Village tales: My old neighbor Grace
Regional, Essay, 5/22/1999

It was to be like most summer days in this small Lebanese village where the farmers and laborers rose early to tend to the fields. Some used tractors for transport and others used donkeys and others used their feet as the walk from their houses to the fields was not that long. And as they descended from their houses high on the hills to where the field lies, they took the same road that passed by my house.

After a work day, in the late afternoon they would traverse that route back, heading home. That is when some of the townspeople, women, and children would in their turn head to the same fields, but for a different purpose -- some simply to have a nice walk with friends to share the latest gossip, others such as kids would look for opportunities to steal some fruit (or sweet vegetables such as sweet peas or "Foul Akhdar" beans) as the picking was always easy and at most a slip between the barbed wire to the apples, cherries or field was not much of a risk.

All the kids had to worry about mostly were the "haress" (Arabic for guard), usually the owner of the field, the renter or a hired hand that may catch them where they may suffer untold punishment that I never knew the nature of, as I do not know of anyone that ever got caught. But the fear was very real, and it just may have been possible that the kids have always been that much faster runners than any field guard. I had to participate in many such raids upon our neighbors fruit gardens, and at the slightest hint of danger we would flee very quickly, not knowing whether the danger was real or imagined. But the thrill of hunt, so to speak, for the town's kids was always something that we sought in the summer days and eves with much time to kill, and much mischief to contemplate.

But one field was not much of a challenge to conquer. It was planted with "Fool Akhdar" (a type of bean that has large flat seeds that are tasty to eat raw, and also used to make a delicious cooked meal). I never had to worry about being caught in this field snapping the "Fool Akhdar" bean pods and feasting on them, not because the field was owned by one of our neighbors, who shared a house with his brother, but because of an odd observation I have made at the end of the season one time when all the bean pods should have been harvested, while his field was not harvested fully. Sometimes, as kids, we would go into already-harvested fields, as the harvesters, invariably would miss some bean-pods and we would make sure to find them, and eat them or put them in the inside of our T-shirt that has been tucked tightly into our shorts, to form a container.

But this particular field has always had in one of its corners what was clearly an unharvested small section. A couple of seasons in a row, a fact that I cannot imagine having observed. But as kids, we knew the fields well and some trees individually, their location, and how sweet where their fruits. It was a big part of our life.

The neighbor was senior in age and somewhat of a typical villager. His kids had immigrated to Brazil (then and before a popular immigration destination) and the kids would send him some money, along with his farming income to provide for his needs which seems to have been very modest as he lived in a dirt poor house that was barely maintained. His brother who was about the same age was an accountant, I am almost certain, and had the mannerisms and spending habits of one befitting the profession.

While our main protagonist (the field owner) lived in what seemed like a carefree attitude and had sought to find joy in life and had not observed the obligations of his religion by giving in daily to the daughter of the grape, his brother lived a regimented life and was visibly a more pious person. Both kept to themselves in their secluded lives, but our protagonist was ever so friendly to anyone that came his way and had this quality that some people possess where you instantly know that there is something genuine, sincere, and friendly about him. There was no mistaking that there was a gentility to his spirit that would engulf you when he talked to you, and was demonstrated always with his offering to share his little food that he ate with his favorite glass of Arak (or as the Greek call it Ouzo).

But what struck me most and never left my memory was the impression that many good teachers leave upon their pupil. We find in life as we grow up that we are an accumulation of these impressions favored upon us by good teachers that help mold our view of the world. One day, casually and without much thought I asked him "Are you aware that you have an unharvested section in your field full of Fool Akhdar? And was I correct in noticing the same thing the previous season?"

I don't remember if he paused or not when he answered, or any facial expressions he may have had, as what he said did not quite register with me to a great extent till later on. But nonetheless, I thought that what he said was quite remarkable for a farmer whose duty was to extract every last ounce of production out of his field. His reply touched on the village's evening dwellers who strolled by the fields on their afternoon and evening walks, and on the birds that were always abundant in the village. When he answered in Arabic "Eh, shway la-eli shway la-rabee, la-alassafir willi beyimshu" (translation= Yes, some for me, some for my God, the birds and those who walk), I did not know what to make of his answer or how to characterize it at the time.

But as I grew older, and like all things in the village, some things you learn consciously and others you absorb from those who surround you, I had not only learned to live by certain morays, but also wished to convey them. And I always had difficulty finding the right words to describe some concepts, so even when I said that this so-and-so person had "grace", I was not sure that the person listening to me really understood what I meant.

But now, to tell someone what 'grace' means to me, I tell them about my neighbor.

By,
Jamil Kazoun

Previous Stories:
  Time is gold   (11/14/1997)
  Christmas time in Qatar as the Emir returns   (10/11/1997)
  Life, taxicabs and their worries with closure of territories   (9/8/1997)
  MAHFOUZ, the Nobel lauriate   (8/9/1997)
  YEMEN'S VOICE   (8/9/1997)

Please add a link on your webiste pointing to ArabicNews.com and bookmark ArabicNews.com & subscribe to our daily email news bulletin.

Search