Hunger... and Fullness

Nadim looked about him anxiously when their relative came in with his family while they were seated at the table for supper, and there was nothing on it but a few small boiled potatoes and pieces of black bread. He saw them glancing out of the corners of their eyes at that bare table, and something showed on their faces of astonishment, and mockery, and pity. This deepened his confusion. He rose before he had eaten his food; he had no more appetite for food — rather he felt full... and sated. His mother rose too. Perhaps she had noticed what her little son noticed, and felt what he felt. She invited the visitor and his family into the reception room. Nadim sat, abashed, beside their relative's little daughter, she of the silken hair crowned with the glow of yellow wheat-ears, its long locks rippling over her back and shoulders. And he found that today he could not talk to her as he used to.

O God... how sweet were the days gone by, long ago... when they were still in their beautiful house in Palestine... His little kinswoman would follow him about so that he might show her his new toys, and feed her the kinds of delicious sweets that were kept in the big black cupboard. But now... nothing. And what was the matter with him? Even words slipped away from him and sank into the emptiness of his soul... he could not catch hold of their reins...

The relative's stay with them was not long. It lasted about an hour, after which he rose with his family, said farewell, and departed. But what ailed the little kinswoman in the purple dress, staring into Nadim's face with shadows of reproach in her eyes? He had not yet told her about his grown-up comrades at school, and about his teachers, and his books and his games. And how eager she had been for that talk.

But with the speed of a lightning flash she answered to the pang that stirred in her little kinsman's soul. The shadow of reproach melted away, and over the sweet face there passed shades of innocent sorrow. Then she followed her parents, looking back tenderly.

Nadim did not go back to the table, nor did his mother. His six brothers and sisters had each eaten his potato and risen to do their lessons or their games. And then the mother announced to them her wish to spend the evening at the neighbor's, "Sitt Bahia." The children took turns going with her on such evening visits, and tonight it was the turn of Nadim, third among his brothers and sisters, to accompany her.

Nadim was glad to go with his mother to Sitt Bahia's, for she was merry and full of laughter; the neighbors often gathered at her house. She would take up the oud and weave sweet melodies upon it, and sometimes sing in a tender voice, while those present clapped or joined her in some verses of song — and this delighted Nadim as nothing else could.

Perhaps his mother meant by this to cheer him. She knew he was delicate of feeling and extreme in sensibility, with all the storms that brings upon his soul and his nerves. (And it pleased her to see signs of relief on his face, so she went out of the house with him, after entrusting her eldest daughter with her brothers and sisters.)

Nadim entered with his mother the house of Sitt Bahia. It was a spacious, beautiful mansion in the midst of a luxuriant garden, where the tunes of the water gurgling in the low, broad basin blended with the flutter of the breeze and the whispers of the delicate silvery light from the clear sky studded with blossom-like stars in the calm, untroubled night. They climbed a side stairway, over whose iron railing trellised the branches of the night-jasmine with its soft flowers. The air was fragrant with its dewy, penetrating perfume, as though the blossoms were pouring out their trouble and confiding their sorrow to men's souls in that sweet fragrance, at peace in the stillness of the night and in its perfumed, translucent darkness.

Bahia received the two guests with delight and welcome, and they passed through the hall to an inner sitting room, its corners adorned with sumptuous furniture and precious curios, and lit with brilliant lights. On its couches sat some friends from among the neighbors. She herself sat on a low seat, chattering news of every kind, laughing and merry, in a clamor that set her plump flesh quivering as she sank into her soft chair. Then she clapped, and a young maidservant appeared, and she said to her:

— Bring me something light to eat, so I may eat here. I do not want to leave my guests to take supper in the dining room. Then she indicated to her what light food she wanted, and the maid brought a broad tray with bowls and dishes on it. On one of them lay a large grilled fish, weighing more than a kilo, sprinkled with leaves of mint and parsley, with slices of sour lemon arranged around it. Beside it was a platter with pieces of browned chicken. On other dishes were bread and butter and cheese and rare fruits. Bahia invited the visitors to share the food with her; they thanked her and excused themselves. And she began to devour, with a strange voracity, what was on the dishes.

The smell of the fish and the chicken spread. Hunger rose up inside Nadim. His mouth watered. He began to swallow... and to choke on his own spittle. In vain he turned his face away from the broad tray and what was on it — the smell kept reminding him of what lay there.

Such dishes as these he used to eat in their beautiful town, Jaffa, in their house on the shore... when the fishermen carried up baskets filled with fish that flapped and stirred. They caught it while he watched them from the balcony. And he remembers those fishermen, when they hauled in the net heavy with fish that shuddered and spilled, and then poured out what was in it onto the sands, and the fish gleamed in all their colors in the blaze of the sun. How often he walked on those sands and played with his brothers and his companions... and when he came home he would find that his mother had bought delicious kinds of those fish, whose taste he cannot forget.

But this smell now disturbed him beyond all bearing, for it made him feel his hunger. He had eaten nothing since morning but pieces of brown bread. He grew anxious, and feared that Bahia and her company would notice what was working within him... No... he does not want to eat. He is full... But he could hear the sound of his spittle as he swallowed it, and he grew flustered and ashamed. He felt his throat and his neck moving in visible movements, and he grew angry and vexed... He was at a loss what to do, and wished he had not come with his mother. Bahia was deep in eating and in talk, prating with a wide mouth and full lips. Time dragged on for him. He wanted this visit to end, wanted to rise and go home. But... how? He suffered from his hunger and from his fullness and his pride. He took to turning his face away whenever he wanted to swallow, and dreaded lest these movements betray him. He asked himself: perhaps the laughter that rang out from time to time was at the signs of hunger showing on him. He almost cried out... but he held fast, and struggled for a time in a torment beside which the torment of hell is nothing — until Bahia was done, sitting there fat and merry, her mouth never shut, her tongue never at rest: greedy eating, or mocking talk, or peals of laughter — never leaving room for silence or for quiet.

Nadim's mother rose and took her leave before the evening gathering was over, pleading her children, and Nadim followed her, a lump in his throat from all his choking on the spittle that had flooded his mouth, rage and revulsion in his heart, and a distracted look in his eyes. He went to his bed and tossed a long while on his mattress. From time to time he passed his hand over his forehead, as though driving away certain images and visions that troubled him. Until at last he found sleep.

He rose with the dawn to make ready for school, which was far from his house. He has had to go there on foot ever since his father died. His mother gave him a small paper bundle holding a loaf and a few dried figs. This was his lunch — indeed his provision for the whole day. He took his bundle, put it with the books inside his satchel, and set out before sunrise. He reached the school and went into the classroom with his fellows; he was the youngest of them, the cleverest, and the highest in standing. Then came recess, the ten-o'clock recess, and the pupils jostled out of the classrooms. The playgrounds filled with them, and most of them — if not all — raced to the vendor to buy from him the sesame kaak with za'tar. He comes to the school every day at just this hour, carrying the kaak on a wide tray which he sets upon a wooden stand, and hardly a moment passes before the tray is emptied of all that was on it. All but Nadim, who stayed standing near the trunk of a tree, gazing into the distance, waiting for his comrades to finish their eating so that they might play, or run off laughing and gay. But their spell of kaak-eating might stretch on to the very end of recess.

And now some of them have come near him. They are merciless, these pupils... and he must endure the appetizing smell, and endure the sight of them chewing. Ever since his father died he has borne this hardship... and he is hungry. If only he had not died, that merciful father! He used to give him ten piasters every day, and he would buy kaak like his comrades, day after day. Sometimes he gave him the tram fare so that he might come to school at his ease. But when they were still in their own country, in Palestine, they had a private car that carried him to school. How sweet was that country of theirs! But now... he is a poor orphan, and his mother toils to provide the school fees for him and his elder sister and his elder brother; the rest of his brothers and sisters she has put into the free schools. They are still small. He is thirteen years old, and they are younger than he.

He heard his mother say that his father died of the effects of his wounds. Yes, he remembers... there... when the men came carrying his father, dyed in his own blood. The treacherous Jews had struck him with their bullets. He cannot forget how the sound of the shots would crackle and strike the shutters of the windows, above all in the night, driving sleep from their eyelids... After that they came to Beirut, leaving behind all their furniture and belongings. How many beautiful things there were in his room... things he loved and took comfort in! What, he wonders, has become of them now?

His father died in Beirut, after a stretch of time whose length he does not know... He died weeping... because he was a stranger, and he wanted the fragrant soil of his own country to enfold him.

One of his comrades came up to Nadim, pressing him to share his kaak with him. He refused, excusing himself... while in his soul a hunger insisted and craved. No — he does not like kaak... Confusion assailed him for a moment, and the feeling of hunger came back upon him in spite of himself, and went with him into the classroom, fierce and cruel.

Noon came, and he saw the pupils scattering to their homes for lunch — some in their private cars, some in the big school cars, others boarding the tram, or going into the restaurant of "Abu Shafiq" near the school, to eat there whatever they wish. He has all kinds of delicious dishes, and serves the customers what they want; sometimes they tell him what they want early in the morning, so that they need not wait while hungry. Nadim took his bundle out of his book satchel and slipped it secretly into his pocket. He did not want any of his comrades to see him eating that dried-out piece of bread with its few dry figs. They might pity him... or ask questions... or wonder — and he wanted none of all that. His house was far away; he could not reach it in less than an hour's walk, and that weariness, morning and evening, was enough for him. So, as usual, he would go to the "orchard" near the school. It is deserted; no one comes near it at noon. It is beautiful, wide, and grassy; in some places its growth has run tall, fresh and dewy, till it almost hides whoever sits among its rippling, luxuriant thickets.

How sweet is this sitting-place of his! Below him the sea spreads out, proud in its splendid blue, and the music of its waves reaches him and touches his soul, soft and sweet — so long as no one comes upon him... and no companion troubles his peace. And here he has sat down on the ground near a low wall, the grasses swaying and dancing about him. He laid his bundle in his lap, took the dry bread from it, and began to nibble it with the dried figs... He wished there were water beside him to drink, to make it easier to eat what he had. He is hungry, he wants to eat — but not this kind of food. His mind wandered; he gazed far off along the whole stretch of the sea below him, and roamed in his imagination... He loves this sea, which joins him to his country, over there... Its waves clap upon its shores... Ah, if only he could go with those waves and look down upon those dear places... whose features are engraved upon his heart.

What, he wonders, has become of those birds and animals... that his father loved, in their spacious orange grove whose end the eye could not reach? In it the branches of the lemon trees interlaced, their fruit flashing gold amid a splendid green whose beauty he has never seen matched... and their blossoms of purest white, like scattered snows, trembling with joy at the touch of the breeze and spreading their sweet fragrance far and wide. Those trees bear their fruit many times in a single year. And that great pool with its massive, high walls... from which Abu Amin sent the water along the channels to irrigate the crops. And the lovely bridge... there, at the edge of the grove, over the little river whose waters tumble bubbling and clamorous, above all over the weir, like a waterfall. There his father would take him by the hand when he wanted to cross, for fear his foot might slip and he fall into the water. And the sparrows that Amin used to catch for him... and the quail... how delicious their taste, O God... If only he could live again that happy life in those beloved haunts! Do they care for them now, he wonders — those thieves who usurped them from us? And do they love them as we love them? Impossible! It is our country... and they are strangers to it... and no man can love a foreign land as much as he loves his own true country.

And his school in Jaffa? It was a small one, for children, near the well-stocked shop of Abd al-Halim, from which he so often bought delicious things to eat...
He had no choosing then of where to eat. His father would be waiting for him at just such an hour, and would take him home in the car, and he would find hot food and chilled fruit and cold water, and eat with his parents and his brothers and sisters. But now he has no father to feed him or give to him... And where is he now from his house? O God... it looks out over this deep water... if only he could swim across it to catch sight of the old home. He would see its balconies adorned with beds of flowers, and see its windows open, the blue velvet curtains, the color of the sky, drawn back from them.

He was sunk in his thoughts when there appeared above him, over the wall against which he leaned, a bewitching, beautiful girl. She was picking apricots in her garden — this apricot tree whose boughs, heavy with fruit, stretched out over the wall and spread a cool, moist shade over the girl's seat in the orchard. She saw the beautiful, hungry boy, and looked at what he was eating, and there stormed in her soul a pity mingled with tenderness and love. She took in her hand a share of the apricots and called to the little boy, to give him some. Nadim started, trembling. Who, he wondered, was calling him? Who wished to trouble the serenity of his solitude? He raised his head to discover the owner of the dewy voice, and saw that charming young girl gazing down at him. Nadim was thrown into confusion, and would not accept what she held out to him; so she threw down to him a small tender branch heavy with the golden fruit, glistening ripe with its sweet juice.

But a storm of pride and of fullness shook his heart. He did not pick up the branch; he took up his satchel and went... No doubt she pitied him because she saw him eating dry bread... No... he has no need of gifts; he lacks nothing from any human being. This bread is enough for him, and he wants no one's charity, whatever it may be.

He walked back toward his school, his hand in his pocket clutching his lunch. He reached the playground and searched one of its corners for a secluded spot. There a jujube tree rose, thick with shade. The pupils are still at their homes now, all but a few. He would sit here and finish his eating. He sat a moment, brooding; then he drew his hand from his pocket, holding his dry bread, brought it to his mouth, and bit off a few small morsels. And then he saw a group of his comrades coming toward him. He hid his bundle in one of his pockets and rose to play with his comrades for what remained of the recess.

In the evening, at dismissal, he walked his accustomed road. As his mother had charged him, he stopped on his way at the house of one of her friends, to deliver a spoken message she had asked him to convey to her. The friend welcomed him and gave him a small paper bag filled with cherries, saying to him:

— These cherries are from (our own cherry tree, from the old home country).

Nadim refused to take her gift, gave his thanks, and made to leave. But the lady caught hold of him and would not let him go out; she put her arm around him, pressing the little bag upon him. In vain he tried to slip free — she forced him to accept it. He took it in his hand, vexed and furious, and went off toward his house.

He walked on, a feeling of oppression weighing on his small heart. He opened the bag and looked inside, and saw the big cherries glowing a deep wine-red... smiling at him. How delicious they are... He touched them with his fingers... and they burned them, as though they were live, glowing coals. No... he will not taste them... Why did that lady force him to take this fruit? Surely his mother will be pained... it will grieve her to see that he does not hold back from other people's food...

He pressed his book satchel to his chest and heard the whisper of the remains of his bread crumbling. He put out his hand, took a crust, and placed it in his mouth... and with an angry gesture that held all the fullness in the world, he flung the bag of cherries into a hole at the side of the road. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and went on his way, wiping away two tears that rolled down his cheeks.