My maternal grandfather, Youssef Salama, was tall, with broad shoulders, wearing a jalabiya, a crimson fez with a black tassel, and a thick, broad, majestic moustache, in keeping with his features. He died when I was seven years old, and I did not know or remember much about him, other than what people reported about his supernatural powers and physical powers. They also passed on stories of Al-Tai’s generosity in collecting crops, building workshops, and silk trade across eastern Lebanon.
To this day, his picture is at the forefront of his house, a young man, sitting on a huge chair, looking at the photographer with courage, as if he were saying with certainty and without arrogance, the owner of the picture is the king of the harvest and the owner of the clay.
My grandfather inherited the title “Puppy Lion” from his grandfather, which was given to him by Prince Bashir II, after he won a huge weightlifting competition when he was still young. The Emir of Beiteddine Palace was astonished when he saw this boy carrying an iron pole like someone carrying a magic wand, so he called him from his high platform: Young man, you are not a human being, but a lion cub. The title was passed down through the generations of the family, attached to the name, as if it were part of it.
But no one in the family reaped what he reaped: small farms, huge pine forests, and abundant livelihood, distributed by the heirs and wasted.
My mother was the youngest in a family of four girls and three boys. When my father left her, my brother Mounir and I moved with her to live with my grandfather, where my mother took care of him in his last years.
The “lion pup” had grown old and become a lonely giant and a forgotten lion. In the morning, he prepares an “army” hookah for himself, carries it to the nearby square, takes a seat under the ancient zinc tree, and jokes with the children with frightening stories.
There was nothing in the square but isolation, boredom, and escaping into memories of the years. I don’t know what my grandfather is thinking. But under the tree he looks like a bored, wet lion. As in all stories of boredom, one day he felt cold, wrapped his gloves under his coat, left the chair under the tree, and quickly returned home and got into his giant bed.
The next day, the family members met and shared the shares according to his will. The largest share was for “boys,” and the remainder was for girls. And my mother got 2000 meters in a far away land. Two years later, my mother fell ill. The family sold its share to pay the costs of treatment.
2023-12-22 00:06:38
#Village #diary #Tarbush #Jalabiya
