ABU RICHARD BY MU'NIS AL-RAZZAZ *

Abu Rashad and 'Atiyya al-Sakran sat on the pavement of a totally deserted alleyway. 'Atlyya pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, tapped it against the pavement, then lit up and made himself comfortable with

his legs crossed.

Abu Rashad laid his walking-stick beside him and leant back against the wall. His gaze lifted towards the horizon in the look of an eager

visionary, a look betraying a hint of madness. He spoke musingly, as if

out of a dream. "Rashad is coming back soon from Washington to cure

my leg."

'Atlyya al-Sakran blew out the smoke from his roll-up cigarette and

said, without looking at his friend:

"You're always dreaming about Rashad! Aren't you overdoing it?"

A cloud of gloom and unhappiness settled on Abu Rashad's face:

"I tell you: before the year's out he'll be back, a qualified doctor-and

a damn good one, at that."

'Atiyya broke into mocking laughter, throwing himself flat on the

pavement. Disconcerted, Abu Rashad went on: "All right, laugh at my expense

... but I can just see Rashad-may God make His face shine upon him-as he's leaving the library of George Washington University and

»

" 'George' who?" cut in catiyya as he repositioned himself.

"Washington." "But Washington's a city." "Yes, of course, and that's where George Washington University is.

How many times do I have to tell you about the University?" Abu Rashad began to trace the outlines of a map with his finger on

the pavement, explaining to 'Atiyya: "Look! Here's the White House, and this here is George Washington

University. These are the University buildings. I can see Rashad at this

very moment crossing the street between the University library and his

faculty. "

'Atlyya gaped at him in astonishment and mumbled lamely: "And just how do you know that?"

* From Al-Namr�d by Mu'nis al-Razz�z, al-Mu'assasa al-'Arabiyya li-al-Dir�s�t wa- al-Nashr, Beirut 1980, pp. 61-68.

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Abu Rashad twirled his moustache with a superior air and, with a con-

descending look, replied: "I bought a detailed map of Washington so I would know exactly

where Rashad lives, where he studies, where he eats, where he spends his free time. When he comes home a great doctor, people in our quarter will applaud him, they will stand up before him to show their respect for his achievement."

'Atlyya al-Sakran gave a raucous laugh: "You're talking rubbish, you silly fellow! Who. gets that kind of

respect these days? Only the big construction contractors and the army big-wigs. Besides, I don't reckon Rashad's coming home at all. He left nine years ago and he's never once been back or even written home. If he ever did come, he'd likely be bringing an American woman and a bunch of kids, not any kind of doctor's qualification."

Abu Rashad's face turned red as he shouted in a sudden fit of rage: "I'm telling you: right at this very moment he is in an autopsy prac-

tical. They are just wheeling in a corpse for dissection."

'Atiyya frowned, threw a sceptical glance at Abu Rashad and muttered:

"What do you mean 'for dissection'? They ought to have respect for the dead."

"You are an utter illiterate fool" spat out Abu Rashad with angry contempt.

'Atiyya crushed his cigarette-end with his foot and replied: '

"And you are nothing but a day-dreamer. You don't live your own

life; you're living Rashad's. You get on my nerves. You never stop tell-

ing me about Rashad's life, as if you were his shadow: studying, eating, sleeping, you tag along with hini like a ghost. You're driving me crazy. "

Ignoring 'Atiyya's comments as if he had not heard them, Abu

Rashad went on: "What time is it now?"

'Atlyya raised his head, which was round like a big football, and, look-

ing up at the sun, said:

"Maybe about four in the afternoon."

Abu Rashad's smile broadened to a laugh of pure joy, his mouth open- ing to reveal toothless gums. Then he mumbled:

"Let's see now! That means the time now in Washington is... Oh,

they're seven hours behind us ... so the time over there is now ... Are

you any good at substraction?"

'Atlyya shook his head in denial.

Abu Rashad went on musing absent-mindedly: "Rashad is sitting in the front row. He is paying attention to the Pro-

fessor's lecture. He could be talking about a new treatment recently discovered for curing paralysis of the leg."

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Abu Rashad glanced angrily first at his stick then at his paralysed leg, then added: "I can just see him writing down everything the Professor

is saying. Rashad's English is fluent. You can hear the Professor taunting the American students, telling them that Rashad can read and write

English better than they can. Rashad's Professor, the one with the beard,

says ... catlyya interrupted with disapproval: "What on earth makes you think Rashad's Professor's got a beard?"

Abu Rashad's face took on an air of wisdom and dignity; to catiyya it looked like the face of a second-rate comedian. Abu Rashad said:

"He's got to have a beard. All Professors there have beards."

catiyya restrained himself from jumping to his feet, and said instead

in a bantering tone:

"Pro..fess...or, is it? D'you really know what that means? Or have

you just made up the word?"

Abu Rashad's self-important smile faded and he said in stern reproof: "You are a fool ... a complete and utter fool ... Of course I know what

it means ... it means

catlyya asked stupidly: . "So the teacher at the local primary school is a Pro...fess...or, is he?"

Abu Rashad came to the rescue:

"Professor... No! The primary school teacher is not a Professor."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't have a beard."

An uneasy silence descended on the two men as they sat smoking their

cigarettes and blowing puffs of smoke in the air. Abu Rashad's mind

strayed again towards Washington, hovering around George

Washington University. He said suddenly: "There he is now, going back

to the library again. " Taken aback, catlyya asked: "Who?"

"Rashad, of course" said Abu Rashad with a fixed stare.

His eyes burned with a blaze of terrifying, fanatical rage. "He is preparing for his final exams."

catlyya clapped his hands together and shouted:

"May God heal your crazy head, Abu Rashad ! Stop your nonsense ...

How about trying to live in the present - with me, here? Hey, look at

that woman crossing the road. Will you look at that! What a great head

of long black hair, eh?" Abu Rashad cut in: "Rashad is going to marry his cousin. She is a very fine young woman."

'Atiyya paid no attention to Abu Rashad's abstractedness and went

on : "Look... that good-looking young bloke-he's after her, he's pester-

ing her."

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Abu Rashad spoke, with a blazing glint in his eye: "Rashad doesn't go after women. He is after doing his studies and get-

ting his qualifications. There he is now, saying to the teacher, the Pro-

fessor, that he'd like to shorten his period of study by taking courses

during the vacation, so he can get home sooner to treat my leg."

'Atlyya's heart beat faster as he spoke, his eyes riveted on the scene:

"Look ... that young bloke is holding the girl's hand."

Abu Rashad's dazed eyes rolled in their sockets, flashing with fury and

impatience. He spoke in a faint, faltering voice:

"Look... there's Rashad holding a female patient's hand to take her

pulse." Now 'Atiyya al-Sakran leapt to his feet in agitation; he was shaking

violently. Peering into the distance, towards the screen of cypress-trees over the other side of the street across from the alley, he said: "Look ...

there, behind the cypresses ... The bloke is just about to take the girl's clothes off."

Abu Rashad raised his head; his face had a strange glow and his eyes flashed and smouldered with madness. He said:

"Yes, of course ... Rashad is studying medicine, he has every right to

undress young women. How else do you expect him to carry out a proper examination. No ... 'Atlyya. It's wicked of you to slander Rashad like

this. "

'Atiyya looked round utterly nonplussed and said: "What?"

Abu Rashad went on: "Now Rashad is placing the stethoscope in his

ear to listen to her heart-beat."

'Atlyya struck his forehead in frustration and rounded on Abu Rashad

furiously: "See here! For heaven's sake, will you stop living in

Washington with your precious Rashad, stop living his life and come

back to life here and now."

Abu Rashad's face beamed with joy, as if he had just seen a vision of

hope: "I live in the future. I loathe and detest the present."

'Atiyya al-Sakran stifled a laugh that threatened to explode from his

chest.

The hippy girl took Rashad's head between her hands and said

reproachfully: "Look, Richard, you are far too heavily into drugs, and

you go on far too much about what a hero your father used to be, way back. "

Rashad took a long, deep drag from his joint, held it in, then exhaled

a feeble thread of smoke through his nostrils. He passed the joint to his

hippy girl-friend, feeling a sweet numbness that made time stand still and

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engulfed him in the euphoria of eternity where time and space are no

more. His eyes roamed around the small, dingy room. His glance fell on

the bed and he said to the hippy girl: "My father lay on a bed just like

this after he'd been shot in the leg." The blonde hippy girl put her arms around him and said in disap-

proval : "Don't you ever stop going on about your father? You are living his

life. You are always living in the past." Rashad's legs went limp. He turned towards the blonde girl and saw

her face through a distant blur. In a wooden voice he said:

"He was wounded in the battle of Bab al-Wad ... Did you ever hear

of the 1948 Palestine War? Pass me the wine-bottle! He was a soldier in

the Jordanian army, on the Arab side."

The hippy blonde hid the wine-bottle behind her back and said impa-

tiently : "No, Richard! Not hooch and hash both at the same time! Just the hash should do us fine. And for chris'sake, stop living in the past. You are reliving your father's past for him."

Rashad's eyes opened wide. He stared at the dank, grim wall and said:

"D'you see that heap of skulls peering out of the wall?"

The blonde hippy girl took a drag from the joint and replied: "No ... I'm seeing skyscrapers going round and round like crazy." Rashad' took the joint from her, took a deep drag and kept the smoke

in his lungs, then exhaled a thin plume through his nostrils. He spoke in a vaunting tone: "My father swooped down on them like a hawk. He went on fighting until he got hit in the leg. All our friends and relatives admit his legendary courage."

The blonde's face flushed and her eyes blazed with fury as she spoke in a voice at once appealing and full of reproof:

"Why can't you talk about yourself? Why does it always have to be

about your father?" Rashad said, inconsequentially: "He killed seven of them before he was wounded. There he is now, leaping out of the wall,

attacking an enemy post. Can't you see the blood spurting out from all

around? "

The blonde shouted in despair: "You are living in the past, Richard! It wouldn't be so bad if it was

your own past. But it's your father's past." Rashad took another deep drag and said:

"And what's wrong with my father? Don't you like him? He is one

of the heroes of the 1948 Palestine War. Look, there he is breaking

through enemy lines." The blonde stood up, trembling. She rushed for the door, beside herself with fury and exasperation. But Rashad, left

alone now with the ghost of his father, never even heard the door slam.

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He was shouting: "Look out! On your right! You've been hit. You are staggering. You

are screaming at the top of your lungs. Your leg..." Rashad was yelling insanely. He gripped his leg with both hands and

grit his teeth in anguish.

Univeristy of Edinburgh

University of St. Andrews Translated by YASIR SULEIMAN

(in collaboration with S�NDOR HERVEY)