An Ishmael of Syria

by Asaad Almohammad

  The children walked between several alleys heading to Aum Mazen’s house. She was in her late fifties, which seemed ancient to Adam and Zain. She had met them a number of times while queuing to get bread. She had made a deal with the kids. She paid them two pounds every day they got her the bread. Zain pointed, “There she is!” Aum Mazen was carrying the end of a water hose and with her thumb she closed almost half the halo ending to strengthen the water pressure. She was splashing the water on the brown soil in front of her door. There was a plastic chair on the pavement by her door. Adam and Zain started giggling as they squeezed their bottoms on the chair. Zain laughingly asked, “Where is the tea, Aum Mazen?” She turned her head towards them and lowered it as her eyebrows went down. She stared at them, “Under the chair, bastards,” she said in a shaky quivering voice. Once the words came out of her mouth, the children had belly-laughed until their eyes watered. Zain poured himself some tea. They had been looking at her splashing the water for several minutes before Adam elbowed Zain and queried, “What does bastard mean, Aum Mazen?”

  The old lady, shakily teased, “You know, little fuckers! I know you do, dirty little shits!” The boys just cracked up. It was her voice that stimulated laughter in them.

  Salma, Aum Mazen’s youngest daughter, came out of the door and stood behind the chair. She was a twenty-six-year-old natural blond. Salma was quite tall. She tapped Adam on his shoulder and handed him twenty-seven pounds and greeted the children, “Good morning.” Salma leaned her back, holding the chair’s top rail.

  Adam shouted, “Aum Mazen!” Once she looked at him, he continued, “Aum Mazen, I was thinking about a new deal…” She interrupted, “I am not going to pay you more. Forget about it, rusted, black street boy!”

  “I am not a boy,” Adam stood up and walked a pace towards her, “I am a young man. That’s not the new deal. What say you that you keep our two pounds? Of course, as part of our deal! Say, fifteen years later that will be a lot of money. Under our new deal, you’ll save me the money. Salma,” he cleared his throat and looked back at Aum Mazen, “I love your daughter! So, Aum Mazen, consider the savings her dowry. Of course, if you agree to marry her to me.” Salma and her mother cracked up. Adam tried his utmost effort to prevent himself from laughing. Aum Mazen, directed the water at the two kids and splashed them from head to toe, as they went in stitches making noisy giggling sounds. Adam and Zain started to run away as the old lady started calling them names.

  “Oh, it’s bad,” Zain noted as they caught a glimpse of the crush of customers. The fixed steel barriers were hardly effective for organising the crowd. People would line up for hours, but if only one person pushed himself through, the rest almost always followed. Adam pushed his way through the messy crush of angry customers and found himself close to the window. It was very hard to breathe as his chest was pressed against the edge of the bakery window. He shouted out loud, “It’s my turn!” placing his hands on both the edges of the concrete window frame and pushed as hard as he could to allow himself to breathe, “It’s my turn, son of the bitches, it’s my turn!” The bakery workers never bothered to cajole the crowds to be orderly. Occasionally customers would get very aggressive, leaving Adam with minor bruises. For his age, he was physically strong. Not as much as his older brother, though he compensated with courage.

  Adam divided the bread. He carried theirs and Zain carried Aum Mazen’s share. Before going to their neighbourhood, they made a turn to deliver the bread to the old woman. At the corner of their street, the minimarket owner was arranging the vegetable containers inside his store. Their pace slowed as the delivery truck faced them on its way toward the main street. Zain stopped by the shop to buy a cone of vanilla ice cream and Adam waited for him outside. Adam's mouth watered as he observed his friend licking it. Before parting ways, they agreed to meet after breakfast.

  “Adam, you are here finally,” Warda grinned from her place. His father, mother, and brother were sitting on a plastic mat around a few dishes, drinking some tea. It was like they were on a picnic in their courtyard. Adam laid the bread to his right and sat between his brother and father. He gave each a loaf and started dipping it in the yogurt plate. Adam took an olive and chewed before dipping a little piece of bread into the yogurt again. His mother conversed with Fadi. She cautioned, “Don’t carry heavy stuff that will stop your growth.”

  “I just wash and hand them the brushes, soften the concrete wall with the glass papers, and get them food. There is no heavy stuff, Mama.”

  Adam broke in, “Show me your muscles, Fadi! Please, please show me.”

  “Fadi show him your muscles,” laughingly Hazem said as he lit a cigarette. Proudly, his brother flexed his biceps. Adam exclaimed, “Ooh, very strong! I want to have them.” Hazen laughed and announced, “Fadi get ready. We should be leaving.” Warda walked her husband and son to the door and came back to collect the dishes. As she reached to the bread, she queried, “Don’t you want to play outside with Zain? Your sisters are sleeping.” Adam jumped to his feet and stared at his mother for few moments. “Tomorrow I will give you a pound,” she noted. “You always say tomorrow,” he complained. “Son, I promise,” she assured. As he left, his mother carried the bread and two plates before disappearing into the common room.

  Adam opened the door to see Zain sitting on the doorstep. He sat beside him and put his arm around Zain’s shoulder. Zain claimed, “I waited for hours!” Adam laughed, “Don’t lie! I have only been inside for forty minutes.” “Ha, ha,” Zain continued, “forty minutes,” he grinned wider, “not forty-one, not thirty-seven, exactly forty minutes.” Adam gave him an elbow. The children sat for a few minutes waiting for other kids to come out. Zain cautiously pulled a lengthy green elastic tube and pushed it from between his feet while distracting Adam with the passers-by. Zain succeeded in making Adam unaware of the object over his shoe’s outsole. Zain waited patiently for a few moments for Adam to notice the object over his shoe. But his patience soon grew thin and he pushed and pulled the object until Adam spotted it. As he did, the child jumped with a frightened pale face and for a moment was breathless and unable to say a word. The youngster almost wet his pants before he shouted in a terrified voice: “Snake, that’s a snake, that’s a snake!” Looking at him, Zain broke up in a deep belly laugh and kept sniggering as he leaned his back to the door. He chortled as he pointed at the snake and assured him, “It’s a plastic toy, you idiot!” Zain gloated for a while before Adam ran to him and started wrestling his friend on the doorstep. Sitting to his right, Zain noted, “I scared you.”

  “It wasn’t scary,” Adam claimed. Zain repeated rhythmically, “I scared you. I scared you. I scared you.” Adam frowned and sat silently.

  Adam and Zain knew it was still early for the other kids to come out and gather in the neighbourhood. Adam held out his hand and requested, “Let me see it.” Zain handed him the toy. Adam noted, “It looks real,” while inspecting the toy, “it looks very real.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Last year, I saw one!”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  Adam shrugged and continued, “It was a big black, male snake with horns.”

  “Horns?!”

  Adam recounted, “Two; one to the right, and one to the left.”

  “Oooh!”

  “It was very big and scary!”

  “Adam, how could you tell it was a male snake? Did it have a penis?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I didn’t see a penis.”

  “How did you know?”

  “My uncle told me. He slithered by my legs; he was too fast; he didn’t bite me.”

  “Slithered?!”

  “Snakes cannot walk or run because they don’t have legs. My uncle told me that snakes slither, not walk or run.” Studying the toy, Adam continued, “It looks real. Nobody is out yet. Your snake is very scary. Do you want to scare somebody?”

  “Nobody is out yet!”

  “The Metraq’s have alrea
dy gone to their shop. All of them! So, they left Angry Dalia alone. Let’s scare her.”

  “My mum grounded me once because I threw the ball at Dalia’s window.”

  “Let’s scare her. She won’t tell anybody. We can tell them that we were playing with your toy. We can laugh at her. Let’s do it, let’s do it.’ Adam stood up and dragged Zain with him.

  Dalia felt persecuted by the children. She was in her late thirties and still unmarried. She was bipolar. On her best days, seeing Adam or Zain agitated her and aroused in her extreme outrage. The children were not aware of her condition; not that it would have changed anything. Her room had two doors; one through a veranda and the other from across the living room. It was open to the street; with an entrance that marked the end of a low concrete fence. The entrance was in the middle and was connected to the street via three flights of stairs. The veranda was a gathering place for the elderly women of the neighbourhood. During summer, they sat and socialised there, from dusk until the early hours of the night.

  Adam pulled Zain to climb the stairs and whispered, “Let’s do it. Let’s do it!” Giggling, “Let’s do it,” answered Zain, in hushed tone. They tiptoed gleefully towards Dalia’s door. “Keep a look out,” Zain instructed as he kneeled, slapping his hands against the tiled floor. Adam leaned forward and put his elbows on the low concrete fence.

  Adam's patience ran out in a few seconds and he playfully stood by his kneeling friend. Zain pushed the plastic snake from under the broken bottom rail. The door had side stops but, for some reason, a threshold hadn’t been installed. Zain kept hissing as he pushed and pulled the toy, trying to lure Dalia. He even knocked on the door. At this point, the children started to wonder whether she was even at home. But they hadn’t given up on their prank just yet. Adam hissed louder and knocked on the door while he pushed the snake to its fullest length. “Maybe the door is open,” Adam said as he pushed it and continued, “See I told you! She is not here, maybe she’s in the other room. Let’s make some noise so she comes here.” They stepped inside and started yelling loudly, “Dalia, Dalia, come here, Dalia, Dalia, come here.” They ran toward the door and started to move the snake from under the bottom rail. Dalia did not come so they decided to attract her attention by entering her room again and yelling her name louder. The children were on the veranda for the third time, hoping that she would hear them and come to her room. Zain kneeled and put one hand on the floor and with the other pushed the snake. Adam was standing and looking at his friend.

  “What are you doing boys?” A deep and croaky voice alerted the children to turn their heads toward the street. On the veranda behind them, stood a tall plump man. He was wearing a dirty uniform. Black and brown patches of oil and grease were all over his pants. Their original colour was probably dark grey. Large patches of industrial dirt made it hard to determine the shirt’s original colour. He had a long beard with a few grey hairs emerging from under his chin. His hair was razor-shaved. Caught off guard, Adam and Zain looked at each other before Adam claimed, “It’s our house. We are just playing!”

  The man asked, “What’s the game?”

  Zain replied, “We are playing with a snake. It’s plastic!”

  “Ha, ha,” the man laughed as he put his thumbs in his pockets. He enquired, “Is there anybody at home?”

  Zain looked at Adam and answered, “No, my mother just went to the bakery.”

  The man inspected the street before turning to the children. He held out his hand and requested, “Let me show you how to play with it?” He took the snake and sat beside Zain. He shook the snake and placed his hand on Zain’s thigh. “Give your uncle a kiss,” he grinned. Zain acquiesced. Adam was standing and looking at his friend giving the strange man a kiss on each cheek. The man stood up and pushed the door as he instructed “You stay here,” he pointed at Adam, “Knock on the door if anybody comes.” Pulling Zain’s hand, he led the child inside the room and set the door ajar. As instructed, Adam stood outside.

  The man led Zain towards the centre of the room and asked him to sit, while he was still holding the plastic snake. Sitting opposite Zain, the man put four fingertips under the child’s chin and demanded, “Open your mouth.” Studying the man’s face, he shook his head in refusal. “Just open it,” he insisted.

  “No, no, I want to go,” the child stammered. The man blustered in a louder tone, “Open your mouth!” The child silently shook his head and tried to stand up. The man pressed his hand against the child’s thigh, forcing him to stay seated. Then, he dropped the snake and reached with his left hand to his right pocket. He pulled out a flick knife. With the tips of his fingers he held its handle and flicking his wrist in a speedy motion, opened the knife. He stared down at Zain as he pressed the blade against his shoulder. The knife was sharp enough to evoke a combination of pain and fear in the child.

  Looking at the predator’s eyes, Zain detected all clues of danger. The mixture of regret, pain, and helplessness alerted the innocent child to what the brute might have in store for him, stoking his fear. The anger that followed Zain’s fear failed to enable the prey to flee. He was in no way a match to the aggressor facing him. Distressed, the child shed tears, pleading for mercy. With the side of the index finger of the hand that was forcing the innocent child’s thigh onto the ground, the aroused man gave the subject of his desires a signal to stop and continue in silence. The strengthened force of the knife’s edge scared the prey into submission.

  The man kept the knife on the child’s shoulder as he reached to the snake. “Be a good boy and I’ll take the knife off you,” the man purred into the child’s ear, trailing the tip of his tongue across the child’s earlobe. The child wept silently as the knife lowered. The aggressor kept the knife under his hand while he spun the elastic toy in pleasure. He loosened his grip, allowing the snake’s head a shorter distance from his grip before holding it firmly. “Open your mouth, pretty boy,” he instructed. The shivering boy nervously followed his instruction. The predator pushed the toy in strongly, hurting the child. The choking victim gagged. “Do you like?” the man whispered as he put his hand on the side of the child’s face.

  The tears were dripping onto the predator’s hand and across the child’s naked cheek. “You will enjoy it, if you stop crying,” said the brute before his tooth reached the right vermillion border of his lower lip. He then unzipped his fly and pulled out his erect penis. 'The period of sickening grooming was now done'. “Do the same thing with it,” he stared down at the terrified child. “Come here,” he continued, pulling his prey. “No, no! Open your mouth wider and hide your teeth with your lips,” he instructed while placing his grip on the crown of the child’s head. Forced to give the brute oral sex, the child’s tears coursed his cheeks while a mixture of mucus and tears was draining out of his nose, toward his lower lip and around the predator’s penis. The liquid snot bubbled as the child struggled to breath.

  “You’re good! A fast learner,” he breathed. “That’s enough,” he ordered, after pushing and pulling the nape of his suffocating prey’s neck, back and forth in a fast manner. The aggressor unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He held the child’s hand and moved a few paces away. The child was now standing opposite the predator. Shivering, young Zain could not have anticipated the next course of brutal abuse. At the age of seven he couldn’t comprehend the word sex, let alone rape. The disturbed aroused man placed his hands around the child’s hips, turning him to the opposite direction. “Now, kneel on your knees,” he insisted while applying force, “and put your hands on the ground.” With the tips of his fingers he pulled down the child’s pants and underwear. He held the child’s hip in one hand and lowered his back by pressing the blade of the child’s left shoulder with the other, in his attempt to penetrate the little boy.

  The rapist pulled the child’s hip strongly, failing to ravish him. The pain was excruciating and the child started to call out, shouting out loud “Adam, Adam...” The predator fumed, “Shut up! Be quiet a
nd it’ll end soon.” At that moment Zain realised that his friend was not guarding the door anymore. The pain escalated and the child shouted his friend’s name more times. The brute became more aggressive as the child kept shouting. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up,” he exclaimed, banging Zain’s head against the ground every time he repeated his instruction. The first bang broke the child’s nose and the next almost smashed his forehead. Over the unconscious victim’s body, the outraged predator breathed heavily before he continued raping his prey.

  Adam had left the veranda when Zain and the strange man entered Dalia’s room. He’d caught a glimpse of his mother going to the grocery store. Craving a cone of ice cream he’d followed his mother. He’d stood by her while she picked the tomatoes, potatoes, and cucumbers. With the growing desire for vanilla ice cream, the child stayed at the store for a while. Warda was distracted by Dalia and Ahmad. Dalia was Ahmad’s younger sister. The siblings made their way inside the shop. Ahmad walked towards the cashier’s table. “Get me a pack of Marlboro,” he requested. “Are you going to pay your condolences,” Dalia asked Warda.