Читать книгу The Gaza Project - Cyrill Delvin - Страница 7

Rashid and Kaden were holding Abdoul in a tight grip. Without any emotion, Barek punched him with full tilt in the stomach. Abdoul gasped for air, tears welling up in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time the older pupils gave him a thrashing. He was generally able to defend himself, was of sturdy build and no coward. But faced by three attackers, he didn’t stand a chance. The bigger boy looked at him with a blank expression and hit Abdoul again. This time right in the face.

Abdoul could taste the iron in the blood running into his mouth from the wound on his cheek. He didn’t let on that it was hurting.

»Where did you hide the damn shell?« Barek hissed. »You are a disgrace to the whole school! We should blow you up together with the infidels. We’re not going to leave you alone until we’ve found your precious idol and destroyed it!«

They had known each other long enough to realise that it was no use. Abdoul would rather let himself be beaten to a pulp than give them his seashell. The teachers usually separated the fighters, but this time nobody interfered and Barek kept on hitting the defenceless boy. The city noises after Maghrib, the prayer just after sunset, dully penetrated the Madrasa’s inner courtyard. The Palestinian gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out.

Someone approached them across the stone-paved yard. In the twilight he didn’t recognise Qadim soon enough. Qadim himself only noticed the three adolescents and his brother lying on the ground when he had nearly slipped through the archway to the living quarters. Attempting to help his older brother would be fruitless. Qadim wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

And anyway, he didn’t understand why his brother hadn’t handed the shell over to the teachers long ago. Then they would leave him in peace. Instead he hid it as if it were his most prized possession. And yet it was so simple: Allah and the prophet Mohammed were the only ones to be obeyed by following the laws set out in the Koran. That way everything was fine, or at least better. Nowhere in the Koran did it mention a shell one should let oneself be punished for. Especially when the teachers demanded to throw it away.

A thought flashed through Abdoul’s mind: Maybe they’re having me beaten to death? Maybe the others are right. Maybe I’ll never find the right path. This is it then.

But it wasn’t time yet. Barek grabbed Qadim and Abdoul instinctively jumped up and lunged at the older pupil. Rashid and Kaden were not able to push him back to the ground. Abdoul, suddenly endowed with superhuman strength, thrashed around him like a fury. Only later did he notice the stone he was holding in his hand. Qadim screamed and fought back with everything he had. In the midst of the wild scuffle, they suddenly heard a muffled bang. It sounded like an earthenware jug being smashed inside a bag. The four boys stared at Qadim who was lying motionless on the ground.

Before Abdoul could do anything, Barek grabbed his throat and sneered: »See what you have done, Abdoul ibn Ṣadafah. Bastard son of a seashell! You’re going to pay for this, you can bet your life on it.« The older boys let him be and disappeared through the archway. Abdoul knelt beside Qadim and turned the lifeless body towards him. Something warm spread over his hands. His little brother’s blood. Dazed, he crouched down and pressed Qadim’s head to his chest. His tears merged with the blood in a smudgy trickle.

What self-respecting fish lets itself get caught voluntarily? It can as easily swim away from the net as into it after all…

He didn’t want to hear the voice. Why hadn’t granddad simply told him the truth? Why had he talked about mermaids if all there was were Allah and the Prophets? Nobody had come to save Qadim. No prophet, no Allah, no mermaid, no granddad, nobody!

He felt his whole being fill with rage. Everything started to immerse in it. This Madrasa where only hatred towards all others was taught. He cursed Amir, who had told him nothing but fairy tales and instilled him with false hope. His classmates and the Jews who brought only destruction and misery. He hated himself for being so powerless. He hadn’t even been able to protect his own brother.

Rage was followed by despair. Despair that Qadim would never be able to save his father’s honour. It was now up to him alone. A thought which made him sad. Not because he was scared, but because he felt powerless in the face of the duty now imposed on him.

Why did granddad not tell me that there are no mermaids? That the fish either get caught in the net through their own stupidity or because Mohammed chased them into it?

How much he missed him! Granddad would explain everything and give him courage. But he was dead. Now Abdoul had to revenge his family. Justice supported by faith, which he had been taught, was the path to paradise. But where was the justice for Qadim? Abdoul wanted to act, wanted to seek revenge, and yet remained impotent.

Approaching steps made him come to his senses. When Barek got back with his mob he would be in for it. Panicking, he jumped up and ran through the front gate to the outside of the school. Only two elderly men strolled leisurely down the narrow lane. By now, it was dark. The men’s steps were fading away.

The boy had already run up the alleyway and around the corner when he suddenly froze. The shell! All his gloomy thoughts instantly vanished to be replaced by his concern about the shell. He’d left it behind. I’ve got to get the shell. But how? They would by now be cooking in the kitchen, then eat; later they would drink tea and chat until late into the night. How could he get into the storeroom without being noticed? Impossible! Perhaps it would be better to run away without the shell. In the two years he had been here it had brought him nothing but misery. First lectures, then punishments, beatings and in the end Qadim…

Thinking about his brother made him feel dizzy again. He crouched down. His grandfather hadn’t told him that a seashell could cause so much harm. The mermaids had always been kind. Maybe they’re angry because I have my doubts about the whole story?

Everything was swirling around in his head and he had to lie down. A short while later he was alarmed when he thought he heard steps and voices. But he had been mistaken. Nobody came around the corner. The lane was still deserted. It’s weird. Why aren’t they coming after me? His stomach hurt. But he didn’t have time for that now. Again, he picked himself up and took another back alley. Somehow he didn’t want to believe that his grandfather or the shell were responsible for his plight.

Wasn’t it rather the school that was to blame? Hadn’t his father claimed that the Islamic extremists‘ schools were no good. Instead of learning something useful and being instructed to work, the adolescents were being prepared for death – but for what? »What’s the use if my children are going to paradise when I just waste away here getting old and infirm?« his father had always maintained. Father would never have sent him to this Madrasa.

All he had learned so far was that hatred didn’t breed justice, but death, ruin and destruction. He could read and write now. But that was all. Perhaps he would also die in his attempt to get the shell. At least, everything would be over then. Or not, because his family would remain unavenged and he wouldn’t walk through the gates of paradise. He kept weighing up his options, but couldn’t decide.

He crawled between two walls under a dilapidated cement ceiling and waited. The teachers and pupils were definitely not looking for him. He had no idea where he was. The only route he had become familiar with during his two years in this town led to the Ibn-Marwān mosque. So he crouched on the ground and began to shiver.

His huddled position and the creeping cold reminded him of the times Amir had taken him out on his fishing boat. They would set off in the middle of the night to cast their nets at dawn far away from the coast. During the long journey, Abdoul had snuggled into his cover on top of the rolled-up nets at the bow of the boat and watched the sea ahead. Despite mother’s blanket he would eventually feel cold. Shivering here under the cement ceiling felt different though without the taste of salt water in his mouth.

His stomach hurt even worse than earlier. He now realised what he had missed the most in the last two years: The view from the boat to the silver lining on the horizon announcing the new day. Sometimes dolphins would swim beside the boat, frolicking mischievously. Half lulled by the monotonous chugging of the two-stroke engine, he’d always thought he could spot something else between the fish. A mermaid graciously waving at him. But every time he was subsequently wide awake and took a closer look, she had already vanished. How long ago it now seemed since he’d been on the ocean.

If he wanted to get his shell, he had to do it this very night. He didn’t know what time it was. Gaza city was asleep by now. He got up with a moan and arduously made his way back to the school. His abdomen ached with every step. The boy cautiously pushed the entrance gate slightly open. He waited for a while to make sure that nobody had heard the squeaking of the hinges. Just as he wanted to slip through the gap, he was overpowered by his imagination. What if Qadim is still lying in the yard like all the others back then on the beach? In his imagination he saw terrible images. Scenes he thought he’d erased from his memory long ago made him feel nauseous.

He heard steps coming from the lane and had no choice but to quickly slide into the yard. In the deep black shadows he huddled against the wall. Two men entered the yard and closed the gate behind them. Fortunately they didn’t carry torches and they swiftly disappeared inside the building.

Abdoul crept along the wall to where his brother should be lying on the ground. But there was no sign of him. Unsure if he should be relieved, he moved on into the entrance hall. The kitchen was on his left. It was empty. Only the sickly sweet scent of the water pipes still lingered in the air. He stopped and listened. Deadly silence. With immense effort, he managed to push back the bolt of the heavy larder door.

It was pitch black inside and smelled of spices, rotting meat and vegetables. The brick concealing the shell was in the back wall roughly at knee level. He had to inch his way forward, brick by brick, until he found the right one. It took him a small eternity. Carefully he pulled out the loose brick and reached into the hole. The shell was still there, wrapped in a piece of old newspaper. His relief was accompanied by exhaustion.

It took a long time to get back to the alleyway, but he made it without any unwelcome incidents. The night was nearly over. Between the houses he could already surmise the first light of the new day. Abdoul turned his back to it and ran in the direction of the suburbs. With a bit of luck he might be able to get to the shore before the first morning prayers and then…

The pain in his stomach was nearly unbearable by now. It will pass if I just lie down for a while. The early morning risers looked at the boy in his blood-stained shirt with disconcertment. He didn’t notice them. Just have to lie down.

A few blocks further on he found shelter under a pile of rubble and rubbish, the waste from a bordering refugee camp; one of the many which had sprung up around Gaza lately. Sand-dune-like the rubbish meandered ever closer to the centre of the city. Groaning, Abdoul persevered, but the pain in his stomach didn’t subside. He started to faint; sensed salt on his lips, fresh air streaming through his hair.

Granddad?

The Muezzin’s call to the Fajr, the first morning prayer, merged with the surging noises of the metropolis. Dawn.