Lebanon Hostage Ch. 06

Abed is an excellent guard. However much longer I have to spend as a hostage, I hope I get to spend the time under his supervision. He is conscientious, reliable, reasonable, humane. As promised, he gets the hot water running. He tells us we have to be sparing, so he gives us a choice: We can take a long shower once a week, or a short shower every day. How short? Allan asks. Two minutes. Since that's as much time as we were permitted for a weekly shower in the Shouf prison, we jump at the opportunity to spend that long standing under a stream of hot water every day. Unlike Rat Bastard and Less a Bastard, Abed and Fadil keep the bathroom stocked with soap.

We ask Abed if we can have towels. He brings us a single one to share a few days later, when he and Fadil start their next shift. We're not sure why he brought us only one when our request was couched in the plural. Are people in poor Lebanese families accustomed to sharing towels? Is the towel on loan from someone who couldn't spare more than one? We don't push the issue. He allows us to keep the towel in our room after I explain that it will dry out better and stay more sanitary if I drape it over a drawer of the filing cabinet rather than hanging it, bunched up, on the shower head, as Abed initially wants us to do.

Our food situation under the new regime is better than it has ever been. We are fed three times a day, not two. Sandwich and tea in the morning; rice and vegetables at midday; another sandwich and tea at night. For the first time, we experience variety in our sandwich fillings: sometimes cheese, sometimes jam, sometimes yogurt. Abed and Fadil serve the midday rice dish to us hot, which hasn't always been the case in the past. It's never spiced as richly as some food I received in my first prison (I'm convinced now that those dishes must have been prepared by a woman), but the food Abed and Fadil make is salted, an improvement over the Shouf prison. We eat what they eat, at the same time they eat. They serve generous portions, plus they often return to let us finish what's left in the pot when they're done. Abed and Fadil bring us some kind of fruit, fresh or dried, virtually every day they're on shift: not just oranges and bananas, but fruits I've never eaten before, like figs and quinces and pomegranates. When we're done eating, Abed and Fadil wash our bowls, which is a first. In fact, they take our bowls from our tubs to store them out front.

Abed and Fadil restock our tubs with the necessities we've been missing: tissues, matches, cigarettes—the latter rationed at the usual rate of two packs a week. Allan is a happy man again. Another long-held wish of his comes true when the guards put candles in our tubs for use during power outages. While the power's on, we can use a light bulb that Abed and Fadil have screwed onto the end of a wire suspended from our ceiling. Chained, we can't reach the light switch, but Abed or Fadil will turn it on and off for us whenever we ask. The light makes the room less tomblike, especially now that the grates have been covered.

Covering the grates is one of Abed and Fadil's first priorities when they arrive. They temporarily unloop the end of my chain from the hole in the filing cabinet and rechain me to the bedframe, so they can use the filing cabinet to climb up and tape cardboard over both grates. I understand, obviously, why they want to cover the outside grate; I'm not sure why they feel the need to cover the grate that looks out into the hallway. We couldn't possibly peek through anymore now that we're chained.

While I'm chained to the bedframe, the guards insist that I sit on the floor, not on the bed with Allan. That's how strictly they're enforcing the "can't share the same bed" rule. However, when they're done covering the grates, Abed and Fadil leave the filing cabinet under the inside grate instead of returning it to the far wall by the cupboard. As a result, when they rechain me to the cabinet, I'm now considerably closer to the bed. Abed explains that having me closer will make things easier for him and Fadil, in addition to allowing Allan and me to talk more easily.

Abed lets us talk freely during the day as long as we keep our voices down, but he doesn't like us talking at night. Right after dinner and our second toilet run, he expects us to settle down to sleep, even though he and Fadil stay up quite a bit later, talking or listening to the radio. I suspect he wants us to go to sleep early so the two of them can unwind without having to keep an ear on us. Like adults after they've put the kids to bed.

The possibility that someone might hear us speak English is one thing that Abed is uptight about. He'll shush us if we let our conversation rise above what seems to me a needlessly low volume. If we need something from the guards while our door is closed, Abed instructs us to call out, "Afwan"—meaning, "Excuse me"—rather than the guards' names or any English expression.

Being chained is an aspect of the new regime that I absolutely hate. Apart from feeling degraded, I find the loss of mobility maddening. I can stand with the chain on my wrist, but I can't walk any farther than I could when Allan and I were sharing a six-by-six-foot cell. The most Allan can do is pace in a small arc from the side of the bed to the short wall at the head of the bed.

Allan appeals to Abed. Not being able to exercise our bodies more freely is bad for our health. Allan can accept that the chef wants us chained regularly, for security. But why can't we have a little time off the chains each day to exercise, to keep us from getting sick?

It's a diplomatic falsehood that Allan "accepts" the chef wanting us chained. Allan is still convinced that either we're being unjustly punished or we're still under suspicion of being homosexual. Both possibilities make him mad as hell.

Abed assents to Allan's request, with conditions. He'll give us thirty minutes of exercise time every day. But we can't both be off the chains at once, meaning we'll have to exercise one at a time. Also, we'll need to be watched while we do it. The implication, Allan and I realize immediately, is that we'll have to exercise blindfolded. Allan clarifies: Thirty minutes, so... fifteen minutes for each of us? No, Abed's willing to give us each thirty minutes.

This is more generous than we had hoped for, so Allan negotiates. We'd be happy to settle for fifteen minutes each if Abed will let us exercise without a guard present so that we can lift our blindfolds. I want to pace, Allan wants to jog. When he sees how much we're willing to give up to get what we want, Abed makes a concession. We must exercise under a guard's supervision, but the guard will cover his face so that we can remove our blindfolds. We can still have thirty minutes apiece. He cautions that while one of us moves around the room unchained, we "cannot touch." Chef's orders.

We accept. So we exercise, one at a time, under the watchful eyes of a guard seated in a chair with an assault rifle laid across his lap and a scarf wrapped around his face, concealing everything except his watchful eyes. The image produces a fight-or-flight response in me that diminishes over time, although I never cease to find it unsettling. I don't think the gun unnerves me so much as not being able to see the guard's face. Or maybe, come to think of it, what's unsettling is the fact that Iam seeing part of the guard's face, that being our ultimate taboo.

Abed sounds to me like he's in his mid-twenties. Fadil is quiet by temperament, but from hearing him talk to Abed, I have the impression he's quite young, eighteen or nineteen maybe. I might be overestimating the age difference between them because Abed's voice is deeper and Fadil's is higher. Fadil is certainly slight, I can see that when he takes his turn guarding us while we exercise. Abed has a broader build.

Abed and Fadil are pious. Abed, in particular, prays loudly and impassionedly, and their prayers go on for an unusually long time. When they want to relax, Abed and Fadil listen to music, but at other times during the day, they listen to sermons or religious chanting, either on the radio or the tape player. They rarely laugh, which I take as another sign of their fundamentalist piety. They're not dour, though. They're pleasant, as a rule, to Allan and me, and their conversations with one another sound cheerful if subdued.

I find the relationship between Abed and Fadil endearing. As the man in charge, Abed is often telling Fadil to do things, but his tone isn't bossy; it's more like he's gently cueing Fadil how to help him. They sound very comfortable together, chatting out in the front room or exchanging quiet words as they carry out a job in our room. They seem to find an easy-going pleasure in one another's company. The intimacy that I sense between them leads me to suspect they're related. Cousins? Brothers? I lean toward brothers. Abed, the older brother, tucking quiet little brother Fadil under his wing—the way Allan took me under his wing. I like thinking about Abed and Fadil in those terms. It gives me a tender image of them to hold behind my blindfold. I prefer that image to the scarf-wrapped militiamen I see when the blindfold is off.

Allan doesn't understand why I think Abed and Fadil are related. He doesn't perceive any unusual intimacy between them. Yes, Abed is calm and accommodating, fortunately for us, and clearly he and Fadil get along. But Allan thinks my notion that they're brothers qualifies as a Strange Idea, because he thinks I'm romanticizing the relationship between them, which could in turn lead me to romanticize their relationship with us. I shouldn't imagine that Abed and Fadil are nicer than they are, Allan cautions me. They wouldn't hesitate to hurt us if they thought it necessary to keep us under control.

Allan thinks I'm too effusive when I thank Abed for his concessions. The guards aren't doing us favors, they're giving us our rights, and that only partially. Thank them, but don't grovel. I protest: I don't "grovel," I'm sincerely showing Abed and Fadil how grateful I am. Shouldn't we give them positive strokes so they'll be motivated to keep treating us well? I respect that Allan wants to make a statement about our rights, and I'm in awe for the risks he took standing up to the last guards and the chef to protest our abuse. But I worry that he may alienate Abed and Fadil by coming across as demanding and unappreciative. Why can't our two approaches to dealing with the guards complement one another? Allan will insist that the guards give us our due, I'll show them how happy it makes us to get it. Stick and carrot, in a way.

Fadil is curious about Allan and me. After his initial shyness (trepidation?) has lessened, he asks us questions in his soft voice, using Abed as interpreter. He inquires about our families, the places we're from, places we've traveled. He's keenly interested in the material goods we used to enjoy. Clothes, electronics, cars, houses. Did we have a swimming pool? Horses? Fadil's impressions of life in the United States have been formed by television programs such asDynasty, so I have to explain that while most Americans are wealthier than most Lebanese, what he sees on TV isn't a realistic picture of how most Americans live. Fadil continually asks questions of Allan that presuppose he's American, too, even though Abed has explained that Allan is British; the distinction seems meaningless to Fadil. I can see why itis meaningless from his vantage point. The bottom line is: Allan and I are both richer than Fadil can ever hope to be simply by virtue of where we were born.

Fadil wonders why we came to his country. Allan replies that he came to work as a reporter—not a precise description of his job, but true enough for the purposes of this conversation. I tell Fadil that I had intended to be in Lebanon for only a week, visiting my uncle, a Christian priest, and working in a school for Muslim children. Abed struggles to make sense of that. Why would I take a job at a school if I were only going to be in the country a week? I explain that I was here on vacation, but I didn't want to be a tourist, I wanted to do something helpful.

I tell Abed and Fadil the story of my "accidental" kidnapping: how the militiamen were waiting to take my uncle hostage, but because I happened to be visiting there was a mix-up, so they grabbed me by mistake. "You had bad luck," Abed remarks. His attitude is philosophical—like he genuinely feels it's too bad I was taken hostage, but that's life, what can you do?

Later, Allan will point out to me that, conceivably, Abed may already have known the story of my kidnapping because, for all I know, he may have been there. I immediately thrust that possibility away. I refuse to envision Abed in that role.

I would like to reciprocate questions; I would like to find out about Abed and Fadil's lives and families. Where did they grow up? What do they do when they're not in this abandoned office, guarding us? What life experiences led these fundamentally decent young men to join a hostage-taking militant group? But I worry that any personal questions about them—even questions as innocuous as what their childhoods were like, or how Abed learned English—will make them stiffen, pull back, throw up walls, for fear that when we're free, we might somehow use the information to help the authorities locate them.

Abed and Fadil are not our only guards. They trade shifts with a second pair every two or three days. The second shift follow the same routine of two toilet runs and three feedings a day. But they're less generous about portion sizes, they may dawdle until the food has cooled before they serve us, and they don't bring us fruit. More aggravating, they forbid us to chat, and they don't extend the special concessions that Abed does: they won't let us off our chains to exercise, nor will they permit us the couple of extra minutes we would need in the bathroom to take a daily hot shower. They'll turn our light bulb on for us while we're eating, but otherwise they see no reason not to leave us in the dark. When we can't stand the gloom anymore, we light our candles.

Allan complains to Abed about these discrepancies in our treatment, hoping that Abed will intercede for us, but Abed maintains that the other guards are entitled to set their own rules on these matters. Allan does persuade Abed to double our allotted shower time when he and Fadil are on shift, from two minutes to four, on the rationale that we won't be using any more hot water than if the other guards were allowing us to shower daily. I don't think Abed and Fadil are all that strict about the time limit anyway, although they do rap on the door to tell us to stop.

Like Rat Bastard and Less a Bastard used to do, the guards on the second shift speak to us rarely, and then only in Arabic. At first, in fact, we wonder if they may be Rat Bastard and Less a Bastard, but we become convinced that they're not as we overhear them talking in the next room. The new pair are the opposite of Rat Bastard and Less a Bastard when it comes to their unusually strict attitude toward security, during toilet runs in particular. With other guards, the norm for toilet runs is for one guard to guide us by the arm while a second walks behind, presumably armed. With this new pair, we're left in no doubt that the one walking behind is armed because he holds his rifle to our backs the whole way. This stressful habit inspires me to dub the new pair the Brothers Kalashnikov. (I have to explain the literary allusion to Allan; he only knows Dostoevsky'sCrime and Punishment. Meanwhile, it's thanks to Allan that I know what a Kalashnikov rifle is).

The Brothers Kalashnikov make me appreciate Abed and Fadil all the more by contrast. When the Brothers K are on duty I get low, lying around all day in a dark room, unable to talk with Allan, permanently chained without an exercise break. After two or three days of that, I'm thrilled to hear Abed's quiet "Good morning" as he opens the door to bring us breakfast. It's the same thrill I used to feel when Makmoud would say my name.

Abed won't grant us everything we ask for. Because it's getting colder, we ask for a third blanket apiece, to which Abed responds that he and Fadil each have only two blankets, implying that we should man up. It's not a fair comparison. I've seen how they're dressed: thick pants, a coat, a scarf when they're not wearing it around their face. Not to mention they sleep with a portable space heater running in their room as long as there's power! They loan us the space heater off and on during the day, about which I'm grateful but ambivalent, since being warmer some of the time makes the cold periods feel colder. Not surprisingly, the Brothers Kalashnikov never loan us the heater.

Another request Abed denies us is swapping places between the bed and the mattress. Allan explains that we used to trade each night because it's unfair for one of us to always have to sleep on the floor like a dog. Abed doesn't understand, he keeps repeating sternly that it is forbidden for us to share the bed. Even once he's grasped what Allan is really asking for, he won't do it. Allan demands a reason. (His success at getting rid of Rat Bastard and Less a Bastard has made Allan more confident and therefore contentious.) Abed gives a tedious explanation of how, in order to trade places, we would both have to be unchained at the same time, which wouldn't be "safe." But Abed and Fadil have guns, Allan argues, how could we possibly overpower them?

When Abed won't budge in the face of argument, Allan turns noble. If Abed won't let us trade off, then I should be given the bed permanently, and Allan will take the floor. Abed refuses a permanent switch for the same reason he refused a nightly one: exchanging places would require unchaining us both at the same time. Allan gives his own tedious explanation of how that problem could be solved by swapping our chains along with us, as Abed and Fadil did when they chained me to the bedframe so they could move the filing cabinet. But Abed must find Allan's explanation of the process too hard to follow, or he just doesn't see a good reason for the swap, because he again refuses.

Allan's next move is to insist that they take the bed away so that both of us have to sleep on the floor. But they need the bed, Abed observes, to chain Allan to. Well then put the mattress on the floor next to the bed! By now, Allan's coming across as to me as pouty. Abed hears it, too. "Do not be a child," he tells Allan mildly. "Thank God because you have a bed." And that's the end of that conversation.

I urge Allan to let it go. I appreciate the sacrifice he's willing to make for me, but I'm fine staying where I am. I don't find it as demeaning to sleep on the floor as he does, it doesn't make me feel like a dog. Anyway, if either of us deserves an extra privilege, it's Allan, for the extra work he does taking the lead in our dealings with the guards.

Allan says I shouldn't think of things that way. I do my share. He may lead off, but I'm the one who makes sure the guards feel appreciated. I give them their positive strokes, right? For a second I think he's being sarcastic, then I'm delighted to realize that, no, he really does accept us as playing complementary roles. It's silly how much that delights me, but it does. Allan promises me he won't push Abed any further on letting us swap places... unless, he hedges, a natural opportunity arises to bring it up again. He knows better than to even try to ask the Brothers K.

One of the concessions from Abed I prize most, which thankfully the Brothers K also respect, is permitting us to read! I've never tried asking guards for reading material—partly because I didn't have enough light in my prisons to read by, and partly because it has never occurred to me that the request might be granted (any more than it would have occurred to me that the guards would show me a video). Now that we have a light bulb, Allan asks if we could have something to read. Abed says he'll see what he can do. I'm worried that Allan will be too pushy in following up, so when Abed and Fadil return to begin their next shift, I take the initiative of asking if they "were able" to find anything for us. "Soon," Abed says. That's not an encouraging reply; I suspect he's merely fending us off. Allan informs Abed we can both read French, if that makes things easier—whereupon Abed leaves the room without a word. Now I'm angry. Just as I feared, Allan has offended Abed by coming across as pushy.