short stories and...

2011-11-05T15:07:00.000-07:00

A short visit

I stop the bus letting a multitude of people walk up the steps into the bus. A couple of commuters

invite the old woman to go ahead of them, but the woman refuses and prefers to get on last. I

look at her and see an old black woman with a shriveled face, just like Auntie Kolsum!

Auntie Kolsum used to get her dark skin from working in her little patch of a vineyard for hours

under the sun. She was a wise and kind woman who spoke with everyone in their own language.

Every time there was a discord in a household, they would go straight to Auntie Kolsum. She

was the chief justice of the neighborhood! I was in America the day the news came that she had

passed away and I never got the chance to see her again.

I look at the woman again. She is decked in red except for a white hat. I wonder why

African Americans have such affinity for the color red! An ambulance screeches by, making the

old woman tuck her walking stick under her arm and cover her ears with her hands. The

ambulance disappears in the distance and the old woman climbs up the steps with a frown on her

face. I strike up a conversation, “Where are you going, ma’am?

“To the cemetery,” she replies scowling.

That’s amazing! Every time Auntie was mad and we would ask her where she was going,

she would respond the same way, “To the cemetery!” And make us laugh.

I start to laugh not realizing the microphone is on.

“Isn’t this the 358?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Well then, “Ever green” cemetery should be on this route, right?”

She is right! There is a cemetery on my route but until now, I hadn’t paid much attention

to its name nor had anybody got on or off the bus at that stop.

“You are right! I had completely forgotten about it! So you are going to the “Ever green

” cemetery?

She scrutinizes me as her eyes become smaller in her face. “If you think I’ll be staying

there, you are dead wrong! This is only a very short visit!

I start to laugh again and she says, more loudly this time, “Well, now that you have

announced it to all on the microphone, might as well tell them my last words.”

I tap the microphone and surely enough it’s on. I look at the passengers’ faces in my

rearview mirror and feel obliged to repeat the old woman’s last sentence.

“Ms. (Malka, she says) Malka is on her way for a short visit to the cemetery “Ever green

”, but she has no intention of staying there whatsoever!” The bus explodes with laughter.

When I reach the stop in front of the cemetery, the old woman is the only one who gets

off the bus. The door is still open when she turns around and smiling, she says, “I told you it was

just a short visit. If you return in half an hour, you can pick me up o the other side

2010-08-07T19:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, Virginia!

It’s Sunday morning. It’s still quite dark outside and the streets are empty and silent. There are no cars in sight even as I turn into the main street. The rain is coming down as usual. They say you recognize the tourists in this city by the umbrellas they carry. The locals here don’t really mind the rain, but despite my twenty-seven years of residence in this city, I’m still not used to it. I mean, I could walk a short distance without an umbrella, but there is no way I could stand under the rain and drink a coffee while smoking a cigarette!

I’ve just finished a few hours of work without a smoke. At the end of the line, at the first respite from the rain, I pour some hot coffee into my mug from my flask and I get off the bus. The day has completely broken now. I can’t begin to tell you how I enjoy lighting my first cigarette! It’s as if life has meaning once again! As I’m drinking my coffee and smoking my cigarette, the ad on the side of the bus catches my eye. The billboard is about six feet long with a picture of Santa Claus and a caption that says, “Yes, Virginia! There is no God!” I’m Bewildered, not trusting my eyes. Usually, the ads on the side of the bus are reserved for insurance and mobile companies. I step away from the bus and I read it again, “Yes, Virginia! There is no God!” I’m definitely not mistaken. I take a photo with my mobile phone and I think how the church goers are going to react to this.

It’s eight fifty-five and I’m on my return route. Outside, the dusty rain and the fog have blended together obstructing the view in a halo of tinted vapor. At the first stop, I pick up Charlotte along with a man and a woman who are not my regulars. Charlotte takes another peek at the side of the bus before getting in and stares at me from behind her thick glasses.

“It’s Sunday morning and we are on our way to the church. Couldn’t they find another bus for this route?” complains Charlotte.

“Most probably they couldn’t, Miss Charlotte,” I say, as I try desperately to stop myself from laughing.

Grumbling to herself, she sits next to the man and woman. At the next stops, Claudia, Martin, Geraldine, Malka and other familiar faces that I don’t recall the name, get on the bus. A heated discussion takes place over the billboard and they start to argue, condemn and formulate plans.

A few stops further down, I stop the bus for Michelle who is waiting with her two miserable suitcases. Michelle’s life can be summed up by these two suitcases that she trails behind her day and night. She gets on the bus, but she doesn’t have her usual smile on. It looks like she’s had a tough night. We greet each other and she says in a loud voice, “I like the billboard on your bus! Yes, Virginia! There is no God! But you should let them know that they left out the word “absolutely” from that sentence.” I bite my lip and check the passengers in the rearview mirror. Michelle turns to them and in a tough voice, says loudly “Is there someone here who doesn’t agree with this billboard?” No one utters a word.

Outside, the dusty rain and the fog have blended together obstructing the view in a halo of tinted vapor.

2010-07-29T00:34:00.000-07:00

Azrael

I don’t know since when she had been sitting on that chair, in the corner of the kitchen and how much of that heart wrenching scene she had witnessed, when I turned to her voice,

“How come nobody stops this Azrael, daddy?”

“First of all, it’s Israel and not Azrael. And anyway, you’re not supposed to be watching this. This is not a children’s program.”

“But, I was watching the children, daddy. It was so sad. I don’t want to watch it any more. What a mean Azrael!”

I turned off the television and put her school bag in front of her.

“You shouldn’t be watching the craziness of adults, honey. Start doing your homework.”

I had to start the dinner. I had left out a chicken to thaw before leaving this morning. I chopped up some onions, poured some oil in the pan, added the onions and stirred it with a wooden spoon.

“Can anyone stop Azrael, daddy?”

“No! Do your homework! Finish your homework, missy!”

I started to wash some dirty dishes left over from the night before while waiting for the onions to cook.

“Even America can’t stop him, daddy?”

“America doesn’t stop its support and mobilization, let alone stopping it,” I said, laughing sarcastically.

“What did you say, daddy?”

“Nothing, missy! I said America can’t do anything. Now pay attention to your homework, darling.”

I stirred the onions and finished rinsing the plates and putting them to dry. I washed the thawed chicken, cut it into small pieces and after washing it, left it in the coriander to drain out the water.

“Even God can’t stop Azrael, daddy?”

I turned down the heat under the pan, went and sat next to her and took her hand into mine.

“These shows are not for children, my darling. They are not even good for adults. Didn’t you notice that even I wasn’t watching it?” Then I turned on the television to Disney channel. Another world opened before our eyes. A world where there is no rancor or animosity, free from folly of adults. A world that is full of friendship and sweetness. A world, where dogs and cats; wolves and ewes; lions and rabbits live together in harmony and camaraderie. A world that is full of colors and children’s joy.

I went back to the kitchen after she relaxed and while I was cooking, while I was eating, an even today at work, my daughter’s last words really worked my brain, “Even God can’t stop him, daddy?”

And I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be, if God existed.

2007-03-06T01:58:00.000-08:00

People’s houses

I only had about a hundred more newspapers to distribute that day. I would have done it in half an hour if the kid wasn’t with me. How was I supposed to be quick when I had a child trailing behind me? I was at my wit’s end from telling him to hurry along; you’d think he would listen, but he took his time walking slowly, asking questions and chattering away. Every house was an occasion for him to stop, look it up and down and ask, “Dad? Dad? Who does this house belong to?”
“It belongs to people.”
“It belongs to people?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“What about this one?”
“This is one belongs to people too, my darling.
. “This one belongs to people, too?
“Yes, sweetheart! It belongs to people. Now, hurry up, move along! We only have a few left.”
We came to another house. He stopped again and with one hand on his hip, he pointed to another house and asked, “So, whose house is this one, daddy? This huge, huge, house?”
This time I lost my patience. Why is he asking so many questions?
All these housed belong to people, my dear! All of them! Now enough with the questions!”
“All of them? Wow! People have a lot of houses!”
Then I started to laugh because all this while my poor, little boy thought that “people” was this huge giant who had taken over and owned all these houses. I wanted to explain to him that “people” is not one person but a group of persons; that all the inhabitants of a village, or a city, or a country are called “people”; that we, too, were part of the “people.” But I thought the better of it and preferred to leave him alone and not confuse him any further. And anyway, I didn’t feel like being bombarded by more questions. What if he turned around and said, “If you are part of the people, how come you don’t own a house?” And, on and on.
I was lost in my thoughts when he stopped again and eyeing me up and down, “Dad?” What is it buddy?
“How come you don’t have a lot of houses? Huh? How come you only have a dark house that doesn’t even have a backyard?”
At that time, we lived in the Queen Anne neighborhood. The houses around that area are all fairly large, well-maintained with flowers and shrubs. Of course, we only had a rented basement with such bad lighting that we had to leave the lights on all the time.
. “Huh, dad? How come you don’t have a lot of houses?”
This was dragging on and I was not in the mood for it, at all. So I quickly came up with a trick and quickly changed the subject. I drew my boy’s attention to a cat that was sitting on a fence, a few houses down. Oh! Look how pretty is the kitty cat! She wants to be your friend! He leaped up playfully and went after the cat and I succeeded in putting an end to the endless and embarrassing questions. This happened about five years ago when my son was only three years old. He is now 8 years old and knows more about life than I did when I was fourteen! Just last week, he came with me to the accountant to file my taxes. On our way home, he rode at the front with me. My kid is usually quite talkative, so I was surprised when he sat quietly, looking quite withdrawn. I called his name a few times but he didn’t respond until I finally I tapped him lightly on the shoulder and asked, What’s going on, son? He stared at me for a few seconds without saying a word.
. “What were you thinking about, son?”
“I was thinking about you.”
“You were thinking about me?”
“Yeah! You see dad, you’re really poor!”
This really took me by surprise and hard as I tried, I still couldn’t figure out where he had come up with this one. What did he mean by this? Had he asked for something that I couldn’t buy for him?
“What do you mean I’m poor, my dear boy?”
“Because every time that guy asked if you had something, you said you didn’t.”
Then I remembered my conversation with the accountant filling out my tax forms.
“Do you own a house?”
“No.”
“Do you own any property?”
“No.”
“Do you have a savings account?”
“No.”
“Do you own any real estate?”
“No.”
“Do you have any other income, beside your current employment?”
. “No.”
. I kind of felt sorry for myself. Not because I’m poor, of course! But because I was the object of someone’s pity! And my own son, at that! “You see, you really are poor, dad.”
. I squeezed my son’s hand and felt a knot in my throat. I wish I could change the subject as easily as the last time; but this time, there were no cats around!
.