Conversations with Abed

© Copyright 2012 Hani Soubra.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9804-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9805-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9806-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number:

Trafford rev. 07/30/2012

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Introduction

The Forest

The Father

Adam the Langurdian

Rakan

Boudica

The President & His Son

The Childhood

Under Siege

Anxieties

Laxia

Forbidden Love

Zak the Recruiter

Tree Talk

Amare

Home Coming

Eternal Love

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my wife, Amal. At the time I was finishing it, she was combating adversity and fighting for a better life on both the health and the personal level. I hope my children will capture her bravery and acquire the courage that is needed to accept the challenges that life brings and, consequently, to beat these challenges. She is a very brave woman indeed.

Acknowledgments

I started my second book, entitled Conversations with Abed, in June 2010. Three people played a role in its completion: Abed Bibi, Samah Ahmed, and Irina Sharma. As I was writing, they read it chapter by chapter. They have shown great support and even provided ideas at certain stages of the book. Their input also included corrections of spelling and grammar.

I need to thank Irina for her efforts to secure the proper marketing and promotion channels for this book. As in my first book, Letters to Dalia: Reflections on Lebanon and the Middle East, she was instrumental in pushing the activities forward. I remain thankful for all her efforts.

I am thankful for these three friends and for their wonderful support.

In addition, I would like to thank Rola Sinno Saffieddine for her wonderful work on the cover design. She has been so consistent in her contribution and she possesses great talent.

Introduction

The main characters in the book are Sam and Abed. They have known each other for a long time; their friendship started in childhood. They have always debated many topics, ranging from music and philosophy to fear, inner anxieties, and the order of things around them.

Sam is the one struggling with making sense of things. He cannot face the existing norms, whether in the political or the social aspects of life. His most enjoyable moments are his walks with Abed.

Abed also can’t come to terms with the mediocrity around him on a multitude of levels, mainly social and political, but he is not as anxious as Sam.

They live in a small village called Langurdia. It represents a utopia for those who admire and love nature and simplicity. The village is part of a country that is marred by corruption and abuse in a region of regression and the undermining of human rights and intellect. It is a safe refuge, away from the empty rhetoric of patriotism, unity, and ideology. These slogans have been replaced by poetry, painting, and intellect that refuses to compromise on mediocrity and vanity.

The citizens of Langurdia offer the purest form of citizenship, which is characterized by their infinite love of their land, and a supreme courage that knows no boundaries.

In Langurdia, neither the president, nor the president’s family or entourage, receive any special treatment. Respect and intellect are the prevailing common traits. Preconceived ideas, prejudices, and preferences are neither welcomed nor available in the little village.

There are other characters in the book who tell the story of bravery, chivalry, and romance, in addition to characters who preach hate, fundamentalism, and destruction. All these images are available in abundance in our communities.

The idea for writing this book came from my desire to deliver portraits of concepts, people, characters, and events that engulf and sometimes define our lives. The frames of these portraits are personal, social, political, emotional, and spiritual.

The concepts and people portrayed here are not exclusive to the Arab world or to Lebanon. They can be found everywhere.

These characters become a summary of a reality that has happened or is still happening now around us. I don’t write with the intention of reaching the Lebanese or Arab audience specifically. However, being an Arab and a Lebanese, I find myself writing about issues that surround our societies and the personalities of ordinary people who live in this part of the world. I need to emphasize that we are all, as global citizens, influenced by these elements, be they anxieties, ideology, or social norms, to a lesser or greater magnitude, at different intervals of our time or even history. There are lots of subtle references to certain practices and habits that occur in the region on different levels. The reader will be able to grasp that due to the non-complexity of the subject matter.

The issues I am referring to are either personal—relating to the anxieties, frustrations, romance, love, and heroism of the individual—or social, which relate to the society and the empty taboos it sometime dictates to us, which can even cost our lives, such as honor killings.

There is a third set of issues that I write about. These are the communal and patriotic. Throughout the history of any country or nation, there was always the unfriendly-neighbor syndrome, in which smaller and weaker countries paid out decades of their existence, youth, and talent to liberate themselves from their larger and mightier neighbor. Sometimes these smaller nations fail, and sometimes they succeed.

For no rational reasons, except for historic or even prehistoric sentiments, a whole nation finds itself stuck, without the opportunity for stability or growth, just because of an idea that governs the bigger nation stakeholder’s behavior. This book should not be perceived to be about political issues. It is as far away from politics as possible. However, a few chapters do handle this murky relationship between the big and small nations in an Orwellian setting, apart from smearing or defaming.

On the individual level, any person is characterized by endless layers of hope, ambition, and love of knowledge. These layers can rise and fall subject to the individual will, self-perception, and the desire to accomplish. Also, individuals are characterized by layers of anxieties and frustration, and they struggle to make sense out of nonsense, in the name of understanding either the self and philosophical ideas, or the prevailing regime in one’s country. These anxieties are also volatile when relationships are involved. What defines true love and true friendship? Finding meaning in these relationships can by itself be a source of ambiguity.

These frustrations are the result of two main factors: the restless self and institutional exploitation. The former is self-manufactured, and the latter is the result of oppression and exploitation forced by the mighty on the weak. When the mighty exploit the weak, individuals become too weak to fight and are unable to grasp the reality around them; hence, detachment from reality occurs, but the innate frustration and anxieties grow because people can’t totally neutralize their cognitive skills and powers. It takes one ray of light to break the darkness; it takes one moment of rationality to get in touch with the frustration and anxieties that we might feel, inflicted on us either by others or by the self.

The latter, the restless self, is exemplified and championed by Sam. The book takes the reader to a journey inside the inner psyche of the individual, and touches the center of anxieties and frustrations. This is the perpetual struggle of Sam. He can’t rationalize everything around him, but he keeps on trying. He refuses to die in a robotic way. There have to be more answers, and the illogical sequence of things has to stop. Getaways need to be there, or a painful death awaits all—the death of morality and of the intellect.

Fundamentalism has become the plague of modern times, irrespective of religion, cult, or even ideological or patriotic theory. It has no room for others, which negates the essence of humanity.

Human beings can’t and should not exist alone, in a single format as far as color, mind, or credos are concerned. Humanity’s diversity is the source of its richness. Logic, common sense, and values are enough deterrents to let us know when to stop crossing over and criticizing each other.

At present, the madness party continues, led by zealots from the four corners of the globe. After the environmental threat, these zealots are the real menace to humanity.

I made it a point to write about one of my characters, Zak, who exemplifies zealots, and tried as much as I could to expose their madness and fake causes. The genuine reasons behind zealotry are endless, as they can incorporate many factors, whether personal, social, ideological, etc. But all zealotry converges on one point, which is evil. The absence of values and a moral code of conduct has made it possible for zealots to kill and to rationalize these killings. It is evil at its worst.

By the end of the book, I wish for readers to ask themselves the question: Can we find these characters in real life? I have the answer to that. Another intriguing question will be: Can these characters be one person? My answer is: Maybe—in a Kafkaesque frame of mind.

This book is a novel, but it is fiction coated with facts and with real-life images.

The Forest

Either I do not understand anymore, or there is nothing to be understood, said the man sitting on his porch. I have tried very hard to understand things around me, and to make others understand me, but did not get anywhere. It is the same old story, over and over again. I end up alone, talking to my shadow most of the time and admiring my silhouette when I turn around.

These were the words of Sam, the man who described himself to his friend Abed as the happiest man who has ever lived, now that he is dying.

Sam came from Langurdia, a small village in the north. He had lived a life of total bewilderment due to not understanding what was going on around him. His village, Langurdia, was surrounded by two dozen other countries, which spoke the same language but were totally different in habits and customs.

Sam was a very simple and basic man. His mind was his biggest hurdle. It did not allow him to absorb reality. He couldn’t understand why, in spite of the beautiful music that existed all around, his neighbors, north of Langurdia, wanted to yell, intimidate, and disturb others because they insisted that they were all one. Another thing he couldn’t understand: How can we fight because we need to prove that we are one? If we are one, he thought, then we are one, and there is nothing to fight about.

Life was very simple in Sam’s mind. Certain people had defined certain concepts, and he wanted to embrace those concepts to become what he was and not what he needed to be. Also, certain music, books, and other forms of art became images and copies that he wanted to hide in their notes, lines, or scenes.

These concepts—and the music, as Sam believed—would make him a better man. It was a higher form of expression than the mundane. In music, there are no errors. Once that note is poorly played, the piece ends and stops being a source of inspiration.

Sam believed that higher values and concepts were the stars he was trying to reach for. He knew he would never actually reach them, but the attempt by itself was virtuous, honorable, and enjoyable. There was no alternative to music and higher values, just time-killing or wasting energy running around in the daily and the ordinary. He used to ask himself: Where does the meaning come from? It must be from that process and the higher order of things, as opposed to our poor definition of things in our limited capacity.

Math was another form of truth. One can’t go wrong with math. Just as in music, there is no room for errors. Our leaders should be like musical notes or mathematical formulas that do not lie and can’t but be truthful, he used to say.

"I would like to have a king called Tangent, which has a very clear definition and can’t but perform what a tangent does. The queen will be Co-tangent. Or, there can be a president called Fa, like the musical note. That president should not mind being called Fa, instead of being called a few verses of odd and strange terminology," said Sam to Abed. Sam always spoke of an army of violinists and piano players who would do better than regular armies in spreading justice.

The concept of leaders was undefined. What is wrong with these people? Don’t they want to die one day? Death is a good thing as long as you have lived a good life. How can these people live with a demeanor similar to that of a vulture or a wild animal? Always looking for ways to make life difficult for the artistic and the genuine, and always favoring those who add to their own delusions. People are actually clapping for the president because he opened a supermarket in our neighborhood. How could that be? I don’t deserve a supermarket. He should give me more than one supermarket—a hypermarket, maybe, said Sam.

On another occasion he came to Abed laughing loudly. Abed, come quickly. The president’s son, the nine-year-old, not the 16-year-old, is actually attending the graduation ceremony, and he is distributing certificates to the university students. This is the same university that gave us our top thinkers and intellectuals. Now a nine-year-old kid is actually shaking their hands. Was the 16-year-old too busy to come? asked Sam sarcastically.

Despite his contempt for the mediocrity that surrounded him, he knew he could not win the battle. He used to sit on his little yellow balcony puffing his cigarettes. It just disturbed him a lot, and managed to spoil his mental states, both linear and non-linear. Sam never managed to explain what he meant by that. Abed did not understand either, but he accepted it as another brilliant form of expression from the friend he cherished the most.

My life is the summation of things I don’t understand. I have tried, but I could not understand anything, and, once I did understand something, it was not I who understood it. It was a moment in me, or a gentle breeze that took my mind somewhere but managed to bring me back to this, to the president and his sons, to the way music is written now, with no flair or imagination, he told Abed.

Abed looked at his friend and wondered why he didn’t feel the same way. Maybe Abed had been around more than Sam had. He accepted the order of things, and called them reality. According to Abed, the definition of reality was simple: it was a series of things as they happen around him, and not as he would have wished them to be. He accepted that circumstance and conditions were supreme and that he couldn’t agree or disagree. He just needed to get on with it.

The boy who was distributing certificates to university graduates was not his business. The president and the supermarket were not his business either. Also, the minister who couldn’t stop stealing quotes from real leaders was not his business. Finally, the music that Sam was so bothered with was also not his business. All Abed wanted was to be, and being was derived from the world around him, with its good and bad.

Sam’s reality was derived from a world that did not exist. He spoke of a world where the president had to give the neighborhood a supermarket, among other things. Abed wondered in silence: Had? What a big word. Is there a president who is available and who actually gives?

We should be lucky that we have this supermarket, as our neighbors don’t even have that, Abed told Sam. Sam called the people north of Langurdia the living dead, as they didn’t mind not having a single supermarket.

Abed had learned not to respond, but deep down he couldn’t but think of the meaning of Sam’s comments. He had become a maestro at controlling his reactions when Sam exaggerated his comments. Abed’s dark eyes would be fixated without an expression. Then Sam would recognize that he must have said something wrong to Abed. At this stage, Sam would explain to Abed about the meaning in context, as opposed to meaning in general. The former is meaningful; the latter is just flaky and carries no taste.

Popcorn, my dear Abed, is tasteless, Sam used to say. We make it tasty through processing and a little bit of technical help from the microwave. Meaning cannot be like popcorn. It needs to be meaningful in context, and not a technical process or an ordeal designed to pass time.

Abed’s eyes were still fixated, and he realized that he had made a mistake by revealing some kind of discomfort at Sam’s previous comments. As Sam went on about popcorn and microwaves, Abed approached Sam and held his head, and kissed it. He loved Sam unconditionally and infinitely.

There has to be rain, Abed. I am not talking about the rain that falls from the sky. I am referring to the rain that will fall from the minds of the intellectuals to nurture and water the thirsty and dry minds of this neighborhood. If this neighborhood fails, then I am leaving. You know that I will leave, and never return. The neighbors in this area, especially in the north, have no chance if we fail. They are still stuck in their bad music composed by a non-musician. Their leader is not proper. Actually, some say he hates music, and used to hunt butterflies—butterflies, my friend! He then took over the country. Can you imagine that? How can this man, the Eternal Leader, rule the country when he is unable to write one line of music? He hunts butterflies. If we fail here, then failure will be everywhere.

But you see: how can it rain if there is a nine-year-old boy handing university degrees to university students and professors? It doesn’t make sense. This is where I need help: to make sense out of nonsense, said Sam.

Sam paused for a bit to recover from his self-generated stress. Then he continued. Where would rain come from? Over here, there are people still celebrating the supermarket, and in the other part of this region there are people saluting and actually conversing with a picture of the leader. Further down, in the south, music is banned, and is replaced by the speeches of a person they call the Right One.

What is the difference? said Abed. Aren’t they the same, these people, the Right One and the Eternal One?

No. Eternal is in the north and the Right One is further south, Sam replied.

I am aware of that, Abed replied, But aren’t they the same in terms of functionality. The Eternal is Right, isn’t he?

No response came, just a long pause and a nervous-looking Sam, who was even more perplexed now.

Like an athlete, Sam was on his feet, staring at the wall. There was a painting of a green forest with high trees. They want to take the forest from me, and deprive me of my natural space, Sam said. His anxieties and paranoia floated to the surface. They are after me because they know I can make it rain.

It will never rain. What is wrong with you? Look, the Eternal and the Right, what are they? They are fate agents here. They are the rain, sun, moon, seasons, and gravity. We are the receptors of fate, and our fate is an extension of theirs, said Abed.

Sam looked at Abed with eyes filled with fire. Are you out of your mind? We are the rain and we are the moon.

How can that be? You can’t even deal with the basic fact that the functionality of both the Right and the Eternal are not the same, Abed replied.

Don’t call it functionality. Keep this term for pure things. They have no functionally except using us, and… At this moment, Sam sat quietly on the couch. His heart couldn’t take the stress anymore. The supermarket, the nine-year-old kid, the Eternal, and the Right functionality—they were all too much for Sam to bear. Sam’s complexity increased when he heard about the Right and the Eternal. Sam had known about them for a long time, but he never thought about it. That was the first catch.

The second catch started when Sam was actually thinking about it. He reached a terrifying conclusion: The Eternal and the Right are two different people. But how could that be? In Sam’s head, the Eternal was eternal because he was right. Right was eternal, as the concept of right was eternal and not temporary. So these leaders were playing them with those names. Their names should describe their acts, and not unfulfilled concepts and forgotten promises.

Sam, Abed, and everybody who lived in the region shared the same level of disappointment. They had also suffered physical abuses at the hands of the mob that roamed with these leaders. The whole region was ruled by these mobs. They controlled politics, economics, the media, and all aspects of life.

There were plenty of Sams; they were the silent majority. There were plenty of Abeds. They were too scared, or too tired, to say anything. They just wanted to get on with their lives. They were exceptionally decent people, but they knew that they would never fulfill their dreams of having a proper country.

There was a third category of people: those who moved to total denial. They decided to stop changing the country; instead, they changed their dreams. These were found in the country north of Langurdia. People didn’t even acknowledge the problems in their country, and actually praised the leader for the opening of a mini-market, not even a real supermarket. The people had deleted their dreams until further notice. This was probably the worst level of humanity: losing the right to dream.

Hundreds of millions of people living in the region shared the same frustration and anxieties. Sam and Abed were two examples of these millions.

Sam