by Prue Mason
Not returning to Homs. Naqib says dangerous now and getting worse. Your family should leave. I wish you were here.
It took Zafir ages to reply in the code, telling Rami what had happened inside a rambling message about what he was doing for his holidays. As he pushed ‘send’, he wondered how long it would be before Rami, like his other Dubai friends, would move on in his own world and not be so interested in what was happening in Zafir’s world in Homs.
Zafir spent the rest of the day in the laneway practising a new trick on his skateboard. There was nothing else to do. Mum had gone with Abu Moussa to find out where Pops and Mohammed might be and Tetah was at church with Ustaaz Farook. She had asked Zafir to go with them. He’d nearly said yes because he wanted to see Eleni and talk to her about normal things like skateboarding and Australia, but Mum had told Presbytera Sophia about Pops so Eleni would want to talk to Zafir about it. He couldn’t face her. How could she understand why any of this had happened? She came from a place where people only knew freedom.
When Mum came home, it was almost evening. Zafir was sitting on the step near the kitchen regripping his skateboard. He watched her go through to the sitting room where Tetah had the television blaring. She walked slowly, as if her feet were dead weights, and pulled her scarf and coat off like it was hard work. Zafir could tell that she didn’t have good news.
‘Do you have any news?’ he heard Tetah ask as the volume on the television was lowered. ‘I’m so worried. Ustaaz Farook can find out nothing.’
‘Only bad news,’ Mum replied. ‘I have been to every ministry and police station possible but I can find out nothing about where Boulos could be. Sadly, we do know the fate of Mohammed. He has been sent home to be buried. His wife said the body was black and blue, as if he’d been kicked and beaten. Abu Moussa says that his family will leave Homs and go to Al-Sukhnah where his tribe is from.’
‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ said Tetah. ‘This is terrible news. I will offer prayers for the family. And to think that my son was arrested for caring for him and now all for no good reason.’
‘There’s more,’ said Mum. ‘When I went to our apartment at Al Waer I found this letter from the hospital.’
‘Mum, what is it?’ Zafir had come into the sitting room because he could tell that she was almost in tears.
Her lips wobbled up into a smile when she saw him. ‘Ya Allah, you are growing,’ she said. ‘Seeing you makes me realise I am still more fortunate than poor Abu Moussa and his family but …’ In her hands was an envelope.
‘Let me see it,’ said Zafir. He saw Mum’s hands were shaking. She handed the envelope to him without a word.
‘What does it say?’ asked Tetah.
Zafir and Tetah read the letter from the hospital. It said that as Dr Boulos Haddad no longer worked for the government then he and his family must vacate the apartment by the end of the week.
‘How can they do this?’ asked Tetah. Mum sighed and shrugged.
‘It’s signed by Dr Bassell,’ said Zafir, feeling a rise of anger against Pops’s enemy.
‘Yes,’ said Mum, sounding tired. ‘Who is now the new head of training.’
‘This is bad news indeed,’ said Tetah. ‘But you can stay here for as long as you wish. When Paul is back he will get another job. There are other hospitals. Or you could go to live in Australia as I’ve suggested many times.’ Zafir glanced over at Tetah. Was emigrating really her idea?
‘Inshala,’ Mum replied.
‘But it seems that bad news does come in threes,’ Tetah went on. ‘At church today Presbytera Sophia told me that Father Papadopoulos thinks things have become so dangerous here that she must take the children away to Greece where the family have many relations.’
Mum sat down on the hard sofa. ‘She had told me that they were thinking of this but that Petros – Father Papadopoulos – would stay. I will miss her.’ She sighed again. ‘Tomorrow I’ll go to the apartment and gather our belongings.’
Zafir went back to the step near the kitchen and sat with his head in his hands. With Pops missing, no apartment to go home to, Rami not coming back, Eleni leaving and Abu Moussa going away as well, it was like the walls of his world were crumbling.
‘This place is getting scary,’ said Eleni. She was standing in the doorway of Tetah’s house with her skateboard under her arm. Even though the afternoon was warm, she had her blue-and-white ski cap pulled down to her eyebrows. ‘On the way over I was passed by three police trucks with guns on the back. I don’t understand what it’s all about.’
Zafir shrugged. How could he explain it to Eleni when he didn’t really understand it himself?
‘Is it true you’re leaving Homs?’ he asked, not looking directly at her.
She frowned and nodded. ‘Yeah, we leave tomorrow.’
Zafir glanced over at her and was surprised to see that her eyes were glassy, as if she were about to cry. ‘I came to tell you. We’re going to Greece to stay at my great-aunt’s house until everything here’s back to normal. She lives in a little village in the mountains where they don’t even have electricity. I’ll only be able to email you every now and then when I get to an internet café. My dad’s staying here as long as … Mum’s really worried.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Because … well … I heard my mum and dad talking about your dad. It’s pretty scary to think …’ Her voice cracked then like she really was going to cry.
‘Hey, look,’ Zafir said, jumping onto his skateboard. ‘I’ve been working on a new trick.’ He rolled the skateboard as fast as he could towards the kerb where he’d set up a ramp. He pushed it high into the air and spun around and landed without his feet leaving the board. He rolled back to Eleni, stopping right in front of her.
‘Sweet!’ she said.
At that moment Ustaaz Farook opened his door.
‘Greetings.’ He raised his tarboosh as he crossed the lane. ‘I have a small piece of news,’ he said, ringing the bell on the gate of Tetah’s house.
As Rosa let Ustaaz Farook into the house, Zafir grabbed his board and ran after him. The news had to be about Pops.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he heard Eleni call out behind him.
‘It appears your son—’ Ustaaz Farook spoke to Tetah but then paused and nodded to Mum— ‘your husband, Madaam, has been taken to a prison in Damascus. My friend, however, is unable to find out exactly which one.’
Tetah clutched at her chest. ‘Oh my God … prison?’
‘I pray he will come home soon,’ said Ustaaz Farook.
‘This isn’t just because Boulos operated on a man who had been protesting,’ said Mum. ‘This is because Dr Bassell has wanted Boulos’s job all along. He’s obviously been sending reports on everything Boulos has done that could be misconstrued and used against him. That will be why they’ve taken him to Damascus. They must think he’s a threat. It’s completely ridiculous. Boulos supports the government.’
‘It can only be a matter of time before the truth is discovered,’ said Ustaaz Farook.
‘I will write to the president at once,’ said Tetah. ‘And I will explain about the jealousy of this other doctor.’
‘If every family with a beloved one in prison petitioned the president then he would have no time for anything but reading letters,’ said Mum.
Tetah crossed herself. ‘How can you say such things? He can’t know that an innocent man is being held. When he reads my letter he will understand and make sure that Paul is released immediately.’
Mum didn’t reply but the look on her face said it all.
Tetah didn’t speak either but she’d seen the look. She huffed loudly as she stalked away, her high heels clacking on the polished stone floor.
Mum shrugged and then turned to Zafir and Ustaaz Farook.
‘I’ll go to Damascus,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay with my friend Rasha. I will do everything I can to find out where your father is being held and get him released. Ghazi is sure to know what to do.’
‘Can I come?’ Za
fir asked. ‘It’s still holidays until next week.’
‘No. It will be best if you stay here,’ said Mum. ‘Tetah will need you.’
‘One can understand your anxiety, Madaam, but you must think about this idea carefully,’ said Ustaaz Farook.
Mum nodded and smiled at the old man. ‘I know there may be some … risk in asking questions but I must go. I’ll leave tomorrow.’
When Mum said that Zafir realised he hadn’t said goodbye to Eleni. She was leaving tomorrow too. He ran outside but she wasn’t in the street anymore. He started off down the lane.
‘Fata, young man!’ Ustaaz Farook had followed him out of the house.
Zafir stopped.
‘May one ask where you are going in such a hurry? It is not so safe by oneself in the streets.’
‘Eleni is leaving tomorrow and I’ve got to say goodbye.’
‘Ah, the madamwaazil, miss.’ Ustaaz Farook’s face softened. ‘Yes, one must always wish a person a safe journey because one never knows then they may return.’
Mum called out from the house. ‘Zafir! Would you please help me in here?’
Zafir sighed. ‘Coming!’ By the time he’d finished helping Mum they heard adhan al-mahgrib, the sunset call to prayer. Zafir knew it wasn’t a good time to go out by himself, but Mum promised they’d go over in the morning because she wanted to say goodbye to Presbytera Sophia too.
‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ said Mum the next day. He’d accidently slept in late and Mum had already visited the Papadopouloses. ‘You looked so peaceful. I gave your regards to Eleni. She said she’ll email you when she can.’
Zafir looked at his watch. It was nearly midday. ‘I could go over now, couldn’t I?’
‘They’ll be on their way to the airport.’
‘You should have woken me up,’ said Zafir, feeling annoyed.
‘I’m sorry, Zaf, but after everything that’s happened I thought sleep was better for you.’
Maybe Mum was right. His sleep had been long and dreamless so he had woken up feeling almost refreshed. He just wished that he had seen Eleni before she left.
‘Now,’ Mum went on, ‘Ustaaz Farook has ordered a taxi. He’ll come with me to the bus station so I can get to Damascus before evening.’
‘I’ll come to the station too,’ said Zafir, picking up her bag. Mum looked pleased.
At the station, crowds of people were leaving on the buses that were headed away from Homs. Many seemed to be carrying half their possessions with them – as though they weren’t planning on coming back anytime soon.
‘I’ll stay in Damascus until I can find out where your father is and then, inshala, if God wills, we will return together.’ Mum stepped onto the bus.
What if you don’t? Zafir thought, but he didn’t say it out loud.
Mum called later that night to say she had got to Rasha’s house safely and that, inshala, she would be home shortly.
‘Yes, inshala,’ said Zafir. As he pushed the ‘end call’ button he even said a prayer to Tetah’s God and Giddo’s Allah that it would be His will that Mum and Pops would be home very soon. Then he added an extra prayer for Eleni and Rami to come back so he wouldn’t feel so alone.
Holidays finished on the second day of May, the day after Eid al Ummal, Labour Day. Zafir wasn’t looking forward to being at school without Rami, but he was pleased to get out of the house. With police trucks driving through the streets, groups of angry men wandering around and the television news reporting that gangs of foreign terrorists were making trouble, Tetah would only let him take messages to Ustaaz Farook across the lane. All the same, she still went to church most days. Zafir could have gone with her, but it was always too early. The neighbours, Mrs Mohammed and Mrs Shaamas and her children, came over every day. They asked for news of Pops and then sat with Tetah and talked about how bad things had become. School was definitely a better option.
‘You must not go,’ said Tetah as the taxi that Ustaaz Farook had ordered for Zafir arrived at the gate. ‘It may not be safe driving to the school. I will call and say you have to stay home.’
‘But Tetah, you agreed last night when we talked about it with Mum,’ said Zafir, exasperated. It had taken ages to persuade her to let him go and luckily Mum had also thought it was a good idea.
Ustaaz Farook stepped in. ‘I believe it will be for the best if you let the fata go to school. If he stays here he will not have enough to occupy his mind and the worry about his father and mother will grow,’ he said. ‘It is important to continue life as if normal, for then normality may be fooled into returning.’
But during the trip to school, Zafir could see that life wasn’t normal. A checkpoint made with sandbags was set up on the road that led to the school. Everyone’s vehicle was being checked by soldiers wearing camouflage uniforms. The soldier who searched the taxi had pimples and he didn’t look much older than Zafir, but he had an AK-47 slung from his shoulder. He searched the car thoroughly, even inside Zafir’s schoolbag where he found the solar cap.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, pointing to the cap as if it were something suspicious. Zafir explained to the soldier how it worked.
‘Ma sa Allah, God has willed it.’ The soldier looked impressed and for a second he grinned but then, as if remembering he was a soldier, his face went blank, he stood up straight, and he waved his gun to indicate they could pass.
There was the usual line of cars, taxis and buses driving through the school gates but when Zafir got to the locker room he found out Murshid, like Rami and a few others, hadn’t come back from his holidays. Mustafa was there though, boasting about having seen a man being beaten up in the street and demonstrating every thump and kick.
‘It was one of those foreign terrorists, so he deserved it,’ Mustafa told the crowd of boys surrounding him when he’d finally stopped kicking and punching the air.
‘How do you know?’ Zafir spoke up.
Mustafa stared at him like it was a stupid question.
‘He was screaming for his mother. No Syrian man would do that,’ said Mustafa. ‘Foreigners are like scared girls.’
‘That’s true,’ said a boy called Nasser. He wasn’t part of Murshid and Mustafa’s gang. He hung out with a group of boys from wealthy Christian families who lived outside Homs in Wadi al-Nasara, Valley of Christians. ‘I heard old Wallis has run off as fast as he can.’
‘Boys! What is doing you!’ Zafir couldn’t help himself as he mimicked the English teacher. It wasn’t that funny but everyone laughed. Zafir felt good.
‘Come on Haddad, we’d better get to assembly,’ Nasser called to him as the bell rang. That felt even better.
At assembly, Zafir stood next to Nasser. They faced the photo of the president as Mr Marbruk led the prayers for God to bless the Lion of Syria, the father of the country. Zafir looked into the icy blue eyes of the president. A thought flashed through his mind: You’re not my father. I wish you were the one in prison. It was so clear in his head that he wondered if he’d spoken it aloud. Zafir’s heart hammered against his chest. But Nasser wasn’t looking at him, nor were the boys on the other side. He breathed out and in again, trying to calm himself, because he knew if he spoke the words then someone would report him – and then the man with the icy blue eyes would send him to prison too.
Although Mr Marbruk and the teachers tried to make everything seem normal, there was a strange atmosphere at the school. For a start there was a lot more discussion about what was happening in Homs, Damascus, Daraa and Aleppo, but Zafir still felt that no one was saying exactly what they truly thought about the situation. Not one boy spoke out against the president so Zafir was also careful what he said. He definitely didn’t want to tell anyone about his father. If only Rami was here. Rami was the only one Zafir could trust.
Mum had called each night. Although she didn’t have any good news about Pops, she was hopeful. Uncle Ghazi had given up his studies to help in the search for Pops and they had even visited the Mukhabarat. And Father P
apadopoulos had called her to say he’d asked a bishop in Damascus who was allowed to visit Christian prisoners to find out what he could.
‘It is interesting to see what’s happening here in Damascus,’ she’d said on Thursday night. ‘So many people are participating in peaceful demonstrations now, even those who once supported the government. Soldiers are refusing to shoot at unarmed demonstrators and a number of members of parliament have resigned in protest against the shootings.’ She’d sounded excited. ‘Everyone here thinks that it must all end within a few weeks like it did in Egypt and Tunisia. No government can continue to wage war against its people.’
‘A few weeks!’ To Zafir, that seemed too long.
‘We can only go day by day. By the way,’ she said, ‘don’t worry if I don’t call you tomorrow. I’ll be busy with … well, just don’t worry,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll explain everything when I see you.’
‘Okay,’ he said, guessing she must be planning to go on a protest march. ‘I miss you.’