The Dark Side of Love

by Rafik Schami

  Laila suspects you must all be so hungry there, you have to nibble your underpants.

  With love, your devoted provider of underwear,

  Claire

  Farid happily put the new undergarments away in his locker and then ran out into the courtyard, where the other monastery pupils were spending the short time before the bell went for supper.

  “You can visit me more often now,” he whispered softly in his mind to Rana as he went downstairs, and he took the last four steps in one great leap.

  137. Spectres by Night

  Matta and Bulos were different in every way, but complemented one another perfectly. Each admired the other’s abilities. Matta was brave and had enormously powerful hands. He was trusting, straightforward, and believed everything he was told.

  And it seemed miraculous that Matta, who tied himself in knots trying to finish a single sentence in French, turned out better than anyone at learning Bulos’s secret language. That was another reason why Bulos liked him. As soon as Matta heard a new word in the secret language it was imprinted on his memory, and he spoke it without any accent. Soon he could converse easily in it with Bulos.

  At the end of August, Bulos had a violent argument with Father Athanasius, an unpleasant and short-tempered theologian whom most of the monastery pupils avoided. After their quarrel, Athanasius went to the Abbot and accused Bulos of calling Jesus a bandit leader.

  That wasn’t true. Bulos thought Jesus the greatest revolutionary of all time, but the dull-minded theologian thought revolutionaries were exactly the same as bandits.

  Maximus showed no mercy. He didn’t let Bulos finish his explanation, but pronounced sentence at once: either he left the monastery or he did penance. Bulos accepted penance. It was extremely humiliating. He had to kneel in the inner courtyard and ask pardon of the tale-teller Athanasius in front of all the pupils and all the Fathers.

  Bulos repeated his request for forgiveness twice, parrot-fashion and with an unmoved expression, because Athanasius claimed not to have heard the words properly. Tears came to Matta’s eyes at the sight of his friend, and Farid cursed the priest from the bottom of his heart.

  On 14 September the monastery celebrated the annual Feast of the Holy Cross. It began in the afternoon, with a huge bonfire out in the car park. According to legend the Empress Helena, mother of the first Christian Emperor of Rome, Constantine, found the True Cross on which Jesus died in Jerusalem on 14 September 326. At the time, said the story, she had found three crosses. To discover which was Our Lord’s she placed the three crosses on a man who was very sick. Two struck a musical note, and then she was sure that the third was the cross of the bad thief who was crucified on the left hand of the Lord, and who mocked him to the last.

  Now she had to find out which of the other two crosses belonged to the Lord and which to the good thief crucified on his right hand. St. Helena, the clever daughter of an innkeeper whose beauty and brains had helped her rise to become empress, and whose influence on her son Constantine changed the course of world history, knew what to do. She placed the crosses on two dead bodies. One of them came back to life as if waking from a deep sleep, so the cross laid on that body had been the Lord’s. Helena had fiery beacons lit to carry the message of the finding of the cross from Palestine by way of Lebanon and Syria and so to Constantinople. To this day, many Christian mountain villages celebrate the bringing of that news by lighting large bonfires on 14 September, just as the monastery of St. Sebastian did. The pupils, novices, monks, and Fathers all celebrated together until nearly midnight.

  That night, however, Father Athanasius obviously went out of his mind. Just before dawn he was suddenly heard shouting for help. Some of the Fathers woke and ran to him. But his room was locked. When they finally opened the door with a duplicate key, there was a strong smell of arrack, and the Father was sitting on his bed in a daze, dead drunk and, so it was said later, soaked with piss.

  Black spectres had come in through his window, babbled the theologian, overpowered him in his sleep, tipped half a bottle of spirits down his throat, and finally peed on him.

  His story was rather incoherent. Grey-faced, Maximus said nothing. And when the entire event was repeated a week later, he gave orders for the priest to be moved to a nearby hospital, which sent him back to the monastery three weeks later.

  Athanasius was still in a highly nervous state, so Maximus gave him a bedroom shared with a deaf old priest, and Father Istfan took over religious instruction.

  From then on Athanasius was considered crazy, and was the butt of all the monastery pupils. Only one of them, quietly triumphant, refrained from mocking him, and that was Bulos.

  Later, Farid learned from Matta that it was he and Bulos who had haunted Athanasius. The idea originated with Bulos, but he hadn’t lifted a finger to put it into practice; Matta did the dangerous part. Farid felt not so much admiration as a sense of distance and isolation, but also some envy, because Matta and Bulos seemed to trust each other so unconditionally.

  138. Drifting Apart

  Father Daniel, the monastery’s mathematician, was a tall, thin man. The pupils called him “Monsieur Integral”, which made him laugh heartily. He was a man with a good sense of humour. He liked Bulos, too, and often expressed his indignation at the penance he had been forced to do, which Father Daniel had been alone in opposing. But the disciplinary committee had been intent on making an example of someone.

  One day in September Bulos asked Farid to go and visit Father Daniel with him. They drank tea and ate particularly savoury rolls. Bulos argued with the priest as openly as if they were brothers. Later they played chess. Daniel was better at the game than Bulos, but wasn’t at all arrogant about it. “I don’t let you win so that you’ll be encouraged to play even better next time,” he consoled him.

  Finally the conversation came around to Gabriel. Farid was surprised to hear Father Daniel speak so frankly of the monk’s weaknesses.

  “Gabriel won’t rise any higher,” he said. “He criticizes the Catholic Church too much. He’s cleverer than Loyola and Luther, but without the heroic courage of either.” For once Bulos was diplomatic, and said nothing malicious about his enemy.

  In early October, after years of patient work, Gabriel managed to get the custom of passing the signal around abolished, and the unattractive sight of a kneeling sinner was no longer seen in the refectory.

  Only Bulos appeared upset. Once there was no signal any more, several of the pupils saw no more need for a secret society, and distanced themselves from the group.

  139. Encounters

  It was a fine, warm Sunday when Brother Gabriel asked Farid to have another talk with him. As Farid was about to sit down, Gabriel looked out of the window and said, “No, let’s go out and enjoy this December sun.”

  The monastery administration was concerned about the many cases of flu and persistent colds that had been plaguing the pupils, so they were letting everyone go out. The gate was wide open, and after their midday meal a number of the pupils went for a walk or sat on benches in the grounds, basking in the sun. Farid followed Gabriel along the path past the orange groves and down to the sea.

  The waves were rough, and roared as they broke on the beach. Spray rose from the breakers. Farid took a deep breath, then removed his sandals and went barefoot.

  “When I was small,” Gabriel told him, “I lived with my grandmother. My mother died in the sardine canning factory where she worked. It was a tragic accident; a reversing truck ran over her as she was sweeping the yard. My father blamed the truck driver and said he had killed her on purpose because she had turned him down.”

  “Do you believe that?” asked Farid.

  “No, but my mother’s death drove my father out of his mind. When nothing could calm him, he was fired from the factory. He went back to sea-fishing. He had been a fisherman before he married. My father loved the sea and the loneliness of it. He didn’t know how to deal with children, so he handed us – my sister, my younger
brother, and me – over to his parents. They were peasants. My grandfather was a strong, simple-minded man, but my grandmother was crazy and had the second sight. We didn’t understand much about it. One Sunday I was going to Mass with her. Grandfather never went to church. Just outside the church she suddenly stopped. ‘Do you hear the rafters creaking and groaning?’ she asked. I listened, but I couldn’t hear anything.

  ‘We won’t go into the church,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s about to fall down.’ And then she took my hand and walked home with a firm step. Grandfather laughed at her crazy ideas.

  “As we sat on the terrace, we could see the village square and the church from up on the hill. Bells were ringing for the beginning of Mass. Grandmother closed her eyes and kept still. Suddenly, without any warning, the whole church collapsed. The bell in the tower rang just once more, and then it fell silent as dust rose. First the roof and then the walls fell in, burying seventy people under their stones. Only five adults and three children survived the disaster, badly injured. To this day I don’t know why my grandmother didn’t warn the congregation.”

  Gabriel fell silent, pressing his feet more firmly into the sand. Then, without looking at Farid, he said, “Keep away from Bulos. His heart is full of hatred. That’s not Christian.” He looked into the distance. Farid walked along beside him in silence, expecting Gabriel to invite him to join the Saturday meetings of the Early Christians group at this point, but the monk said no more, only smiled with relief as if he had been suffering from bearing the weight of his warning.

  They were about to turn back when Bulos appeared with a few other pupils, all on their way back to the monastery. Bulos greeted Gabriel, gazing hard at him as if intent on ignoring Farid.

  That evening Matta said Bulos had had a letter from his mother, who wanted to come and visit him soon. Then Matta changed the subject; it seemed as if he had something he wanted to get off his chest. He’d been surprised, he said, by Bulos’s startled look when he, Matta, happened to mention the name of Farid Mushtak. Bulos had asked twice if he was quite sure that Farid’s surname was Mushtak and he came from Mala. He didn’t say why he was so surprised, said Matta.

  When Farid met Bulos himself next day, his manner was strangely cool.

  “How’s your mother?” asked Farid. Bulos didn’t reply at once, but gave him a dark look.

  “What’s that to you?” he snapped. “You don’t tell me why you’re so thick with Gabriel these days, do you?”

  Farid was baffled for a moment. He hadn’t expected this coldness.

  “You have it all wrong. Brother Gabriel was only being friendly, as usual.”

  But it was like talking to a brick wall.

  140. Matta Runs Away

  The teachers were very indulgent to the pupils taking the fast-track course to become village priests, but no leniency and patience could do anything for Matta. It was Brother Gabriel’s view that the boy should be sent home as soon as possible. But the monastery administration took no notice, regarding it as a challenge to discipline him instead.

  The teachers obeyed, and so Matta’s ordeal began that December. Whenever he made a mistake, however small, he had to kneel down, and if that didn’t work he was made to stand facing the wall for the entire lesson. Matta bore it all with the patience of a camel. The next punishment was more painful: he wasn’t allowed out into the yard for a breath of fresh air during the break between lessons, but had to stay in the classroom writing out meaningless lines. Farid and Bulos forgot the coolness between them for a while as they tried to help Matta. They offered to give him extra coaching, but Abbot Maximus turned the idea down. The trouble with Matta, he said, wasn’t ignorance but a lack of self-discipline.

  Farid could see how much his friend was suffering. His laughter had gone, and although he tried hard with his work he just fell further and further behind.

  During that icy January Bulos’s mother came to visit him. Wishing to please him and be back on good terms, Farid said he hoped he’d enjoy the visit, and offered him some money so that he could give his mother a present. Bulos just looked straight through him. Farid was worried. He tried to find out from Matta what had made Bulos so hostile, but Matta didn’t know either.

  Not until fourteen years later, in a place very far from the monastery, was Farid to discover the answer from Bulos himself.

  The next night Matta jumped out of the washroom window into a tree, and then fled into the darkness. When the monk on duty raised the alarm next morning, Abbot Maximus sent for Marcel, Bulos, and Barnaba.

  Bulos was pale with rage, and scented treachery. But he couldn’t say much, for Maximus was cool to Farid as well, and was acting the part of detective.

  “I know you’re all in league together,” said Maximus sharply. He looked straight at Bulos. “And as for you, you should have told us that our son Matta needed help.”

  Bulos lowered his eyes.

  “Barnaba, did you know that Matta was planning to run away?” asked the Abbot.

  Farid took fright. “No,” he lied.

  Marcel was the only member of the trio who had really had no idea, but it was a fact that Matta, in desperation, had asked Bulos and Farid for help. He had to run away or he would choke here, he said. After their offer to the Abbot to give him extra coaching failed, Farid gave Matta a hundred lira, and Bulos told him two addresses in the port of Latakia where he could hide.

  When Marcel too denied having known anything about Matta’s flight, the Abbot was beside himself, and said that all three must eat every meal on their knees for a week. It was one of the most humiliating punishments that could be given.

  From now on Bulos would speak to neither Farid nor Marcel. He exchanged his place in class with another pupil, and avoided all eye contact with the other two as they knelt. Farid was less bothered by that than by his guilty conscience over Marcel, who had been dragged into this even though he was an innocent party. Kneeling on the icy cold floor didn’t hurt nearly as much as knowing that he and Bulos had obviously planned Matta’s escape so clumsily that Maximus was able to track them down at once as his helpers. Since none of the other monastery pupils showed any sympathy, Farid began to feel that the Syrian Brothers had been infiltrated.

  But Bulos wouldn’t hear of any such idea. Gabriel had been spying on them, he said, and told tales to Maximus. Farid couldn’t help thinking that when Bulos said “Gabriel” he was also accusing him.

  It was true that the monk was suddenly keeping his distance, and just shook his head whenever Farid’s eyes met his. There was little regret in his glance. He ate and spoke as if he didn’t see three of the monastery students being tormented before his eyes at that very moment. He, the sensitive soul who never punished a pupil, suddenly seemed unmoved. That hurt Farid, and he couldn’t help thinking of Matta’s last words to him. “I’ll miss you so much. That’s the only bad part of running away.”

  Farid would have liked to run away too.

  On the twenty-first day after his escape, Matta was found in a village not far from the monastery and brought back. Next time he celebrated Mass, Abbot Maximus thanked God for what he called Matta’s return of his own free will. He told the pupils that the prodigal son needed a period of rest and reflection to become his normal self again.

  Farid would never have believed the upright Maximus could tell such outrageous lies. Matta was consigned to the House of Job, an out-of-the-way building behind the stables. “It’s a prison for students who sin really badly. It’s hell,” said Bulos. “They’ll send him crazy there. We have to tell him we’ll soon get him out, and then he must go straight to Damascus and hide there.” And Bulos had the perfect plan.

  Two days later, when lessons stopped for the midday break, Farid stole into the visitors’ room, which had a door to the car park. He walked through it and with a firm tread went on to the stables, as Bulos had told him to do, as if he had been sent to look at the animals.

  Wet snow was drizzling down. There wasn’t a soul in sight. W
hen he reached the stables he quickly went around the corner, and then he was in front of the small door. The key fitted. He slipped into the dark hut and quickly closed the door behind him.

  He was in complete darkness. He listened for a while until he heard whimpering from the floor above. Cautiously, he groped his way up the stairs.

  Two tiny windows covered with moss and slushy snow gave a faint light that showed the single room on this second floor. Matta was crouching in a corner, chained to the wall.

  “Matta,” whispered Farid.

  The boy wept when Farid hugged him and kissed his forehead. “They beat me almost to death,” he said.

  “But they won’t get you down. You’re from Mala. Who beat you? Who did it?” Farid asked, suddenly furious when he saw his friend’s swollen face. His head was encrusted with dried blood in several places, and his hands and feet were red.

  “Brother John,” murmured Matta. Suddenly he looked at Farid, and asked, “You have come to let me out of here, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but you must hang on for a few more days, until we’ve been in touch with the bus driver. He’ll take you with him, and once you’re in Damascus no one can bring you back.”

  “A few more days?” asked Matta. His mouth was dry. “Get these chains off me, and I’ll make my own way to Damascus. A few more days?” he repeated, almost giving way. “Look at me, see what they’ve done to me, look at me!”

  Farid felt wretched. “You must be patient. I’ll get you out of here. Trust me. You’re still too weak. They’d catch up with you and bring you back before you’d gone far. Trust me.”