Читать книгу Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family - Tamara Chalabi - Страница 22

NOVEMBER 1999, BEIRUT

It’s a Saturday night and I’m out for dinner with a couple of friends. Another friend calls on his cell phone, inviting us to join him at a place nearby where there’s music. Slowly we make our way through the lively night to join him. I haven’t bothered to ask what kind of music it is or who will be performing.

On a small stage in the middle of the room, a short, unassuming and serious-looking man takes his place on a chair with a guitar on his lap and starts singing. I discover he is a well-known Iraqi artist, Ilham al-Madfa’i. To my surprise he sings a popular old Iraqi folk song fused with flamenco beats.

Mali Shughul bil Soug, maret ashufak

’Atshan hafn issnin, warwi ’ala shufak …

Wu as’al ’anil mahbub, minhu ili shafah …

Wi shlon anam il layl, winta ’ala bali

Hatta il simach bil may, yibtchi ’ala hali

I have no business in the market, I just came to see you.

I’ve been thirsty for years, only the sight of you will quench it …

I want to ask about the beloved, who saw him? …

How can I sleep the night, when you are on my mind?

Even the fish in the water cry for me.

Something deep inside me is moved as I hear the familiar words about a lover pining for his sweetheart, sung by Madfa’i with such longing and weariness. Images from the song bring to life a childhood memory of Bibi singing it to me as a taste of her country. I am overcome by floods of tears, which puzzles my friends, and myself as well. My ‘foreignness’ has come to the fore – the other half of my identity which is usually well concealed beneath my comfortable outward Lebanese appearance.

I can’t explain, let alone understand, this deep homesickness that I feel. What am I homesick for?