4 Celsius

( ... evil turns in property and family) I finished this supplication in conjunction with facing the gate of the plane, which I do not know how my feet were dragged to it. The last thing that stuck in my mind was the tearful face of my mother as she said goodbye to me. I wonder if I have been somewhere outside my body all that time! From the moment my mother said goodbye to me to the moment I faced the crater of that volcano? “Although it is my second time to be on a plane.” Yes, its gate looked like a volcano!

Despite its beauty, at the door of the plane a female genie appeared and terrified me. Her only concern was to welcome the groups of people coming to the plane she was working at. Behind her, the flames of my prospects of my unknown future started to scorch me! I found myself hung on that gate; hanging on a gallows; the gallows was set up on the edge of a bank about to collapse. If I stay on it, there is death, and if I survive, there is another death... No, not another, but another colour. For death in our time now has colours, in a life devoid of every colour except the colours of death.

With a shy nod from my head, I responded to the genie’s greeting, despite what she had done to me without her intention. Then I swung right into the plane carrying my small bag with my left hand above the level of my shoulder, going through the seat rows one by one. I walked like a soldier who was coerced to carry the coffin of a dictator who grew very old before death. I continued to take part in carrying him until I arrived and was sat in my seat stated in the boarding pass, and only then did I realize that I was not by the window or even by the aisle.

I sighed of concern, which brought me to my seat in the plane. Then, I pushed my bag under the seat which I sat behind, and with the swiftness of a smart student, I firmly fastened the seatbelt around my waist. I then breathed a sigh of relief in the spirit of a triumphant who gained one of the most important bestowments. For several seconds I began to enjoy the queitness of the mind, which was shattered by a passenger asking, “Can I enter?” His seat was next to the window. “Damn!”I answered him in myself, and then gave him a false gesture like the one I gave to that genie, I mean the stewardess, and in the meantime I uttered: “Of course.”

The passengers all sat in their places excessively slowly, in a way similar to a sloth which is famous for its laziness. This was followed by one of the stewardesses quickly making sure everyone fastened their seatbelts, while another one made sure the window blinds were fully opened. Between this and that, I decided to invest my time in what might benefit me in my travels. And for the abundance of possibilities in the plane, I chose to sleep as an investment. Yes I did not find better than that as an investment! I closed my eyes and asked the Lord to grant me sleep. I had the feeling that I was falling asleep; however, I did not sleep.

Suddenly, Asa’ad appeared before me; Asa’ad, my travel companion; I remembered!... Yes, now I remembered, two days ago... Yes, just two days. I woke up early... I mean I woke up metaphorically because I could not sleep that night. It was one day of June 2014AD, one of the days of the holy month of Ramadan. The family was gathered, at least most of them were; my mother, my father, my brothers, their children, my wife, my wife’s mother and of course my children except Maryam.My little Maryam, who loves cats, was asleep then; thank God she was. I was fasting; in fact everyone was fasting while the sadness was eating in front of us and drinking rudely without the slightest sense of shame!

I remember that it was a different day for a different journey, a journey characterized by the possibility of no return; no return to where! To the homeland; the land which a man of reason does not long to leave. It is a one-way ticket only, including a service to guarantee not to reach the desired destination, neither alive nor dead, not even in pieces! Some have likened travel to suicide, and some have likened it to the only chance to survival, some to death and others to life.

My decision, although difficut, was smooth! I will travel in spite of the difficulties I am sure to face but I had to make virtue out of necessity. Besides, I have exhausted all tricks of the book. It was 9 am or so. I put on a white sportswear which I loved so much. My sister-in-law gave it to me as a present. I checked the contents of my small bag for the seventh time and then packed it tightly. I hid my money in the collar and sleeves of my sportswear for fear of any possible predicament. Then the farewell ceremonies began.

I said goodbye to my family, one by one, the young after the young, son after daughter, brother after sister, mother after father, everyone around. It was a pale goodbye, a corpse saying goodbye to paradise. The family is a paradise though it has a small number of its members, and the person saying goodbye is like a corpse however his heart beats. When it came to say goodbye to my wife, I stopped! I stopped performing the farewell ritual, and in fact I could not do it. I sighed like a warrior taking a break, then smiled to restrain the revolution of my tears and then turned a blind eye to saying goodbye to her. As for my little Maryam who love cats she was still asleep.

“I’ll go; yes” I said to myself with self-control, after which I had a bout of panic and sadness; I had a lot of thoughts on my mind which are difficult to explain or even try to clarify. “Yes, I have to travel” I said to myself again but without self-control this time. I sighed again, closing the gates of my heavens against my distorted thoughts, and deep in a voice that sounded like a scarecrow I voiced, “Forgive me, bye.” Thus, the farewell rituals ended or rather this is what I thought.

We were on the second floor at the time; I came down to the first floor slowly; I came down like the steps of a wounded man towards the tomb. In the meantime, I sensed the gravity of my mistake and that I had to correct it immediately. I went up to the second floor quickly. I stepped up like the winner jumping towards the podium; I remembered them; I was smiling and she was crying and waiting for me. Yes, there was behind the door of the house, the door of our house, and her right hand clung to its handle. I think she felt the same way. No... I affirm that. She opened the door to me before I rang the bell to say goodby to each other.

I will not lie. I cried as much she did, and even more. She asked me not to be late, and I answered her with a hoarse voice that definitely I will not only be late, but also I am not coming back. I also expressed my greatest wish that she and the children would not to be late to catch up with me. Then she ended her words with “There is no god but Allah,” and I ended my words with “Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah”; then, I went to my fate.

My eldest son went to see me off - he was young, and still is in my eyes - and without asking him as usual, he lifted his shoulders up and blew his chest forward. He looked puzzled despite his familiarity with the place. He was trying to instill an idea in my mind that since that moment he had become a man and that he would protect our family during my absence; my absence which would be long and which might last forever. My memory recalled the Prophet’s Hadith that says: ““If the Final Hour comes while you have a palm-cutting in your hands and it is possible to plant it before the Hour comes, you should plant it.” And there is my son is continuing to instill the idea of his manhood when it comes to say goodbye to me. O hours of farewell, damn you! I wondered: “Am I going to really die?” I wondered again, and again. Ah how much I wondered then! And certainly how much he wondered! How much those who came to say goodbye wondered, headed by my mother!

My little boy was switching back and forth between carrying my bag and hugging me. Sometimes he would hold one of my hands, sometimes one of my legs, and sometimes he was preoccupied with how to hold his tears, quickly trying which one is better. Sometimes he would walk in front of me and sometimes behind me, then he would kiss my hand in anguish which I could feel, and then he would carry my bag again and hug me and so on. He was confused and worn out from distraction. He asked me shyly to play with him for the last time with the ball, but immediately withdrew his request, claiming it was an inappropriate time... Because of this, I remembered my previous similar excuses and immediately found out how false they were however they seemed to be true at the time I voiced them; it was always a good time to play with the children… except for the last time.

So, what I did was patting his head like a veiled apology and scattered his golden hair with pride. During that time, even though it was only a few seconds away, I had a few pictures before my eyes, each of which belonged to a certain period of little son’s life. They were ranked in chronological order: his first steps of crawling; we stopped him from doing it for fear of harm; his first steps of walking; we encouraged him do it in the hope of master it, and his first steps of running; we asked him not to be late to return home. They were all taken in the same place; the narrow road opposite the door of our house, the house I had chosen within my means for my little son and his siblings to grow up.

I wonder if time was short, as it looked then?! I almost cried; however, he cried. I was able to not follow his footsteps in crying and I pretended to be preoccupied with looking at the neighborhood’s sky, its houses, its shops and roads, and even the gravel of the road I was busy looking at them. Then I began to scan the faces of the passersby as I was scanning an advertising newspaper. I said goodbye to poor Abu Salih’s grocery, Abu Bashir’s miserable bakery, the Firm Tie Mosque where I was praying and the old woman who sells candies at the crossroads. Meanwhile, I was wondering if I really would not come back! But thinking about such things is painful, really painful, and the only solution to this kind of pain is to get rid of it. Yes, get rid of the whole idea of thinking!

Just a few minutes were all I had to bid farewell to my abundant memories. I also felt sorry for the quick arrival to the bus that would take me to the bus station where buses head to Beirut. My little son tried to restrain his tears again but he failed miserably. I wished I could cry with him, but I did not want to make crying the last common activity between me and him, between me and my eldest son. I kissed him directly from my heart and squeezed him between my ribs as warm as I could, and then snatched him away from me and threw myself in the bus. There I regretted not crying.

In the final moments - the truly final one- it becomes clear to man that the value of memories is measured not by quality or by quantity, but measured as soon as they occur. Yes, as soon as they happen! However, saying goodbye has a terrible flavor, like the flavor of death, and perhaps even more - although saying goodbye was temporal - I felt choked like that of death perhaps; I remembered Maryam, my little Maryam who loves cats. I did not die. I felt like one of the cats that Maryram loves; a cat with seven lives which had just squandered wastefully the first life of its seven lives; and the bus had set off.

The way to Beirut Travel Station took half an hour or so which I felt as heavy as years; like years of war or so, during which I remembered the most accurate details of my daily life. On every inch of that road I have my memories and details. Then, the bus arrived and I arrived with companions, and I had agreed in advance with Asa’ad to meet him there – Asa’ad I told you about before, who appeared in front of me in the plane. By the way, Asa’ad is neither a relative nor a friend nor even an acquaintance; what made me see his is the date of our travel, which was chosen by our notorious travel coordinator and memory.

I did not find Asa’ad in the station as I imagined. I was a little worried, and I felt pessimistic, but I remembered the sanctity of a bad omen and so the level of my pessimism abated. I also remembered the possibility of calling him and so I did and he told me that he was on the way. This reassured me a little. I was optimistic. I remembered the sanctity of a bad omen again, and so my level of optimism abated. My feelings faded for a few minutes until Asa’ad arrived. “Here we go,” I said to myself.

As soon as he arrived, we took one of the vehicles heading to Beirut. There was one passenger, so we were three. We waited for the arrival of a fourth person for an hour or so but to no avail. During that time, Asa’ad convinced me of the idea of breaking fast because breaking fast on a journey has a permit. I did not object nor even tried to. After we broke our fast, we asked the driver to set off, but he asked us for the fare of the awaited passenger. We did not accept and so we bargained with him to get off his vehicle and go to another, Thus, he gave in and set off. “A good start!” I said to myself. It never occurred to me that it was the last bargaining process we would undertake for quite some time.

An hour and a half or so was enough to get us to the Syrian-Lebanese border. There, one of the Syrian staff asked me about my travel permit - every employee in our government sector has to obtain permission to travel abroad. I gave him permit immediately. His question was confusing to me despite its routineness on the one hand and the legality of my travel on the other. In the meantime, I tried to convince myself that anxiety is a characteristic of all travelers and that I am only one of them. And with great difficulty I was convinced.

We arrived in Beirut at about 3pm. As soon as we arrived, we headed to Raouche Beach where we sat over a spot overlooking the famous Raouche rock. By the way, Raouche Beach is very charming. We spent a lot of time there, then we had a light meal, and it was past 11pm. But as we were eating, we noticed someone with suspicious looks. We initially ignored him and thus succeeded in postponing his attempt to clash with us for some time. A little while later, a little cat came to us asking for food. I remembered Maryam, Maryam my little girl who loves cats. With pleasure I divided what I had in my hands and fed it. How surprised we were by the reaction of that suspicious man to my behavior and his attempt to make a fight with us by attacking this poor cat.

I got up angrily to defend the cat but Asa’ad grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back sharply and dryly saying: “Our flight is today; we do not want any problems.” I would not have sat in my place were not for his words. On the other hand, that bully was not satisfied with his first attempt, which made him ask us whether we liked what he did with the cat or not! My companion replied: “It is yours; do what you want with it.” Asa’ad was really wiser than me. After that, we left the beach for that bully and went to a cafe and sat there until morning. Then we took a taxi and headed for Beirut International Airport, where the travel procedures were very smooth. During that, we learned that our two seats were far away from each other.

After we finished the travel procedures, we headed to the boarding gate, which was still closed. As such, Asa’ad went to smoke his last cigarette before the plane set off. Somehow I felt he was a bit late. During his absence, the gate of boarding opened, which tempted me. I tried to wait for him as mucht as I could, but I could not. I was looking forward to being seated in my own seat to relax, which made me rush to the plane briskly. Just as I wanted to be seated I did, and I was delighted. After a few minutes or so, Asa’ad appeared before me and said, “Expect to see me next to you.” He smiled and winked at his left eye.

Asa’ad refused to surrender to the distance of our seats, and with his insistent urgency to many, he managed to swap his seat with the passenger by my side, enabling us to continue our conversation which was on for more than a day. How much then we tried to force a laugh to ease the pace of our thinking of what the future is hiding for each of us! I remember that the plane took off at 11:15 am exactly.

It was part of the plan of the journey to stop in the Jordanian capital Amman and then continue at seven o’clock the next morning to the Algerian capital Algiers. It was a transit flight, a term I’d never heard of before. I did not imagine what it was or even what would happen between our arrival in Amman and our departure from it, especially where we would sleep.

At the Jordanian Queen Alia Airport, we, all the passengers of the transit flight, were inspected, and then took the eye print of each of us. When my turn came, one of the staff members asked me about my fourth name. How surprised he was that I did not know it! We used to use only the triple name. His question was raised to me for the first time in my life and I think the last. “Yes... I do not know it,” I assured him, but he did not believe me! Then he asked me if I had entered the borders of the Kingdom of Jordan before, and I replied that I entered it four years ago on my way to Saudi Arabia. And without asking me, I replied that it was for the performance of Umrah. I think I tried to beg him to believe me.

After the passengers had finished all the procedures, one of the Jordanian staff began to read out our names one by one. Thus, every one heard his name would come out of one of the doors that led directly to a minibus that later turned out it would take us to the airport hotel.

Unfortunately, there remained three people. Unlickly, I was among them; the employee asked us to wait and so we did. After some time, the employee called “Sami”. It was not me. The so-called Sami entered one of the rooms and left after about a quarter of an hour. I did not dare ask him about what had happened to him, and so I waited instead. Shortly after Sami came out, the employee called “Saeed” and for the second time in a row it was not me. The so-called Saeed entered the room and came out after about five minutes.

As I was waiting for the so-called Saeed to come out so that I would be next, and as the anxiety ran down my face, one of them sat at my side and asked me in a low voice:

- Where is your destination? (Curiously)

- Algiers. (I replied suspiciously)

- Who is going to receive you there? (He asked, more curiously)

- My sister. (I replied, more suspiciously)

- What is her phone number which you will contact her with? (He asked, cunningly this time)

I was shocked by his last question! I did not prepare myself to such a question! I wondered how could I make up a number for Algeria without knowing the code to its phone numbers!

- I don’t know her phone number. (I replied, nervously)

In order to save his next expected question, I continued:

- She and her husband will receive me at the airport.

He did not stop asking questions. Again he asked:

- And what if you did not find them at the airport! (More maliciously this time)

- Do not worry, they will be there to receive me. (I replied, and was about to collapse)

He smiled, and most importantly he kept quiet. He remained patiently silent for a few seconds and then asked me to tell him clearly my real story, noting the reason why I chose Algeria specifically! Without thinking and involuntarily I found myself confessing to him. I confessed like a criminal or so.

I told him that I worked in a glass factory for several years, and that the factory was closed with the outbreak of the crisis, which forced me to go out in search of work that would sustain me and my family. And because I know about the art of Algeria in the field of glass, I decided to visit it and look for a job. Unfortunately, that man did not believe me. I felt so, and he was right. I even did not believe myself! To confirm my feeling that he did not believe me, that suspicious person asked me about the glass in more detail, and were it not for my exact answers, I would not have felt he was convinced.

He smiled at me again and then was silent. He was patiently silent a few seconds; then he asked me if I have enough money to enter Algeria. I immediately answered: “Of course.” I wondered deep inside if he was intending to rob me or beg from me, and the result in either case for those who are like me are the same. He continued: “Why did not you say that from the beginning? I was worried they might expell you at the airport in Algiers!”

I still remember it, as if it had happened yesterday! I felt choked, perhaps as that of death. I remembered Maryam, my little Maryam who loves cats. I did not die. I felt like one of the cats that Maryram loves; a cat with seven lives which had just squandered the second life of its seven lives!

A few seconds later, that person interrupted my pain, my worries, and my feeling choked and said: “I beg your pardon. I have to finish cleaning the floor. God damn it; it never remains clean.” Then he got up and grabbed some of the cleaning equipment he had with him, which to ‘my perspicacity’ I did not notice. And with fullest coldness, he continued his work as if nothing had happened! Yes, that man was just curious! And to my foolishness, I thought I was with him in an interrogation session. Investigation session or so!

I could not keep my calm. I got up, took him by surprise from behind, hugged him and kissed his forehead. All that was in the midst of his surprise. I felt then that I was on the throne of happiness. “You scared me,” I told him. He said: “I know”. During our hug, one of the staff members and the so-called Saeed came out and asked the three of us, Sami, Saeed and I, to go to the bus.

I asked the employee: “And I? Do not you want to interrogate me?” He replied with a smile: “You do not need it; it’s just a matter of routine. Be safe.” Then he went back to his office. Yes, it was just a routine procedure and I thought it was the most difficult and the most dangerous stage in my journey until that moment. “How smart!” I said to myself and sighed as a criminal who escaped from a firm trap.

The three of us got on the bus and headed for the airport hotel. The first thing I did in the hotel was that I looked for Asa’ad. I quickly found him. He was worried as if he were being tested without preparation; he did not know what to do for me. He hugged me without justification and I began to tell him what had happened to me in detail. Later my companion and I worked to take out our money from its hideouts. As the man said, without proving that we had five thousand dollars, we would not be allowed to enter Algeria. How difficult it was to take them out! We took them out of the folds of our clothes, while we were worried lest we should damage them, whether the clothes or money. For a while we thought that extracting deep treasures was easier!

I feel here to pay tribute to Queen Alia Airport Hotel. It was really wonderful. I received my room quickly, had a shower as slowly as I could, then set the alarm clock on my phone and surrendered to deep sleep. Early in the morning we found our perfect breakfast waiting for us. I never thought it was the last of its kind for me for a while. The breakfast menu had many varieties. How I loved Jordan! Even the milk cakes were on the menu and I thought it a popular meal which only those who were classed under the category of “poor” eat. After breakfast, we headed for a bus that took us back to the airport.

From there, our long flight began. The most beautiful thing was flying over Jerusalem. How pleasant and strange it was to see with your eyes what you had heard about since your childhood and still hear. It is true that Jerusalem has great augustness even from the air. I remembered my grandmother telling us tens of years ago how she sanctified her pilgrimage, that is, with the groups of pilgrims of the Levant who visited Jerusalem for a day or two or so, thus granting the pilgrims the right to say that they have sanctified their pilgrimage.

After Jerusalem, the Mediterranean Sea appeared. It was day time and it sensed our intention of how long it was. So Asa’ad who sat next to me again this time and I strarted to talk in order to evade thinking of the unknown, which we overwhelmed us to demand it, the unknown of which we only know the stories of the survivors or the images of the bodies that spread because of it.

In less than an hour, we were silent. I stared at the sea while I was high in the sky and turned over the pages of the past, the beautiful distant past. Yes, I remembered my old trip to Larnaca twenty years ago, twenty or so.

Part One

- I eat the biscuits myself? (The biscuit seller, starving)

- Yes. (The biscuit seller, hesitantly)

- No. (The biscuit seller, strictly)

- I will sell them. (The biscuit seller, confidently)