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A Handful of Dates 1
I must have been very young at the time. While I don't
remember exactly how old I was, I do remember that when
people saw me with my grandfather they would pat me on the
head and give my cheek a pinch -- things they didn't do to my
grandfather. The strange thing was that I never used to go out
with my father, rather it was my grandfather who would take
me with him wherever he went, except for the mornings when
I would go to the mosque to learn the Koran. The mosque, the
river and the fields -- these were the landmarks in our life.
While most of the children of my age grumbled at having to go
to the mosque to learn the Koran, I used to love it. The reason
was, no doubt, that I was quick at learning by heart and the
Sheikh always asked me to stand up and recite the Chapter of
the Merciful whenever we had visitors, who would pat me on
my head and cheek just as people did when they saw me with
my grandfather.
Yes, I used to love the mosque, and I loved the river too;
Directly we finished our Koran reading in the morning I would
throw down my wooden slate and dart off, quick as a genie, to
my mother, hurriedly swallow down my breakfast, and run off
for a plunge in the river. When tired of swimming about I
would sit on the bank and gaze at the strip of water that wound
away eastwards and hid behind a thick wood of acacia trees. I _
loved to give rein to my imagination and picture to myself a
tribe of giants living behind that wood, a people tall and thin
with white beards and sharp noses, like my grandfather.
Before my grandfather ever replied to my many questions he
would rub the tip of his nose with his forefinger; as. for his
beard, it was soft and luxuriant and as white as cotton-wool -- never in my life have I seen anything of a purer whiteness or
greater beauty. My grandfather must also have been extremely
tall, for I never saw anyone in the whole area address him
without having to look up at him, nor did I see him enter a
house without having to bend so low that I was put in mind of
the way the river wound round behind the wood of acacia
trees. I loved him and would imagine myself, when I grew to
be a man, tall and slender like him, walking along with great
strides.
I believe I was his favourite grandchild: no wonder, for my
cousins were a stupid bunch and I -- so they say -- was an
intelligent child. I used to know when my grandfather wanted
me to laugh, when to be silent; also I would remember the
times for his prayers and would bring him his prayer-rug and
fill the ewer for his ablutions without his having to ask me.
When he had nothing else to do he enjoyed listening to me
reciting to him from the Koran in a lilting voice, and I could tell
from his face that he was moved.
One day I asked him about our neighbour Masood. I said to my
grandfather: 'I fancy you don't like our neighbour Masood?'
To which he answered, having rubbed the tip of his nose:
'He's an indolent man and I don't like such people.'
I said to him: 'What's an indolent man?'
My grandfather lowered his head for a moment, then looking across at the wide expanse of field, he said: 'Do you see it
stretching out from the edge of the desert up to the Nile bank?
A hundred feddans. Do you see all those date palms? And
those trees -- sant, acacia, and sayal? All this fell into Masood's
lap, was inherited by him from his father.'
Taking advantage of the silence that had descended upon
my grandfather, I turned my gaze from him to the vast area
defined by his words. 'I don't care,' I told myself, 'who owns
those date palms, those trees or this black, cracked earth-all I
know is that it's the arena- for my dreams and my playground.'
My grandfather then continued: 'Yes, my boy, forty years
ago all this belonged to Masood -- two-thirds of it is now mine.'
This was news to me for I had imagined that the land had
belonged to my grandfather ever since God's Creation.
'I didn't own a single feddan when I first set foot in this
village. Masood was then the owner of all these riches. The position has changed now, though, and I think that before
Allah calls to Him I shall have bought the remaining third as
well.'
I do not know why it was I felt fear at my grandfather's
words-and pity for our neighbour Masood. How I wished my
grandfather wouldn't do what he'd said! I remembered
Masood's singing, his beautiful voice and powerful laugh that
resembled the gurgling of water. My grandfather never used
to laugh.
I asked my grandfather why Masood had sold his land.
To be continued |
