Some Here Among Us (24 page)

‘Where you goin’, boy?’ came a stentorian voice.

It was Chadwick, who sometimes liked to talk black. He was calling from a cab which had stopped on the other side of the road. Race and the third Mrs Chadwick were in the cab with him.

‘See you later, Tawfik,’ said Toby, handing him the coins in his pocket. Tawfik bowed his head over the transaction, as solemn as a banker.

Toby went over a crossing to the cab.

‘Just some fresh air,’ he said. He winced. The fresh air was a lie. For him there were great social difficulties involved in this wedding. Race and the Chadwicks were aware of that.

‘You gave us the slip,’ said Chadwick.

‘Yep,’ said Toby. ‘We thought we’d got away.’

He stood there looking down at them. He put both hands in his jeans pockets.

‘Get in,’ said Race. Toby got in. They drove back along the Corniche and went into Le Sporting. Toby took the panama hat off and handed it to the cloakroom attendant.

‘What name?’ she said.

‘Celerity,’ he said.

They went into the great dining room which was dark and crowded. There were to be no ceremonies on this occasion, only eating. The spice of wealth was in the air. Many of the guests – Maro’s friends – had flown in first-class, from Cape Town, Tokyo, São Paulo. Race, father of the bride, was seated with the wedding party. Chadwick and Mrs Chadwick and Toby found places at the remotest table. Some rich Spaniards were on one side of the table, on the other were the owners of a hunting park in the Limpopo. Many courses were then delivered, though in no clear order or sequence. Toby immediately drank off four or five glasses of wine. He kept his head down, and then suddenly sat bolt upright.

The Spanish millionaires and the South Africans had found a topic in common. They were talking about the cost of shooting different species on safari.

‘Your leopard’s pricey,’ one of the South Africans was saying. ‘The trouble with your leopard – he doesn’t breed prolific.’

Everyone nodded. Toby nodded, too, and twirled the salt-shaker round on the table with his fingers.

‘Plus – he has this vindictive streak,’ said the South African. ‘He’ll attack the very person who’s shooting at him.’

‘Have you ever thought,’ said Toby, ‘has it ever occurred to you, just to leave the fucking leopards alone?’

‘Now listen—’ said the South African, half rising to his feet.

‘Now,’ said Chadwick. He put a hand on Toby’s shoulder and glanced at the other wedding guest, who sat down.

‘The people you have to meet,’ said Toby.

‘Now look—’ said the South African.

‘Sit down,’ ordered Chadwick. The man sat down again.

‘Come out here,’ said Chadwick. He had his hand on Toby’s shoulder. Toby stood up and went towards the terrace with him.

‘I was rather hoping,’ said the film-man who appeared at their side, ‘to see my hat again.’

Toby went away through the club and came back with the hat and planted it on the film-man’s head, pulling it down almost over his eyes.

‘All right?’ he said.

‘Come on,’ said Chadwick.

He led Toby away. The film-man stood there quietly for a second, then pushed his hat back up with two fingers, one on each side of his head.

‘He’s not a bad fella,’ said Chadwick. ‘I spoke to him before.’

‘Everything OK?’ said Race, who had seen Chadwick and Toby leaving and who came out after them.

‘All is well,’ said Chadwick.

They stood on the terrace facing the sea. It was much quieter that side, away from the traffic. There was a series of concrete steps and landings and banisters of stainless steel that led down to the rocks themselves, drenched and gleaming with the Mediterranean, a steep green sea going ‘
slosh!
’ in the fissures.

‘Byblos,’ said Chadwick, looking along the coast, ‘is somewhere along there.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Race.

‘I’ve always meant to go to Byblos. It’s where the Bible got its name, although I forget why.’

They walked down the steps. Further out on the rocks was a small wooden hut, neat as a sentry box, with its back to the land.

‘The thing is,’ said Toby, ‘I didn’t
lose
Jojo. I broke it off. I sent her away. I didn’t want to be with her.’

‘Well then,’ said Chadwick.

Mrs Chadwick came down the steps.

‘You boys all right?’ she said. Laura Chadwick was slim and pretty and older than the forty on which she had settled as her definitive age.

‘Sea air,’ said Chadwick.

They walked out on the rocks towards the little hut. But when they reached it and went round the front and looked in, someone was inside. A youth, a soldier in uniform, with an old rifle, sat sprawled on a wooden stool.

He looked up at them with a helpless air.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Mrs Chadwick. ‘How long has he been in there?’

‘Don’t talk to him,’ said Chadwick. ‘He’s on duty.’

‘What sort of duty?’

‘Border patrol,’ said Chadwick.

They looked at the sea. It was green and choppy, and, further out, a dark flecked blue. There were no ships in sight.

‘What’s he waiting for?’ said Mrs Chadwick.

‘The enemies of Lebanon, I take it,’ said Chadwick.

He gazed into the sentry box at the youth. The soldier looked up at him with a furrowed brow. Chadwick pointed out to sea.

‘Who?’ said Chadwick. ‘Who is coming?’

‘
Quoi?
’ said the soldier.

‘
Qui est l’ennemi?
’

‘
Ah. L’ennemi! Les Juifs
.’

‘The Jews!’ said Toby.

‘Israeli navy,’ said Chadwick.

‘That’s right,’ said Toby. ‘Watch out for the Jew-boys, son.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Chadwick.

‘It’s all right,’ said Toby. He laughed a bit wildly. ‘I’m the only Jew round here.’

‘He’s drunk,’ said Chadwick.

‘I have Jewish antecedents,’ said Race. ‘The Radzienwiczs were Jews.’

‘You watch out for them Jews,’ Toby said to the soldier.

‘Steady,’ said Race.

‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ said Toby.

‘
Icepeeled
?’ said the youth.

2

The next day in the middle of the afternoon all the wedding guests set out for the Bekaa valley and the ruins of Baalbek. They drove over a mountain, most of them in a fleet of mini-buses which had assembled at midday at the ham-pink hotel on the jacaranda-shaded slopes of moneyed Beirut. By chance rather than design, Candy, Race and Toby were the only ones in the last mini-bus that left the hotel forecourt. Toby had arrived late, on foot, from his hotel. Race had been out walking round the city and forgot the time; and Candy found at the last minute that she was not, as she had thought she would be and should be, included in the group – bride, groom, groom’s parents – travelling by limousine. The three of them were in a subdued mood. The mountainous suburbs, the road-works, the rain falling at the top of the pass, the half-built concrete houses standing in the rain, the pylons on the lower plain . . .

‘Thank God Chip didn’t come, that’s all I can say,’ said Candy.

Chip had refused point-blank to attend his step-daughter’s wedding in Lebanon.

‘I like Maro,’ he said. ‘He’s a good kid. I like the Lebanese. I’m pleased he’ll be one of the family. But Beirut? The Bekaa valley? Kidnap Central? Are you kidding me?’

They looked out at Kidnap Central. Flat fields and glasshouses stretched away to a mountain’s grey flank.

‘This is the first time since I don’t know when that we’ve travelled together as a family!’ said Candy, turning up the brightness. ‘How do you
feel
, Race? How did you feel, giving your daughter away? I was proud of you. You looked so handsome. You did it so well. Didn’t he, Toby? Didn’t he do it just beautifully?’

‘You did it just beautifully, Dad,’ said Toby.

Just then Toby looked very alone.

‘He’s stuck,’ thought Race. ‘He’s afraid of something. What’s he afraid of?’

‘Hey, look at these guys!’ said Toby.

A stern-faced cleric in a black turban came into view on a hoarding below the roadside power-lines. Then another, and another.

‘The ayatollahs,’ said Toby. ‘The imams. They look like a fun-lovin’ bunch. Just as well Uncle Chip’s not here. He’d be calling in the air-strikes right now.’

‘I was proud,’ Race said to Candy. ‘It’s a cliché, but that’s what I felt. My little girl, I used to carry her on one hand, and here she is a married woman, and she’s
beautiful
. That’s what I thought.’

‘The fascinating thing,’ said Candy, ‘is this: Maro’s parents knew each other at birth, but they only found out after they were married. He was an orphan and was taken in by this woman with a baby. She fed both of them together, one on each breast. Then he was taken off somewhere else and grew up and knew nothing about it, and one day he met Sonya and they got married. They only found out later: she was the baby on the other breast! Isn’t that romantic?’

‘It is,’ said Race.

‘It’s more than that,’ said Candy. ‘It’s like a myth.’

A jet went high overhead, making a hard solid sound in the sky like a marble rolling over slate.

‘Israelis,’ said Race, looking up at the clouds. ‘They watch this place like hawks, according to Chadwick. They probably know exactly who’s in this vehicle, right now.’

‘Do you think he
remembered
her?’ said Candy.

‘Maybe,’ said Race. ‘Maybe she remembered him.’

‘What do you think, Toby?’ said Candy.

‘I don’t know, Ma,’ said Toby.

‘I think they
recognised
each other,’ said Candy, ‘in their hearts.’

The Palmyra hotel, half-hidden by vines and palms, was just across the road from the Roman ruins on the outskirts of Baalbek. ‘The Palmyra,’ Candy read aloud from a brochure she found in the mini-bus just as they were arriving, ‘is famous for its air of faded grandeur and the ghosts of its illustrious guests, from Cocteau to the Kaiser, from Gertrude Bell to the Empress of Abyssinia, who still roam its lofty rooms.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Toby.

‘
Don’t
, Toby,’ said Candy crossly.

‘Well, anyway, you’re there now,’ said Toby. ‘You don’t read brochures when you’re there. You read them when you’re not there.’

‘I read them just exactly where I please,’ said Candy, but she put the brochure back in the seat-netting and climbed out of the bus and followed Race and Toby into the hotel. Toby carried Candy’s luggage. After checking in, Candy hurried to the bar to see who was there. Race and Toby crossed the road to look at the ruins, but they found that they were fenced all round, and the entrance was locked.

‘Five o’clock,’ said Toby, reading a sign. ‘They’re closed. Three thousand years old and they close at five.’

He and his father walked along the highway into the town. It was only a little place but a maelstrom of traffic whirled through the central square – carts, motorbikes, motorised carts, scooters, sedans, jalopy trucks.

‘It’s drive-time, baby,’ said Toby, gazing around.

‘What do we want?’ said Race.

‘I should buy something,’ said Toby. ‘I haven’t bought anything since I got to Lebanon. I’ve just been banqueting.’

‘Buy something,’ said Race. ‘As your father I advise it.’

‘I don’t know what,’ said Toby. ‘Oranges? Light bulbs? Baby formula?’

He scanned the market’s offerings.

‘Shoelaces!’ he said. ‘I need some laces.’

He stepped into a little cavern and selected a pair of brown laces from a vertical tray on the counter.

The door darkened and Jojo and the English film director came in.

‘Jojo,’ said Race.

‘Toby!’ said Jojo. ‘We’ve been here three days and I haven’t even seen you. This is ridiculous.’

‘Sorry, excuse me, I’m just buying laces,’ said Toby.

‘Have you met Joachim?’ said Jojo.

Toby and Joachim shook hands wordlessly.

‘I just, excuse me, have to buy these laces,’ said Toby.

‘Souvenir?’ said Jojo.

‘No. I need laces,’ said Toby.

‘These ones?’ said Jojo, picking up a pair from the vertical tray.

‘Yes,’ said Toby.

‘Don’t buy these, Toby,’ said Jojo. She ran the laces between her finger and thumb.

‘Why?’ said Toby.

‘They won’t work.’

‘Jojo, they’re shoelaces,’ said Toby.

‘They won’t knot,’ said Jojo.

‘Not what?’

‘Stop,’ said Race to Toby.

‘They’re the wrong material,’ said Jojo.

‘Come on, darling,’ said Joachim.