The Inheritance

by Sahar Khalifeh

  Kamal was dazed and shocked by the bizarre event. He kept saying to his sister, “By God Almighty, ya Nahleh!” as he ate breakfast.

  A scientific and organized mind like his found it difficult to understand how a grown woman, intelligent and refined, would establish a relation with an illiterate and uncouth man who had nothing going for him but money. His wife was as big as a Pullman bus, five times Nahleh’s size. Kamal wondered if Nahleh had heard about the realtor’s children and the number of people they had killed with their own hands on the pretext of cleansing the homeland. Many stories were circulating about family feuds and acts of revenge, which in the present condition of die country turned into strange tales of spying and killing for a price. He wondered whether the Abu Jaber children and the Hamdan family would be brought down by a realtor feigning to be young.

  Kamal went on repeating to himself, “By God Almighty, ya Nahleh.” He would then look around him, searching for a face that might have witnessed their scandal at yesterday’s party. There was no one there but the hotel residents, including tourists and polite servants, who went about their business unperturbed by events, no matter how strange. He was obsessed with a feeling of shame that made him more conscious of his surroundings, and apprehensive of a new scandal, or even of seeing Nahleh’s face that morning. But Nahleh was in her room, having refused to leave it to eat breakfast with the family. As for Mazen, he-had not said a word since he had sent his famous punch. He had recovered his composure and had become aware of the gravity of his action. Although stupid Nahleh had made a mistake, his crime was more serious; had he been wiser he would have covered up the matter. He claimed however, that the shock made him lose his mind and that he had acted spontaneously, without thinking. He’d lost his composure, bringing shame on his sister, himself, and the whole family. Hadn’t he learned discipline and organization from the party system? Hadn’t he experienced more trying conditions during which he was able to control his reactions and his body muscles? Hadn’t he had to repress his emotions in more difficult situations? Is it conceivable that he had lost his ability to control himself because he had left the Party, or was the situation more complex than anything he had been taught in the organization? Do private matters have a deeper impact on the unconscious than public matters, do they provoke in us uncalculated reactions impossible to predict? No one had told him or even assumed that Nahleh, in particular, would surprise him with this coup. Who would have thought Nahleh capable of all that?

  One evening, Violet asked him, “Why do you accept conduct from me that you condemn from your sister?”

  He didn’t reply but turned his head and whispered, “Because Nahleh is above all other women.”

  He had discovered that after all these years he had been cheated and stupid. Nahleh was no better than other women or men or above sexual temptations. She probably was only interested in sex—what would otherwise explain her attraction to the ugly realtor? Nothing on earth could convince him otherwise. What would be the other possibility—that Nahleh was in love with the realtor? Why then did she hide when he fell on the floor and rolled like a sack under our feet? Would she have hidden and withdrawn far away had she been in love with him or felt sympathy for him? This sack-like man had stood up, leaned on others, stretched his crooked fingers in Mazen’s face and twice repeated, fearfully, “It will be according to God’s teaching and those of His Prophet.”

  People around him had been in shock, surprised by the event, while Mazen had stood alone at the door, his eyes fixed on the realtor, his head spinning and his stomach aching, with a desire to kill and vomit. Then, he realized, as he heard her crying behind the wall, that it was Nahleh, Nahleh, Nahleh. He’d left and soon disappeared.

  Abd al-Hadi told them that he was a goodwill mediator acting on behalf of the realtor to ask for Nahleh’s hand from her brothers. He pointed out to them Amira’s opinion which was shared by others, that Nahleh’s marriage to the realtor was in the Hamdans’ interest. It was especially good for Nahleh because it would avoid a scandal. Mazen asked, quite shocked, “Does this mean that she will be the second wife?”

  Kamal added, nervously, “Will she end her long abstinence by tying her fate to this old man?”

  Mazen muttered, “He is also illiterate, ignorant, and a notorious usurer.”

  Abd al-Hadi Bey intervened to calm emotions, “Good people, let’s stay on the subject, how can we deal with this mess?”

  Kamal said thoughtfully, “We can talk to her and explain the truth about the man and about her own condition.”

  Surprised, Mazen asked, “Her own condition?” then added, “What would you tell her about her condition?”

  Kamal pondered and stared, not knowing what to say, he had not even meant to say “her condition.” He didn’t know the reality of her condition. What aspect of that condition would he address? Why would he be the one to talk about her condition while in other countries of the world Nahleh should be the one talking about her condition, and in detail, as women do in conferences, magazines, and newspapers? There are many studies in universities, advisement centers, and support centers for raped, divorced, abandoned women, and old maids.

  There are millions of single women in the West, but they’re not considered old maids. They’re a different kind of old maid; unlike Nahleh, they’re free to move around, to use birth control pills and diaphragms, and to have numerous relationships. Each one of them has a boyfriend, or has had at least one at one time in her life. Did Nahleh ever have a boyfriend? Had she had a boyfriend she might not have looked at this monkey. He was as old as her father and even older, but he looked younger because of his anted hair, his up-toeing, and his waist-coated suits. She, on the other hand, was still attractive and lively, and if it were not for the scarf she wears, she would have looked more beautiful. If only she were in Germany, if Nahleh were in Frankfurt, things would be different. Kamal stared at Mazen and said seriously, “I must take her to Frankfurt.”

  Mazen stared at Kamal intensely, and remembered the comments that used to circulate about him: a bookworm, a genius, a man of brains. This is how he had been known before he left; people used to say that Kamal knew only his books and understood nothing else. Everyone felt sorry for this goodhearted young man who worked as hard as a donkey. They believed firmly that he w-as bright but stupid because of his excessive kindness. Years later, their opinion had not changed. They wondered why this ‘stupid man’ wanted to take Nahleh to Frankfurt?

  Mazen smiled at him and shook his head as Kamal stood up and began to explain his plan, oblivious to the presence of their host, Abd al-Hadi Bey, practically an outsider. He said enthusiastically, “Listen Mazen, I mean it, Nahleh has not been anywhere or seen anything, and because she hasn’t see the world she fell for this monkey. Had she left this rat hole and traveled abroad she would not have acted so stupidly.”

  Mazen stared at his brother, smiled, but didn’t comment, which encouraged Kamal to carry on eagerly, “That’s true of everyone else and our sister is no different. The problem is that we’ve gotten used to seeing her as an angel.”

  Mazen asked Kamal, inquisitively, forgetting the presence of their host, “Do you want to take her to Frankfurt to run around?”

  Kamal stood still in the middle of the room, then turned to his brother, and said, “Why not? Let her enjoy herself.”

  Mazen shook up his head and rephrased his question, asking bluntly, “Do you mean to say that you want to take Nahleh overseas to help her let her hair down?”

  Kamal stomped the ground and said angrily, “Good grief, how can you think that way? Haven’t you lived abroad and run around? What do you call everything you did and tried?”

  Mazen objected, saving, “It’s different in my case.”

  But Kamal shouted back, saying, “No sir, your case is not different.”

  Mazen raised his hand and shook it in a gesture that expressed boredom and his desire to end the discussion. He had given up and decided to avoid such futile discussio
ns that reminded him of his early youth in Beirut and Tunis. Here he was again doing the same thing in Wadi al-Rihan, m Violet’s house, then in Jerusalem, in holy Jerusalem, at the diwan of the Shayib family.

  He went on listening to the strange discussion between his brother and the Bey as the latter was beating around the bush, trying to formulate his questions in a roundabout way, asking Kamal, “Are you staying for the project?”

  “Of course, of course,” confirmed Kamal.

  But the Bey insisted, “How will you stay if Nahleh goes?”

  Kamal had a simple explanation, “She’ll go alone. Nahleh is fifty years old and is capable of taking care of herself.”

  “What do you mean ‘go alone’?” shouted Mazen, “Do you know what you’re saying? Is it conceivable that after all these years and at her age we could let her travel alone? She’d die, she’d get lost, she’d lose her mind. What would you accomplish except to add to her heartaches?”

  Kamal looked at him intently, and asked, “Is it I who has added to her heartaches?”

  He was alluding to Mazen’s behavior when he hit the realtor, causing a scandal for the whole family. Mazen lowered his gaze, and withdrew into himself, pondering past events.

  Life tests us sometimes, and this was undoubtedly a test for Mazen. Almost thirty years ago, when he was in his late teens he had met a woman in a castle. They ate and drank while she played music and sang. He was dizzy and his mind floated as high as the stars and the cedar mountains. He thought he was in paradise surrounded by virgins, until he woke up one morning and saw the virgin without her paradise. She was sleeping on white, soft satin sheets, lying under him. He was shocked and couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He was scared and shaken, seeing her in a different light, as a blood sucking ogress. He withdrew quietly, left the castle and ran to the sea to wash himself in the sea foam.

  He saw her again, went back to her, then left again. He used his travels and missions as an excuse for his long absences that were more of an escape. He would dream of her, of being with her, and of being alone. He longed for the company of a young beautiful girl with braids, timid and halting in her walk, a young and innocent maiden, untouched, in the original wrapping. Such a girl couldn’t be a member of the party, she would be too young to face frightening situations, too young to be enlisted, too young for politics and for the organization. The women enlisted in the organization were not young. They had been young once, but were soon torn open and changed, turning into a kind we didn’t like except for passion and the nights of love, for a quick fling, the duration of a short couplet in a song heard in the pre-morning hours.

  The mornings were a different matter, however, and things didn’t look the same in the light of day. Daydreams and the depths of the heart were also different. He loved Salma to death, but he didn’t die and he won’t. He went back to her one morning and said, fearfully, “I’m sorry, things have changed.”

  She looked away, then walked away, having neither cried nor complained. He called her and said, trying to explain, “Those are the orders Salma, mere orders.”

  She looked at him and said these last words, “How could we believe that you were free!”

  Salma disappeared, and Beirut was lost, and so will Nahleh, Beirut and Nahleh.

  The two brothers agreed to avoid mentioning the incident to their father. They took Nahleh aside, tried to instill some sense in her mind and to open her eyes to the situation. They hoped to reach a satisfactory solution but things didn’t turn out the way they expected. Two days after the incident Nahleh disappeared. She ran away to Jerusalem, first seeking the Bey’s help, then she went to Amira. Her brothers looked for her quietly, but in the end they had to let their father know. As expected, it was a double shock for him as he considered Nahleh lost physically and mentally. He was shaken up and more afraid of scandal than for Nahleh’s safety.

  I was not surprised by the turn of events, as I had learned this lesson in my childhood and I had never forgotten it, and never will. To them, Nahleh was no more than a minor, a woman who had made a mistake late in life and humiliated them. That was worse to them than the dangers that threatened her. I found it strange to hear them talk about her as if she were a recalcitrant criminal. My uncle would sit at the table, his hands over his head or his eyes and say, mortified, “What did I do in my past? What have I done to you, Nahleh?”

  He didn’t look around him or even in front of him, but puffed and chewed in silence, and very slowly, swallowing with difficulty, clearly disillusioned.

  Said’s reaction was overblown, as he swore three times to kill Nahleh and divorce his wife if he failed. She shouldn’t think that the world was free for her to do whatever she wanted, with no real men around to react. He turned to his father and brothers and shouted angrily, “You’re the cause, you think you’re real men? By God I will teach him and her a lesson.” Then he turned to me as I was staring at him and said, “And you, you. . . .,” but he didn’t finish his sentence. He slammed the door and left.

  I sat alone, watching them, thinking matters over and reconsidering our project. What project? Would I become like Nahleh here? Or Violet? Would the family become my grave? Is this the price of my inheritance? I wrote in my diary that the members of my family were merely detached pieces in a rusty chain. I had gradually discovered that their ties were not as strong as I had thought or as they wanted me to believe. Their relationship was part of the traditions and was only symbolic. They assumed that because a brother, a father, or a sister were blood relatives, they were their loved ones and dearest to them.

  In reality, they lived in their own individual worlds and moved in their personal orbits. Nahleh’s world was located somewhere there, in a certain place in this sphere, and so was her psychological world. Her bed at home was always empty, and when she returned every summer she filled it for a few weeks before leaving again. Years passed while she worked in Kuwait and returned as a guest, a summer visitor. With time, her bed in that room and this house became her home, whereas her family symbolized the homeland. Similarly, her colleagues who came from various Arab countries were closer to her than any of her relatives. They would gather around the television in the evening and talk about their dreams and worries, about their families and about working for the others, in this country. They talked about the brothers and the fathers, the illnesses and those studying in the West. While the sister endured the toz, Kuwait’s harsh sand winds, the brother was in Germany, Turkey, or Spain. After graduation he usually returned home with a beautiful wife and in gratitude he would send his sister a letter containing Maria’s greetings and thanks for having such a brother. It is Kuwait that the western wife should truly thank, the country that made it possible for that brother to study in Germany. The supporting sisters were usually left with the photo of the brother and his bride standing in front of the wedding cake. It portrayed their happiness as he fed her a piece of the cake on a fork while she gave him champagne to drink. The photos from this or that brother filled the mirror with time, while the sisters remained without a photo.

  What did Nahleh get from her brothers? She rejoiced for the married brother, the engineer, the scholar, and the hero, while she remained a mere schoolteacher in Kuwait, teaching the same lesson and receiving the same salary, transferring the same sum of money. Meanwhile, the graduating brother was married with a wife and children, but Nahleh had no children and no husband and no home of her own. Since Nahleh had no responsibilities it was normal that she continued to support the education of the second brother, and the third, and the fourth. What did she get for all that? The joy of the degree and the picture, the teachers surrounding her that evening asking for sweets to celebrate her brother’s success? She would buy chocolate or knafeh, and play music to animate the party celebrating the brother’s marriage. They would dance throughout the night and when Nahleh returned to her room she saw the wedding picture, the only thing left for her.

  Futna called me from Jerusalem to ask about
the family. She wasn’t in the habit of calling to inquire about me or the family. As a matter of fact, she didn’t care-about the Hamdans. My relationship with her had remained friendly, but devoid of warmth. She belonged to one world and I to another. She asked me, breathless, “How is Nahleh?”

  She didn’t wait for my answer, however, and continued, saying, “You’d better come and visit us, come, come.”

  She was out of breath again, laughed, then repeated her invitation. I had my suspicions regarding the connection between Nahleh’s absence and that telephone call. I tried to make her talk to find out more from her, but she avoided saying anything more. She laughed and added, maliciously, “If you want to know, come here.”

  I made the connection; it was clear to me that Nahleh was there. She must have gone to the Shayib family, having heard about their efforts to intervene to end the conflict. Abd al-Hadi Bey must have arranged matters, for some unclear reason, to move in his direction. He had learned from the realtor that the engineer Kamal Hamdan had asked him to break the company contract. The realtor would have welcomed the move had it not been for the high cost of license fees, registration, and the bribes he had paid. The respectable engineer was penniless and Abu Jaber had objected to the sale of a single acre to pay back the debt. Mazen, on the other hand, was a pauper, having nothing but his salary from the House of Culture and Arts. He was hardly able to pay his own debts, and the money wellspring, his sister Nahleh, had run away. In other words, the house was left without an emergency fund.