by Sumia Sukkar
‘Hello Mister. How are you today?’
‘Fine Adam, guess what? I got the “Guild Wars”!’
‘Really Mister! That is fantastic! Can I play with you?’
‘Of course, that’s why I came to you. Do you want to come over and play with me?’
‘Come over where?’
‘Do you want to come to my house?’
‘I don’t know where your house is Mister.’
The shampoo is about to get into my eyes. But my super fingers stop it just in time. If they hadn’t I wouldn’t have spoken to anyone today. It’s bad luck to speak when it happens. I have ten minutes to wash up and change because it was so close to getting into my eyes. I finish in exactly ten minutes.
‘Yasmine, I’ve finished.’
‘Yes Habibi, I can see. You smell lovely.’ She blows me a kiss.
‘I’m as hungry as a lion!’
‘Did you learn that at school?’
‘No, I was watching a documentary on TV about lions. The man said that lions get very hungry.’
Yasmine laughs so I start to laugh too. Her laugh is funny; it’s like scraping an apple on a shiny wet surface.
‘What would you like for breakfast Mr Cheeky?’
‘Tea and labna please Miss Pretty.’
‘How do you say tea in Japanese Adam?’
‘Why do you want to know? Nobody ever asks me about my Japanese.’
‘Well nobody speaks Japanese here. So tell me how do you say tea?’
‘Ocha.’
‘Ota?’ She laughs with her head facing upwards. I don’t know why people tilt their head back when they laugh loudly. I think the pharynx needs more space for so much laughter. ‘Ota? Like a cat in Egyptian? Would you like to drink a cat?’ Her laughter is so squeaky.
‘No Yasmine! O-CH-A!’
‘Ocha? Oh, it’s not funny any more, would you like some OTA?’ she slowly mouths to tease me.
‘Ocha o hitotsu kudasai!’
I quickly run off while laughing at Yasmine. I love Yasmine, she makes me happy. When we play like this, she becomes my favourite and most vibrant colour, my colour ruby.
‘What? Come back here! What does that mean? Come back you cheeky boy! I’ll throw my slipper at you!’
I keep running without stepping on any yellow design on the carpet. When I reach the sitting room I hide behind Baba.
‘Shh Adam, we are watching the news!’
I don’t say another word and try to keep my laughter inside. Everyone looks so tired and upset. Maybe it’s because they miss mama. It can’t be because of the war. A war is a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state. There is no conflict in Syria for there to be a war. The dictionary doesn’t lie, so if that’s what it says, that’s what I believe.
The day is going by slowly. I finish breakfast and leave the sitting room. It is too boring to sit around, watch the news and listen to the family talk about politics. I walk to my room and think about what book to read today. I have just borrowed Death in Venice by Thomas Mann from the library. I think I will start reading it.
The main character’s name looks grey, which means I won’t like him. Gustave Aschenbach is a very dark name; he must be bad. I don’t want to finish the book in case it upsets me. Thinking about it forms hexagons in my mind with bees roaming around the shape, stinging. He certainly is a bad character then. Just the thought of reading on scares me.
The dark image I have in my head from just the first page of the book makes me want to paint. I walk over to the corner of my room and open all the lids of the colours on the table as I sit up on the chair. My paintbrush darts for the grey colour. I have a better idea though. I pick up the bottle of grey paint and splash it on the white paper. The paint runs down and before it dries I dip my paintbrush in orange. I draw a thin outline of tired looking eyes that reflects a flame in the pupils. I draw as delicately as possible so the details are fine and noticeable. I pick up a thinner brush and dip it into a midnight blue colour and trace a fine line around the pupils so the orange and blue simultaneously show the fear in the eyes. The grey in the background has mixed with orange and dried now. All together it looks like the aftermath of a war.
I move my chair back to see the picture from afar. I feel it reach out to talk to me, telling me something is missing. I re-evaluate the three colours. The unexpected clash of grey and orange shows the dark results of the war but also reflects a thin glimmer of hope. The midnight blue around the pupils speaks to me and tells me of the horrors it has witnessed. A lighter colour is missing: white. The sky should be painted white to mock the supposed ending of the war and show the naivety that still remains.
I pick up my white paint and carefully spill it at the top of the canvas. I put a piece of paper under it so there is a perfect line and so it doesn’t interfere with the other colours. I then wait five minutes for it to dry before removing the paper.
I can hear weird sounds coming from outside all of a sudden. They sound like the howls of angry wolves. I never knew we had wolves in Aleppo. It is exciting to hear them but I am scared. Why would wolves be howling like this? I run out of my room quickly and look for Yasmine.
‘Yasmine! I can hear wolves! Yasmine!’
‘Come in Adam, what’s wrong Habibi?’
‘Yasmine, can you hear the wolves outside? Come, I’ll show you!’
I lead Yasmine to the front of the house and keep my eyes on her face. Her eyes look so small. I think she is scared. I have never seen her eyes this small apart from at mama’s funeral. She must be scared or upset, but why should she be upset because of the wolves?
‘Yasmine what’s wrong?’
‘The protests have started darling, they’re coming down our street.’
‘Is this what you meant by the start of the war?’
‘Yes, the boys and I have to join the crowd Adam, you stay home with Isa.’
‘I thought you were going tomorrow? You can’t go today, it’s not time yet.’
‘I thought we would be going tomorrow too but I have to go today.’
Yasmine runs to the sitting room and calls out to Khalid and Tariq to get dressed and ready. I don’t feel too good, maybe it’s because I am scared. What if something happens to them? Things always happen in wars. There’s always blood in war paintings, all of them. What if they come home covered in blood?
The loud sounds come closer and now they sound like a huge crowd of angry people shouting. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I go to the front door and open it to get a closer look. The crowd is still in the distance but they are so loud I can hear them from here. They look like a huge army of ants approaching. In one of William Hogarth’s paintings there is a crowd of people who look like they are protesting as well, he paints the picture with splashes of red to portray the forecast of the bloody war. I would do the same. I see blood coming.
Yasmine, Tariq and Khalid leave. I walk them to the door and hope I don’t see anything yellow now because that means they won’t come back safe.
‘Want to watch TV with me Adam?’ Isa walks behind me.
We flip through the TV channels and settle on MBC1, which has an art show. It’s 1:00 p.m. I had lost track of time. Of course, my art show is on repeat at 1:00 p.m.
The episode today is about the death of art. The TV presenter is talking about how true art of expression and depth has died and simplicity has taken its place. It is disappointing to hear this. Real art should never die if it is real, it is just hidden behind the layers of ignorance. This show is sending the wrong message out to people. So many people are listening to this and believing it.
‘Believe in this?’ Isa asks me.
‘Of course not, real art still exists, some people just want to create new art so they forget about the origins and truth of it.’
‘Very clever of you, I would have never thought that. Why don’t you show me some of your paintings?’
‘I only show
mama and Yasmine.’
‘Why don’t you try showing me? I’ll be honest.’
I don’t know whether I should show him or not. What if he laughs? I only trust mama and Yasmine. He said he’d give me an honest opinion so maybe I should.
‘Don’t tell anyone I showed you okay?’
I lead him into my room. He doesn’t jump over the threshold so I’m not sure if I feel comfortable with him being here.
‘Wow Adam, there are paintings everywhere, that’s amazing!’
‘Do you like them?’
‘Amazing, I never knew you were this good, I always just saw you go into your room and come out hours later, but I didn’t think you did such good paintings.’
‘Thank you Mr. Isa.’
‘Why do you always paint war?’
‘Because it’s filled with endless painting possibilities, and the range of colours is so wide.’
‘Why don’t you try making sculptures?’
‘I like using colours.’
‘But you’re good with faces.’
‘Thank you Isa…’
Before I am able to finish my sentence I hear a loud shriek, gun shots and an ambulance siren. I freeze in my place. Yasmine is all I can think about.
‘Yasmine… Yasmine… Yasmine!’
‘Calm down Adam, let’s go out and see what’s going on. Don’t worry it won’t be Yasmine.’
‘I can’t go out, I can’t.’
I run to the door and open it clumsily, the lock isn’t unlocking. Isa pushes me aside gently and unlocks it. I stretch my neck out of the door to see if I can see what happened. All I can see from here is a group of people with banners marching on, and an ambulance in the far distance. The fear of something happening to my sister burns inside me. My fingers start to tremble and twitch. I back away from the door and sit in the corner of the corridor towards the wall. I grind my teeth trying to ignore all the dark thoughts that start clouding my mind. I can’t see the wall in front of me any more; I can only see grey triangles covering my vision. My body starts rocking involuntarily. I try to stop it, but it rocks more violently as I count in my head.
Chapter Three
NAVY
ISA PULLS OUT another cigarette. He has been smoking every ten minutes for all the hours that have passed. It doesn’t smell nice. I guess it’s his way of worrying about Yasmine, Khalid and Tariq. The smell is giving me a headache. I push my head onto my knees to block the smell from reaching me. Mama always said it is like burning yourself and I should never smoke. Why would I want to burn myself? Mama was always right. Isa should have listened to her more often. When mama was alive, Isa hardly spoke to her. She used to always be upset because of how he treated her. I love mama. I didn’t like Isa making her sad.
My heart feels like a nest of crows hatching. It’s so heavy and dark. Baba is still asleep in mama’s room. I want to wake him up and tell him to go and look for Yasmine, but I don’t want him to shout at me. He is very tired. It suddenly becomes silent outside. I can’t hear a single person. Isa rushes to the door and opens it. His cigarette is on the ground, still lit. I run behind him and put it out. Our street looks abandoned. Ripped banners lie on the ground tracing the protesters’ march and stones fill the road with dust. I can’t wait for Yasmine to come home. Isa shuts the door. I head back to my corner.
‘Do you want me to make you something to eat?’ Isa asks. I am really hungry but I don’t think Isa knows how to set my plate.
‘It’s okay, I’ll do it myself thank you.’
I take seven steps to the kitchen and take out my plate from the fridge. Yasmine has already put some mashed potato and gravy on it. I put it in the microwave and pour myself a drink. I miss Yasmine already.
‘We are home!’ I can hear Yasmine shout. I start to run to her but knock my drink over and it spills on the floor. The glass crashes; I feel it pierce my eardrum. I hear blue and purple screeches in my mind. I don’t know what to do. I kneel down on the floor and rock myself so the sound disappears. I don’t know if I should run to Yasmine.
‘Are you okay dear?’ Yasmine comes into the kitchen; I look up at her and smile.
‘Are you okay Yasmine? What happened?’
‘We just went marching darling. Get up, I’ll clean the glass.’
‘I heard a gunshot.’
‘Someone got hurt, but we are all fine, I promise.’
‘I was scared.’
‘Sorry we left all of a sudden, but you have to try to get used to it. It’s only just started…’
‘But I don’t want to, you’ll get hurt.’
‘Adam Habibi I’ll be all right, I promise. Do you want me to pour you another glass of juice?’
‘Yes please.’
Yasmine clears the broken glass from the floor and I help her clean up the juice. She looks different. Something has changed. It looks like she’s bruised from the inside, purple. It feels wrong. Yasmine puts my plate of food on the dining table with my juice. She adjusts her upper body in an uncomfortable manner like something is irritating her posture. It looks like Yasmine is hiding something beneath her clothes, something that points out. It’s wedged into her waist.
‘Yasmine, what’s that?’ I ask pointing at her waist.
‘Nothing, chop chop and eat while I go change.’
I am confused. I see something pointing out and she fixes herself, so how is it nothing? Why did she say it was nothing? She knows lying confuses me and I don’t understand it. My brain feels like a wire track with burning fuses. I can’t see straight. People are enigmas. Now, even Yasmine is one of them.
She starts to walk away. I have a bad hunch. I stop eating and just move my food around the plate. The meal doesn’t speak to me today. The mashed potato looks grey. It is in an odd mood like me. It’s in the corner away from the gravy. Yasmine comes back into the kitchen wearing her pyjamas. I know how she dresses in different clothes depending on her mood; today she is dressed in her navy-blue silk pyjamas. She usually only brings them out on occasions, like when cousins come over to sleep. Something seems amiss and my heart feels tight and heavy thinking about it. I feel like hot black smoke is being pumped out of my heart. I feel like I am sitting on top of a falling chair. Navy-blue smoke colours my sight. I close my eyes.
‘Why aren’t you eating Adam?’ I open my eyes to Yasmine standing close to me.
‘I am not hungry any more.’
I pick up my plate, cover it in plastic film and put it back in the fridge. I sneak a look at Yasmine through the corner of my eye. She is not paying attention to what I am doing. Something is wrong; she usually pressures me to eat. I can’t read her face. I want to know what happened outside. The boys have gone to sleep so I can’t ask them. I don’t know how to approach them anyway. I can only speak to Yasmine and Baba, and sometimes Isa.
‘Let’s sleep Adam, I’m tired.’
Yasmine gets up and smiles at me. She leaves to go to her room. I take three steps outside the kitchen and five to my room and jump over the carpet onto my bed. I get under the covers but I can’t sleep. What if Yasmine leaves in the morning again? I take my cover and take eight steps to her room. I knock on the door but she doesn’t reply. I lay my cover outside her room and roll into it like a caterpillar. I imagine waking up and being able to fly outside to see what is going on. I can’t wait for school so I can walk down the streets and see if it looks any different. The streets look eerie at this time, but I still don’t see a war. Nobody is dressed in army clothes and no tanks patrol the streets, but there was a gunshot.
*
The sun is starting to rise and I wake up to the light right away. I look outside the window and don’t see anybody. It’s a school day, there’s usually more life. I pick up my book on the bedside table and start to read, waiting for everyone to wake up. Today I am reading Animal Farm by George Orwell. I only have three chapters left. When I first started reading I couldn’t understand why the animals were talking. I read the first chapter 17 times. So I u
nderstood after that. George Orwell has special powers of speaking to animals, like Prophet Suleiman who spoke to ants and birds. Now that I understand the idea, the story is still weird, but I can only guess what this man means. I sometimes have to read things over and over again before I can understand them, especially jokes or sarcasm. How do I know if someone is joking or being sarcastic? I think the author should give a warning in the footnotes. That would make everything clearer.
I can’t believe Yasmine is still asleep; she is usually the first to wake up. ‘Yasmine… Yasmine… Yasmine.’ I knock on her door three times. Mama said three is a blessed number. Yasmine still doesn’t reply. I push the door a little and it opens. She usually locks it every night before she goes to sleep but this time she didn’t. I stick my head in-between the gap and see Yasmine lying on the bed, on top of the covers. She looks grey, like the way mama looked when she was sick. She looks so much like mama. It makes my heart drop heavily like a rock, something surges through it and I hold my breath. Is this what an electric shock feels like? I walk slowly towards Yasmine and knock on her bedside table.
‘Yasmine… Yasmine… Yasmine.’
She doesn’t answer. I see the purple in her that I saw the other day after she came back so upset. She is bruised inside but I don’t know how. What has upset Yasmine so much? I gently tap her legs to wake her up. She opens her eyes a little. They are red and she quickly rolls to her side and vomits violently on the floor. My eyes start spinning around the room; I notice boxes of pills on the floor. This can’t be good. Mama had boxes of pills all around her room when she was sick. No, no, Yasmine can’t be sick too. I don’t know what to do. Yasmine stops vomiting and lies there, her head hanging over the bed. I run out of the room and knock on Baba’s door.
‘Baba… Baba… Baba!’
Baba comes out still wearing his pyjamas.
‘Baba… ummmm…’ I try to tell Baba to go and see Yasmine, but nothing comes out. My mind is filled with letters but I can’t put them together to form a word. I hold my head and can faintly hear Baba talking to me.
