Trees for the Absentees by Ahlam Bsharat

Author:Ahlam Bsharat
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Neem Tree Press

5

The PICTURE

FRAME

Dear Dad,

I miss you more than anything in the world. That’s what I wanted to tell you most of all.

Now I’ll tell you what I’ve done with the lovely embroidered picture frame you sent me. Do you remember the photo Uncle Hassan took of us at Eid? It was Eid al-Fitr, but I can’t remember which year. Do you remember the year? It was definitely Eid al-Fitr, because I remember being so excited I couldn’t wait. I had fasted for ten days during Ramadan and you promised to give me five shekels for every day I fasted, so that was five times ten. Fifty shekels! It was the first time in my life I’d ever had so much money. In the picture, Grandma’s sitting on the doorstep of the room that’s sunny in the morning and you’re standing next to me, your back arched like you’re trying to look macho, and I’m holding my new doll, the one I called Pistachio. I bought Pistachio for twenty shekels and spent the rest of the money on other things, like a bottle of nail varnish and some socks with frilly tops.

So, just before I started writing you this letter I put the photo from that day in the frame that you gave Mum to give to me two weeks ago. When I look at the picture, I see a handsome young man and an old woman whose face seems to radiate light. And me. My hair was a big frizzy mess, although Mum had given me a bath early that morning and had massaged it with olive oil and pulled it into two bunches with bobbles with little bananas on. I still remember those little bananas, because Nahil always wanted to eat them. But my hair was wild and rebelled against Mum and her bunches. It exercised its right to freedom and stuck out in every direction like the rays of the sun. You can see the rays of sunshine in the picture and you’re laughing – your moustache is hovering on its own over your mouth. You’re wearing your dark blue denim jacket and light blue jeans. Grandma has a smile on her face, and you and I are laughing, me with my tongue sticking out, and my hand is reaching out of the picture pushing someone to the side, but I can’t remember who. Mum said it was Auntie Hoda, and that she wanted to be in our picture but I wouldn’t let her.

The picture was supposed to be just of Grandma Zahia. Uncle Hassan told her, “I’m going to get a photo of you, to remember you by.” But then you and I ran up and squeezed in next to her. So, it ended up being a photo of the three of us, and now it’s in the frame you decorated for me with the colourful embroidery. I can tell you spent ages on it. I remember I once asked you, “How do you spend your long days in prison, Dad?”

And you said, “Time is my needle.

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