One of the first things I wrote on my blog was a commentary on the book “I, the Divine” by Rabih Alameddine.[1] I promised then that I would post an extract as soon as I got hold of the book again. After a long absence from my library, the book showed up this week. It had been circulating at work among friends and colleagues who wanted to read it. I am proud that non-Lebanese readers appreciated the book and got a view of the Lebanese suffering both in a Lebanon at war and away from home as refugees… and also of their joie de vivre despite everything.
I chose this extract for its succinctness. It is, in its paradoxical simplicity, revelatory of much of the horror of the Lebanese war.
“The year 1978 was horrific. The civil war raged on. The Syrians wanted to become the major players in Lebanon, their army spread all over the country. Palestinians ran amok in Beirut. Eleven PLO fighters landed on Israeli shores and their carjacked vehicles ended up in Tel Aviv, killing Israeli civilians. In response, Israel invaded Lebanon, killing hundreds of Lebanese civilians. Instead of fighting the Israelis, the Syrians turned their guns on the Christians of East Beirut, killing hundreds of Lebanese civilians.
On July 1, 1978, the Syrians began an intensive bombing campaign against East Beirut, and a seventeen-year-old Syrian soldier, by the name of Izaat Ghalaini, laid his eyes on Rana. She was walking from our home to Amal’s, what was once our grandfather’s apartment, two buildings down. He cracked a joke as she passed by. She laughed, an innocuous laugh that would prove to be ominous. The pimply-faced soldier was besotted. He had misinterpreted. My sister’s laugh never meant very much. She laughed easily, constantly, nothing could remove the joy in her eyes.
She arrived at Amal’s house, told the story of the homely soldier to Amal and her husband, told it as something amusing that happened on her way over. On her return home, the soldier was waiting for her with a single daisy. She crossed the street to avoid him.
On July 2, the Syrians intensified their bombing of the Christians. In West Beirut, we had no water, electricity, or phones. It was worse in East Beirut. They could not even rescue the wounded from damaged buildings. We stayed indoors the whole day.
On July 3, Rana and I walked over to Amal’s, holding the hands of our youngest sister, Majida. The soldier ran over to us. “I’ve been hoping you’d show up,” he said.
“What the hell for?” I asked.
He retreated a step, his face registered shock. “My intentions are completely honorable,” he said softly, hesitantly.
“I don’t give a damn,” I replied. I pulled my sisters along and left him standing bewildered. “Don’t you have work to do?” I yelled back. “Like manning some checkpoint or shooting at people instead of lurking about and harassing decent girls?”
On July 4, Kameel Chamoun, a Christian leader and former Lebanese president, called for the withdrawal of Syrians form Lebanese soil. Prime Minister Hoss, a Muslim, rejected that demand. The Syrians kept shelling.
On July 5, the soldier showed up at our door in army fatigues, his rifle slung across his shoulder. He politely asked to speak to our father. When my stepmother, who had answered the door, asked him what for, he said that there had been some misunderstanding. He had come to ensure that our family understood that his intentions were honorable and that had his mother not been so far away, she would have arrived with him to our door. He intended to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage. My stepmother inadvertently laughed. She then realized he was serious. She told him in no uncertain terms that Rana was much too young, that the family had many pressing things to worry about, not the least of which was an internecine war, and in any case, she was not sure he would be a very appropriate husband for her daughter.
On July 6, the Lebanese president, Elias Sarkis, threatened to resign, saying that the Syrians were carrying out operations without his consent or cooperation. Israeli planes began flying low over Beirut, their sonic booms rattling windows, their presence warning Syrians off further bloodshed.
The Syrians heeded the warnings. They stopped shelling on July 7, after over four hundred Lebanese Christian civilians had been killed. Rana, celebrating the relative calm, walked out of the house to visit a school friend. The soldier did not approach. He shot her from across the street. She died instantly. He placed he butt of his rifle on the ground, put the other end in his mouth, and fired.”
Other books by Rabih Alameddine:
Koolaids: The Art of War (April 1998)
The Perv (June 1999)
The preface of Homophobia: Views and Positions (May 2006)
'The Hakawati or The Storyteller' will be published by Alfred A. Knopf in early 2008.
/https%3A%2F%2Fassets.over-blog.com%2Ft%2Fcedistic%2Fcamera.png)
/http%3A%2F%2Fwww.brumerge.kingeshop.com%2Fimg_tem%2FLezardes-et-Murmures-17-2-big-www-brumerge-kingeshop-com.jpg)