9
Photo courtesy of Marion Kaplan: www.marionkaplan.com
I reconsidered. No, that was ridiculous. I had come to learn, not
to judge. I felt this moment of doubt salutary for my inner peace in
the semi-isolation of the staircase.
Lord, I needed that! Suddenly, I heard a nice voice, soft and high
pitched, warning me behind my back. It was the boy.
"You should not put water on your head, brother. The sun is still
too high; you might catch a bad fever."
"Shukran," I said --"thank you." I turned to look at him, grateful
for the moment of respite I gave to my thoughts. "Mâ smuka?"
"Djaliil."
"Assalaam 'alaikum, Djaliil."
To this he raised one hand to his heart, smiling. My Arabic was not
too bad after all. I congratulated myself as my teacher would have
done back home. He was not really Arab, so it was ok to praise
me for doing my job. I asked in Arabic:
"What are you saying to your God?"
"I ask Allah to make me strong in my body and to make my faith
stronger." He coughed, turning his back shyly. I added:
"Are you afraid, Djaliil, to lose one of them?"
He looked at me, opening his eyes wide.
"Afraid? Afraid to be losing what, brother? For one of the
things you mentioned, I do not possess anymore; for the other, I am
not afraid, but it does not hurt to improve it," and he indicated the
rosary which he placed in my hands.
I shrugged in denial, startled but still touched.
"No, no," I ejaculated, "I do not use these things, my boy."
10
"Then you must be coming from far away. Here, even the
poorest uses dates stones for the "takbir" (invocations to Allah)
because it is known that
"the one who says Sub'an Allah, Bihamdi,
AllHamdulillah a hundred times a day, Allah erases
his or her sins" (Haadith).
So, nobody ever refuses the tasbih."
My heart leaped at the surprise of his words. I admired his respect
for God; I was not so practicing myself. A surge of guilt took over
for a few seconds in my chest. I looked straight at him. His eyes
appeared covered with water. I noticed a thin line of white kohl on
the inner side of his immense eyes, making them shine like hot
charcoals. His long eyelashes were profuse and slightly curved
upward, giving even more innocence to his stare. He had this
straight long nose that gives nobility to most Middle Eastern faces
and his sleek hair waved in abundance over his neck. His stature
was large and well built. Beauty spots drew the attention to an
elongated jaw well set in the visage under a perfectly oval head.
I watched his hands as they stroke the beads. Someone had
stained his palms with henna, giving them a dark orange tint almost
the color of the skin, a shade brighter.
"Did you just arrive from abroad?" he asked curiously.
"Yes, Djaliil. I am interested in the customs of your country."
"So you would not mind being my Seeb today?" he asked without
hesitation, even enthusiastically.
I was surprised by his confidence. Why? We had just met a few
minutes ago. But then sincerity was an obvious trait in his face. I
pondered upon the proposition. A Seeb was a person who helped
the diver while hunting oysters. Pearling had been a source of local
wealth in the gulf long before the oil refineries or the metal industry.
The coral reef was the people's life.
The youth was still waiting with expectation, his mouth slightly
opened. I gazed into his face for a few seconds, trying to decipher
his intentions. After all, he was just a boy, what could he do to me?
What trick could he do to me? And maybe there was some sharing
involved? Besides, I had all the time in the world and Djaliil knew
it. I nodded assent, "Na'am."
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