The Last Rectangle Page 9

  Malek’s father said: this is your Aunt Labibeh’s house, do you remember her? She is the one who got you the cowboy gun for your birthday. Malek smiled as he loved that gun and wished to see his aunt quickly. They walked up the steps of the little balcony. Malek’s father knocked with the back of his knuckle on the glass panes. Labibeh knew this to be his knock and she opened the door and peered out, wiping her hands on her apron of whatever she was preparing. When she saw Malek, she leaned back and let out a peal of laughter. She swung the door open and hurried outside to hug him and lift him high. Malek was thrilled but silent.

  Soon, inside, they were treated to a stream of questions and stories, laced with mulberry juice. Labibeh brought the first to Malek and told him: look, it is darker than the rest. It has more juice than water in it. Malek sipped it in silence. Then there was a silence. Both Labibeh and Malek’s father looked at Malek with a meaningful look that Malek did not understand. Malek’s father started becoming uneasy. He fidgeted with some of the items on the table next to him, something he had always asked Malek not to do.

  Malek had two sisters, both younger than him. When it was decided he had to have his tonsils taken out, there was no way his mother could come with him and leave the girls alone. So it was seen best that he should come to his Aunt Labibeh who would have welcomed Malek any time. But today, her house was empty. Her sons were away. Jamil was in Venezuela. Imad was in the Bekaa valley on a long business week. Fouad, a resident doctor at the hospital, had night duty that week. This would be convenient as Malek was to be admitted to the same hospital and seeing Fouad there would make him feel better. The time of admission was set at 6 in the evening, an hour or two after they had arrived at his Aunt’s house. The operation would take place next morning at 8. His father had to make sure that Malek would accept going to the hospital and then, more importantly, stay over night alone.

  Aunt Labibeh talked incessantly. She was more nervous than Malek’s father but showed it differently. When they finished drinking the juice, she led Malek by his hand and said: this is going to be your room. It is Jamil’s room. I wrote and told him that you were going to stay in it for a few days. And... I’ve given your father a much smaller room. They walked into Jamil’s room and started unpacking. Malek was taking it all in. There were books on the shelves. There was a large window crossed with iron bars. The bed was right under the window which gave over to the garden at the back of the house. More vegetables. Everything was so large and high.

  When Aunt Labibeh opened the wardrobe, there was a space already cleared for Malek’s clothes. She took them out of his little bag and laid them out carefully. She took out a pullover and a pair of pajamas and laid them out on the bed. Then she brought a little bag and put them in it. Malek watched with questioning eyes.

  Although it was time for dinner, Malek’s father said, let us not eat now, we have a few things to do outside the house. He carried the little bag and kissed Labibeh on her cheek and started walking. Malek looked back at her as she watched him. He did not know why she rushed and kissed him dearly, after all, this was going to be a short walk. He ran to catch up with his father and they walked down Jean D’Arc Street. The evening breeze had started to ruffle the tree leaves. They walked through Artois Street and then down Abdul-Aziz. All this time Malek was hoping his father would say something but he did not. It looked like he was deep in thought so Malek did not ask any questions. Just before reaching Bliss Street, they turned right and entered the American University Hospital. So many Ficus trees surrounded the entrance.

  Malek was stunned by the number of people coming in and out of the main entrance. Every now and then, his father would greet someone. They walked in and went straight to a small clinic at the end of a long corridor. Malek started feeling uneasy. A doctor came out and greeted them both. He had seen him before, just last week, when he visited them to examine Malek’s tonsils. The doctor was friendly and to prove that, he ran back to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out a little jack knife. It was plated on both sides with mother of pearl slabs. This is for you, said the doctor, handing it to Malek. He put him on his lap and started talking to him. He told him that because of what he saw last week, he needed to look more deeply. That meant Malek had to be in bed and maybe alone. Malek’s cousin Fouad, the resident doctor, came in and joined in the talk. Things were getting dark outside as the two doctors went on. Sometimes they would talk to Malek and sometimes they would explain to Malek’s father who nodded in agreement. The doctor told Malek that soon, someone will come and carry you to a large room with a lovely big bed. Some nurses will come and take your temperature and maybe do a few other things that you had not experienced before. I hope you are not afraid of nurses? Malek nodded without knowing how or why one can be afraid of nurses.

  Soon, an orderly came in and rushed straight at Malek and carried him. He told him, say good bye! That pulled Malek to bits and he cried out loudly and reached towards his father who stood there looking very incapable, sad and nervous. He came close and touched Malek’s hands but did not say more than: I will see you soon. I will come to your room after the nurses leave. The orderly took Malek to his room. There, a few tests were completed and then he had dinner with a nurse. Each time the door opened, he was sure it would be his father. Soon, he felt drowsy although it was not time for him to sleep. He lay on his side and watched the movement of the Ficus branches outside the window.

  He woke up early in the morning when a loud knock was preceded by a “Good Morning Malek”. It was another nurse. She talked to him without waiting for him to answer as he was still sleepy. She washed him and made him get into a funny back-to-front robe. She told him, this way people can see your taztooz when you walk. He did not find this funny. Soon, the doctor came. They gave him a quick injection which did not hurt. They brought in the gurney and asked him to get up on it. He did and felt very cold. They wheeled it around the corridors and into a large cold room. Another doctor came in and placed a mask on Malek’s nose. He asked him, how are you feeling? Are you all right? Malek closed his eyes. He tried to open them so he can answer the doctor but the doctor was gone and all Malek could see was the bulb hanging from the ceiling of his room.

  It was daylight outside. There was no one in the room. He felt the veins of his throat pounding. Nurses and doctors started coming in. He could not talk. He could not say that he wanted to see his father and mother. One nurse came and started fondling the jack knife. She asked him questions but he could not answer. She told him that his father would be coming soon. And he did. And when he did, he filled the room. He kissed Malek on the forehead and explained to him what had happened. He told him he had to stay one more night so that the doctors can make sure all is well with his throat, then he can go back to Aunt Labibeh’s house. That night passed slowly, his sleep getting interrupted by pangs of pain in his throat. The anesthetic was wearing out. Nurses would come in, hold him up and have him drink always asking him to take little sips and not swallow fast. It hurt. The water was cold. The colder it was the less it hurt.

  He woke up feeling drowsy again and was worried about another operation when a nurse came in and told him that he would be leaving the hospital in one hour. He could not believe it. This would be a very long hour. His father came and carried him out and into his little car. They drove up to Aunt Labibeh who was waiting with a cold mulberry juice glass. She did not say anything this time, worried that Malek would hold something against her for not telling him about the operation. They spent the whole day at home, Malek’s father trying to be very entertaining, telling him stories and asking him questions. Malek could not speak. Later on, they slept in their different rooms. Malek woke up in the morning and found Aunt Labibeh sleeping in the arm chair next to his bed. She immediately woke up and smiled at him. She broke the news before he could ask about his father. She said, your father had to visit Imad in the Bekaa valley, so you and I have the whole house to ourselves. A cloud hung over his fa
ce. He was hungry but did not dare eat anything for fear of throat pain. Labibeh dressed him up always careful to avoid his neck. She then went to the kitchen and brought him a soup that he disliked but had to eat. She went back to the kitchen and left him alone.

  Malek looked at the books. He looked at the books again. He looked out of the window and then back at the books. He started counting the different colors the book ends had. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hands under his thighs. He looked at the books. He looked at the carpet and then started counting the shelves. He stayed like that for two hours. He did not feel the need to go anywhere. He kept looking out of the window. He removed his hands from under his thighs and looked at them, deep red marks. He stood up and went out of his room and into the living room. Aunt Labibeh was nowhere to be found. He opened the door of the back balcony and walked down the steps into the garden. He walked around. He saw a trough full of new seedlings. Some had split with a little sprouting stem and leaf. He felt like pulling them out but they felt so alive. He looked up at the house and saw it for the first time from the back. He had never been in the garden. He saw his room and through the window he saw the books again. He lifted his arms like a scarecrow and spun around a few times until he started feeling dizzy. He then ran up the steps and back into the living room and straight into the kitchen.

  He saw Aunt Labibeh there who turned around and faced him with a smile. He quickly hugged her around her waist. She was still saying nothing. She took him by the hand, took off her apron, removed the cooking off the fire and walked with him into the garden. They walked around the house and reached the front where the steps leading to the roof were. She sat down on one of them and started telling him a story. He enjoyed the pattern of her voice which she waved in tune with the ups and downs of the story. She was on about the Shater Hassan who always fell in love with a poor woman that he eventually found was a princess. When the story finished, she got up and left. He walked up the steps. He had never been on the roof before. On the roof, Malek came upon a wide open space paved with red brick tiles. All around the roof, there was a little wall hardly higher than Malek’s chin. On each corner of the house, there was a pillar which held up the red rooftop.

  Malek walked around the roof. As he passed each side of the house, he put his chin on the edge and stared below. He went around the four sides and then looked back inwards. There he saw one large crate. It was covered by a loose board which he pushed away and started fumbling with the items inside. There was a book with a lot of maps in it. Malek took it out and thumbed through it. He put it on the side. There was a pair of rusty garden scissors. There was an ostrich egg, an old apron and a lot of spoons of different sizes. Below these, there was a large steel ring, almost the size of a dinner plate. Malek grabbed it and pulled it out. It too was also rusted but as he held it, the rust crumbled and fell. Wiping it a few times with his hands, the ring shone very brightly. His hands were covered with rust shards which he shook off completely. They fell into the crevices of the jumble in the crate. He held the ring with two hands, as if holding a steering wheel. He then let go of one hand and pushed the ring into the mess of items. A book slid into the ring and emerged from the other side as a dove. Malek picked up a spoon with one hand and dropped it into the ring. It went through and emerged as an old pipe. He put a tea cup into the ring and it emerged as a lady’s shoe. He pushed one hand through the ring and the space inside the ring rejected it, as if there had been a taut membrane, a drum skin. He dropped the lady’s shoe into the ring and it turned into a brush.

  Malek put the book with maps back into the crate. He held the ring under his armpit as he struggled to cover the crate with its fallen board. He went down the stairs quickly, running straight into his room to hide the ring in his little bag.

  It was getting dark and Malek sat in his room staring at the books. All night long, he kept waking up and fumbling into the clothes bag, searching for the ring which shone with a faint light. He woke up next morning to find his father and Aunt Labibeh having a little breakfast in the living room. They all ate together and after a long warm hug to Aunt Labibeh, Malek and his father walked out of the house, into the alley and drove back home.

  House 3 - Mireille’s Promise

  I don’t visit my aunt frequently but when I do, the visit is special. I come out fresh and sprightly. My aunt, or Mireille as we called her, lives in a house at the end of Sadat. To get to the house, you have to weave through several alleyways and climb a couple of steps since the street is on an up rise and the houses are not at the same level. On reaching the end of one alleyway, the house emerges from your left with full force. It is a two story house and she lives on the ground level. You can enter the house from two different doors. If she is at home, the chances are high she would be on the front balcony having coffee or talking to the neighbors or working in the garden. The balcony door would be open. If she is sleeping or working inside, she closes the balcony door and you have to go to the main stairway and knock on the front door. In front of the balcony and separated by two wide steps, is a garden limited by a few walls. Mireille has managed to keep the garden brimming with trees, climbers and flowers.

  To the right and to the left of the balcony are two rooms. Mireille’s bedroom is one of them and the other is her husband’s study. After his death, she retained it as it was and never changed the location of any of the items. No one uses the study now. Her son and daughter left Lebanon in 1909 and have not returned. Whenever I visit her, I pretend to be taking a peek wandering slowly into the room. I used to think of it as wafting through the room as I always worried that a sudden entry with visible unsettle Mireille. Being her favorite nephew, I believe she ignored all my theatrical attempts and just let me be in that room. Her husband, Farid, taught at the University and his books were a testament of his wide reading, even outside his course requirements. His scientific temperament clashed wildly with Mireille’s. If you wanted to describe her in one word, you can say that she was a “stomach”. Everything was felt but not seen. Everything was felt but not explained. Everything was felt but not remembered. I never discussed this with her as she would not have reacted to it. With their two different temperaments, one would have expected long drawn out arguments. That never happened. They lived an affectionate and an admirable coexistence. They were always aware of one another. Each one knew precisely the movements of the other but somehow, the communication was low. Passing by each other in the living room or the garden, Mireille and Farid would not say anything to one another but you could tell without a doubt that there was a dance going on.

  Farid never accepted to have his fortune read by Mireille, one of her strong points. Indeed, that was one of the main reasons why many of her friends visited her. She knew their intentions were selfish but did not mind. It was no effort to her and in many ways, this allowed her to identify and concentrate on those who could become true friends. Farid used to smile in a wry manner whenever he saw the coffee pot. Sometimes, he would whisper an ironic remark so the visitors won’t hear: “Is another asshole going to change his life because of the way coffee powder sticks to the side of the cup?” She would smile, as if she were in on the deal but she took it seriously. Most of her friends relied a lot on her predictive powers. Some would make a point of visiting her before traveling or starting a new venture such as opening a new shop or building a house. What was attractive about Mireille’s predictions was their incompleteness. Others would give you statements like: “you will receive a good piece of news” or “I see a storm rising in your marriage”. Some would come out with statements that are so specific that one wonders about the audacity of those making them, their lack of fear of being verified: “I see you in a picture with a man who has white hair and a thick moustache. Don’t take money from that man”. Mireille would not say these things. She realized that she was in bed with charlatans but never minded it. She went her own sweet way and never mentioned the predictions of others. Sometimes,
one of her listeners would compare her prediction with another’s, saying they were contradictory. A blank look would come on Mireille’s face as if she did not know there were others with the same practice. Her friends quickly learned never to question her or discuss other predictions with her. Her incomplete predictions were mostly made up of questions, issues she would raise to force the listener to think. Of course, her visitors would assume she was telling them the truth, the forecast or the actual series of events that will unfold. When someone comes and asks for their fortune to be read in a cup, Mireille would pose a few questions such as: “Did you consider the 3 options you have before selling the house? Then you should really work on the possibility of fixing it instead”. Many came to resolve romantic issues: lost loves, infidelities, prospects and even sexual problems. Dealing with a house and dealing with a lover were the same thing to Mireille. “Yes, your husband is having leanings towards a dark haired lady, but maybe you should go home and find out why”.

  The balcony became the center of many discussions as Mireille refused to have private sessions. If you wanted to know about your future, then you would definitely be going through it. And if you are going to go through it, others will be present and they would know. Few of her friends left unsatisfied. Many returned to confirm Mireille’s predictions which she had forgotten, so she would smile slowly, showing gratitude but not knowing why. In time, Mireille’s other qualities were forgotten and she was almost given a last name, Mireille the Bassara. She resented that for many reasons, prominent amongst them was the certainty that she was not predicting the future but was simply seeing it. Still, given the way Mireille was, she would forget about such trivial social noise. Once someone asked her: “Do you know how your plants will grow?” She surprised them by saying, “If I did, I would not plant them”. Very few present learnt from that statement.