Hikayat by Roseanne Saad Khalaf

Author:Roseanne Saad Khalaf [Khalaf, Roseanne Saad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781846591686
Publisher: Saqi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MAI GHOUSSOUB

Red Lips

I was once involved in building an installation on the theme of refugees. One part of the installation consisted of objects that could be easily carried along if one had to leave home and venture into an unknown future with little or no warning. The objects sent to the artists were mainly memories of survival: keys, deeds, diplomas, radios and purses. Only one item defied what seemed essential for a future of migration into the unknown – a tube of red lipstick. To me this did not seem like a light and superfluous item to take. I understood immediately the source of the sender’s survival reflex. She – for it can only be a woman or a man who feels like a woman – was ready to journey along a dark road carrying a strong message of life and defiant energy. I understood because of the red lipstick marks that still haunt a corner of my memory, hidden like an explosive dream in a now abandoned convent that once stood discreetly on a hill, high up in the Lebanese mountains.

I was a teenager preparing for the baccalaureate exam with my friends Nada and Joumana when we decided on a tranquil location that was ideal for concentration. Silence and a long distance from the city and its attractions became crucial for our studious goal. A secluded convent run by Italian nuns for novices seemed perfect: it removed us from the presence of males for two weeks. ‘Retraite’ was the word we used in those days – retreating, withdrawing from ordinary life, from our routine, but mainly from the lightness of normal being.

The convent was hauntingly silent. We learned from a somewhat less rigorous Italian nun that the order was hosting very young girls from ‘respectable families’ whose fortunes had known better times and who, for lack of a dowry, were unmarriageable. A convent was the most suitable alternative for these would-be spinsters, especially this one, where only girls from ‘bonnes familles’ were admitted. The deadly silence that surrounded us was eerie, thanks to the binding oath made by every newcomer (‘a privileged girl’ as our nun put it) to be mute for six months. The few Italian nuns who ran the place spoke as little and as softly as possible out of respect for the novices’ vow and out of love for ‘the tears of Mary and the suffering of her son, Jesus Christ’.

There were dozens of novices, rushing silently through the dark corridors. We met them briefly on our way to the dining room, and our curious eyes searched eagerly for their faces, but they always managed to escape our gaze. Their eyes avoided us, fixing incessantly on the tiled floor whenever they passed us. Their bodies looked small and fragile under their neat black tunics. Only the Mother Superior appeared tall and upright in this convent. Her instructions, on the first day of our retreat, were uttered through thin lips that were as stiff as the rules that presided over the lives of this community of secluded and hushed women.

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