Читать книгу The Storyteller - Pierre Jarawan - Страница 21

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10

Abu Youssef’s return to Beirut was triumphant. News of his victory over the cruel Ishaq had spread like wildfire. When the assembled crowds caught sight of his ship approaching the harbour, they cheered with joy, waving bright banners and the Lebanese flag. Abu Youssef and Amir were on deck, delighted to hear the sound of cheering on the wind. The sails billowed in joyful anticipation and the coast grew closer by the minute.

“They love me!” cried the camel, baring his magnificent teeth in a shiny grin and waving one hoof at the crowd. Loud cheers erupted in response.

Abu Youssef stood silently on deck. Nothing was more beautiful than Beirut from the sea. The legendary Pigeon Rocks towering in front of the coastline, the skyscrapers glittering in the sunlight, the mountains rising up behind them, beyond the glass facades. He loved coming home, returning to his treasure.

Once they’d disembarked, Abu Youssef and Amir made their way through a forest of arms and hands. Everyone wanted to touch the heroes and clap them on the back. Amir was happy to give the odd autograph, but Abu Youssef was keen to get home without delay.

“Don’t you want to celebrate with us, Abu Youssef?” the people said. “Don’t you want to sing and dance with us all night? Don’t you want to celebrate your good fortune?”

Abu Youssef replied, “Yes, I do, but not now and not here. If you want a real party, then gather on the street below my balcony at midnight. I’ll show you the meaning of true happiness, and I’ll dance and celebrate with you till long after dawn.”

Amazed, the people wondered what this could possibly mean. Was Abu Youssef planning a party in the city? He had a small flat in Beirut, everyone knew that. And everyone knew his balcony because it was the only one on the street—and also because, in the right light, rumour had it, the balcony shone like it was made of pure gold. But Abu Youssef spent very little time in this flat. If he was going to throw a party, he preferred to do it in his village in the mountains, where he’d invite all his friends to join him.

The news travelled through the streets and alleys like a leaf on the wind. Children shouted it to their parents; the parents told their friends; and soon the whole city was bursting with excitement. “This evening,” the people cried, “Abu Youssef is going to show us the meaning of true happiness.”

Abu Youssef rode into the mountains on Amir’s back. He had reached a decision. At first he’d thought it would niggle at him for a long time, but now that he knew what he had to do, he felt very calm. Back home in his village, he fed and watered his faithful friend Amir, then disappeared into his house.

He did not reappear until dark. And he was not alone. The stars shone down on his little homestead; the village lay deep in sleep. Under cover of darkness, two figures and the camel set off for the city. Even from a distance they could hear the murmur of voices as the side streets and alleys filled up. People streamed from the surrounding neighbourhoods into the centre, to the street where Abu Youssef’s flat was, the building with the shimmering balcony. The camel and the two figures took shortcuts and secret paths so as to reach the house undetected. Clever Amir had tied cloths around his hoofs to muffle the sound. He reached his long neck round every corner and gave a discreet whistle when the coast was clear. They had a few near misses, but Abu Youssef and his companion were able to duck behind Amir’s humps. In this way, they made their way through the streets and to the back entrance of the house.

The air in the flat was stale, like a big wardrobe that hasn’t been aired for years. It was a long time since they’d been there. Through the closed shutters, they could hear eager voices calling Abu Youssef’s name.

Abu Youssef signalled to the other person and gave a questioning look. His companion nodded. Slowly Abu Youssef opened the balcony door. The babble of voices died instantly. It was as if the whole city lay in silence. Not for long, though, because no sooner had Abu Youssef stepped out on the balcony than riotous cheers erupted. The sound of rejoicing swept through the streets again and shook the houses to their core. Fathers put toddlers on their shoulders so that they could see. Everyone was waving and calling out Abu Youssef’s name, and he waved back.

Then he held up a hand. At this signal, the cheers dried up like a drop of water in the desert.

“My dear friends,” he said, allowing his gaze to wander over the waiting crowd, “I’m so pleased that you’ve come.” Everyone was staring up at him. No one dared to speak; no one wanted to miss what Abu Youssef had to say. He carried on, in the slow and deliberate manner he was known for. “There are two kinds of feelings associated with the word ‘farewell’. A farewell can be sad because what you are leaving behind is so precious and important that you are loath to leave it. But a farewell can also be happy, because the power of what lies ahead does not stir sadness but joyful anticipation. Life is full of farewells, and our feelings change with each parting. But the word ‘homecoming’ is different. Why? Because we really only come home once. But where is home? They say home is where the heart is. You only come home once because you only have one heart, and it’s your heart that decides.” His eyes swept over his intent audience once more. “At least that is what I always thought,” he said. “I thought you only have one heart, and therefore only one home. But I was wrong.”

Abu Youssef turned from the crowd to face into the flat and held out his hand. Dainty fingers reached out to take his. Then a delicate figure in a veil joined him on the balcony. A loud murmur went through the crowd.

“I’ve had many adventures,” said Abu Youssef, still holding the woman’s hand. “And many of you have wondered about the wealth I’m supposed to have amassed, along with all the honour and glory. Many of you think I must live in the lap of luxury, in a palace with servants and date palms and a gold nameplate at the gate. But the truth is, I haven’t got a bean. And yet I am the richest man on earth. Standing here, looking down at all of you, I see many wealthy men. Men who have more than one heart.”

He turned to the petite figure who had been standing a little behind him and drew her closer. He took off her veil and revealed a woman as beautiful as any legend. Her hair was jet black and held by a golden clasp, her eyes were Mediterranean blue, and her skin as pure and white as marble. Everyone held their breath, afraid to exhale in case they might blow the delicate creature off the balcony. No one would have been the least bit surprised if she had suddenly flown away like a fairy.

“This is my second heart,” said Abu Youssef. “My wife. And if you want to know what true happiness is, you must always remind yourself that you have more than one heart to which you can return.” He smiled gently. “I have three of them. Three hearts.”

With that he removed the woman’s cape, and they saw a sleeping baby in her arms.

“My son!” said Abu Youssef.

The sky lit up all of a sudden. Fireworks transformed the street, the houses, the whole city into a dazzling spectacle. Blazing rockets whooshed into the sky, not just in the city centre but on the outskirts too, as if a crown of light was hovering over Beirut, turning night into day. Celebratory shots rang out in the sky, echoing off pavements and over walls to fill the air with thunderous noise. From the gardens to the rooftops and beyond, the night was full of shouts of joy. You could not fail to hear them. Red and yellow lights flared up and danced in the half-light. Suddenly, in this riot of colour, the balcony turned gold and shimmered as never before. It gleamed so bright that the people nearest had to shield their eyes. It lit up the street and bathed it in a deep gold that could be seen from a great distance, from as far away as the edge of the city. Its message was clear: Here stands Abu Youssef with his treasure beside him. He has come home to his three hearts.