Taking Life Lightly in America

All I knew about the Americans while I was in the Arab East was the abundance of their money and their automobiles and the elegance of their clothes. But after I came to the United States I became acquainted with another side of their character, one all their own: the attempt to lighten life, or to lighten the facts of life for whoever hears them, be they joyful or painful. For instance, if a young man and a girl strike up a friendship, and the friendship grows by degrees into love and passion, it is no wonder if the girl surprises her friend by saying, "When can I change my name to yours?"—without hesitation or shyness. Or if he says to her, "What do you say we begin our married life a week from now?"

I remember that when I was in Iraq and Syria, my girlfriends and I would put on our finest clothes on Sunday and go to church, and after that we would spend the time in visits. Here, however, most people pass Sunday between sleep and waking. Those who do get out of bed put on the oldest things they own, and most of the men dispense with shaving on that day, because they want it for complete rest, absolutely free of every constraint.

And how numerous the drugstores are, and how varied their customers! You find them all crowded with customers night and day, packed with women and men, girls and boys, of every age and every stock. It would not be surprising to find a man far advanced in years sitting and waiting beside a girl not yet three. And if the waiting place grows too small for them, they stand in lines, waiting without weariness. You see these waiting lines in front of ticket windows, in the railway stations, outside the cinema houses, and elsewhere. And if you contemplate the variety of the waiting people's appearances and the differences in their dress, you know that life in the United States is distinguished by a spirit of easygoingness and tolerance to a very far degree.

I also used to think that the people of this country excel in knowledge and in frankness of speech. So if one of them happened to ask me a question, I hastened to answer, setting forth everything I knew on the subject; and if he argued with me, I went on at length in reply and discussion and went to great pains to shore up my views, until my error should be shown me. For instance, if I was asked, "What is the capital of Iraq?" I answered without hesitation: "Baghdad." But this haste of mine produced for me what I detest, for I noticed a falling off in the number of my friends and a multiplying of winks behind my back; and my bewilderment grew, because a large number of my colleagues kept telling me that I was clever!

So I set about searching for the reason, until I learned

their fondness for the art of banter, or playfulness—of lightening life, and of fitting the giving of information to the listeners. This art requires a special sort of skill in the science of handling people. For example, if one of them is surprised with the question, "What is the sum of two and two?" he shows hesitation, toys with the time, lets out a few meaningless syllables—like ah, and oh, and eh—then lights a cigarette or rubs his forehead, looks at his questioner and smiles, and then says, taking his time: "I think the sum is four—isn't that so? What is your opinion?" An answerer of this kind is called a philosopher... As for the usefulness of this method, it gives the answerer room to study the personality of the one speaking to him: perhaps he too is a philosopher, hiding another meaning behind his question, or perhaps he is a dullard. If he is of the first type, he treats him as he himself was treated, and the banter serves him in studying the questioner's personality. And if he is of the second type, his feelings are not wounded.

Finally, it is plain to foreigners in general and to Easterners in particular that the means of learning in the United States are varied, plentiful, and exceedingly easy of access. So let us not tire ourselves—we who live there—with putting on a show of excessive cleverness. For the day of "a word of advice is worth a camel" has passed and gone.

Washington

One day al-Hajjaj went out hunting and became separated from his retinue in the desert. A man met him, not knowing that he was the emir, and al-Hajjaj said: "O man of the desert, how is your emir?"

He said: "A tyrant and an oppressor."

He said: "Then why have you not complained of him to Abd al-Malik?"

He said: "He is more tyrannical still, and more oppressive."

A little later al-Hajjaj's retinue caught up with him, and the Bedouin realized that this was al-Hajjaj himself, so he said:

"O Hajjaj... the secret that is between you and me—I should like it to be kept hidden."

And al-Hajjaj laughed at him, and his quick wit pleased him.