Two more women also sat in the living room, these two very old indeed, doing crochet work in silence. Not just on this visit but also later, Farid felt as if he had stepped into a convent of nuns.
“Who are those?” he asked.
“My two deaf grandmothers. They hate each other.” Josef gave a nasty grin, and then, after greeting both old ladies politely, added, “And they cooked spaghetti until their husbands choked on it.”
“How come you have two grandmothers?” Farid had asked. Josef laughed at him for years over that question.
67. Grandparents
Later Farid could smile at his own mistake, but when he discovered it at the age of seven he was shocked. Up till then he had firmly believed that he had only one pair of grandparents who once upon a time had somehow produced both his parents, like rabbits and cats who breed together even when they’re siblings. It wasn’t just childish naivety: the main reason was that he knew only his grandparents Lucia and Nagib. He had neither seen nor heard of any others. Even his mother never mentioned that side of his family. And he talked to his favourite cousin Laila about everything else, but not their relations.
When Laila came from Beirut to visit, their time together was precious. Farid walked through Paradise with her to protect him. They were allowed to go beyond the high garden wall.
Once Josef had explained about grandparents, Claire had to tell her son that his paternal grandmother, a remarkable woman, had died very young. “Your grandfather George Mushtak is a hard-hearted man who hates your father. He hasn’t spoken a word to him for ten years, because Elias disobeyed him and married me instead of the daughter of a friend of his. So he cursed your father and disinherited him. But now the Bishop of Damascus himself, who went to school with Elias and is a friend of your grandfather’s, is doing all he can to get the old gentleman to bless his own son again. So it could be,” Claire concluded, “that you’ll soon get to see him.” That was in April 1947.
The meeting between father and son was to take place on Sunday 15 June. The bishop had invited the whole Mushtak family to a solemn church service at ten that morning. After it they were all to eat together in Elias’s house opposite the church and be reconciled.
George Mushtak died on Friday 13 June, and his son cursed all day long. He kept on shouting, “He bore me malice not only in his lifetime but even in his death.” And he went around looking the very image of an embittered man for weeks.
Farid insisted on going to Mala for the funeral with his parents. He wanted to see his other grandfather at least once. But all he saw was the closed casket, and there was such a strong smell of bitter almonds near it that it turned his stomach.
Now he really did have only one grandfather: Nagib Surur.
68. Love
Some children look like their fathers or their mothers, others are a more or less fortunate mixture of both. Farid looked like neither his mother nor his father; he resembled his grandfather. He might have been descended straight from him without any intervention by his parents. From his mop of hair to his little toe, he was such a carbon copy of old Nagib Surur that it quite alarmed many of their relations at first.
Claire had inherited her looks mainly from her mother: her large green eyes, her smooth black hair, her rather broad but beautiful face, her small nose and snow-white skin. Her mother who, as already mentioned, came from a Venetian family, was even said to have aristocratic Austrian blood in her veins.
Nagib, on the other hand, was a Damascene born and bred. His ancestors had been textiles merchants who came from the Yemen in the twelfth century and settled in Damascus. All their descendants had the large dark eyes, finely carved features, and dark skin typical of Yemenis.
Nagib was a slender man, tall and dark-skinned. His general appearance was extremely virile, although his attractive eyes looked feminine at close quarters because his brows naturally lay like two delicate lines traced above them. Nagib was always being compared to various Egyptian actors, which he didn’t particularly like, for he preferred sport to the arts. As a young man he had been an enthusiastic boxer, but he was far too much of a gentleman to survive in the ring. His opponents at the time had been merciless hard-hitters on the fringes of the criminal fraternity; he lost all his fights, and after a while he gave up, but he still had a passion for boxing. Even in great old age he was a member of the boxing club and went to every fight.
His enthusiasm for boxing always led to quarrels with his wife, who was repelled by any kind of sport and much preferred going to large receptions. She and her son-in-law Elias agreed on that, and also on Nagib’s involvement in the bank affair of 1935. Farid couldn’t make out why it had landed his grandfather in prison for three years. Nagib would never talk about it.
Claire loved her father. She appreciated his gentle nature, his generosity, and in a way even his pliability, which her mother lacked. Lucia was always severe, rigorous with herself as well as others. “It’s a wonder she’s on speaking terms with herself,” her husband often joked.
He came to visit Claire for a coffee every day, since after his dismissal from the bank he had plenty of time on his hands, and his wife didn’t want him hanging around the house. After the coffee, Nagib would sit for hours by his grandson’s cradle, gazing at him blissfully.
“He’s given me the best victory of all,” he told Claire, “a victory over death. I shall live on in him, and death itself will feel mortally injured.”
As soon as Farid could walk, his grandfather took his hand and showed him the world. He would walk slowly down the streets of Damascus, telling the little boy about the buildings, shops, churches, and mosques of the city. He talked about drinks and spices, sweetmeats and nuts, and let his grandson touch everything and taste much of it.
He kept stopping to call on friends and drink coffee. Then his grandson would sit on his knee, looking at the world around him with wonder. Their friends always smiled at the sight: two versions of the same person, divided only by time.
69. K.O.
For the rest of his life, whenever Farid thought of Damascus he connected the city with his grandfather’s warm hand and deep voice. Years later, he could remember the first time they went to a fight together. It was spring, and Farid had already started school. His grandfather dropped in, as he did every afternoon, and Farid ran to meet him.
“Would you like to go into town with me?” asked Nagib. Naturally the boy was delighted.
“But don’t be late back. Elias will be home around seven today,” Claire called after them.
Grandfather Nagib took Farid’s hand and wandered through the suks and past the cafés with him. Then he suddenly asked, “Would you like to see a boxing match?”
Farid was all for that idea. “Oh yes!” he cried enthusiastically.
There were four fights. The first three were amusing, designed to keep the spectators happy and delay the main fight between the Syrian and Egyptian national champions until all the seats were filled. Grandfather Nagib told Farid all about the principles of boxing, right down to the dirtiest tricks. He never again learned so much about any sport in a single day. When the main fight was over it was already dark outside. “We’d better hurry,” said Grandfather, and he took a cab. The boxing club was in the New Town. The cab driver was drunk, and kept falling asleep during the journey. His horses stopped as soon as they sensed it, and Nagib had his work cut out for him, shaking the man awake.