A Handful of Dates

I remember at the time I was very young, whenever I was seen with my grandfather people would pat my head or pinch my cheeks. I would usually be with my grandfather except for the morning where I would go to the mosque. My love for the mosque was as great as my love for the river. I used to find myself swimming in the river after attending the mosque. In the afternoon, I would be accompanied by my grandfather. I loved him, and hoped to grow into a man like himself.

One day I asked him about our neighbour Masood, I felt that my grandfather wasn’t too fond of him. I remember my grandfather responding that the field of date palms never always his, but used to belong to Masood. I thought otherwise; from the beginning of time I imagined that the field always belonged to my grandfather. However, he spoke that now two thirds belonged to him, and said that he was going to obtain the remaining third. From these words I felt fear; I didn’t want this to occur. My grandfather then took my hand and went over to Masood’s harvesting of the dates. During it all, I thought about Masood and the kind of person i found he was. At the end of the harvesting of the dates, it was Mousa, an owner, and these two strangers left. My grandfather woke up from his nap, and was followed by Hussein.

The group formed a circle to divide the sacks of dates among themselves. My grandfather gave me handful, which I began snacking on. At the very end, Masood was left with nothing, but 50 pounds in debt to my grandfather. Masood’s throat made an unusual sound, and then suddenly my chest began to hurt. I remember running off and spewing up the dates into the river.