The airport was quiet that afternoon, as it usually was, when their white Opel stopped in front of the terminal door. Hisham got out of the car. He wore black trousers and a white shirt, shiny black shoes and white socks, all brought to him by his father early that morning with his passport and tickets. Abu Hisham had given him the enormous sum of one thousand riyals to draw on during his temporary residence in Lebanon. His mother had not come, forbidden by his father, who was frightened of attracting the attention of the people watching the house, who might suspect something if they saw both Hisham’s parents leaving unusually early. She had reluctantly accepted, after instructing Abu Hisham to kiss her son on both eyes. It was easy for Abu Hisham to come – he left for work every morning – and it was easy for him to go wherever he wanted from there.
Abu Salih parked the car some ways away, then returned to Hisham, who had stayed by the door nervously looking in every direction. It was extremely humid. The humidity accumulated as moisture on his lenses and he was forced to take his glasses off to wipe them from time to time. Abu Salih marched past quickly, his eyes darting about in every direction, although his head stayed completely still. He picked up Hisham’s black bag and hurried inside, taking a careful look round the whole hall, while Hisham walked behind him, hesitant and nervous, carrying a small school bag which held his passport and money. Despite Abu Salih’s advice, he was unable to stop turning around nervously. The terminal was quiet and almost deserted. A few voices echoed around the enormous hall, and some workmen had found the air-conditioned hall a good place for a comfortable snooze. Abu Salih told Hisham to sit in a corner while he went to the airline counter with the passport and ticket in his hand.
Hisham took off his glasses and wiped them again. Once more memories flashed through his mind. He had often come as a spectator to the airport with his friends, or the many relatives and acquaintances who came to them from Riyadh and Qusaim as guests. It was the grandest airport in the country, with its original design and its door that revolved automatically as soon as you put your foot in front of it. This door, in fact, used to arouse the admiration and surprise of everyone, for it was the first time they had seen a door open by itself, so they would come and go through it repeatedly, laughing. On the terrace outside, they had a direct view of the planes leaving and arriving. They would cover their ears and laugh each time a plane took off or landed, then examine the new arrivals, searching out the women with rosy cheeks, crimson lips, and pure white complexions, coming from a beautiful world, some of which they could see on the television screen …
Abu Salih returned smiling, carrying the passport and ticket with a boarding card. He sat down beside Hisham, saying in a whisper:
‘Everything is OK … Takeoff is in half an hour. Don’t be agitated, just act calmly and normally. Come on … have a safe journey, my son, and send us something in the post as soon as you arrive …’ As he said that, he got up and laughed. Hisham wished desperately that his father and mother could be with him, but he also knew that it was in his interest for them not to be here. He was sure that they were, at that moment, sitting together in the TV room and that their hearts and thoughts were with him. He got up reluctantly, aware that he was embarking on an adventure whose outcome was unknowable. He kissed Abu Salih affectionately on the forehead, and they embraced. Then he made his way to the departure lounge, clutching the passport, ticket and boarding card in his fist. His heart beat faster and louder the closer he got to the small door behind which sat a passport official. When he reached it, he was shaking visibly, and his face and brow were completely drenched in sweat. The passport official sat at a small desk, with another stern-faced gentleman standing not far from him. He wore civilian clothes, which included a red headdress despite the incredible heat.
Hisham gave the officer his passport with an uncontrollably shaking hand. The officer noticed at once.
‘I hope there’s nothing wrong,’ he said, leafing through the passport and looking at him.
‘No, nothing … just the after-effects of flu,’ he said in a dry voice, trying to smile. ‘I hope you don’t get the flu this summer!’ The officer smiled.
‘Don’t come to any harm,’ he said, and stamped the passport, which he handed back to Hisham. ‘Have a safe journey,’ he added mechanically, giving him a look that Hisham thought a little odd. The sound of the stamp on the passport triggered huge relief in Hisham, and he threw himself into the first seat he found, waiting to board the plane. He dried his face and wiped his glasses, perhaps for the thousandth time, then looked around. A small number of passengers had spaced themselves out in the seats scattered around the small hall, with several men in red headdresses standing in the corners or sitting between the passengers flicking through newspapers. After what seemed like an age, the plane’s departure was announced. The passengers lined up in front of the departure gate. Hisham handed his boarding card to the airline official, who tore off the bottom piece and handed it back to him, then gave his passport to an officer standing beside him near the gate, who began to flick through it.
‘Please wait a moment,’ he said, and pointed to a seat just beside him. Then he handed the passport to one of the men in red headdresses standing behind him.
Hisham fell into the seat, hardly conscious of himself or of anything going on around him. He was seized by a violent headache, and was so afraid it was as if his fear had completely disappeared. His whole body had turned into a thumping heart. He tried to make himself believe this was just a routine operation that would soon be over and had no connection with his fears, but he knew the game was up when, as soon as he sat down, two men with red headdresses took up positions on either side of him while a third sat down on a seat opposite. The other passengers glanced pitifully at him, impatient to embark. He thought of trying to run for it. But how? And where to? It was all over, he just had to surrender. Was there anything else he could do?
After the last of the few passengers had left, the gate was closed. The roar of the plane outside deafened Hisham, and pained the inside of his chest. The hall was now empty, except for a few officers and men in red headdresses. As soon as the gate closed, one of the men sitting beside him shook Hisham.
‘Come on,’ he said sharply. Another grabbed his arm while two more stood behind him, then they all moved out of the small departure lounge. They led him to a secluded room near the automatic door to departures, and Hisham noticed Abu Salih sitting where they had said goodbye. He was smoking voraciously, as was clear from the quantity of smoke pouring from his mouth. Abu Salih noticed Hisham too. He threw the cigarette to the floor, jumped up, eyes starting from his head, and stood rooted to the spot until Hisham had disappeared inside the room. Hisham longed to run towards him for help, but asking for help or running away was useless with these people, and in any case Abu Salih could not help him. In fact, he might harm him if he did anything that revealed their relationship.
They led him into a small room containing a small desk, behind which sat a smart gentleman in an impeccable white uniform. A smell of strong perfume wafted from him. Beside the desk were two large sofas, and between them a shining glass table. On one of the sofas sat another man, looking just like the man at the desk. The two were smoking and laughing when Hisham entered. The man at the desk looked at him in an offhand way, then went on laughing and smoking, blowing the smoke in Hisham’s direction. They sat him on the empty sofa and the two men who had brought him in sat either side of him, while a third sat on an armchair opposite. The fourth stayed standing by the door. Hisham smiled sardonically to himself despite his terror. Was it so dangerous? The man behind the desk dialled a number on the telephone and spoke rapidly to someone, with a few cryptic words, looking around at the people present as he did so. Then he replaced the receiver.
‘They’re coming,’ he said, and went back to talking to his colleague about the weather and the dreadful humidity. Hisham felt as if he was taking part in some horror movie. All his emotions had become mixed up, as though he inhabited a region outside time and space, a region with no dimensions. He took out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and drew heavily on it, before the man behind the desk sharply rebuked him.
‘Where do you think you are?’ he asked, glaring at him. ‘At home? In a café? Smoking is forbidden.’ Hisham stubbed out the cigarette with trembling hands. His heart was racing. The man behind the desk immediately took a packet of Kents from in front of him, lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke in Hisham’s direction, smiling happily.
After about half an hour, the door of the room opened, and two men appeared, both wearing red headdresses. They greeted the man behind the desk and handed him a piece of paper, which he signed and returned to them. Then he gestured to Hisham, telling him to get up. They grabbed him by the wrists and hustled him outside to a grey Land Rover waiting immediately outside the door. Beside the driver sat another man. They pushed Hisham into the back seat and got in beside him, then the Land Rover sped off. No one said a word. Before they left the terminal building, Hisham looked back and thought he saw Abu Salih stamping out a cigarette just by the door.