Arden

by Nick Corbett

  Ally and Sadik speak some more together in Arabic. Hannah joins in their discussion. Their talk becomes excitable. The others watch on with growing concern. Two younger men step out from within the hall. They join in the confab. They are also wearing overalls. One of them waves his paintbrush alarmingly close to Sadik. Joe turns to Mike, rolls his eyes.

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing, let’s just wait.”

  The debate seems to be escalating. Then there is a moment of silence. A resolution has been made. The decorators stare at the smartly-dressed Europeans. They take off their overalls, present them to their guests. Ally ushers the group into the community hall. He turns to Ingrid.

  “You too, madam, please you come in, we’ll find work for you all, if you like?”

  “Oh, we can’t take their overalls off them, can we,” says Ingrid turning to Hannah. “What about their clothes?”

  “Don’t worry Ingrid, it’s fine, they’ll be upset if we don’t take them. Come on, we’re running out of time.”

  The community hall consists of one main room and a number of smaller rooms off it. The place is a hive of activity. Joe chats with Benoit, the Frenchman, while they wait for instructions. Johan, the German, and Mike, the Dutchman, stand beside them. Most of the camp’s community appear to be in the building, helping with the decorating. There is a broad mix of men, women, and children of all ages. Ally suddenly appears again. Joe smiles and nods a greeting. Ally has given all of his overalls to the visitors; he’s only got one set left. Joe insists that Benoit takes it, and he does.

  In the main room, Ingrid whispers to Hannah.

  “Have you seen Elias?”

  Hannah gives a discreet shake of her head. “Not yet.”

  A group of women are painting in the corner of the room. They catch Hannah’s attention. The sight of Ingrid intrigues them. They overcome their shyness and inspect Ingrid’s blonde hair and her elegant clothes. Ingrid returns their compliments. The women all warm to one another. Ingrid and Hannah are soon being given practical lessons on how to paint. Laughter fills their corner of the hall.

  Ally shouts commands to the men; as a camp leader, he is used to doing this.

  “Get a partner, work in twos!”

  Johan grabs Benoit. Joe looks at Mike.

  “Can I be your partner?”

  “Of course you can.”

  Joe and Mike are ushered by Ally into a small side room. A youth is supervising two smaller boys with their painting. Ally shouts at the youth.

  “Elias! Come here.”

  Joe and Mike briefly stare at each other, wide eyed. They turn away quickly and try to act naturally. The very purpose of their mission stands right in front of them. Elias is a dark, skinny youth, all limbs, big brown eyes, fluff on his upper lip.

  “Elias!” repeats Ally. “Come here now!” The lad puts down his paintbrush and stands beside Ally. “These are visitors who want to help you paint. You must show them what to do!”

  At that point, Ally departs. Elias smiles cautiously at Joe and Mike. He is curious to know who they are, where they are from. The two smaller boys continue painting. Occasionally, they glance at the visitors. Joe and Mike feel rather awkward. After explaining where they are from, they just get on with some painting.

  Elias, who is painting beside Joe, turns to him.

  “Ruud Gullit?” he enquiries.

  “Eh?”

  “Ruud Gullit? Do you know him? He’s from Holland isn’t he?”

  Joe laughs out loud. “Ah, you mean the footballer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know who you mean. He’s Dutch. I’m English. Mike here is Dutch.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  Elias nods at Mike but turns back to Joe. “Gary Lineker?”

  “Ah, yes! He plays for England.”

  “I love England,” says Elias.

  Joe is taken aback, doesn’t know what to say. He simply smiles, starts painting again. After a while Joe turns to Elias.

  “So, do you like to play football?”

  “A bit, yes.”

  “I also heard that you like music. You play the violin don’t you?”

  “Yes, I play every day. How did you know that?”

  Suddenly, Joe feels something wet brush against his back, hears snorts of laughter. He turns around. Rubina is standing in front of him. She is holding a paintbrush in her hand, dripping white paint onto the floor. She smiles ironically. A young man stands beside her. He’s got the stocky physique of a body builder, wild black eyes, a large scar across his face. Joe turns to inspect the back of his shirt. His fears are confirmed. There is a streak of white paint dripping down his back, onto the concrete floor. The scar-faced youth laughs maliciously. Joe feels his anger rising and adrenalin demands a response. He glares at Rubina. The scar-faced youth positions himself in front of her. There is hardness in his eyes. Joe takes a deep breath, controls himself.

  “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do was it?”

  Joe is very cross, but Rubina and the youth show no remorse. Joe bites his lip to stem the anger.

  “Bad luck, Joe,” says Mike, shaking his head sympathetically. “But look, there’s nothing you can do.”

  Elias has put his paintbrush down. He stands beside Joe, with his hands on his hips. He’s not impressed with these antics and he yells, in Arabic, at Rubina and the scar-faced youth.

  “It’s okay Elias, it’s okay,” interjects Joe.

  Rubina slopes off with her scar-faced friend. Elias turns to Joe.

  “I live just around the corner, you can come with me. I get you a clean shirt.”

  Joe glances at Mike. Both of them can read each other’s faces. This is the breakthrough they need. It’ll be a golden opportunity for Joe to invite Elias to return to England with them.

  “Oh, it’s just an old shirt,” says Joe, not wanting to sound over keen. He continues to resist for some time, much to Mike’s disbelief.

  “Please, really, I’ll give you a shirt. It’s a Manchester United one. I’d like also for you to meet my grandfather. He’s the oldest man in camp. He would like to meet you. It would be an honour.”

  Eventually, Joe concedes. “Oh, alright then, but I’ll have to check with the others first. Is it okay if Hannah comes too?”

  “Yes, of course. Hannah’s my friend, let’s go and get her right now. Your back is dripping.”

  Hannah is chatting with Sadik in the main hall. Ally stands nearby, guarding the front door. Joe explains to Hannah what’s happened.

  “I’ve got paint all over my back. Elias, here, has very kindly offered me a shirt. Would you like to come with us; his home’s just around the corner?”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll come with you.”

  Ally is listening to their conversation, looks at them suspiciously. He steps over to Sadik, mumbles something under his breath.

  “Hannah and Joe, it’s okay for you to go with Elias,” Sadik announces. “But don’t be longer than twenty minutes.”

  Joe, Hannah and Elias walk out of the community hall, into the cool, darkening air. They cross the little square where a few decorative lights have been turned on. People are standing around chatting, a few children playing. All is calm. They leave the square by one of the narrow, dark passageways. They take a sharp left turn and pass through a gap in a wall. With caution, they climb a very narrow, steep, staircase, built into the wall. They emerge back into the fading light. They are standing upon a long landing. There is an aroma of baking. The place is littered with pot plants, plastic chairs, drying clothes and other domestic paraphernalia. Joe braces himself. His head is swirling with the order of words he needs to speak to Elias, to offer him a new life in England. The boy’s distracted for a moment as two tabby kittens scamper around the plant pots. Joe and Hannah stand together. Joe tries to make sense of their surroundings. It’s as if one shanty town has been built on top of another. Hannah places her hand on Joe’s shoulder. She can sense his anxiety.

&nbs
p; “Are you okay?”

  “I think so, how about you?”

  “I’m alright.”

  “I’m really sorry about all of this Hannah; it’s been forced upon you. Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

  “It’s all been decided hasn’t it?”

  “We could just go back to the community centre, leave rescue missions to the experts.”

  “Is that really what you want to do?”

  “No. Elias is a good lad. It’s worth taking a risk to save him.

  “I agree.”

  “So we’ll do whatever’s necessary?”

  “Yeah, whatever’s necessary,” replies Hannah. “Are you going to ask him now, if he wants to come to England?”

  “I was going to wait, until we get to his house.”

  “We haven’t got much time, come on.”

  Hannah calls Elias and they walk on together, along the landing, passed ramshackle doorways.

  “We must go up again, then we’re nearly there,” says Elias. He continues, in a hushed voice. “We must go through the library first, so please, be very quiet, they will be reading.”

  Joe finds this statement hard to understand.

  What on earth is Elias talking about?

  They turn a corner and there is the explanation. By an act of metamorphosis, the pathway is transformed into an enclosed, carpeted room, in which a dozen or so chairs are arranged. Five boys are seated, noses deep in books. The walls are lined with shelves full of more books. Elias leads Hannah and Joe through the carpeted room on tiptoe. They come out the other side, back on a scruffy landing. The boys didn’t even look up. Joe turns to Hannah, bemused. She smiles back.

  “It’s a homework club.”

  Elias leads them around another corner. They climb a second steep, narrow, covered staircase. They step out onto a more spacious landing.

  It’s almost twilight. The crisp air tingles with expectation. This higher level extends over the flat roofs of the homes below. It’s very spacious compared to the claustrophobic alleyways. When Joe sees the view, he gasps out loud. There is a panorama over the vast city and the lands beyond. In the foreground, the camp is littered with layers of makeshift roofs. There are hundreds of television aerials, crooked, bony fingers, wagging at the sky. Beyond the camp, stretches Beirut; thousands of homes twinkling under a darkening sky. Further away, the outline of deep purple hills and a hint of mountains. The western horizon is streaked, cobalt blue, burnt orange. The sun withdraws, night floods in from the east. Joe is awestruck. It’s a stunning sunset. Elias and Hannah join him. Together, they stare, reverently, at the heroic landscape. They are losing track of time.

  Beside them stands an incongruous, red-panelled front door. It’s odd because it could be the front door of a rather ordinary house, but it isn’t. It’s surrounded by stained concrete, salvaged pieces of timber, metal sheeting, a confusing array of dripping pipe work.

  “Please, come in, this is my home,” says Elias cheerfully.

  They enter through the unlocked door. At the threshold, a strong smell of mildew hits Joe in the face. He steadies himself. He ducks his head, the ceiling is slightly lower than he is tall.

  “One minute please, I’ll get things ready,” says Elias, rushing off through a connecting doorway.

  “He’ll make us some tea,” says Hannah and then she taps her watch.

  “I’m going to ask him when he comes back,” whispers Joe.

  Arabic voices can be heard from the next room. Joe and Hannah are standing in a tiny living room. There is a thin, stained carpet under their feet. A television set plays in the corner, sound turned low. Instead of a staircase, there’s a ladder in the corner of the room, up to a loft hatch. Joe is pensive; arms tightly folded. He forces a smile.

  “It’s interesting to see how people actually live in the camp.”

  Elias helps a very old, unsteady man into the room. He has a wizened brown face, full of wrinkles, deep furrows; short, cropped, stubbly grey hair. He is carrying a tray. Two rattling glasses of tea are balanced upon it, precariously. They shake more violently. Hannah rushes over, takes the tray, saves a spillage. She gives one of the drinks to Joe, takes the other for herself.

  “Thank you,” says Joe earnestly, nodding towards the old man.

  “He’s the oldest man in the camp,” announces Elias proudly.

  The old man takes Joe’s hand, he enfolds it in both of his hands. He fixes him a look, with deep, dark eyes.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” says Joe. “It’s a great honour.”

  The old man nods graciously. Joe tries to begin a conversation.

  “May I ask how old you are, sir?”

  The old man doesn’t understand. Joe turns to Elias.

  “Do you know how old your grandfather is, Elias?”

  Elias shrugs his shoulders; he doesn’t seem to know. Joe is curious. He turns to Hannah.

  “I wonder how they know he’s the oldest person, if they don’t know how old he is? Is it impolite to ask?”

  “Not really,” says Hannah. “I’ll try to ask.” She speaks to the old man in Arabic. Now he looks bewildered. Hannah and the old man are soon engaged in an animated discussion. Whilst this is going on, Elias pulls at Joe’s arm.

  “Come and see my room. I’ll get you the shirt. I’ll show you my garden too.”

  Joe is keen to take the opportunity to talk alone with Elias. He follows him up the wooden ladder. Hannah and the old man are engrossed in a conversation about genealogy.

  “Be careful,” says Elias.

  He and Joe have climbed into an almost pitch-black space. Elias turns on a light. They are in a small bedroom, no windows. It’s a very restricted space. Joe holds his head at an awkward angle, to keep it from banging against the low ceiling. The room contains two beds. The walls are lined with posters of footballers and military helicopters. There is a very strong smell of mildew. The walls are stained dark green with damp.

  “This is the room of my two cousins,” says Elias. “Come on, up again!”

  There is another wooden ladder in the corner of the room; they climb it. The building seems to become smaller the higher up they go. Now they are standing in a tiny bedroom at the top of the building. There is a single mattress on the floor. In the corner of the room, a white plastic chest of draws.

  “This is my room!” says Elias triumphantly. “Through there’s my garden.”

  Fading natural light penetrates the room through a half-glazed door. The door leads onto a flat roof terrace. Elias rummages through his chest of drawers. He finds what he is looking for. He proudly presents it to Joe. It’s a red Manchester United T-shirt.

  “Here it is!”

  “Really, I can’t take that from you, Elias,” says Joe.

  Elias grimaces. “It’s my gift, for you to take back to England, a souvenir!”

  “They’re expensive, really, it’s too much.”

  Joe wants to offer Elias the new life in England now, but from the disappointed look on the lad’s face, the timing isn’t right. Joe needs to accept the gift. He smiles.

  “Thanks Elias, I’ll treasure it.”

  Elias steps outside. Joe quickly changes into the shirt and then he joins Elias on the roof.

  Elias laughs. “It’s too small for you, Joe.”

  “Eh? No, it’s okay.”

  “It’s too small!”

  They are standing upon a small roof terrace with carefully arranged pots containing an array of herbs.

  “What’s that?” Joe asks, looking towards a rickety timber structure at the far end of the terrace.

  “That’s our bathroom. The toilet.”

  “Bit cold!” says Joe.

  “Very cold!”

  “Joe, you’re the only friend that’s been up here, apart from my cousins,” says Elias. He guides Joe to the end of the roof. “I think you’ll like to see the view, come, look.”

  They stand, looking between makeshift buildings. Beirut shimm
ers like a jewel under the darkening Mediterranean sky. There is a faint outline of the distant mountains.

  “Have you ever been to the mountains?” asks Joe.

  Elias looks thoughtful. “I’ve been to the mountains once, with school, recently. We went to see the cedars of Lebanon. It’s a World Heritage site. It’s the forest used by Solomon, to build the temple in Jerusalem. England’s Queen Victoria paid for the wall that protects the trees.”

  On the school trip, Elias had walked further into the forest than the others. He delighted in the sight of the thick grey tree trunks, bunches of blue-green needle like leaves, the smell of resin. His sensitive ears picked up the crackling of the seed cones in the heat. He told their guide the cedars were singing. The guide told him not to wander off again; grey wolves hunted in the forest.

  Elias’s smile drops; he looks upset.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Joe.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Come on, what’s up?”

  “Well, when we were getting back into the school bus, there was this man. He said he wanted to sponsor me in the orchestra. His family want to watch me play in the cathedral. He was scary. Hannah had to tell him to go away.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Very tall, thin, dark. Hannah said he had a Syrian accent. She said I should never speak to him again. When we left in the bus, I saw the man get into a car. There was another man, he looked exactly the same; maybe they’re twin brothers.”

  “That sounds strange.”

  “What scares me, is I saw them both in the camp, this morning.”

  “This morning?”

  “Yes, I definitely saw them, in a shop. I just ran to the community centre.”

  “You did the right thing. I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here, Elias.”

  Elias looks distracted. “Apart from that trip, I’ve never left the city before.”

  “Really, you’ve never left the city?”

  “No, I mostly stay in the camp. Sometimes, I go downtown, but I never leave Beirut. I can see the mountains from my garden. That’s enough.”

  Joe wants to steer the conversation towards getting Elias out of the camp. He notices a violin case, leaning against one of the pots.