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