Dreams of Water

He does not mind sharing the cupboard because it is the first time he has ever had a proper place to put his things in. But his own bed is what he enjoys most about being here: sleeping without younger brothers pulling at the covers or kicking him in the shins so that he was always waking up; and sitting cross-legged on the bed during the day, the covers pulled tight beneath him, his shoes off and his books spread across its smooth surface, a fluffy pillow behind him against which to rest his back.

The only time his mother has come to visit since she first brought him here, Ramzi showed her around the dormitory, pointing to his made-up bed and the neatly arranged clothes in the cupboard, and waited for her praise. But she only nodded and looked distractedly around her.

I wish they’d agreed to take one of your brothers as well, she said, shaking her head. They’re uncontrollable now that both you and your father are gone.

Ramzi has felt afraid ever since that she would be back with a younger brother for him to take care of, or that she might even decide to take Ramzi away with her to be the man of the house again, just as he had been when Father left home. But it’s not fear that puts him on his best behaviour; Ramzi knows that these things, eating and sleeping well, school and other children and the sojourns in the orphanage playground, all these are the closest he’ll ever get to an ordered life, and that is all he wants.

Salah, Salah, what my mother does not know is that I came back not to find Bassam but myself.

Salah is at the door with a large package under one arm. It is his first visit to Aneesa’s flat.

‘Come in,’ Aneesa says. ‘Come in. I’m sorry everything is such a mess.’

She has been packing and behind her he can see clothes and objects all over the floor and covering all available surfaces.

He steps inside and, before taking off his coat, hands her the package.

‘What is this?’

‘It’s for you to take home with you.’

She tears off the brown paper and stares at the painting.

‘This is the one you brought with you from Beirut, isn’t it?’

He nods.

‘I can’t take it from you, Salah.’

The painting has a narrow gilt frame. Beneath the glass, a wedge of beige cardboard in a rectangular shape surrounds a dark but indistinct figure whose edges trickle into the colours beyond it in bold upwards strokes of yellow, white and light brown. Through the blurriness of it, in the undetermined shapes that surround the figure in the painting, Aneesa sees a circle of wings: two, three or four, she cannot be sure, but feathery and marvellous nonetheless. She touches the angel through the glass with the tips of her fingers.

Salah reaches for her hand.

‘It would really make me happy if you took this with you, Aneesa. Please.’

‘I’ll think of you every time I look at it,’ she finally says.

She puts the painting down and takes his coat.

The windows are grimy and grey and the plaid coat she’s worn so often on their outings together is thrown on the floor in one corner of the room. Salah bends down, picks it up and looks at it for a moment before laying it neatly against the back of a chair. He looks up at Aneesa.

‘I shall miss you, my dear,’ he says quietly. ‘It won’t be the same without you here.’

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