Saadeh wanted to take Milia’s photograph with her to her new home. Musa refused, though. Well, actually, he did not refuse. In resignation he said, Ya Mama, anything you wish, and then lifted the framed image down from its place on the wall and handed it to Saadeh. Stooping, she wrapped it in old newspapers. Musa paced in front of the sudden emptiness on the wall and sniffled. His mother stared at him in surprise. Tell me if you can’t stand letting go of the picture — sweetheart, I don’t want you crying. I don’t want the picture, no, no, I don’t want it now, not if you’re going to get upset like this. The mother bent over the well-wrapped photograph and undid every layer of newsprint. And then she climbed up on the bed to return it to its place.
Mama, come down! yelled Musa. Get down from there! Leave it on the bed.
Saadeh left the photograph lying on the bed and left for her new residence. Musa never told his mother that what made him cry had not been the removal of the photograph or seeing it wrapped in layers of newsprint. He had promised his two daughters that the liwan would be theirs. He knew that the two teenaged girls would cover all available wall space with photos of Abdelhalim Hafiz, Dalida, and other singers and actors who had captured wholesale the imaginations of the city’s youth who were encountering and embracing a sweep of new habits and understandings daily. As far as he was concerned, it made perfect sense now to remove Milia’s likeness from the wall, and when his mother asked to take the photograph with her he was content, even relieved. Taking it down and giving it to his mother was easy enough. But glancing back at the empty white space left by the photograph’s removal left him uneasy. He saw the shadow of an image — the image of an image — of his sister traced on the wall. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined in the shadows of the light that still emanated from them. Her facial features, though, were now simply grayish strands and contours that inched and curled across the peeling wall.
Her image has stayed on the wall, he wanted to say to his mother. But she would not see it; she did not want to see it. So what more could he say to her?
It’s your brother Salim’s fault, said Saadeh.
At that, Musa was ready to explode. He wanted to scream in the face of this woman who had transformed his and his wife’s lives into a living hell with her insupportable daily devotionals. But he did not scream. He did not argue that it was her fault, and that if it hadn’t been for the pressures and burdens she placed on Salim, none of this would have happened. The eldest son of the family was simply not courageous enough to have made the decision on his own; to have left permanently for Aleppo and to have abandoned his precious law studies at the Jesuit university. He would not have done it without his mother’s encouragement. Musa had long been absolutely convinced of it.
Ten years after he left the family hearth, Salim came to visit his mother. She declared it high time to forget the past, invoked God’s clemency, and summoned all of her children to an immense meal that she had prepared in honor of Salim and his extremely plump wife. Everyone wept as they hugged their elder brother, who had not become a lawyer after all but had returned to his father’s craft. All of them, except Niqula, forgave him. Even Musa forgave and asked forgiveness and cried. Only Niqula — red tarbush, respectably corpulent figure, bulging eyes — refused absolutely to kiss his brother in forgiveness.
This was the return of the Prodigal Son, announced their mother. Slaughter the fatted calf, boys, and come to the table of brotherly love.
Salim had not come to Beirut without cause. He was keen to investigate the possibility of returning to work with his brothers Niqula and Abdallah. Business was stagnant in Aleppo, he said, and he was hoping to return to work in his father’s carpentry workshop.
You mean, after all of these years you have come back to us to demand a share of what your father left?! Ya Ayb issh-shom! Niqula was apoplectic. You shameful man, you ran a knife through us and you destroyed your sister and now you’ve come to ask this. Get out of here!
Salim did not get out of there. It was Niqula who stood up and left the house. Before doing so, he turned to his mother and said, From the day Milia left we have not had a bite of supper we could swallow, Mama.
Musa was not following their argument over the family business and money matters. He was staring at his older brother, stunned. Salim’s features had lengthened and sunk; the white hair of old age had conquered his head, and his lips had lost their fullness. His eyes seemed lost in their sockets. He had become a carbon copy of his father. Anyone who saw him now would believe Yusuf had come back to life. Niqula put a decisive end to the conversation by refusing unconditionally to receive his brother in the shop. Abdallah was confused, as if he did not understand what was unfolding before his eyes, while Musa pondered his eldest brother’s shocking transformation into their father’s double. But no one could ignore Salim’s gravelly voice when he said, It’s your fault, Mother — you told me, Go, don’t worry about your sister, God will find a solution for Milia.
Silence seized the room, as if Salim’s words, though not very loud, had swept a storm through this space where they sat.
You! What exactly did you say to Salim, Mother? asked Musa.
Me! No, not me, I don’t remember saying anything.
Yes, you! You turned the girl’s life into misery and sent her off to a land that was going up in flames! said Musa.
Saadeh began to cry and the quarrel intensified. Abdallah cursed his mother and his oldest brother. They had destroyed the life of his sister for nothing, he sobbed.
Now, and very promptly, the symptoms of illness made their appearance. Saadeh’s face grew florid and she had trouble breathing. Abdallah ran to get the doctor. Musa went into his room and shut the door and decided he would never speak to his mother again.
But these sorts of irrevocable domestic rulings are liable enough to peter out before long. Salim returned to his Aleppan home and once again all news of him ended. And here was Musa helping his mother pack her belongings so that she could move to the house where she would die. Milia’s portrait would remain hung on the wall in exactly the same space because the wall refused to give it up.
Come, Musa, habibi, come sleep next to me and don’t cry.
She could see him. Musa was turning restlessly in his bed and the shadows of his dreams hovered close around his eyes. He sat alone on the shore of Lake Tiberias. Suddenly the waves leapt up to eye level. The Sea of Galilee rose and white froth swallowed the horizon. The waves pushed higher and farther, and the restaurant began to collapse under the fierce pounding of the water. Musa was in a tiny boat, rocked by the waves and the wind. In the distance Milia stood erect. Little Milia walked on the waters of the lake. She strode over the water and stretched out both arms. From this distance she looked like a little bird spreading its wings to fly. But the bird was knocked about in the waves, rising and falling. It appeared and vanished, came nearer and then moved away. Little Milia staggered atop the waves, beads of water washing over her. Mansour grabbed the oars and tried frantically to row with both hands, wanting to reach her. But she moved farther away, the water swallowed her, and Musa’s voice could not command the sea to grow quiet. Musa sat alone in the Seaside Inn’s restaurant on the deck built of wood planks that extended like a tongue into the lake, allowing restaurant customers to think that they were in a boat lacking only sails. The place was empty, and the only sound was a light crashing of waves beating against the wooden supports that held the restaurant aloft. Musa took a big bite of fish seasoned with lemon and salt and began chewing. His head spun as he saw his teeth fall out. He had felt nothing; he believed at first that he had taken in a mouthful of fish bones. He bent over his plate and spit but his cheeks felt like they were plastered together and his mouth was hollow. Looking down at his plate, Musa saw that all of his teeth had fallen out. He picked up the teeth and began trying to return them to his mouth but it hurt. His mouth was an explosion of pains and he wanted to scream but couldn’t. He stared out at the lake, wanting to tell his sister that he was in terrible pain, but the lake was not there. The waves had disappeared and he was in total darkness. Everything was drowned in the darkness of night and the night clung to his body. He tried to open his eyes but could not. They were sealed closed with wax or something like it, and he smelled incense. The man shook himself, made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and started from his bed as he used to do as a small boy, going on tiptoe to sleep next to his sister.