August 20 — How Josef manufactures his toys so cleverly out of a heap of wire is a mystery to me. From remnants he’s begged off people, he constructs steerable cars and airplanes, houses with windows and doors that open and close, genuine small works of art. When I was able to get two ball bearings from the auto mechanic, Josef helped me build a skateboard. But today I had bad luck. I was on the skateboard, and it made a hellish noise. Still, I was content and sang at the top of my lungs until a wasp stung the tip of my tongue. My tongue swelled up so much I could barely speak. My mother laughed at me and said she wanted to buy two candles for the saints of the wasps, who had finally granted peace to her ears by silencing my mouthpiece.
August 22 — We all met at Mahmud’s place because his parents had gone to somebody’s wedding. He got the idea to seal our friendship from a film. I like it a lot. Mahmud, Josef, and I — the inseparable three — will found a gang that fights for justice. We already have a name for ourselves: the Black Hand. That was Josef’s suggestion. We have sworn never to betray one another. Josef pronounced the oath, and Mahmud and I repeated it in a half-darkened room.
“Whom are we against?” Josef asked, pulling out his ball-point pen, which he keeps with him at all times, even when he’s in pajamas. I did not want to be against anyone unconditionally. But Josef said a gang always must be against someone; otherwise, it is not a gang. We agreed to be against the secret service man and the grocer who always cheats our mothers.
August 24 — Yesterday we met at Josefs and drew up our first letter. It was for the secret service man. The Black Hand is warning you! If you file one more report against a resident of this street, you will have to deal with us, Spy! We thought this message would scare enough respect into him that he’d finally leave us in peace.
But I was the one who was supposed to tack it up on his door. I didn’t want to, since, after all, he is Nadia’s father and I like her so much. But the others said, “First justice, then love.” Mahmud would actually have given in because he knows how important Nadia is to me, but Josef insisted. He said each of us had to demonstrate his courage.
“I’m no coward; I’ll do it,” I screamed and ran home from Josef’s. But I couldn’t sleep all night, and I didn’t go to Ismat’s today either. All day long I was sullen. How could I ever explain this to Nadia if she found out? Tonight is my final deadline; otherwise, my cowardice will bar me from the Black Hand. The folded piece of paper is in the pocket of my trousers; it is so hot, it seems made of fire. Perhaps Nadia will forgive me.
August 26 — Last night I stuck the paper on the door. Josef walked by afterward to make sure the task had been carried out. But he hung around Nadia’s house a long time. I wonder what more he wanted there.
This morning the paper was gone. Had the secret service man read it? I tried not to get too close to Nadia. I was thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Josef and Mahmud praised me for my bravery.
August 27 — Today Nadia said her father read a letter that threw him into a rage. He thinks it came from an underground organization. Nadia doesn’t know who wrote it, but she seems to savor her father’s exasperation. We gang members celebrated the news. Mahmud wanted to tack up a second note himself, on which there would be just one word—Wait! But Josef and I refused. First we want to see what happens.
August 31 — In the last few days everything on our street has been topsy-turvy. I couldn’t even sit down to write. The secret service man is really on edge. He told the greengrocer that experts are now analyzing the ink and the handwriting. I got scared, but Josef calmed me down. He said he knew the spy had no leads. And from my lovely handwriting, one automatically thinks of an adult and not a boy of fourteen years.
I dreamed armed police troops surrounded the block and that I was led through the streets with my hands bound and my shirt wide open. The neighbors waved to me with their handkerchiefs, and when I passed Nadia, she ran up to me and threw herself, sobbing, around my neck. The truck that would take me to prison was waiting at the end of the street; the guards trembled in fear. Suddenly Uncle Salim came riding on a white horse, and behind him came a powerful-looking man on a black one. Clearly, he was one of the thieves from Uncle Salim’s stories.
Today I don’t know whether this was a real dream or a story I made up.
September 1 — Today I made a beautiful Chinese lantern out of an orange. I removed the flesh through a hole at the top, then carved little windows in the rind and put a candle inside. Shining through the pores, the light looks as if it came from thousands of small, yellowish lamps.
September 3 — We have been deliberating over which of the other boys should be in our gang and have come to the conclusion that Ali is the only possibility.
September 4 — I asked Ali whether he wanted to join the Black Hand. He laughed at me, saying he was a tourist-catcher, not a bandit, but he could give us an assignment. His friend Georg had borrowed three pounds from him and now denied it. If we beat Georg up and got the money back, one of those three pounds would be ours.
Josef is enthusiastic at the prospect of improving our finances and wants to accept the commission, but Mahmud and I are against it. What’s between Georg and Ali is no concern of ours. We are a justice gang, not personal cops.
September 5 — Nadia was waiting for me on the corner. I like her more and more.
September 7 — “Why are you always running away?” Nadia asked me today. She had also been waiting on the corner a few days ago, but I had run past her. She had laughed so sweetly! If only she had a different father!
September 9 — Nadia wants us to meet secretly. I told her I don’t want to. How can I say I’m afraid of her father?
September 11 — For days my old man has been bitching about the bad flour.
Uncle Salim said something beautiful today. While he was telling a story from his youth, Josefs mother, sitting in our courtyard peeling potatoes, accused him of exaggerating. “You mean to say that I’m lying?” Uncle Salim asked calmly. “But falsehood is the twin sister of truth. No sooner does one appear than you can see the other; all you need are good eyes.”
The woman tittered; they didn’t understand him as I did. A fabulous remark.
September 13 — This Mahmud, nothing escapes him. Today I quickly stroked Nadia’s hair, and she blushed. That scoundrel Mahmud came tome and said some time ago he had noticed what was going on between us. If I went on publicly courting the secret service man’s daughter, he’d be happy to attend my engagement party — in jail.
September 15 — Mahmud is always asking questions! Today we saw an American movie — a great mystery. Afterward Mahmud was upset. When I asked him the reason, he said, “Hasn’t it occurred to you that all the criminals are shady characters with black hair and ugly mugs? Why is this so? Why isn’t a handsome blond man ever a criminal? Then the films would be more exciting! After five minutes I know who committed the murder, but the detective is so dumb, he needs two hours to figure it out.”
September 17 — God, was it ever painful for the neighbors today! The miller stood outside our door and yelled for my father. My mother had to say he wasn’t at home. The miller didn’t believe her, so he spoke with her as if my father were within earshot. He threatened to stop delivering flour if he didn’t get his money by next Tuesday.