It struck Sami then – an insignificant detail, but still – that their religious studies teacher, who when stepping out into the schoolyard in full view of all those blind windows had transformed into someone else and shouted commands at them, had probably felt as alone and watched as everyone else.
5
THE BLUE NIGHTS were long and fragrant in the late spring, with gentle breezes cooling the outdoor serving areas, which were full of people drinking tea and smoking shisha. But their father Nabil rarely stayed out late. He often went to bed around eight, never later than nine, in order to get to the train station before the first commuters arrived in the morning.
In the early evenings he liked to watch a black and white western, preferably alone and in silence. His children, however, interpreted his solitude as loneliness he should be saved from.
‘Could you at least be quiet?’ Nabil sighed from the black leather sofa as he reached for the remote control. ‘And stay away from the TV screen.’
‘We just want to keep you company, Dad.’ Malik’s bright four-year-old voice was muffled by the chocolate candy he was eating.
Sami took the right-hand corner of the sofa and leaned back, unconsciously imitating his father, who sat with his arms crossed and his long legs spread, like one of the cowboys in the movie.
‘The one who finishes his candy first, wins,’ Sami said, glancing at his little brother. His voice had just started to get deeper but sometimes made involuntary high sounds.
Malik immediately ate all his sweets like a hungry puppy, and afterwards looked jealously at Sami eating his one by one. Meanwhile Hiba had entered the room, still dressed in her high school uniform, and pushed herself in between Nabil and Sami.
‘Why are you so mean to him?’ Hiba said.
‘What? You did the same to me.’
‘My sweetheart Malik, you have to stop listening to your stupid older brother.’
Malik frowned and reached over his father and sister, trying to steal some chocolate, but Sami pulled it away.
‘Sami. Just give him a piece,’ Nabil said tiredly.
‘But they’re mine.’
‘Be kind to your little brother. If you are big, you have to be extra kind.’
On the TV, a cowboy was chewing on a straw and peering at the horizon, where the desert continued into infinity. Sami thought the movie was too dramatic but his father loved everything about it, as did Malik. His little brother wanted a Stetson hat like that. A vest like that. A neckerchief bandana. And, of course, those high boots with spurs. The camera zoomed out until a shining dark horse was visible. The animal breathed heavily, widened its large nostrils and stood up on its strong hind legs.
‘Oh, Dad, I also want a horse like that,’ Malik whispered.
‘What have we said about getting more animals? How do we get it up on the roof?’
‘It can be parked outside on the street.’
‘Parked?’ Sami snorted.
‘Quiet now. All of you.’ Nabil hushed them.
A stranger showed up in the scene and challenged the lonesome hero to a quick-draw duel. Malik hid his face in his hands and peered between his fingers.
‘Dad…’
Nabil sighed. ‘Yes?’
‘How do you know which of the cowboys is the good one?’
‘Whoever wins,’ Nabil said. ‘The good ones always win.’
‘That’s not true,’ Hiba said, and laughed. ‘If the good always won, Sami would never win in chess.’
‘Shut up!’ Sami dug an elbow in her side.
‘Come on, move your legs.’
‘Do. Not. Fight. What happened to all the kind children I used to have?’
Malik looked up with big eyes. ‘I’m here, Dad. I’m kind. Do I get a horse if I’m really kind?’
‘Maybe if you are all silent and let me finish the movie…’
The scene changed and now showed a young woman stepping out of a saloon. She had a well-defined nose and dark freckles and deep, serious eyes that showed she had seen too much already, and she just wanted some peace and quiet without cowboy duels in her backyard. This was their father’s favourite part, Sami could tell, because Nabil smiled and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
‘That’s how your mother looked when I met her. Proud and beautiful.’
‘Where did you meet her?’ Hiba pulled her feet up in the sofa.
‘Well, I came by on a white horse and saw her carrying a stack of books, and I asked if she wanted a ride.’
Malik looked thoughtful. ‘Where did you park it?’
‘Outside school,’ Samira said, who had appeared in the doorway. ‘And it was not a horse, but a motorcycle.’
‘It was white though?’ Nabil raised his eyebrows.
‘Once upon a time, maybe. Your sweet dad followed me for several days in a row, as if I wouldn’t notice. The rusty motorcycle was as quiet as a coffee maker on the boil.’
‘What time is it? Nine already! Time to go to bed…’
Samira crossed her arms and smiled, and Nabil stood up and kissed her gently on the cheeks, while Hiba rolled her eyes.
‘Please, get a room.’
* * *
—
Their older brother Ali still lived at home but he was mostly out at work, or in his room until late evening. As soon as Nabil’s gentle snores could be heard, Ali crept into the hallway and stuck his hand in their father’s coat pocket. Within minutes, the engine of the grey Volvo rumbled to life. From his bedroom window, Sami watched the car roll out of the garage and disappear down the illuminated street.
His mother, sister and little brother were still sitting on the leather sofas in front of the TV – too absorbed in reruns of Kassandra to notice Ali’s nocturnal excursions. The theme song of the Venezuelan soap opera had sent the entire population into a trance when it aired in the 1990s. If you missed an episode, you were hopelessly excluded from conversation the next day. It was even said burglars used the Kassandra hour to break into houses.
The first time Sami asked his brother if he could ride with him in the car, the answer was clear.
‘Not a chance,’ Ali said.
But after nagging and threatening to tell on him for using their father’s work car, Ali gave in. The spheres of light around the streetlights were sucked up by the darkness like lumps of sugar in a cup of coffee. But the surroundings were not particularly interesting to Sami. Instead, he watched how smoothly Ali shifted from first to second, then into third and fourth on the main road into the city centre. When they ended up behind a lorry, Ali gently pushed the brakes, leaned out the window and took a drag on his Alhamraa cigarette, which made the glow crackle and creep closer to the filter. The packet of cigarettes had been another find in their father’s coat pocket.