I, Fahed

Roi Sagir

                                     I’m a Jew, but I look like an Arab. Even in Israel there are places in which I look like an Arab. I have a black beard, black eyes and black hair. I don't wear a black suit, I don't wear a black skullcap or a black hat, so I cannot be considered to be a member of the "Shas" party ultra-orthodox Jewry. On the bus to Ramat Hasharon there are a number of women who see me and their makeup peels off their wrinkles from fear. I enjoy traveling to Ramat Hasharon, although I have nothing to do there. In Germany too, just like Ramat Hasharon, I'm an Arab.

This morning I took the underground train toward central Munich. Eva was also traveling on the train. She's German, with handsome features, light hair and expensive shoes. Some 900,000 people travel on Munich's underground train on a regular workday, waiting in 92 stations. The underground was built ahead of the 1972 Olympics. Eva sat in the train and read a book. She was on her way to work. She's a graphic editor in a feminist culture magazine. She has tenure and well-formed opinions.

I sat next to her. The train had already stopped in two stations. People boarded and disembarked, boarded and disembarked, with extinguished looks in their eyes and correct conduct. A regular silence, similar to the silence of yesterday and the day before yesterday. I peeked at Eva's book. The words Die Zweite Intifada were written on the top of the page.

Black Bird

I asked Eva whether the book she was reading was interesting. She examined me with her green eyes and said it was. I continued to pester her and asked for the author's name. She showed me the cover and it turned out to be a biography of Arafat. "Arafat," I said, "mmmm." She ignored my remarks, checked the author's name and said it. I asked her what she thought of Arafat. She answered that she didn't agree with everything in the book, and stretched with self-importance.
I smiled at her and scratched my black beard. I asked her what she thought about the conflict. She said that the Palestinians are miserable, that they are victims. I presented myself as Fahed, and asked whether we could meet up again sometime. She thought about it a bit. Before she got off the train we decided to meet in the evening.

 I waited for her at a café on Ludwigstrasse. When she showed up, I took a chair and offered her a seat. Then I ordered us drinks. She chose a colorful drink in a large glass with a stem and shiny sticks sticking out of the orange liquid. She offered me the pineapple. I refused. She moved uncomfortably in her chair, looked around and bit her lips. Three men were sitting on the bar and most of the tables were empty, except of two. After looking at the tables in the café, she told me about her work and presented her opinions, of which she was very proud. The magazine she was working for covered exhibitions, installations and published progressive and radical editorials – so she said. Mainly, she added with her back straight and a raised finger, the works of women in developing regions.

She asked whether I objected to female circumcision. I answered that it was barbaric. And what do I think about veils? I told her that they, the women, choose themselves to wear veils. She cleared her throat.

"And family pressure!" she said decisively.

I was silent. Her green eyes stared at mine and she demanded a response with sealed lips.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers and escaped her stare. Maybe she doesn't want to be the little woman tonight, I thought. I tried to guess what Fahed would have done when the  manlystand encountered such resistance.

I squeezed my feet and said angrily, "family, what do you understand about the Arab family." She flinched. "Maybe I don't understand," she said and added an apologetic giggle. "Maybe you should tell me a little about it, Fahed."
My cock quickly became hard. I sipped my beer slowly, enjoying the warmness in my lower body.

 "I have five siblings," I started telling her on my great family at home. Then I was telling her on myself. "It's sometimes hard in Germany, but I'll be finished with my studies soon and I'll go back, no problem. It's better at home, but also here in Germany, it's nice here. Don’t be offended."
"No, no, I'm not offended, it's alright," she laughed. "You're cute."
I stretched my shoulders back and look around toughly. I then slightly scrunched my mouth with self importance and said, "You know, here in Germany people have a lot of money, but they don't know how to give respect. I mean, not everyone, but a lot of people. Look, people here don't look out for each other, every person is on his own. For us, the entire family is behind you, whatever you do."

Eva softened up and answered quietly, "The culture is slightly different here, Fahed, in Germany the law protects you. But I don't want to talk to you about these things now." And then she put her hand on the center of the table and asked, "Do you feel comfortable with me, Fahed?"

Eyes and Beer 

I moved my hand until I caressingly touched her hand and said in a clear and resolute voice. "You're pretty, you have pretty eyes."
Eva looked at my black eyes and thought about what she should say to Fahed. After a brief silence she asked whether I was willing to protect her tonight, that she hadn't felt like someone was protecting her for a long time. I wanted to fart at that moment, but I was afraid the effort would make me wet my trousers, because of the beer. I was feeling the pressure down there for the past 20 minutes. I said yes and strengthened my grip on her hand. I was hoping that she wasn't really looking for protection, and at the same time I whispered to Fahed that he was a king and that I loved him.
The café became full. "Let's get out of here," Eva said. We decided to come to her place for a few more drinks. We'll continue the conversation because it intrigued her. Her house was very close, only four stations on the underground. After the waiter left the bill Eva opened her bag and I hurried to take my wallet out to pay. "No need," I stopped her with my hand. She looked at me contemplatively for a while and then smiled a sweet smile and tied her hair back.

We went down the escalator toward the Marienplatz central hall. Leaving the escalator, Fahed turned his back to her, showing off – stretching his well-built shoulders, but I knew that she was checking out my ass, my hairy ass. When we got to the hall, she remembered that she had run out of cigarettes. I leaned on the banister and looked around the spacious hall until Eva returned from the cigarette machine. There was a pungent smell of vomit there. An old man was sitting on the floor covered with an old blanket. He was selling a red magazine that came out once a week and all the city's down and outs were trying to sell it. It was the only way to get that magazine. Two thugs in green uniforms were walking the hall: the Bavaria Police. Occasionally a passer-by briskly walked by, going down the stairs to catch a train leaving the platform. I considered lighting a cigarette. But you can't smoke in these halls. After a few minutes the two thugs in green approached me. Scheisse. That's the last thing I need now. It has already happened to me twice. They keep harassing me, asking questions and leaving. They come because of the black beard. The leave because of my Israeli passport. Only now I can't take out my Israeli passport. Eva might return any minute.

They started pestering me. Where are you from? What are you doing in Germany? Who are you waiting for? Show us some documentation. I stood embarrassed opposite them. In front of German cops I'm not only black, I'm also very small. That's why I prefer Ramat Hasharon to Munich. There I can pleasantly cast my dread on the town's well-groomed women and the law will not dare to bother me -it is also too lazy to shave.
The left thug played with the baton on his belt. "So you don’t have any identification, you say. You know that the law says you must carry a citizenship certificate. Do you!?"
I was silent. I saw Eva between them. I was hoping she saw me. The policeman continued to ask "and have you already registered at the town hall?" I moved a little to the right because the thugs were standing between Eva and I. Come here already, I mumbled. They thought I was trying to get away. The second thug also tensed up. Eva saw me. I let out a relieved breath. She hurried towards me, an angel with green eyes.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?" she asked the policemen angrily. They moved back a little and gave me some breathing space.
"No, we just wanted to see this gentleman's ID," one of them answered politely.
"Why?" Eva asked. "Did he commit some kind of transgression?"
"No, no," the policeman said humbly.  Eva raised her left eyebrow at him and asked, "So?" and immediately said in a decisive tone, "Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen."
We both turned around and walked away. I think I heard one of the cops curse. Dogs.

The coach

Eva and I stood on the edge of the platform. I stared at the plasma screens hanging on the wall across the tracks. A video-clip style commercial for some cream for the prevention of hair-loss and baldness was playing. I scratched my black beard and felt silly and helpless. Eva didn't say a word about what just happened, and she didn't look in my direction either. I too didn't want to talk about it, I just wanted the damn train to arrive and for us to get out of that place.

The coach was empty, and after we sat down I looked at her carefully. She smiled at me again. This time the smile was inviting, so I hugged her and she hid in my arms.
The train came to a halt at the third station, our gazes again intertwined. She slid her fingers on my neck. My cock was hard again. This time she noticed. She pressed against my body and asked me to hold her tight. I placed her head against my chest and stroked her face and hair. She really didn't want me.
The train stopped.

 
Fahed got up and left the coach, Eva followed. They both stood on the platform. Eva grabbed his hand and they started walking toward the escalator. They left the station and walked along the street until they reached the entrance to an apartment building. Fahed waited for Eva to get her keys out of her bag. He leaned back, his body loose and indifferent to the surroundings, but he didn't let her escape his gaze. Eva opened the door. He pressed the elevator button. In the elevator he tried to attach himself to her. He put his hand on her shoulder and brought his upper body closer to her upper body. Eva laughed a little, stroked his face with one hand and lightly pushed him away with the other. When they entered the apartment, she invited him to sit on the couch and asked him if he wanted to drink something. He said he did. She placed an open bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table. Fahed gave out a little laugh. Eva turned her angelic face and looked at him with embarrassment. "What, what's the matter?"
"Nothing," Fahed answered. On a bookshelf before him stood four African wooden sculptures with full erections, and pictures of Eva with friends on some journey. The light was dim and two candles were burning. She returned holding a slim booklet with a white cover, sat next to him and smiled. Fahed poured wine, they made a toast and sipped some wine.
"Perhaps you would like to read to me from this booklet, I've had for quite a while," Eva said. She gave him the booklet and looked at him. Fahed put down his glass on the table and looked at the pages.

 God help me. What do I do now. It's all in Arabic. All I know in Arabic is how to curse.

"Do you understand Arabic?" I asked.
"No, not at all. I just want to hear you speak your own language," she answered with amusement. "I sometimes hear it on television, in all kinds of profile reports about…. Well, you know. But I can't concentrate on the language. I also heard Arabic a few times in the campus I went to, and it intrigued me. Perhaps I was drawn to it. I don't know exactly what it was, something different… yes, different. It's simply something else and different. Speak Arabic to me. I feel like it."
I opened the booklet from right to left and made a point of it to Eva. I asked her why she had the booklet. She answered that a friend of hers who studied Islam at university lent the text to her and forgot about it, and that I should start reading already. I strained my brain and called Fahed, but he apologized and said that he was here only to be a victim and not to read Arab texts and that I should manage on my own. I took a risk and told Eva that it was a bit different to what she heard on television, because these are religious texts. I chose a page with a headline and started reading, or reciting in Hebrew: "Hear, O Allah, Allah  is our God, Allah is One. You shall love Mohammed with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might"* I stopped to check whether my pronounced 'h' and Allah were working on Eva. She looked at me, enchanted. I got closer to her. She asked me to continue reading. I kept reading the Hebrew prayer: "And tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates" She started touching me. My cock got hard again.
"Read some more," she whispered.
"And if ye shall hearken diligently unto My commandments which I command you this day, to love Allah, and to serve Him with all your heart and with all your soul" She lifted my shirt and licked the hairy chest that promised to guard her tonight. I put the booklet away. "Why did you stop?"
"that I will give the rain of your land in its season, the former rain and the latter rain, that thou mayest gather in thy corn, and thy wine, and thine oil". She opened my belt and stroked my cock. "And I will give grass in thy fields for thy cattle, and thou shalt eat and be satisfied." I shouted at her. I was burning, I wanted to swallow her. I threw the booklet away and tore off her shirt and trousers. I bent over her. I stopped for a brief moment to look at her face. She whispered that she was happy that I was here, that I should come to her, touch her hard. I attached myself to her body. She stroked my head and face and said, "It feels good that you're with me, Fahed, you're my Arab man," and kissed me passionately.

The candles were quenched and the room was very dark when I put on my trousers. Eva got out of bed, turned on a small lamp and went to the mirror near the closet to get organized. I saw short black hairs on the bed sheet. I then looked sadly at her round ass that she covered with blue cloth. "I have to edit a few more pictures by tomorrow morning," she said. I smiled at her. She smiled back and turned to open the door.

* A version of  "Shema Israel", the most basic prayer in Judaism.

Roi Sagir, born in 1976, a youth guide and story writer. The story was published in Maayan 2.

Translated by Anat Rotem.