Upstairs, Downstairs at Andala Page #4

A Palestinian Ghost Story

• Fantasy

								

“It’s a storm in every Muslim heart.”
“Allow me Sir to say that you made the truth of that saying very apparent. Good night. Thank you.”  He seemed relieved that for once I spared him of the nagging question about why he was there and in sole communication with me. 
      Later that night, I called and spoke at length to my mother about the whole conversation, but first had to convince her once and for all that I was not dreaming the whole thing.  I reacted angrily. “How you mock me mother, to tell me that what I have seen is only a dream?”  I wanted to hang up but she apologized and for the first time took me seriously, listened attentively and confined herself to “poor soul. I had no clue he was so romantic.” There was however one question that she insisted I should never ask him – about the circumstances of his death.  “Promise me son to never ask him. I don’t want you to know who killed him.  It could spell trouble for the whole family especially you.” Reluctantly I promised her and swore to Allah that I would not break my promise.  

-VII-

For the next several nights the ghost behaved erratically, like someone who was half-drunk, clumsily dropping the pots he was washing and making a loud noise. He would apologize and offer to behave properly, only to repeat his erratic behavior that made me wonder if the violence of death had made him lose his senses. I wondered what would be the good strategy to keep his mind off the love affair gone sour and decided to ask him about after-life. That calmed him and he then spoke of heaven and hell, of water and fire, of the lethal nature of Satan and beauty of God “the One whose name is the First and the last.”  I then found myself venturing on the philosophical by asking “why is he called the Supreme Being?”
“Because he’s the ultimate Palestinian. He dispossessed himself of the world but gave us the right of return.” He laughed at his own comparison. “Why else we would sing that song: O Palestine, my honor, my glory, my life and my pride.” He then let me know that God whom he referred to as “the eternally cheerful fellow” revealed himself to him without being seen. I thought it was odd the way he was describing the Creator, as if he was talking about his own relation with me.   Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long before solving the riddle.

-IX-

I was experiencing a restless night and decided to browse through one of Abdol’s Bibles when I came to the story of Abraham’s sacrifice. It was as if I was reading the Holy Quran, same story, same ending, same moral lessons about God’s power of forgiveness and human tests of faith.  God had tested Abraham, commanding him to offer his only son and he had obeyed by taking Issac up a mountain and ready to sacrifice him until the archangel Gabriel intervened and told Abraham that it was not necessary and he had passed the divine test.  But what bothered, startled me, when I put down the book and turned the bedside lamp off was the sudden flash of the steel knife before my eyes, just like the one that the ghost had pulled at the beginning of our encounters.  What seemed like a minor similarity at first grew by leaps and bounds, however, after another hour or so of semi-sleepiness when the knife’s flash came to my vision again and I imagined myself as Isaac begging my father for mercy.  So it was not Chairman Arafat after all, but my father pretending to be him, I quickly concluded, a conclusion that gave me shivers and deprived me of sleep the rest of the night.  I then went to work with a new mission, to put him to test and find out if my premonition that I had been visited by own father’s ghost was correct?
“Thank you father.” I sounded from a kitchen corner once he was done washing the pile, putting the accent meaningfully on “father.”  There was silence, a clear moment of scrutiny, clear but heavy with thoughts.  Finally, seeing that I was serious and meant business, he broke his silence.
“How did you find out son? I thought I played a clever camouflage?”
“You did, but the knife gave you away – father.”   
He was perplexed so I told him about reading Abraham’s story in Bible.  “Why? Why play game with me? What are you ashamed of? I demand to know.”  His voice trembled. “I apologize my son. I always thought you were ashamed of having a father like me, so when the opportunity arose to come down for a brief visit I learned that you had come to this foreign land by yourself and so decided to keep you company and to make sure that you wouldn’t reject me or run away I chose to appear as Arafat because he was our beloved leader, but then I admit I got carried away a little bit. I am sorry.”
“I guess you did. But that doesn’t matter. What I want to know father is why you think I would be ashamed of being your son? I know you were a peaceful man and wanted to keep peace between us and them and you paid a heavy price, but losing your son’s faith in you is not one of them.” I then heard him cry and moved closer to him and we hugged each other and we both cried. “My prince look how you’ve grown to be a young man who is true to his heritage.” Somehow my mind swerved to something else, however, to use  the splendid opportunity of reunion with my father and Arafat to learn the craft of leading my generation.  
“Must get going now son. Mission is accomplished.” I knew what he meant, but mine was only beginning. “Oh mother I saw something else tonight, something wonderful.” “What did you see my son?”  “Our path to the future, to total freedom.”
“I always knew they cannot expropriate you of your identity. God be with you always my son. His is the only bondage we accept, remember that.”  Then I heard her cry.  “I wish your father was here to hear you he would have been so proud.”
“Don’t worry about him mother. The gates of heaven are wide open. He has no trouble getting in.”
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