Oranges in No Man's Land

by Elizabeth Laird

The militiamen looked uneasy, like schoolboys caught out.

  ‘Ya Abu Boutros,’ one of them said. ‘This girl came from the other side. How do we know she’s not a spy?’

  The old man came right up to me, stepping delicately through the puddles and rubbish of the street in his polished brown shoes. He rapped his cane on the ground in front of me, and the cloudy blue eyes were stern in his wrinkled brown face.

  ‘Little girl,’ he said severely. ‘Where are you from? What are you doing here? Answer me now. The truth.’

  Samar, I thought again. I copied her exactly, the noises she made and the signs she’d taught me.

  ‘The child’s a deaf mute,’ Abu Boutros said, and he patted me kindly on the shoulder. He turned to glare at the men. ‘And she’s soaked to the skin. Aren’t you ashamed? Call yourselves men? What has our Lebanon come to when little deaf girls are threatened by bullies like you?’ He waved his stick at me. ‘Run away, child. Shoo! Go home to your mother.’

  I made myself stare at him, frowning, for a long moment, pretending that I hadn’t understood, then I smiled gratefully and took off, racing on down the street towards the Burj, afraid, until I’d turned the corner, that a bullet might come slamming into my back.

  Chapter Nine

  I was so out of breath, once the checkpoint was out of sight, that I had to slow down. The storm had rolled on. I could still hear distant thunder as it moved into the mountains behind the city. Once or twice, as I trotted on down the deserted street, I heard a crash from closer at hand. Was the storm returning? Was a bomb exploding? Or were walls caving in somewhere in the ruins all around me?

  The wind was still blowing hard. Even though I’d been hot from running, I was starting to shiver now. I heard a strange noise behind me and looked to see. A gust had whipped up old blue plastic bags, which were flying through the air like demented birds. Then I saw something big, round and spiky spinning down the street towards me. I gasped with fright, then laughed shakily when I saw that it was only the top of a palm tree, blown clean off its stump by the storm.

  I was near the centre of old Beirut now. To my left, at the end of the street, I could see down into the vast, open space of the Burj.

  I stopped for a moment, amazed. In the old days, traffic had crawled nose to tail round the edges of the square, and the paved centre had been crowded with people. Now, I knew, there were hidden snipers on the top of every building. No one had dared set foot in the Burj for months and months.

  There was something even odder, though, than the silence and emptiness. I screwed up my eyes to look more clearly, unable to believe what I was seeing. Plants were pushing right up through the tarmac – little bushes and baby trees, breaking up the hard surface as easily as if it had been loose soil.

  That glimpse of the great square, so desolate, made me shiver. I hurried on.

  The streets around me were changing. I was leaving the ruins behind. The buildings were still pitted all over with bullet holes, like faces marked with acne, but they weren’t burnt out or falling down. Some of them still had glass in their windows. No one was around, but the tarmac had been swept clear of debris, as if traffic sometimes came that way.

  And then I heard the strangest thing of all – the sound of horses’ hooves, and above that the whooping shouts of boys.

  ‘Come on, you broken old nag!’

  ‘Get on with it, you mother of donkeys! Do you want to win this race or not?’

  I dived into a doorway and looked cautiously round a pillar as the first horse appeared from a side street. It was an old creature, with red plumes tossing about on its head. It was harnessed to a little tanker, like the ones that came round our streets, on the other side, selling paraffin for oil lamps and stoves. Latif loved those tankers. He was always running alongside them, trying to pat the horse. A boy was driving this one. He was looking over his shoulder and laughing. And then another racing tanker appeared, with another boy astride it. A second later the two horses with their nodding plumes, the tankers and the laughing boys had splashed through the puddles and disappeared.

  I let out a long breath.

  I’ve made it, I thought. I’m on the other side.

  Coming out of no man’s land was the strangest thing, like stepping from a darkened room into the light. The distance between the frightening emptiness of the ruins along the Green Line and the bustling every day world on the other side was no more than a few metres. I just walked straight from one into the other.

  There was life here. Normal life. Market traders were doing business all the way down the sides of the street. Some stalls were piled with fruit and vegetables. Others were selling china, or clothes, toys or radios. People were walking about, doing their shopping, as if they’d never heard that there was a war on at all.

  I wasn’t afraid of any gunmen now that ordinary people were all around me. Instead, I had a terrible new fear. I’d been quite sure, when I’d made my plan to cross the Green Line, that I’d be able to find my way easily to Dr Leila’s surgery. I’d seen it clearly before I started out: the flower seller in his yellow shirt on the corner, the ice cream parlour at the top of the next street, the film posters on their hoardings above the door of the cinema.

  I couldn’t see any of them. Everything had changed. And the biggest, the worst change of all was that Mama wasn’t there.

  I’d never been here on my own before. Mama had always been with me, holding my hand as we crossed through the busy traffic, telling me to hurry.

  And when I’ve found Dr Leila, I thought, or even if I don’t, I’ve got to go back again through no man’s land. On my own.

  I suddenly felt so lonely and miserable that I sat down on a step, still wet from the storm, and burst into tears.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  I looked up. A boy was staring down at me. He was dressed in dusty old black trousers and a crumpled sweatshirt.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, before I remembered not to speak.

  ‘Suit yourself. I thought you might like this orange, that’s all. To cheer you up. My dad sent me over.’

  I looked across to where he was pointing. Further down the street, one of the fruit stallholders was smiling and waving at me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said unwillingly. I couldn’t tell from the boy’s accent where he was from, but his face was sunburnt, and he sounded a bit countrified. There was a chance he wouldn’t recognize my accent, if his family wasn’t from Beirut either.

  I sniffed at the orange. I hadn’t eaten any fruit for a while. It smelled wonderful.

  ‘You lost, or what?’ the boy said.

  ‘No, I . . .’ I stopped, looking up at him again. He seemed friendly, and ordinary. ‘Well, yes, I am. I’m looking for Dr Leila, but when I visited her before I was with my mum. I can’t remember the way.’

  ‘Dr Leila? Never heard of her,’ the boy said. ‘Wait here.’

  He walked back towards his father’s stall, his hands in his pockets, looking as if he wanted me to see how grand and grown-up he was. I watched while his father shook his head, and pointed with his chin to the stall next door. The boy disappeared behind it.

  The sun had come out at last. Its warmth wrapped me round like kindness, and my dress began to steam. Without realising what I was doing, I started to peel the orange. The first taste of its delicious sharp sweetness was wonderful.

  It brought back a memory too. The last time I’d eaten an orange had been with Granny. She’d come back triumphantly to the flat with a bag full of them. She’d peeled some for Latif and Ahmed and me, and we’d sat sharing them from the same chipped enamel plate.

  Granny! I thought. What am I doing sitting here? She might be dead by now! I’ve got to find Dr Leila!

  I threw away the orange peel and jumped up, forgetting the boy, wanting to run, to explore every side street, to force myself to find her. But before I could move, the boy was back again.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said
. ‘I thought you wanted to find Dr Leila?’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘I’ve found out where she lives. I’ll show you if you like.’

  I felt so grateful I nearly cried again.

  ‘Which way? Show me quick! I’ve got to see her now!’

  It’s amazing how quickly your feelings can change. One moment I was lonely and despairing, and the next I felt proud of myself, sure that everything was going to be all right.

  The boy walked fast and I had to trot to keep up with him. I really felt like skipping.

  ‘It’s a mess round here, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘What happened to that old man on the corner back there, who used to sell flowers?’

  ‘He left. Months ago.’

  ‘He was really nice. He used to give a me flower to hold when I was little.’

  The boy’s footsteps slowed.

  ‘He was one of them. From the south. I hated him. It’s all the fault of his lot that the war started.’

  I bit my lip. I’d opened my big mouth too soon. The boy was looking sideways at me now and frowning.

  ‘How come you didn’t stay indoors till it stopped raining? Where do you live, anyway?’

  My heart started thudding uncomfortably.

  ‘Couldn’t,’ I said shortly. ‘Granny needs her medicine. She sent me.’

  I was trying now to say as little as possible. The boy didn’t seem to have recognized my accent yet.

  We were in a narrow side street by now. The boy stopped abruptly and pointed.

  ‘Dr Leila’s office is down there. First turn on the right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said quickly. ‘I know the way now.’

  I ran off. When I reached the corner I looked back. He was standing still, watching me thoughtfully.

  Dr Leila’s surgery was halfway down the next street. In the old days the door was always open, and people had endlessly gone in and out. The door was firmly shut now.

  She’s gone! She’s left! I thought, panic seizing me.

  I stood on tiptoe to reach the knocker and rapped it as loudly as I could, then waited with my fists clenched, hoping desperately that someone would come.

  At last I heard slippers shuffling towards the door and a woman’s voice called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’ve come to see Dr Leila,’ I called back.

  ‘She’s not here. Who are you?’

  I felt like having a screaming fit. I wanted to lie on the pavement, kick my feet on the ground, and yell till I was blue in the face like Ahmed when he had a tantrum.

  Instead I pounded on the door with both fists.

  ‘She’s got to be there!’ I yelled. ‘She’s got to help me! I need her!’

  At last I heard a key turning in the lock and the door opened a crack. An old woman stood on the other side. Her head was uncovered and she wore a cotton dress that just covered her knees. She was glaring at me.

  ‘Stop that screaming, you little madam. You’ll break the door down. Dr Leila isn’t here. Now go away before I teach you what’s what!’

  Tears were sprouting from my eyes.

  ‘She is here! She’s got to be here!’

  And then, through my tears, I saw a tall misty figure appear in a doorway behind the old woman.

  ‘Who is it, Auntie?’ Dr Leila said. ‘Why, it’s only a child. Let her in.’

  Chapter Eleven

  I don’t remember the next bit very well. I suppose I was a real crybaby, but I just couldn’t help it. I was so relieved and worried and happy and miserable, all at the same time, that my crying got worse and worse. I couldn’t stop. But at last I found myself sitting on the couch in Dr Leila’s consulting room. She was beside me, patting my knee, and her aunt was hovering disapprovingly by the door.

  ‘Now then,’ Dr Leila said, in the kind voice I remembered so well, ‘wipe your eyes, habibti, and tell me what’s the matter.’

  I made a huge effort, swallowed hard, blew my nose on the tissue she’d offered me and tried to smile at her. Before I could speak, she lifted my chin with one finger and looked at me with a puzzled frown.

  ‘But I know you, don’t I?’ she said.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’m Ayesha. My granny used to work for you.’

  Dr Leila’s aunt gave a loud sniff. Dr Leila turned to her.

  ‘I think you’re right, Auntie. I can smell it too. Something seems to be burning in the kitchen.’

  To my relief, her aunt shuffled off.

  ‘So,’ Dr Leila said, putting her arm round my shoulders and squeezing gently, ‘why have you come to see me? Where are you living now? Your granny left without a word. She just didn’t turn up to work one day. It was after a big bombardment. I was afraid something bad had happened.’

  I told her all about everything then: the bomb that had killed Mama, and how Granny had made us run away, and where we’d ended up, in the big old flat, with lots of other refugees.

  ‘But how did you get here today?’ Dr Leila said. ‘You must have crossed the Green Line.’

  ‘I did. I ran. I nearly got caught by the militiamen. I was really, really scared. An old man saved me from them.’

  ‘An old man? In no man’s land?’

  ‘He was wearing a fez and he had a cane. He looked – I don’t know – funny, being there.’

  She nodded.

  ‘It must have been Abu Boutros. He’s quite famous. He refuses to leave his old home even though it’s bombed out and there’s no water or electricity.’

  She was so kind, and the feel of her arm round my shoulders was so comforting, that I knew she wouldn’t think I was being silly, and I said, ‘I thought it was Mama, really, looking after me. I suppose that’s stupid. I just felt it.’

  ‘Not stupid at all,’ Dr Leila said briskly. ‘But now, tell me, Ayesha, why did you take such a terrible risk to find me?’

  So I told her about Granny, and how sick she was, and how her medicine had run out. She asked me a lot of questions about the way Granny looked, and where her pain was. I could answer some of them, but not all.

  I felt ashamed. I’d never thought about how Granny felt, or taken much notice when she’d groaned with pain.

  ‘She needs to see a doctor urgently,’ Dr Leila said at last, looking worried. ‘Surely there are still doctors over there, on the other side?’

  ‘We don’t know any. We don’t have any money to pay,’ I muttered, my confidence sinking again. ‘I thought you – I mean, I was hoping . . .’

  ‘Of course I’ll help.’ Dr Leila had opened a drawer in a filing cabinet and was looking through it. ‘Good. I kept her notes.’ She pulled a file out, and leafed through it. ‘When did I last examine her?’ She was talking to herself. ‘Ah yes, the date’s here. Blood pressure . . . diagnosis . . . treatment . . . ‘She looked up at me again. ‘And the medicines have only just run out, you said?’

  I nodded. The worried look was still on her face and it was making me feel awful.

  ‘Please, Dr Leila, will she die? Is she going to be all right? I don’t think I can manage Latif and Ahmed on my own. Latif never does what I tell him and I don’t know how to look after Ahmed, not like Granny does.’

  ‘We’re all going to die, Ayesha. It’s in God’s hands. But I think – very probably – that you’ve saved your granny’s life. She’s extremely sick, though. Looking at these notes I can see that the medicines I gave her should have run out weeks ago. She must have been using only small doses to make them last.’

  She had taken out a set of keys and was opening the big storeroom that led off her consulting room. I could her murmuring long medical words, but I didn’t understand them.

  She came out a few moments later with several boxes in her hands.

  ‘I think your Mama is still looking after us, habibti.’ I loved the way she said ‘us’. ‘I was afraid I hadn’t got the right stuff. I’m running all my supplies down. But there’s most of what your granny needs here, enough to keep her going for nearly a year.’

  I look
ed at the life-saving boxes in her hands. There seemed to be an awful lot of them.

  ‘We – I – like I said, we haven’t got any money,’ I blurted out. ‘Are they very expensive?’

  ‘You don’t have to pay a thing.’ She had put the medicine down on the desk and was checking it over. ‘I owe your granny a month’s wages at least, and besides, I’m fond of her. Every time I think of her I remember the good days. It didn’t matter then that she was from one side and I was from the other. There weren’t any sides in the good old days.’

  She stopped. Her aunt had come back into the room with a cup of coffee on a tray. She put it down sharply on the table so that a bit of it spilled, and she shot an angry look at me.

  ‘There’s work to do upstairs, you know,’ she said to Dr Leila. ‘I can’t do all the packing myself. I thought you said you weren’t taking on any more of your hard cases?’

  ‘Ayesha’s not a hard case. She’s an old friend. I’ll be up in a minute, Auntie.’ She winked at me as her aunt left the room again.

  ‘Packing? Are you leaving?’ I stared at her. Shocked.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’m going to France. I’ll come back when this horrible war’s over. But don’t worry. Your granny’s going to be all right. I’ll write a note in case you have to try and find another doctor, but I don’t think you will. In a year’s time, surely, all this will be over, and I’ll be home again, and your granny will be back in her old job.’ She had packed the medicine in a bag, and was about to hand it to me when she frowned. ‘Oh dear. There’s still one big problem we’ve got to solve: we have to get you safely home again. Now how, I wonder, are we going to manage that?’

  Chapter Twelve

  I realize now how much trouble Dr Leila took for me and my granny that day. At the time I didn’t think of it. I was only aware of a huge sense of relief. I’d done my bit. It was up to the adults now to solve all the problems.

  I let myself relax. It was lovely to be sitting on soft upholstery in a clean, quiet room. I hadn’t been in a place like that for a long time. It was all so different from our crowded, noisy, dusty flat, where it was impossible ever to wash properly, or keep the place clean. I leaned back against the cushions of the sofa and looked round at everything, enjoying the lovely smell of Dr Leila’s perfume and gazing at the picture of a lady in a blue robe on the wall, and the red flowers growing on the windowsill.