The topic of death is as old as we are. Death can be quite, loud, soft or hard. It is especially hard when it comes in the aftermath of a battle or war. Eras are defined then by what is said about them when it is all done. The scars are deep, and as always, the artists and writers are the ones that are able to communicate the worlds of before, during and after. I have explored this before, but I return to this after I read Death is Hard Work by Khaled Khalifa.
The plot of the book is simple enough: a father dies after extracting a promise from his eldest son. That promise is that the son, known as Bolbol, will take his father to be buried in his home town, next to his sister. In normal times this would not be a large request. Difficulties abound in Damascus, where Abdel Latif died of old age amid the chaos of the dead from the Syrian civil war. Bolbol enlists his siblings, Hussein and Fatima to help. From the outset there was reluctance to do this, because it could be fatal to attempt, but they grudgingly come together. They are forced to take the body from the morgue and transport it via Hussein’s minibus because there was no other way. As the three children come together, we begin to learn their personal stories, as well as the father’s.
There are many ways to interpret the story and the characters. The body of the idealistic, harsh, and dead father is the death of the ideals of what war was based upon. The condition of the body, and the absurdity that it goes through can only be a statement on the beliefs of any group. As time wages on, the idealism falls to power grabs and pure greed, with the ideals rotting from within. The same is true of the body – and all that come near are assaulted by the smell, but let it pass. It is before it begins to decay that the military try to arrest the dead man.
The two brother’s stories were sad in that each tried their own way, and each ended up alone. One went out to find riches and power, and became a glorified runner for a gang. The other was too afraid to search for riches, so lived his life to keep others away, living in a world of his own making in his mind. Both were trying to be on their own outside the family, but being drawn back in as they got closer to Anabiya. Their sister, Fatima, was the least drawn out character. Her Aunt Layla wanted to continue to learn, but was promised in marriage instead. She warned them that she would rather set herself on fire than marry, and she did set herself aflame on the roof just before the marriage was to take place. She was buried alone and was a stain on the family’s name. Fatima came on the journey and was mistreated by Hussein, ignored when she fretted over the condition of the body, and ultimately rendered mute by the end of the journey. The statement that this makes on the journey of women is overwhelming. We have gone from being ignored of what we say and having that be a stigma on the family name, to not even being able to speak. This is underlined in the book that the closer they got to the family home, the more she was asked to cover up. So much so that Abdel Latif is ultimately not buried next to his sister because others felt she should be forgotten, even when she was not.
The concept of revenge means that the anger is never done – the blood will continue to flow. Just as the rabid dogs try to get the decaying body, those rabid followers of the ideas will never stop now that they have tasted blood.
As a statement on the possibility of peace, this story is not one that I enjoyed. It was, I believe, an indictment on the state that the Middle East, and other areas of the world. Until the need for revenge and the taste of blood is not needed, this absurdity will continue.
The Source 4 Books 