesson, and the teacher told us he would give us a lesson in arithmetic today.

— And how long will you keep on with these lessons?

— I'll keep learning as long as they are willing to teach me!

— And what is your wish for the new year?

— My wish is to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic, and by then to have gathered a capital from my labors, so I can open a shop of my own (and he pointed to a nearby store).

— Bravo, Muhammad! I shall mention all this in the magazine!

Muhammad smiled a satisfied smile and trotted off with his plate to the restaurant — but back he came running, shouting at me:

— Ma'am! Ma'am! You didn't tell me the name of the magazine and when it comes out, so I can buy it!

I repeated the name to him three times until he had it by heart. And we parted...

♦

An evening party last night brought me together with Mrs. Najla Cortas Zureik, wife of Dr. Constantine Zureik, who has assumed the vice-presidency of the American University of Beirut. After we had talked at length of student memories at the College, and compared life here and in America, I turned to her and put the same question. She answered:

I have two wishes. The first may be commonplace from sheer repetition, but I cannot pass it over, for my heart bleeds at its mention — it is Palestine, without a doubt! My wish is that its question be settled in the Arabs' favor.

And the second wish is that the Arabs in all the Arab lands take heed to impose compulsory education in place of the outward show on which they spend so freely — expenditures which, to my mind, could well be cut back; it would better become our government to spend this money in the cause of compulsory education, in which alone lies benefit for the people at large.

And I approached Mrs. Maliha Raghib Fadli, wife of the Chargé d'Affaires of the Iraqi Legation, a lady of the utmost cheerfulness and taste, and put the same question to her. Though she was absorbed in receiving her guests — for she was the hostess — she did not begrudge me a few minutes of her time. She said: "The days pass and run out, and the Palestine question still torments our souls — Palestine, the soul of the Arab lands. My whole hope is that the Arabs' aspirations for their dear Palestine may be fulfilled, and that their word may be united, so that they form a strong front and take the place that befits them. And how I wish the question of Egypt and the Sudan might be brought to an end, so that the two would be left without problems or obstacles to disturb our rest and confound our thoughts.

And there are the foreign clouds banked thick in the sky of the Arab East: I pray they may scatter, so that the days turn clear and souls find ease."

I thanked her and withdrew into a corner of the great hall to ponder what I had heard. Truly, the problem of Palestine occupies the minds of us all, and our utmost wish in this new year is that the crisis may be resolved. Will our hopes, I wonder, come true?...