Displaced

by Dean Hughes

  Hadi glanced around the lobby. There were fewer people around now. Hadi wondered how much time had passed and how his sister was doing.

  “Hadi,” Malek said, “I don’t think Kamal will come looking for you. As long as you stay away, he probably doesn’t care what you do.”

  “What about Rashid?”

  “That’s different. Rashid won’t want you out there, knowing what you know and what you could report to the police.”

  “Maybe if I stay away and he doesn’t hear anything about me, he’ll figure that he scared me enough that I won’t ever say anything.”

  “I hope that’s right.”

  “But how can we ever see each other?” Hadi asked.

  Malek didn’t give a quick answer the way he always had before, but Hadi understood what he must be feeling. Once he got better, the only thing ahead for him was a return to the corner to sell tissues every day—all by himself.

  “For now we have to avoid each other,” Malek said.

  “I know.” It was all Hadi could do to keep his voice under control when he said, “You’re still going to be an engineer. You’re going to do it, no matter what.”

  Malek nodded, but not with his old firmness. “As far ahead as I can see right now, I have to keep selling tissues. There’s no way I can go to school—at least, not for a long time.”

  “I know. But things don’t always stay the same. Something good can happen to us, sooner or later. Are you still studying those engineering books?”

  “Not since I got hurt. I’ll try again when I get home. But they’re hard, and my father loses patience with me.”

  “Just keep studying them—over and over, if you have to. That’s what I do. I read a chapter, then I think about it awhile, and read it again. Some things start to make sense.”

  “Okay. You’re a good example to me.”

  Hadi could hardly believe that. “You’re the one who taught me,” he said. “And we’ll keep helping each other. I won’t see you for a while, but we’re friends. We’ll always be friends. We’ll keep our promises.”

  Malek nodded, but he didn’t speak. Hadi could see that tears were filling his eyes. “I have to go,” he said. “The nurses are going to be upset with me—for staying away from my room so long.”

  They both stood, and Hadi patted Malek softly on the shoulder. He looked too frail for anything more than that. But Malek did stop and look back after he had begun to walk away. “I hope your little sister will be all right,” he said.

  Hadi nodded.

  “Hadi,” Malek said, “when Kamal came back to the alley, he grabbed me and told me I had to tell him what intersection your father worked at. But I didn’t tell him. That’s why he knocked me down.”

  “That was brave, Malek.”

  The boys nodded to each other, and as Malek walked away Hadi could only think that he had to find Malek again, somehow, even if a long time passed before he could. But that thought brought him back to the present and all the things he was facing now. He needed to know how his sister was doing. He made his way down the hallway toward the emergency waiting room. He met his father halfway there, coming toward him.

  “Is she all right?” Hadi asked.

  “I came down to talk to you a while ago,” Baba said, “but you were sleeping.” He looked tired, worried. “She has pneumonia, Hadi. They’ve admitted her to the hospital, and they’re giving her drugs that might help her, but she’s very sick.”

  Hadi knew what Baba meant, but he refused to believe it. They were giving her medicine. She had to get better.

  “We need to let your mother know what’s happening.”

  “I’ll take a taxi again, and—”

  “No. We can’t afford that. You’ll have to walk, but I’ll walk with you. I don’t want you out in the street this late. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “Don’t you have to stay?”

  “No. The doctor told me to go home. Rabia will be asleep all night, and there’s nothing I can do now.”

  “But what if she… doesn’t do all right?”

  “I’ve thought about that. But Mama must be going crazy with worry by now, just wondering what’s going on. And I can’t change anything, no matter what happens.”

  “Rabia will be better in the morning. The medicine will make her better.”

  “Yes,” Baba said, but then he added what Hadi expected. “Inshallah.”

  16

  It was all Baba could do to convince Mama to stay home that night, and it was before daylight when Hadi heard Mama getting ready to leave. Baba came to Hadi, where he slept in the corner, knelt next to him, and said, “I’m going to walk with Mama to the hospital. I may walk back if Rabia is doing better. We’ll take Jawdat with us, but you’ll have to stay with your brothers and sisters.”

  “All right.” Hadi hated the idea of staying in the room, not even going out to earn some money, but he was relieved to sleep a little longer now.

  “Do you have any money left?” Baba asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Look to see what food is here. Or buy a little, if you have to, but be sure the children get something to eat.”

  “What about tomorrow? If we don’t work today, we won’t have much left.”

  “I still have some of my savings for next month’s rent. We’ll use it if we have to, and then… I don’t know…”

  Hadi didn’t say anything, but he could see disaster coming. He lay on the cold floor, wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, and tried to shut out all his fears, but he couldn’t think of any way to earn money, and he couldn’t see how he and Baba, even with Khaled’s help, could set aside enough for the next rent in the weeks they had left.

  Gradually, a little light came into the room, and his siblings started to stir. So he got up and located some rice he could boil and half a package of flat bread. It was something, but the day might be long. He didn’t know when Baba would return.

  So Hadi offered the small helping of food to his brothers and sisters, heard some complaints, especially from Aliya. Still, he tried to keep everyone’s mind off food by holding another class on the alphabet. But Khaled had little interest and Aliya was soon complaining that it was boring, so Hadi stopped. Before long, Aliya was teasing Samira, making her cry, and little Aram was crawling all over Hadi, wanting his attention. When Aliya and Samira started to quarrel, Hadi lost his temper. “That’s enough,” he shouted at them. “Your sister is very sick. Aren’t you worried about her? Can’t you be nice to each other for one day?”

  But the girls only looked at him as though they had no idea what he was upset about. It was obvious they didn’t understand how serious Rabia’s illness was. He was immediately sorry he had raised his voice. He stood silent for a time, looked around at all his siblings, and then said, “All right. We all need a change. Let’s go outside for a while. Get your coats on.”

  Aliya was especially joyous, but all the kids began searching about among the blankets for their coats. Hadi found his own coat in the corner where he always slept, and then he helped Aram zip up his coat and put on his little beanie hat, and they all walked downstairs.

  Outside, the day was cool but clear, and they were all happy to be out of the room. The trouble was, there was little to do, only the crowded streets to walk through. So Hadi did something impulsive that he was almost sure he would regret when his money was gone. He took his brothers and sisters into a bakery and bought two manoushés, one with cheese and one with za’atar spice. Khaled was pleased, but the girls were joyous. They hopped up and down when they heard Hadi put in the order, and then, when they smelled the doughy crust as the manoushés came out of the oven, they both squealed with pleasure.

  Hadi had the baker cut the round crusts into sections before he slid them into paper bags, and then they all walked outside and sat at a table out front. Aliya was upset when Hadi was slow in parceling out the sections, but when she took her first bite, she sighed and said, “Thank you, Hadi. Thank you. It’s t
he best food I ever tasted.”

  Hadi knew she had eaten manoushés before, but they had been a rare treat. It hurt him to think how little good food she had tasted in her life. He found himself saying, “Someday we’ll eat manoushés any time we want.”

  “When, Hadi?” she asked.

  “Not so long from now, I think.”

  Hadi didn’t believe his own words, but he didn’t want her to lose trust that something better was ahead. And he wanted to find a way to give her those better days.

  After everyone ate and then walked some more, Hadi took them back to the room. It was almost noon by then, and Hadi didn’t want Baba to come home and find no one there. It was well into the afternoon before Baba arrived. And when he did, Hadi watched his face, fearful of what he would see. But Baba said, “Rabia is starting to get better. The medicine is beginning to take effect.” Still, he looked relieved more than happy, and he came to Hadi and said, “You and Khaled should go back to Hamra and see if you can bring in a little money before the day is gone. Mama will stay with Rabia at the hospital overnight, so someone needs to be here with the children. But you two have more success than I do, and we’ll need to feed them tonight. I’d like to do that without digging any more into our savings.”

  So Hadi and Khaled left immediately and rode the bus to the Corniche. Hadi worried that by the time they paid their bus fares, they would be lucky to come out ahead, but he was glad to get out of the house and try to earn something. Khaled was clearly not happy to go back to the street but surely hesitant to say so.

  On the bus, Khaled said to Hadi, “I think we should sell roses like the kids on Hamra Street.”

  It was something Hadi and Khaled had seen: boys and girls going from car to car with roses for sale. Hadi had been impressed to see that their roses sold better than his gum ever had. “We can’t do that,” Hadi said. “They get their roses from the street gangs, and then the bosses come and take a lot of their money at the end of the day.”

  Khaled had been asking lots of questions about the gangs lately, and Hadi had gradually explained more about them, but Khaled said, “They probably still end up with more money than we do.”

  Hadi had wondered about that, but he and Baba had stayed away from the gangs all these years, and in their situation now, they especially didn’t want to be noticed. But Khaled didn’t know about Hadi’s run-in with Kamal and about the danger he might face if Rashid ever found him. “I don’t think Baba would want us to get involved with those people,” Hadi told Khaled.

  “We could ask the kids who sell roses. Maybe they just buy their own roses somewhere.”

  Hadi doubted that was true, but he was also tired of begging for money. So he decided Khaled was right, that it wouldn’t hurt to ask. When they reached their usual street by the university, they continued up the hill to Hamra Street, and there they spotted two girls holding roses and waiting for the stream of cars to stop. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Hadi said to them.

  The girls giggled. Hadi thought they were sisters; their smiles were just alike. One was slightly taller than the other, but they were both very thin. Still, they were dressed in clean clothes. They were too young to worry about covering their dark hair, so each wore a single, long braid down her back.

  Neither girl answered him, but they didn’t say no, so Hadi asked, “Would you mind telling me where you get the roses you sell?”

  The taller girl shook her head, as though she wasn’t going to answer, but then she said, “It doesn’t matter. We just… get some each day.”

  Hadi knew what she was saying. Like Malek, she had been told not to answer questions about their source. “If I want to start selling roses,” Hadi said, “is there someone I could talk to?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said, and she glanced at her sister, who only shook her head.

  “I know about these things,” Hadi said. “We’re Syrians like you. We want to help our family. We only wondered—”

  A harsh but whispered voice behind him said, “What do you want?”

  The taller sister was quick to say, “He wants to sell roses. We didn’t tell him anything.”

  Hadi turned around. He saw a man who was surprisingly like Kamal: young, dressed in a leather jacket, wearing a short, well-trimmed beard. And even in those few whispered words Hadi had heard that he was Lebanese, not Syrian.

  “Why are you bothering these girls?” the man asked. It was an accusation more than a question.

  “I only asked them about the roses. If my brother and I want to sell roses, how do we start?”

  “You don’t. There are already enough boys and girls doing that. We don’t want any more on this street.”

  Hadi knew he had to be careful. “Okay,” he said, “we just wondered.”

  “Stay away from these girls. Don’t bother them again.”

  “All right.”

  Hadi was about to step away when the man said, “There are other things you might be able to sell. Have you ever sold anything on the street?”

  “No,” Hadi said.

  But at the same time Khaled was saying, “Hadi sold gum, over in Bauchrieh. I’ve only—”

  Hadi grasped Khaled’s arm, held it tight, and Khaled seemed to understand that he had said too much.

  The man took hold of Hadi’s arm, but he looked at the girls. “The cars have stopped. Go to work,” he said. And then he looked back at Hadi. He smiled, waited a moment. Lots of people were walking along the sidewalk, and Hadi had a feeling that the man was worried about attracting attention. He said, in a gentler voice, “So you’ve sold things before. And your name is Hadi?”

  “Yes. My name is Hadi.”

  “Where do you live, Hadi?”

  Hadi looked over at Khaled, told him with his eyes not to answer, and then he said, “Dekwaneh.” He didn’t know exactly where that was, but he had heard of a section of Beirut with that name, and it was the first answer that had come to him.

  “You don’t live in Cola?”

  “No.”

  “And you’ve come all the way from Dekwaneh to bother two little girls?”

  “We saw them selling roses, that’s all. We wanted to ask them about it.” He tried to smile, act natural. “We’re sorry we said anything to them. We won’t do it again.”

  “But your brother said you sold gum in Bauchrieh. Do you know a man named Rashid, who drives a taxi over there?”

  Hadi felt a shock of fear run through him. He couldn’t think what to say. He thought of running, but the man still had hold of his arm. He decided not to respond, but he knew the man had seen his body stiffen when he had mentioned Rashid.

  “A man named Rashid is looking for a boy named Hadi, from Cola. He sold gum—and other things—in Bauchrieh. The word is on the streets by now, all over Beirut. That boy may not live long if Rashid tracks him down.”

  Hadi nodded, still didn’t say anything. He glanced at Khaled, who was looking stunned. Hadi shook his head just enough to tell Khaled not to speak.

  The man didn’t say anything more for a time. He studied Hadi’s face, and then he took a long look at Khaled. Finally he told Hadi, “We deal in roses here, and a few other things. We have our expectations, but we’re not like Rashid. I’m sure you know what he sells. He’s tied in with people who do anything to protect themselves. They kill without regret.”

  Hadi whispered, “I understand.” But his voice was mostly gone. He felt as though he might collapse.

  “I could hold both of you boys and turn you over to those people. But I don’t want to do that.” He looked at Khaled again and surely noticed how young he was. “But here’s my advice: You need to get away from Beirut as soon as you can. Leave today if possible.”

  Hadi nodded. He was too out of breath to speak again.

  “Go now. Your whole family should leave. Don’t ever tell anyone we had this conversation, and don’t show up in Hamra again. I won’t be so lenient next time.”

  Hadi didn’t bless the man
, but he placed his hand over his heart and made a little bow. Then he and Khaled hurried down to the bus stop on the Corniche. All the way down the hill, and again on the bus, Khaled kept asking questions—about the man named Rashid, about leaving Beirut, about men who killed without regret. And Hadi kept saying, “I’ll explain everything later.”

  When Hadi and Khaled stepped through the door at home, Hadi said to his father, “Come out to the hallway. We need to talk.”

  So Baba stepped into the hallway and Khaled tried to follow, but Hadi sent him back, and then he told his father what had happened and all the things the man had said to him.

  It was dark in the stairway, and Hadi couldn’t see his father very well. He watched his shadowed face and tried to judge his reaction. But Baba was silent. He asked no questions. When Hadi finished his story, he could hear Baba breathing, louder than before. He seemed to be pulling in all the air he could, maybe trying to calm himself.

  “We can’t leave with Rabia in the hospital.”

  “We don’t have any money, either,” Hadi said.

  “I have the rent money. It isn’t enough to last long, but it might get us out of Beirut.”

  “But where can we go? How can we buy food? How will we—”

  “Hadi, I don’t know. For now I’m trying to figure out how we can stay alive. Give me time to think.”

  Baba had been patient with Hadi through all these troubles, but he sounded as though he was trying to control his anger now. Maybe he was blaming Hadi for the mistakes he had made, or maybe himself. Or, Hadi thought, he was just outraged with everything: all that had happened since their home in Syria had been blown into rubble.

  17

  Baba decided that no matter how much danger they were in, the family couldn’t leave Beirut until Rabia was well enough to travel. As it turned out, he was able to bring her home the next day—but mostly because the hospital didn’t want to keep her any longer. A doctor was good enough to send her home with medicine—taken from his supply of free samples—so that was one expense they didn’t have to worry about.

  At the hospital, Baba had explained the whole situation to Mama, and Hadi was relieved that he hadn’t had to look into her face and tell her that her life was turning upside down again—almost as bad as when they had been forced to leave Aleppo. She and Baba had to take Rabia in a taxi again, depleting their savings even further, but at least by the time they arrived, Mama seemed to have accepted the new reality. It was almost a blessing that she was still so worried about her little daughter. She said more than once, “If Rabia can get better, and if we can all stay alive, I won’t have anything to complain about.”