First published in Great Britain by Comma Press, 2019.
www.commapress.co.uk
Copyright © Nayrouz Qarmout, 2019.
English translation of the story ‘The Sea Cloak’ © Charis Bedrin, 2014.
English translation of all other stories © Perween Richards, 2019.
All rights reserved.
The moral rights of Nayrouz Qarmout to be identified as theauthor of this Work have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book has been selected to receive financial assistance from
English PEN’s ‘PEN Translates’ programme.
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of Arts Council England.
Contents
The Sea Cloak
Black Grapes
The Mirror
Pen and Notebook
White Lilies
Our Milk
14 June1
The Long Braid
The Anklet of Maioumas
Breastfeeding
A Samarland Moon
About the Author
The Sea Cloak
Once again, she retreated into the past, to a sprawling camp buzzing with children playing marbles and forming teams for a game of ‘Jews and Arabs’. She saw herself aged ten, wearing a short dress and skipping with a group of girls in a sandy alleyway shadowed by sheets of corrugated iron. She dropped the rope abruptly as a little boy snatched a butterfly clip from her hair and ran off with it. She raced after him. Her shoes flew from her small feet but she kept running, oblivious to everything except the sand on the ground that soon carried her to a pathway littered with stones. She tripped and fell. Her dress was stained with dirt but she simply shook the dust from it and ran angrily on.
‘Give it back!’
‘Got to catch me first!’ he called behind him.
They soon grew tired and stopped beneath a large old tree. She leaned against it, grateful for the wide, leafy shade of its foliage. The boy smiled and offered her the clip.
‘It looks nice in your hair,’ he mumbled bashfully.
Despite her anger, a great wave of happiness engulfed her. She didn’t know why, nor did she understand the childish emotions making her heart pound wildly as she struggled to catch her breath. Then suddenly her brother was before them, throwing a wild punch at the boy who immediately threw one back. He had appeared as though from nowhere on the sandy path where they were standing beneath the tree. He punched the boy again. She began to cry and he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her home. On the way he called her a ‘hussy’, a word she did not understand.
They reached home and her brother went straight to their parents.
‘She was with the boy from next door.’
The words struck like lightning bolts. Her father gave her a slap across the cheek that she would remember for the rest of her life. Her mother grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her away.
‘I’ll sort her out,’ she called to her husband.
‘That’s the last time you’re going out on the streets,’ she screamed at her, once they had left the room. ‘No more games. You’re a grown-up now, not a little girl. Go and look at yourself in the mirror. Take your sister’s scarf and wrap your hair in it. I’ve had enough of these girls and their modern ways!’
She could still hear herself weeping, and feel her hands probing her body, searching for parts that had begun to grow, parts she had previously only known about from her mother.
But all that was in the past. Now was another time.
The walls were suffocating, constricting the cramped house. There was no refreshing breeze and the air was brutally hot. Her father was sweating.
‘Where are you all?’ he called to her mother. ‘Aren’t you dressed yet? Hurry up! It’s already late and you’re still getting ready.’
Her mother continued seasoning the fish while chaos reigned in the adjoining bedrooms. As usual, they had stayed up late on Thursday when her sisters and their children had arrived to spend the weekend with them.
‘Stop getting in my way, both of you!’ the woman yelled at the children. ‘Go to your mothers and let me finish what I’m doing! And haven’t you lot finished dressing and undressing yet? Will one of you please go and see your father? Ugh... these girls will be the death of me!’
Meanwhile she was alone in her bedroom, emptying the contents of her wardrobe onto the bed and trying on one piece of clothing after another. She pulled one on, examined herself then pulled it off again, already reaching for the next. Outfit after outfit and nothing seemed to suit her.
‘God, I’m fed up,’ she murmured to herself. ‘It’s so hot I feel like I’m melting. The sea looks beautiful though... If only I could chuck these stuffy clothes and have a cold bath.’
She left the room and slouched wearily to the kitchen in search of her mother.
‘I’ve no idea what to wear, so how am I supposed to go to the beach?’
Her mother hurriedly finished what she was doing, her face shiny with sweat. Without looking at her daughter, she tied her scarf into a knot around her head.
‘My head’s about to explode! Go and take your anger out on someone else... and wear whatever you want to wear!’
Her frustration grew. She felt heat rise within her, even more suffocating than the surrounding air. She watched her mother with a mixture of pity and anger.
‘Who am I supposed to go to? You all say the same thing. None of my sisters are free.’
‘What did I just tell you? No more complaining, I’m sick of hearing about clothes. Don’t ruin the day please, just behave. Moments like these don’t come along very often, my dear, so don’t let them slip away when they do!’
‘Fine. Do you need any help?’
‘No, just go and get ready.’
They all managed to squeeze onto the bus and prepared to greet the sea. They had not visited it in some time and each was hoping it would restore fond memories, and bring them an even more glorious day.
Brightly coloured kites danced through the air like little rainbows that, mingling with rays of sunshine, glowed alternately on the foam and the sand.
A strong breeze gusted through the humid air, laden with an array of scents, from sweetcorn to potatoes roasting on burning embers. It was a wonderful scene. Sizzling steam rose from carts displaying pistachios and roasted seeds, each one adorned with twinkling lights like a carnival float. And once your tongue had tired of their burning heat, another line of cheerful stalls stood in waiting, offering ice cream of all colours and flavours. How good it tasted as you strolled along the beachfront, the breeze caressing your body and the cool taste refreshing your soul!
The beach was packed with tents and small sunshades cobbled together from planks of wood, and palm fronds that wafted a cool breeze over those sitting beneath: the lovers and dreamers, yearning for a day that would steal them away from the troubles of existence. Warm light filtered through the fronds, crisscrossing the sand and filling them with hope. As the fronds swayed, bells chimed softly, tickling their ears.
Gaza’s coastline is not clean. Everything is scattered about in disarray. The sand is littered with rubbish and tents dot the beach like bales of hay, where dreaming souls shelter, conversing with their most intimate imaginings. That is just the way Gaza is: a young girl yet to learn the art of elegance. A young girl who has not yet developed her own scent and is still, willingly or not, perfumed by all around her.
The family chose a tent which they soon filled with laughter, chatting happily about the day ahead. They were all in search of memories, contemplating the waves as they surged tirelessly towards the shore, awakening within them nostalgia, hope, and a sense of loss before the great cloak of the sea.
Her father did not know how to swim. He bobbed up and down in the water, relying on his height as he struggled forward before returning to the shore, where he sat contemplating the water in such profound silence that everyone knew he had drifted away to a sea far from the one before them. Their mother, meanwhile, busied herself arranging the tent, keeping an anxious eye on the salad that she had just taken from her bag, fearing it would be ruined by the sandy breeze. She was preparing their lunchtime festivities, arranging the table just as it would be at home. It was only when she sat down that she realised how tired she was. During all this, her daughter sat quietly, contemplating her parents.
Then there was Grandma, her embroidered dress fluttering in the breeze. She was chuckling away, an old cigarette balanced between her lips as she puffed out smoke and crooned melancholy folk songs of old. Every now and then, she glanced furtively at her sulky granddaughter.
‘Go and have a swim, dear. I’d come with you if I could.’
‘On my own?’
‘Don’t you have a pair of legs?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go on, before it gets chilly.’
‘Ok, I’m going.’
Her sisters were full of laughter, winking cheekily at one another as they discussed their various acquaintances.
‘God forgive us all this nattering; it’s just a bit of fun!’ they spontaneously declared after every round of gossip.
She smiled at her sisters’ and grandmother’s words, rising quietly to her feet and walking towards the sea.
Passing her brothers, who were grilling fish on the barbecue, she vaguely registered their loud discussions, alternating between politics, memories of the war and intifada, and mockery of their current situation. Vapour and ash from the hookah danced into the air along with their laughter.
None of them noticed her as she walked through the smoke. It was as though the sea had cast a spell over her, making her invisible to those around her and carrying her like a bride on her wedding day.
She passed a boy of seven, waiting for waves at the shoreline and leaping joyfully as they washed forward. He was soaked and his trousers were slipping down as he and his brother chased one another around, tossing sand and shells back and forth. Their eyes shone with the freshness of youth. They were quick to anger and quicker yet to make up and return to their game. She smiled at them, patting their heads and continuing on her way.
Another boy of four was running around naked, rejoicing in the freedom of his childhood as he flew back to his mother, anxiously awaiting his return from the water. He threw himself into her arms, seeking protection in her warmth from the secrets of the sea that his four short years had failed to comprehend.
Nearby, a group of young men were throwing cards onto the sand, each with the confident certainty of victory. They didn’t have a screen to protect them from the blazing sun and their backs were already burning.
One of them twisted round to watch her as she walked past, calling out a chat-up line from where he sat, cards still in hand.
A short distance away, a donkey was immersed in the water, washing away the hardships of a day spent lugging around cartloads of people. It was laughable. Even the donkey had its own place on the beach and in the sea, splashing about in the salty water like everyone else.
Another couple of children were trying to choose which colour of Slush Puppy to dye their lips with, arguing over who would have the red and who the yellow. They were both wearing shirt and trousers and both soaked to the skin. The vendor, meanwhile, sitting behind his simple little cart, was chuckling into his thick white beard, muttering silent wishes and prayers, all swallowed up in the depths of the sea.
At another stall, a young teenager, still clinging to childhood, hurried forward to buy some lupin beans. He began to strip their skins, chucking them around him in the pervasive chaos of early teenage years. His eyes were bashful and he avoided everyone’s gaze, too shy to swim with girls and longing for another sea that would carry him – and his lupin skins – off to some anonymous location. Nearby, the scents of tea and cardamom-infused coffee were wafting from hot coals as an old man recounted tales of the country’s history and wars, and of friends long gone.
Behind him, two high-spirited youths were roaring up the path on a motorcycle, carried forward by blaring music and vying with the wind as it gusted in the opposite direction. Their hair was styled into what looked like miniature Eiffel Towers on top of their heads, while their minds remained firmly rooted in the Middle Ages, as they ogled and wolf-whistled at every veiled girl in sight, revelling in their virility. But a towering policeman soon went to block their path, and the motorcycle squealed to a halt, the young men tumbling to the ground and their protests fading amidst the girls’ laughter.
‘Leave them be. They’re happy!’ a passer-by smiled to the policeman, walking around the prostrate figures.
The flirtatious attentions of young men on the beach varied from the original and witty to the downright harassing but, in spite of their rowdiness, they added to the warm, festive atmosphere, delighting in all those around them.
But she was oblivious to the surrounding bustle, pursuing her elusive memories as they led towards the sea. The noise of the past would grant her no respite. Her black dress rustled in the breeze and her headscarf fluttered a greeting to the seagulls. With every step that carried her closer to the water, she heard what sounded like the neighing of horses, growing steadily louder inside her.
She drifted forward, carried like a mermaid by the breeze, her thoughts entirely immersed in the waves before her. Time was stealing her steps away, and the sea, without her realising, had already snuck into her memory.
Between the fragrant scent of nostalgia and that of the sea, memories crashed together in her mind as waves surged towards her. She felt the sting of sand biting at her soft skin and longed to escape the black folds of her dress. She sunk her toes into the wet sand, her footprints as light as a butterfly’s, dissolving instantly away. She moved forward, fearful of what was to come. Her foot had plunged into an abyss too deep to escape. But she continued, happy to have fallen. Her ivory feet were now soaked and golden grains of sand glistened around them.
She swam further out. Water seeped beneath her clothes until they ballooned around her. She felt an excited tingle that was almost too much to bear. Arousal grew inside her as she continued onwards, oblivious to the seashells cutting the bottom of her feet, making the moment complete with a few drops of female blood. Pain and desire gripped her. Sea foam surrounded her like a bracelet of honey, entwined with froths of whipped candyfloss, its edges gleaming with golden light as it absorbed its nectar from the sun above.
Gazing up at the brilliant white of the sky, she was carried along like an angel of the sea. The cold sea breeze whipped at her skin, sharper even than the biting sand. With eyes shut, she took a deep breath and plunged beneath a wave. It had barely run its course when she already felt an urgent need for air. She surged upwards and her dress billowed out. Tugging it hastily down, she gasped for breath and blushed as she saw the black material clinging to her breasts, displaying her curves to anyone who cared to look. Her cheeks glowed and her dark eyes shone like precious stones, fringed by eyelashes as sharp as arrows. Rays of sun bathed her in a halo of light and her smile filled the shore with boundless joy. She felt air rushing from her and realised she was panting, struggling to catch a single breath.
‘I want to keep swimming,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I want to fly beneath the waves. I want to be as light as a feather on water.’
The sea’s symphony, familiar and divine, caressed her ears. Her heart slowed and reached out to the desolate expanse of water. She opened her eyes and was dazzled by golden ripples stretching out as far as she could see. Her body sunk into their warm embrace.
She swam further, propelling herself forward with slender arms and legs as her dress swirled around her, entangling her thighs and restricting their movement. Her scarf, meanwhile,
had plastered her hair to her head and felt as though it had been fastened there permanently, covering her eyes.
Her feet no longer touched the ground and she grew afraid, pulling the scarf from her face and turning to look behind her. The people on the beach were tiny dots in the distance and she could barely distinguish them. They too must no longer be able to see her. A strong current was pulling her dress down and she shivered in alarm, sensing her strength fade and fearing she could no longer stay afloat. Her legs felt heavy with the material wrapped tightly around them and she wanted to pull it off but was afraid of her nakedness. She was afraid of death too, and of shame. She loved life and felt suddenly alone. The sky was far above and the sea had grown menacing, its echoing boom resounding in her ears. Tears would not come although she desperately wanted to cry. She gave in to the current but, as she began to go under, a muscular arm suddenly encircled her. She gazed down at it, feeling its strength and warmth.
‘I’ve got you. Hold tight and don’t be afraid.’
She grew even more alarmed as scenes from the past flashed before her, urging her to keep far away from any man she did not know. Faint voices rose from the depths. Her mother and father’s scolding tones filled her ears. It was her first day of secondary school again, as she proudly stepped out in her new uniform: a child realising she had grown up for the first time, aware of her girlish curves beneath the material and sensing her hair waving in the breeze. Everyone on the street had watched her with an admiration she had not fully comprehended. But she had, at least, understood that she was attractive, and in full possession of herself. Next, she saw a young boy of her own age. He smiled at her and she felt herself smile back. Then there was a path shaded by branches. She and the boy were sheltering beneath a tree as the boy told her how beautiful she was and she felt as though all the birds in the trees were singing for her and her alone. All she could recall was his smile and his broken tooth, both of which she had immediately loved and would never forget. The rest of his features were hazy, fading to nothing as her brother appeared before them, punching the boy and dragging her away by the arm. Then she woke from her reverie, feeling her rescuer tug harder on her arm. They were approaching the shore. She moved feebly and was barely able to draw breath, but she was afraid of him coming any closer. And yet she had liked his arm gripped tightly around her. It gave her a feeling of security she thought she had lost many years ago.
The Sea Cloak Page 1