by Rafik Schami
“I do, I trust you more than anyone else in the world, but John beats me every day, and he kicks me in the head with his boots. He wants me to go crazy, and now you tell me I must stay here?”, he sobbed.
The keys to unlock the chains were hanging on the wall, but Farid knew that Matta would never survive another escape attempt. He rose. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can. Don’t worry. We’ll see to John,” said Farid, tearing himself away. He felt as if he were chained up there too.
“Oh, Mother, help me,” he heard Matta say before he closed the door of the little building behind him.
Large snowflakes were falling outside now. Fortunately the door of the visitors’ room wasn’t locked, and the cleaners were busy sweeping it out. Farid waved to them and strode past at a steady pace. Only in the inner courtyard did he begin to run. He went straight to Bulos.
“I’m going to Gabriel right away. He must tell John to stop it,” Farid finished his account.
Bulos looked at him, horrified. “Are you out of your mind? Gabriel? Gabriel! He’ll know at once that you’ve seen Matta, which means you’ll be giving us away. And what for? To persuade that miserable wretch to show mercy? Don’t you remember we’ve been kneeling on the icy floor for a whole week now, right in front of his nose? No, we’ll deal with John ourselves.”
“How do you mean, deal with him?” asked Farid, but just then the bell rang for afternoon lessons.
141. Punishment
A thick blanket of snow lay over the landscape, softening all its outlines. Because it was so cold, the snow turned to a dry powder that blew through every crack. The students muffled themselves up in scarves and caps to walk the short distance to lessons.
The monastery administration extended the midday break from two hours to three, and let the students play in the snow outside the walls. The inner courtyard was left almost empty.
Bulos briefly observed the busy scene, and then beckoned to Farid, who pushed his warm cap further down over his face, and followed. Bulos was making for John’s workshop, and quickly slipped in with Farid after him.
John was lying on his plank bed in the back room, arms and legs outstretched, snoring loudly. Bulos picked up a piece of metal pipe, taking care to make no sound. Next moment he was standing over the colossus, pressing the end of the pipe to his throat. John woke with a start. He sat up, making a loud gurgling noise which sounded like, “What’s going on?”
Staring at Farid with red, bewildered eyes, he tried to stand up, but a blow crashed down on his forehead. Farid jumped, and briefly closed his eyes. He heard John’s body fall back on the bed. When he opened his eyes again he saw the man’s bleeding forehead. Bulos was standing in front of John impassively, leaning on the piece of pipe like a fencer on his foil.
Suddenly he swung it back.
“What are you doing?” whispered Farid in alarm.
“Breaking the hand that tortured Matta,” replied Bulos, and before Farid had taken in what he was saying, Brother John’s right hand shattered under the blow. It sounded like wood splitting.
“Come on, quick, let’s get out of here,” gasped Bulos, throwing the piece of pipe aside and slipping out of the door again.
When Farid himself came out, Bulos had already disappeared. Farid felt his throat tighten with fear. He couldn’t go and join the others romping around in the snow. He had to be alone. Just before he reached the gateway he turned, and trudged through the snow to the flight of steps beside the church. His stomach hurt, and there was a throbbing in his temples.
He sat down in the library under the small, semi-circular window, took Kipling’s Jungle Book off a shelf, and began to read. But he couldn’t take anything in. The sentences meant nothing. He kept hearing a voice inside him repeating: John is dying.
His relief was great when he suddenly heard John’s voice echoing across the courtyard. The monastery pupils stopped playing and stood still. The monk was calling for help. Farid let out a deep breath, and was trying to read again when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s that you’re reading?” asked Gabriel, smiling.
“Oh, Kipling, just to pass the time,” replied Farid, and he looked at the table in front of him. When he raised his eyes again, he saw Bulos’s head looking in at the library door, just for a moment. Then it disappeared again.
“Brother Gabriel,” another pupil called from the door next minute. His face was pale. Gabriel turned in annoyance, and was about to put his forefinger to his lips. “Brother John’s been attacked. Abbot Maximus wants you to come quickly,” the boy went on excitedly.
Gabriel’s hand stopped half-way to his mouth. “For God’s sake!” he cried, and he hurried off at once. Bulos came in, as if he had been waiting outside the door all the time.
“What did that Judas want with you?” he asked, clearly distrustful.
“Nothing,” said Farid.
“Sure?”
“Sure,” Farid replied.
Bulos turned to leave, but his look of scorn burned Farid’s skin.
When Bulos was questioned a week later, Farid was at a loss to know why. Marcel claimed that one of the Fathers, looking out of his window, had seen Bulos leave the workshop.
“Oh, but that can’t be right,” Farid spontaneously replied. For if so, then the alleged eye-witness must have seen him too, he thought.
“What makes you so sure?” asked Marcel suspiciously. Farid bit his lip and said nothing.
“I just don’t think Bulos would do a thing like that,” he replied at last, trying hard to sound naïve.
“You’ve no idea what things he’d do,” said Marcel scornfully, turning away.
142. Marcel
It was two weeks before the bus driver brought warm clothes and boots for Matta. As Brother Tuma, standing in for John, was gentle by nature, the boy had a chance to recover a little. Farid and Bulos smuggled him some food in his prison every day, and Brother Tuma turned a blind eye.
Brother John came back early in February. His head was still bandaged, and his right arm was in plaster up to the shoulder. He said little, and walked up and down in the courtyard all day.
Matta ran away again in mid-February. But for some reason or other his flight was quickly discovered this time, and the police, who had been alerted, stopped the bus just before it reached the main road. Maximus didn’t want Matta back in the monastery. He asked the police to inform the boy’s parents.
The next rumour was that his father had gone to the police station and beat his son so badly that the boy lost consciousness and fell on his head. When he came to his senses, he was different, and spoke in a strange, confused way. The police recommended his father to take him to the al-Asfuriye mental hospital.
Bulos was interrogated again and again, from the end of February to the middle of March, but to no avail. The worst questions came from Gabriel, who seemed to know a great deal about the Syrian Brothers. Bulos now doubted the loyalty of every member of the society, Farid in particular. He might not say so explicitly, but Farid sensed his suspicion behind every remark he made. Finally the group broke up. Bulos was about to take the exams for his high school diploma, and had other aims in mind now.
“He’s acting all pious because he wants to get a stipend after the exams,” claimed Marcel. “Then he can go and study in Rome or Paris.”
The weather was extremely changeable in early April. Farid felt miserable, and so weak that he fainted several times and had to stay in bed. All his friends visited him, and Gabriel kept looking in as well. Only Bulos never showed up.
Marcel came several times a day, told jokes and passed on gossip, and always brought Farid something special to eat. One day he confided to Farid that he was going to leave the monastery at the end of the school year, and none of the Fathers were allowed to touch him or punish him any more.
“How on earth did you manage that?” asked Farid in amazement.
“Simple. I found out that no one works in the secretarial office at siesta t
ime, and the phone isn’t watched. The only problem was Abbot Maximus, because he spends that time of day in his own office. So I waited until he was away, and then I opened the door of the secretarial office with a piece of wire. I called home and told my father he had to get me out of here or I’d kill myself, and when he asked where I was calling from I told him about the wire and the empty office. My father shouted like a madman. He was scared out of his wits that I was learning to be a criminal in the monastery. That settled it. He blamed Abbot Maximus for letting me go to the bad, and he warned him to leave me alone for the rest of the school year.”
“I don’t want to stay either,” said Farid. “Could you call my mother and tell her to come at once? If my father answers the phone hang up again at once. It’s useless trying to talk to him.”
Two days later Marcel brought news that Claire would come as soon as she possibly could. But he also told Farid that Bulos had been questioned yet again, by a CID man, no less. Marcel reported that Bulos had said very some angry things about Brother Gabriel and Farid.
The scene in the library went through Farid’s mind, the time when Bulos had seen him with Gabriel on the day they did the deed. And at that moment he knew that Bulos was accusing him of treachery.
143. Farewell
Gabriel came to see him once more. He had his gentle smile on his face, and he explained at length that Bulos had been difficult recently, and it had been suggested that he should leave the monastery of his own accord or he might be thrown out. Bulos had gone to pieces, asking to be allowed to take his exams, but the monastery administration refused. The CID was as good as certain that he had taken part in the attack on Brother John, although in the monastery’s interests they were willing to drop the case to avoid a scandal in the press.
However, he added, he had now managed to get Bulos a reprieve. He would have to leave the monastery, but he could spend the last months until the examinations in early June at a nearby boarding school. He didn’t want to see Bulos ruined and sent home without any diploma at all, said Gabriel.
Farid heard the malice in his voice, and hated him for it. He was overcome by a strange fear that Bulos might hear of Gabriel’s visit to him, and then his friend would feel that his darkest suspicions were confirmed. So Farid told Gabriel apologetically that he was very tired, and he lay down. Realizing that his presence was no longer wanted, Gabriel broke off in the middle of his explanations, and left the room.
That night Farid ran a temperature, and when he wanted to go to the lavatory he fell and hit his head. He lost consciousness. When he came back to his senses he felt wretched. Over ten anxious faces were looking down on him. His head was bandaged, his temple hurt. Marcel was smiling at him and kept patting his hand.
Next day Father Simeon, the monastery doctor, visited him. He entered without a word of greeting and began taking his things out of an old leather bag. “Come on, do you need a written invitation to show me your chest?” he growled.
He ran an ice-cold stethoscope over Farid’s back and chest. Then he put his things away again. Just then Father Istfan, the Inquisitor, came through the doorway. He spoke quietly to the doctor, and for the first time in his life Farid heard the word “malingerer”.
The Inquisitor nodded, and glanced at Farid, who was putting his pyjama jacket on again.
“My son,” said the Inquisitor, enveloping him in a dense cloud of bad breath, “you must trust me. I only want to help you. What is troubling you, what makes you withdraw from the school and your comrades? What makes you injure your head like that? Is it perhaps connected with what your friend Bulos did? You can tell me everything.”
Farid hated the weakness that kept him confined to the bed. He felt driven into a corner. Why couldn’t he just fly out of the window like a bird?
“Take care, my son, for if you won’t let us help you, Father Simeon will tell the Abbot that you’re only pretending to be sick, and that will be punished as deception.”
So that’s it, thought Farid, this lousy Inquisitor wants to worm it all out of me because they’re not quite sure about Bulos yet. They don’t know anything about him. It’s Gabriel’s cheap revenge. That snake! They’re not sorry for Bulos at all, they’re tormenting him.
“Mama!” cried Farid, in as loud and shrill a voice as he could. Father Istfan was scared out of his wits. He flung himself on the boy, but Farid slipped out of the other side of the bed and ran to the open window, still shouting “Mama!” again and again. Istfan stumbled after him, but suddenly hesitated, stopped, and put out his hands almost imploringly. Then, however, he hurried out of the dormitory.
Outside, spring was bright with fresh colours. But it was still cold as ice in the dormitory. More and more people were gathering in the car park outside. Farid recognized the bus driver, the mechanic, Brother Nicholas from the laundry, and others. He was shouting for all he was worth, and didn’t stop even when powerful hands took him by the shoulder. Turning, he saw Brother John looking at him pityingly. Other monks stood behind John. Among them was Gabriel, pale-faced. Farid tore himself away from John. “Let me go, you criminal!” he shouted, moving away until there were two beds between him and John, who wasn’t in fact trying to catch hold of Farid, but was just looking at him with his mouth open.
“Calm down, Barnaba,” begged Gabriel softly, going towards him. Farid backed away. “Mama!” he shouted again, as if out of his mind.
At that moment, far away in Damascus, Claire heard someone calling her. She looked out of her kitchen window, and then went back to the sink.
“Holy Mary Mother of God, I hope nothing’s happened to Farid,” she whispered.
144. A Lioness
When Farid regained consciousness his mouth was parched with thirst, and there was a grey veil over his vision. The dormitory where he was lying was empty. His head felt leaden. He tried to sit up, but found that he couldn’t move his arms and legs. It took him some time to realize that he was strapped down to the bed. Gradually, he remembered someone seizing him from behind while he was speaking to Gabriel. Then he had been thrown on a bed, and they had given him an injection in his upper arm. He had no idea how many hours or days he had been asleep.
Marcel looked in about midday. “Your mother’s here. She’s raising hell,” he whispered, and then he turned and hurried out again.
Soon after that Gabriel turned up, with a rather more powerful monk whom Farid had never seen before. Gabriel was visibly nervous.
‘Your mother has arrived. Did you write her a letter or anything?”
“No,” said Farid, as Gabriel’s stronger companion loosened the buckles of the straps.
“She’s worried, but we don’t want her to see you sick in bed. Can you stand up?” asked Gabriel, as if he were genuinely concerned for Farid’s mother. Farid straightened up. He still felt dazed, but he had to get to Claire. The monk helped him into his habit and did up the buckles of his sandals. Farid wouldn’t let him remove the bandage from his head.
“She’s in the visitors’ room,” said Gabriel, standing at the window and gazing out at the sea, as if to avoid looking at Farid. Then he tried to offer his support, but Farid declined it. He was walking unsteadily, but he wanted to be alone on the way to his mother.
When he opened the door of the visitors’ room his heart was thudding wildly. There was Claire, in a yellow summer dress. “Holy Virgin !” she cried, putting both hands to her mouth as if ashamed of her own horror. Only a glance in the large mirror opposite the door showed Farid what had alarmed his mother so much. With his bandaged head, and his pale, gaunt face, he looked as if he had just come out of an operating theatre.
“Dear heart, what have they done to you?” she cried, embracing Farid. She kissed his eyes, forehead, and cheeks. “Farid, my Farid!” she kept saying as her tears flowed.
“Oh, Mama, it’s hell here. I’m not staying a second longer. They ill-treat us. I’ve been very sick, but the doctor says I’m only pretending, and when I fainted and hurt my head t
hey didn’t believe me and didn’t take me to a doctor, they strapped me down to the bed,” he said, all in a rush, as if afraid someone would come and forbid him to tell his mother the truth. “And they gave me an injection to anesthetize me, Mama.”
“My God, what criminals! What vipers!”
“Calm down, madame,” interrupted the monk supervising them anxiously. This was the first time Farid had noticed him sitting in the shadows at the far end of the room.
“Calm down?” Claire snapped. “Be quiet and take me to the Abbot this minute. Or shall I go straight to him myself?”
The monk froze, but then moved slowly out of the room. Supporting Farid, Claire went carefully to the stairs with him.
It seemed that the Abbot had just gone out. Several Fathers and Brothers hurried to find other members of the monastery administration. When Claire and Farid arrived in the office they found themselves facing a solid wall of seven or eight men in black habits.
“What have you done to my son? Is this the Farid who came to you?”
“Madame, do please calm down,” said Father Istfan. “It was an accident. He hurt his head slightly.”
“Accident? You miserable hypocrite! I’ve been told three different versions within an hour. What do you do to these poor boys? They’re children, and you turn them into careworn old men. So you strapped my son to his bed instead of sending him straight to hospital? I’ll take you to court for this.”
There was an awkward silence. Gabriel’s face was grey.
“My son is coming with me, right away. He has to go to hospital, and you’ll give him a good report for this year’s work.”
“But madame, we can’t do that. The school year isn’t over yet,” Gabriel pointed out.
“In that case I’m getting in touch with my cousin in the police to lay charges of child abuse against you. And then you might as well close this monastery down. I have no more time to spare, I’m going to pack my son’s case now, and if you haven’t brought me that report by the time we leave you must hold yourselves responsible for the consequences. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she snapped, and she left the office with Farid, holding him close to her side.