by Dean Hughes
“Do you know about the Armenians, Hadi?” Garo asked.
“I know they live in Bourj Hammoud.”
“Yes. And I am Armenian. At one time, in this part of the city, we were all Armenian, but that’s changed.” Hadi couldn’t imagine why Garo thought it was important to talk about that now. “I want to tell you a little about our history,” Garo continued. “There are some things you need to know.”
Hadi took a long breath. “All right,” he said.
“In 1915, the Turks tried to destroy Armenians. We call that the ‘genocide.’ Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“ ‘Genocide’ is killing all the people of a certain group or nation. The Turks wanted to rid themselves of all of us. So we fled. We went everywhere. When I say that, you understand, I wasn’t born yet. But my grandfather took my father and his other children to Syria, to Aleppo. They stayed… I don’t know exactly… maybe ten years or so. And then they decided they might have better opportunities here in Beirut. So they came here, and I was born in Bourj Hammoud. But it’s not my home—not really.”
Hadi didn’t understand that, but he didn’t say so.
“So you see what I’m telling you? We’re refugees, the same as you, and I might well have been a Syrian citizen if my family had stayed in Aleppo. But when Syrians come here now, some of my people forget this and resent new refugees living among us—ones with a different religion and different heritage. It’s the same everywhere. People are forced to leave a place because of war, or because they are attacked, or because of famine and bad crops. And then, when they find a new place, some people say, ‘We don’t want you.’ And sometimes they break open the heads of the new people. I wish it were not so.”
Hadi thought he understood what Garo was saying to him. Maybe it was why Garo gave him food at such a low price, and maybe it was why he was folding a clean rag into a narrow strip and tying the strip tight around Hadi’s head.
“It’s not bleeding much now, Hadi. But leave this rag on for a few hours—or maybe until tomorrow. Are you feeling stronger now?”
“Yes.”
“Still, sit for a minute or two and I’ll get you something to wear. Eat this banana while I’m gone. You need some food to rebuild your strength.”
So Hadi stayed, and he ate the banana—a fresh one that tasted better than the brown ones he usually got from Garo. He knew he had to get going, but he was thinking more clearly now. He needed to regain some strength, and he knew that he couldn’t put his bloody clothes back on. He hoped Kamal, if he had driven to the Dora intersection, wouldn’t know how to identify Baba. In fact, the real danger might come when Hadi approached his father on the street.
Hadi had time now, and enough concentration, to think about Malek throwing his shoulder into Kamal, knocking him back. It made Hadi feel sick again to think what Kamal might have done to him by now. He considered going back to see what he could do, but he knew that was impossible.
When Garo returned, he had a shirt and jacket. Hadi thought they looked new. He must have bought them in one of the shops along the street. The shirt was light blue, the jacket a darker blue. Hadi liked them both. He hadn’t worn new clothes in many years.
As Garo helped Hadi get the shirt over his head without pulling the bandage loose, he said, “Hadi, my family came to Beirut with nothing, but my father set up a little stand like this one on a street corner, and he sold things sort of the way you and your father do. In time he was able to set up a shop of his own. He sold a few things he thought people wanted for their homes, and eventually he had a whole hardware store: tools, pipes, light fixtures, sinks—everything. I worked for him, and then he turned the business over to me. I ran that store for many years, but a few years ago my wife passed away, and my children were all married, so I sold the business. But I didn’t like sitting home alone. I went back to our beginning, and I opened this little fruit stand. It’s a chance to talk to people all day long. And it’s a chance to remember who I am.”
“I need to go, Garo. I want to talk to you more about all those things, but right now I need to go.”
“I understand. But listen to what I’ve been telling you. We came with nothing, and we did what we had to do to make a living. After a time we had a shop, and then a big store. We’ve had good lives here. I know things are different now, maybe worse, but I’m telling you that you can find a way forward—even when people beat you over the head.”
“All right.” But Hadi could only think that he had tried for a long time and things had merely gotten worse. Garo had no idea how much trouble he was in.
“Come to me when you need my help. It’s what we should do: help each other.”
“Thank you, Garo. Allah yehmik.”
“And may Jesus bless you, Hadi.” He patted Hadi on the shoulder, smiled at him, his whole face folding into wrinkles.
Hadi wished he could tell Garo everything, then ask for his advice. But he had to go. When he stood, he felt more strength in his legs. So he said goodbye and hurried down the street. He was self-conscious about the rag tied around his head, but he didn’t look at people. He just kept walking as fast as he could, and he soon realized his legs were not as strong as he had thought. And now he was feeling more pain in his back.
His nervousness heightened as he neared the Dora intersection. Dora was a huge roundabout with several streets joining and a freeway passing over the top. Cars and trucks and motorbikes were all crushed together, and movement was slow. The place was not just busy; the mood of the drivers was frantic. It was the kind of chaos that would hide a scuffle if Kamal or his men were waiting to grab him and Baba.
Hadi spotted his father on his usual corner. He seemed to be all right. But Hadi didn’t rush to him. He watched for Kamal or the man in the black jacket. They could be hiding, watching for Hadi. Or maybe they had come and gone. Maybe Hadi’s delay in getting there had been just the right thing.
After five minutes or so, Hadi still couldn’t see Kamal, so he began to walk toward Baba, watching closely, and when he reached him, he took a last look around. By then Baba was saying, “Hadi, what happened to you?”
There was so much to tell, and most of it Hadi didn’t want to admit. But right now they needed to get away from this intersection.
“We have to leave,” he said. “Kamal beat up on me. He might still be looking for me—and for you. And there are other things going on. There’s a lot I have to tell you.”
Hadi saw the grim look on his father’s face. His head was dropping down, his eyes narrowing. “Hadi, I haven’t sold much today. I need to stay a while and—”
“No. We can’t let him find us.” Hadi didn’t know how to explain, quickly, that Rashid might also be after them before long. So he said only, “There are people who might want to kill us—not just you and me but our whole family. We have to go.”
“Hadi, I don’t understand. What’s—”
“I’ll tell you everything when we’re on the bus. But we need to get off this corner.”
Baba finally seemed to feel Hadi’s fear. “All right. We’ll go.” But he took a step and then stopped. “I have to turn these things in.” He had been selling toy cars and trucks. “We’ll have to hurry to the shop.”
“Baba, just throw them away. I don’t think you can come back here again.”
For a couple of seconds Baba stared at Hadi. He had no way of knowing how completely their lives were about to change.
“I can’t throw them away,” he said, and Hadi understood. To Baba, there were things that were wrong, and he wouldn’t do them. He and Hadi hurried to the little shop where Baba picked up his items for sale each morning. He left the toys on a shelf he used each night, and then he and Hadi walked to the bus stop. Hadi wanted to run, but he also didn’t want to call attention to himself and his father.
They crossed two streets and worked their way through the cars that were bogged down in the traffic. When they reached the bus stop, Hadi kept twisting to
look up and down the street. But no one had followed them—no one he could see.
On the bus, Baba finally looked at Hadi, obviously expecting an explanation.
“Baba, Kamal told me that I had to work for him, and I told him no. He threw me into a wall and cut my head, but I ran away, and he chased after me. I don’t know if he’ll try to find me, but I think he will, and I know he won’t let me work in his part of town.”
“He doesn’t know me. Maybe I can still—”
“But that’s only part of the problem.” Hadi lowered his head, didn’t look at Baba when he said, “I… I gave drugs to people. I didn’t sell them. I only passed them along. A man asked me to do it, and then—”
“I knew it was drugs,” Baba whispered. “I knew you were doing too well, always bringing home more money than you had before. But it helped us so much, I didn’t want to ask you too many questions. I’m as much at fault as you are.”
Hadi could hardly believe his father would forgive him, even accept some of the guilt. He felt enormously relieved. “Mama needed medicine and—”
“I know. But what’s going to happen to us now?”
“I can’t go back to my intersection—because of Kamal—but when I don’t show up in the morning, I think the drug dealer—Rashid—will start looking for me. He told me I had to keep working for him. He’s afraid I’ll be a witness for the police if he gets arrested, so he wants to keep me under his control. He told me if I ever turned against him, his people would find me and kill me. And our family, too. I’m sorry, Baba. I don’t know what we can do. I think we have to leave. Go to another city.”
Baba looked destroyed. “We’re at the end, Hadi. We’ve tried everything to keep going, and now I can’t even sell those worthless toys on the street. I don’t know what to do.”
“Samir—the policeman at our intersection—told me we should move to Jbeil or Tripoli and start over there.”
“How do we get there, Hadi? Walk? We don’t have enough money to take a bus that far. Not all of us. And how do we find a place to live?”
Hadi had only thought about getting Baba away from the Dora intersection. He hadn’t thought what might come next. “Will the charity help us?”
“They won’t relocate us. Everyone in our neighborhood is asking for help, and the charities are running out of money.”
Hadi felt the weight of all this, felt himself sink into the plastic seat of the bus. “I did this,” he said.
“You were trying to help us, son, trying to help your mother.”
But that didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything.
“Maybe we can try working on the other side of town,” Baba said. “Maybe in Hamra. These men might not look for us if they realize we’ve cleared away from their part of the city.”
“And then we’ll face gangs like Kamal’s in Hamra.”
“But it’s the only thing I can think of. We can’t miss a day on the street or we’ll be out of food again in just a few days.”
“I have some money. I kept some back and hid it in my shoe.”
“How much?”
“I can’t remember exactly. More than forty thousand. It’s enough to buy food for a while, maybe a week. But not enough to travel to another city and get us started there.” He reached for his shoe, to get it out.
“That’s all right. Just keep what you have for now. We’ll use it as we have to. You’ll have to hide at home, and I’ll take Khaled, and we’ll work in Hamra.”
“Baba, if you’re going to Hamra, I’m going with you. We’ll have to take a chance—and hope Rashid won’t find me.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Let me think.”
They lapsed into silence. Hadi was glad not to think anymore. His head was throbbing, and the pain in his back made it hard for him to lean against the seat. He had decided not to tell Baba about any of that, but he had something else on his mind. He was still worried about Malek. He thought of the stories he had heard about boys being found in alleys, beaten to death. He thought of Malek’s body, like little Marwa’s, broken and bent.
13
When Hadi stepped into the room, at home, Mama saw the band around his head and looked startled. “Oh, Hadi, what’s happened to you?” She hurried to him, then grasped his shoulders and looked into his face.
“It’s nothing. I just bumped the back of my head.”
She moved around behind him and said, “Blood has soaked through the cloth. This was more than a ‘bump,’ Hadi.”
Hadi loved that she was touching him, that her voice sounded so concerned. She was much more alive than she had been when her pain had been so bad. He hated to think that that could all change again. “It’s nothing,” Hadi said. “I stumbled and hit my head against a wall. I should have been more careful. But it’s not serious. I can still go back to work tomorrow.”
She stepped back in front of him, took hold of his shoulders again, and stared into his face. “Did someone hurt you, Hadi?”
“No. I just tripped. But Garo—the one who sells me fruits and vegetables—put this bandage around my head. I can probably take it off now.”
“No. Leave it. Don’t take a chance yet.”
Baba had stayed out of all this, but now he said, “We’re thinking we’ll stay closer to home tomorrow—in case Hadi gets tired. We want to try Hamra anyway—and see whether we can’t make a little more money over there among all those rich people.”
“You’ve done well lately. We’ve had more food. Maybe you shouldn’t leave the corners where you’ve worked so long.”
“I know. We might go back. But for now we’ll try Hamra.”
Mama glanced at Hadi and then back at Baba. Hadi could see that she was sensing something was wrong. She surely remembered why they had decided to cross the city to Dora and Bauchrieh in the first place.
Hadi heard Baba try to keep his voice light as he said, “We did all right today.” Hadi, on the bus, had turned over his money from that day, and with the 5,000 from Rashid and a tip from the drug customer, he had made 15,500. Baba had added another 7,000. “I’ll get some extra groceries tonight. And then we’ll just see how we do in Hamra tomorrow.”
Hadi could bring some of his money out each day, to go with what he received on the street. And fortunately, Mama didn’t ask what they were going to sell. It was too expensive and dangerous to cross the city just to bring back gum and other items to sell in Hamra. They would have to beg money from people until they could find a new source for things to sell.
Aram came to Hadi and wrapped his arms around his leg. “I’m sorry you hurt your head,” Aram whispered.
Hadi touched Aram’s hair, then knelt down by him. “Thank you, Aram. I love you. But don’t worry; it’s not too bad.”
The girls were sitting on the floor together. They had been playing, but now they were all looking up at Hadi. “You’ve got blood on your head,” Aliya said. “It makes me want to puke.” Rabia and Samira laughed. But when Mama looked her way, Aliya ducked her head. “I’m only joking,” she said.
Mama looked at Hadi again. “Tell me this. Where did you get those new clothes?”
“Garo bought them for me. I got blood on my shirt and jacket.”
“Why did he do that? Do we have to pay him?”
“No. He wanted to help me. We’re friends.”
Mama looked doubtful. “We should pay him,” she said.
“He’s Armenian,” Hadi told her. “His people had to leave their country. They lived in Aleppo before they came here. He understands about being a refugee. He’s a kind man.”
Baba said, “Mama, there are kind people in this world. We can’t forget that.”
“I do forget it,” Mama said. “I hope you’ll tell him how grateful we are.”
Hadi was relieved that Mama hadn’t asked too many questions and that so far he hadn’t had to scare her with Rashid’s threats. He glanced at Baba, who gave Hadi a little nod and then said, “Since we’re staying so close, we thought we would take
Khaled with us tomorrow. He can start helping us now.”
Khaled had been sitting in a corner, paying little attention, but now he jumped up. “Yes. I want to go with you.”
“All right,” Baba said. He and Hadi had talked on the way home about taking Khaled with them. Grown men who tried to beg in the streets didn’t do well unless they were amputees or were sitting in wheelchairs. Children sometimes did better, and Khaled looked even younger than he was.
Khaled was excited. “I’ll earn lots of money,” he said. “I’ll work hard.”
Hadi needed to talk to him, but not in front of everyone, so he volunteered to go grocery shopping. When Mama protested, he said he would take Khaled, who could carry everything up their three flights of stairs. So Hadi pulled the rag off his head and showed his mother that his wound wasn’t bleeding now, and Baba said it was all right.
Hadi and Khaled walked down the dark stairs. When they reached the street, Hadi said, “It won’t be easy in Hamra. It won’t be the same as we’ve done before. You won’t have anything to sell. You’ll have to ask people for money.”
“Can’t I sell gum?”
“We don’t have any over here. Maybe we can find a place to get it cheap, but for tomorrow we’ll just have to try begging.”
“I wanted to sell gum.”
“I know. But we can’t help it.”
“What will I say to people?”
So Hadi explained the way he should approach the cars, stop at the drivers’ windows, and hold both hands out, cupped. “But don’t smile. Look sad. If they don’t give you anything, you can do this.” He raised his hand to his mouth, as if eating. It was what Hadi had seen other children do sometimes as he had walked to Dora from his intersection. “If the window is open, say, ‘I’m hungry,’ or ‘My family is hungry. Please help us.’ If they don’t tell you to leave them alone, you can keep saying things. Like, ‘Have you a coin or two that you can spare? That’s all I ask.’ ”
“I thought you got a thousand pounds most of the time.”
